A Journey Into The Mysterious Hole

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Science seems like a fairly interesting subject so I have to give credit to my school teachers for making it seem so fucking boring. In fact at this point, I think the majority of my scientific knowledge comes from Breaking Bad which I suspect was dubious at best. In school they taught me that friction will slow a tennis ball after it's rolled down a slope. How fucking mind blowing... In Breaking Bad though, I saw Walter White throw a bag of white shit at a wall and the whole thing fucking exploded. I don't even care if it's possible, that's science, bitch!! To be honest, I'm generally one of those people who doesn't care how something works so long that it does. Do I need to know how it's possible for me to get an internet signal on my phone wherever I am? Nope! But the knowledge that I can be anywhere in the world and still have access to hardcore pornography is more than comforting. 

Crazy As Hell

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There are two directors with similar names and who have had two very different careers. The first is Paul Thomas Anderson and the other is Paul W.S.Anderson. Paul Thomas Anderson is the man behind such masterpieces as There Will Be Blood and Magnolia whereas W.S. Anderson is responsible for such shite as AVP: Alien Vs. Predator and the ball-haemorrhagingly dull Resident Evil. Anyway, so if you too find it difficult to keep track of which is which, I have a handy little tip to help you remember. Just imagine that P.T stands for Pretty Terrific whereas as W.S stands for Wanky Shit. It works for me, so you're welcome! Anyway- bearing in mind that I know the poor fucker as Paul Wanky Shit Anderson, I was always curious about his 1997 sci-fi film Event Horizon. There really is no denying how crap his films are however this one seems to have become a bit of a cult hit and not just in a The Room style 'what-a-load-of-shite-that-is' way. Not only that but I listen to a lot of podcasts because they're easier to deal with than real friends and Empire Magazine's one bangs on about this film almost every week. I therefore decided to gamble an hour and a half of my life on their recommendation... Although fuck it, I'm single so it's not like I had anything better planned than tossing off and having a cry.

What Are You Thinking?

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Relationships are a tricky thing to balance. It's all about consideration, compromise and not laughing in your partners fucking face when they say something stupid. Believe it or not but I had a girlfriend once and she used to come out with some right shit. There was this one time that she was awake at like 2 o' clock in the morning and so I said, "you're up late" to which she genuinely responded with, "I'm a plate?" Anyway she was a raving psychopath as it turned out and so her undeniable stupidity at least wasn't her worst trait. I won't go into the details except to say that her subsequent actions near the end of our relationship left me somewhat damaged and for at least a year I became I massive raging sexist. "Why would anybody want to go near girls?" I'd wonder to myself as I'd scratch out the eyes of women in fashion magazines. I've gotten better since then and, although women still insist on trampling all over my heart like they're using it to get dog shit off their shoe, I've come to a new conclusion. Women aren't as evil as I at one point suspected but rather they're a completely different species. I don't think either of us are bad, it's just that we think on a slightly different wavelength. Then again, I have female friends that I love so maybe it's just my taste in people I want to bang. I'm still single now so if you're around my age, nice looking and totally fucking deranged then give me a shout.

Hell Hath No Fury

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There's a person in my life who I can't stand. I won't refer to them by name but if you're reading this, you leather-faced old bitch, then I hope you fucking die. Just so that you have something to imagine, she's coated in three inches of fake sun-tan and has wrinkles so deep that she looks like a satellite photo of a mud slide. If you can picture a pair of testicles that somebody has stuck some googly eyes and a frowny face onto then you're pretty much there. Anyway, the hag pisses me off to the point that often I'll call somebody up to vent to. On one occasion this just happened to be my Mum where I said that I wished that this person would get stabbed in the face and bleed to death. That was fine. Then I said that I hoped they'd get cancer of the soul, painfully slip away into the afterlife and then spend an eternity boiling in a pool of hot, molten shit. It was at that point that my Mum started having a go at me for wishing cancer on somebody. Where's the fucking consistency there? Apparently it's okay to hope somebody gets a sharp blade jammed into their face but not to wish they get a fairly common disease. My Mum said it was different because anybody can get cancer. Who'd have thought that saying "I'm pretty sure anybody can get stabbed in the face, too" would lead to such an argument?

Hooray For Chavs

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I was talking to a girl the other day when I was suddenly faced with a tricky decision. We'd somehow gotten onto the subject of UFOs when she revealed that she believed in them, before asking what I thought. Now, obviously I don't believe in Flying Saucers because I'm not a fucking idiot, so what was I meant to do? Lie and tell her that I thought that a group of green men with fat heads were out playing silly buggers with our crops and stuffing things up our arses? I couldn't do that even if I was trying to get into her pants! No, I'm afraid my only option was to tell the truth and unintentionally make her look like a right dickhead. So no sex for me, but at least I didn't have to pretend that I thought Plan 9 From Out Of Space was a fucking documentary. I'm not, by the way, saying that I don't believe in aliens. The universe is a big place and I've seen enough weird shit on this planet alone to think that life elsewhere seems more than plausible. There was this one time for example where my rabbit shat himself so badly that the crap got wedged up his arse hole. Flies then laid eggs in this mess without us realising it and before we even knew what had happened, they'd hatched. I don't believe that aliens visit our planet, however I don't think that we can rule out the possibility of life elsewhere- having seen maggots survive in the hostile regions of my rabbits anus.

Having A Slash

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There's something about the slasher film that makes me think that they're written by the socially rejected. Look at the clichès of it and you'll find it generally involves obnoxious teenaged dicks enjoying parties, having fun and then getting stabbed in the fucking face. The jocks are all braindead dickheads and the cheerleaders are big-titted bitches who we aren't too disappointed to lose. Did you have sex? Then you can fucking die! Did you drink alcohol? Then you can fucking die! Did you happen to be born with good looks? Then fuck you because you can die too you lucky cunt! However, were you not invited to those parties? Is the closest you've ever been to getting laid that time you thought you could smell your friends having sex? Do your friends treat you like a little dollop of poopy dog shit? Then congratulations because you're the lead in the franchise! It's like the geeks have written themselves an idealised world in which everything revolves around them and anyone whose ever made them feel insecure is likely to feel the naughty end of a poking knife.

Coming Out In The Cold

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Doesn't everyone just love it when it snows? Sure a few pensioners'll freeze to death... Junkies, hoboes and whores too I imagine! But at least we get to make some snowmen! I live in England where it doesn't really snow that often, the weather instead subjecting us to fifty-two weeks of over-cast bullshit a year. Even on the rare occasion that the Cloud God does choose to jizz forth his frosty joy and present us with some snow, it never lasts. Within an hour of having fun, the snow has all turned to sludge and the cars are all skidding about and killing people like a nationwide remake of Death Race but on ice. You know that joyful past time of the snowball fight? Well, if it snowed when we were in school then we'd have one of those in the playground. Harmless enough you might think except that most people tried to ensure that their chilly projectile was at its largest by filling it with rocks, broken glass and dog shit. All it took was a few flakes to hit the ground and we'd be left with an entire generation that'd be blind forever. I have no actual knowledge that could prove my upcoming statement... but if you find me somebody who has lost their sight, then I bet you that you've also brought me somebody who’s been hit in the eyes by a frozen turd.

Life's A Garden

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Does anybody even have half of an idea as to what they want to do with their lives? Beyond the fact that I'm sure that mine will end with a rusty tin-can being used to open my veins, I haven't a fucking clue. I used to think about the future and see it as a giant black hole that I was aimlessly floating towards like a giant, lost turd. These days however I feel well and truly absorbed by the grim, vortex of solitude as I spend my life trapped and alienated from whatever bullshit I should be doing.  Anyway, seems as I've fuck all planned between now and death I figured I'd catch up with something that I've been meaning to see for over a decade. There's a film called Garden State which is written, directed and starring Zach Braff that even after ten years has refused to piss off into obscurity. I remember when it came out that it seemed to get some good reviews but I had no idea that it'd still be remembered after all of this time. I've known people for longer than that whose names I've never bothered to learn so I figured there must be something about this film that must be worth a watch. Oh, and is it just me or does the title not sound like a euphemism for asking somebody how they keep their pubes? It probably is just me isn't it... Oh well.

Retro Slashing

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There was this one time that I was alone in the house when suddenly somebody burst through the front door and ran straight up the stairs. As it turned out, they desperately needed the bathroom and didn't feel the need to shut the door behind themselves. I was therefore treated to the sounds of a stranger shitting their guts out. I heard every fart, every splash and every groan. There wasn't a single element of their arse flappage that I didn't experience with crystal-clear clarity! The problem was that I was in the room directly opposite the bathroom and so, although they wouldn't have seen me on their trip in, they'd be looking right at me on their way out. The only thing worse than having a stranger run into your house and start shitting up the walls is the social awkwardness afterwards and so I started to panic. I decided to try and shut myself in so that I'd be hidden from view, however, because my door is annoyingly creaky, I had to time my actions to the sound of their... noises. Do you ever have those moments where you look at your own life and wonder “what the fuck has gone wrong?” Hiding from a stranger as they filled the house with the stench of their own anus was certainly one for me.

Busting My Ghostly Cherry

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Personally, I don't believe in the supernatural because I'm both a grown up and not a complete fucking idiot. I'd hate to offend people by saying that everybody who claims to have seen a ghost is stupid as that's clearly not true... some of them are obviously just full of shit. When I was a teenager, I claimed that I was visited by ghosts every night, however that wasn't so much true as it was me desperately trying to explain away the ectoplasm that was splattered around my room. To be honest, I'm not even sure if I like the idea of being able to return to this world once I've snuffed it. On the one hand it'd be nice to believe that there was something more than this miserable life, but then on the other I'm not too keen on the idea of being watched in the shower by an invisible gang of dead perverts. Presumably, being a ghost is just like having invisibility as a superpower so, if there was any truth to this bollocks, then there'd be a shit load more hauntings in female changing rooms than seem to go reported. In fact, I like to imagine that Angelina Jolie wouldn't be an actress anymore either as she'd be too busy being possessed by beings that insist she spend the bulk of her day frigging herself off in front of a mirror... I think the key words in that last sentence were “I like to imagine”.

Getting Carried Away

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When I was younger, one of my best friends lived next to an empty house which we'd all been told was haunted. Out of everybody who knew about it though, only one boy claimed to have seen the ghost and even then, we knew he was full of crap. He was younger than us and clearly his brain hadn't quite found that sweet spot of being imaginative and yet still believable, because his description of what he'd seen was complete fucking bollocks. He said the ghost was of a giant that was also a witch and that it had sharp teeth and it could fly and it had claws and it had four arms and nine legs and blah, blah, fucking blah. Basically, he used the word “and” so much that it was obvious he'd gotten carried away on the enthusiasm of his own bullshit. Have you read the description of the Devil in the Bible? It's basically the same deal! When I was a kid, we got the good book given to us for free and so naturally the section on the anti-Christ was the only bit I bothered with. Anyway, he sounded equally as stupid with the same mix of imagination and lack of believability. The Devil has twelve horns and fire in his eyes and three tails and balls the size of the moon and a tongue like a Whales dick and YES- I GET THE POINT. HE'S A FUCKING MONSTER!  Anyway, so to summarise, I guess that's probably what I thought about The Place Beyond The Pines...

Defending Yourself From Nutters

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I was talking to a friend a little while ago about horror films and we seemed to have a differing opinion on what frightened us the most. He was afraid of ghosts because he wouldn't know how to defend himself from one whereas I'm afraid of intruders because I'm a grown up and so I know which of the two really exist. I keep a baseball bat next to my bed and believe me I have no intention of using it to play fucking sports with. It's there for one simple reason and that is to defend myself from some knobhead who might break into my room and attempt to steal my possessions or touch my winkle or whatever. Nor by the way will I be using it to try and cripple the bastard by slamming it into their legs. If I find that somebody has broken in then I'm not taking any risks and so will be going exclusively for the head and bollocks. Not to sound paranoid but I essentially sleep next to a piece of wood that I'm fully prepared to kill somebody with. I'm sure the reality would be that I'd freeze with fear and just piss myself but, you know... A boy can dream.

In Darkness I Listen

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Sin City was the first 18 certificate film that I managed to sneak in to the cinema to see and it blew my sixteen year old head clean off. I thought everything about it was fucking amazing. It probably helped that I'd already been converted from the trailer alone, but still. I don't know if you remember it but I'd say that it is possibly my favourite trailer of all time. Have you not got a favourite trailer? Ha- get a life! I bet you've not even spent time writing up a list of your top 100 films of all time have you? Well, fuck it because I have and Sin City is sitting very comfortably in my top ten ever. In case it's not obvious, I am of course fucking single. Anyway, so before I'd even seen the film, I went out and bought the graphic novels which were also great because not only were they cool and violent but they also had pictures of tits in them. What more could a teenage boy want! Pretty much as soon as the first film was released, they promised us a sequel and I couldn't wait for it... but I had to. Nine long fucking years it's been since Sin City and only now are we getting the follow up film.  So much as changed... I've gone from being a cynical world hating teenager to being a cynical world hating twenty-something. Anyway, it's here now- let’s hope it was worth the fucking wait.

Whatever Floats Your Boat

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I think that a persons obsessions tells you a lot about who they are. Are you obsessed with football, fashion or kiddie porn? Meh... Then fuck it- we probably wouldn't get along. For me it has to be films with one particular highlight of my life being the year I spent alone watching three or four of them a night... anything to break up the crying and wanking I suppose. Anyway, during this time I basically face planted the world of cinema and learned as much shit as I could to help distract me from the great depression that is my life. As a result I learnt about a chap called Werner Herzog whose bleak outlook made my own darkness look like a warm puddle of piss in a vast ocean of grim. To be frank, I think that the guy is a fucking genius. For anybody unaware of who he is, I'll explain a bit more in a second but to set him up I have a little quote. You know the sheer beauty of the exotic jungle? Well, during the making of his film Fitzcarraldo, Herzog saw it a little differently, “Of course, there's a lot of misery. But it is the same misery that is all around us. The trees here are in misery, and the birds are in misery. I don't think they- they sing. They just screech in pain.” There is nothing that I want more than for Herzog to develop a second career as a zoo tour guide. Can you imagine it? “The Lion is suffering in his rusty man-made cage while the Kangaroo hops about with an ecstatic insanity... And the Orang-utan? Well he just stares into the abyss like a great ginger cunt”. Ah... A boy can dream.

Welcome To The Jungle

As I write this right now, we're at that time of year in Britain when the sun decides to briefly pop out. It's not fun though. I hate it! We only get about four days of summer a year and by day two I'm massively pissed off by it. I can deal with the cold by just putting on more layers but when it's hot, we're fucked! What am I meant to do to cool down? Ideally I'd be walking around with my balls out, ice-packs strapped to my head and my cock windmilling around as I attempt to create any form of breeze. What did you do on your one week of summer? Did you take the kids to the zoo? Or maybe lie out in your garden and read the latest piece of shit book that all the thick people have been raving about? Well fuck that because I had better plans. I stayed in doors, I closed the curtains and I forced my hungover friend to watch Rambo with me as he lay half dead on the sofa. Bring on the fucking rain, I say. Bring on the fucking misery.

The Ones On Who You Can Depend?

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For me, my true family are my friends. These are the people that I spend my time with by choice and not just because it's our dribbling Grandpa's last wish before he does us all a favour and kicks the bucket. Friends might be there when you're in trouble, but the real sign of closeness comes when a computer game causes you to engage in verbal abuse and nobody really cares. I had one friend tell me that he hoped that I'd die in real life and I told another to take his ugly tits and fuck right off. There was this one time when I accidentally went running down a sand dune at about two o'clock in the morning and, due to a combination of drink and gravity, I got carried away. Within seconds I was practically vertical and travelling at about two hundred miles an hour before the obvious happened and I began to fly. Tripping, I found myself hurtling headfirst into the darkness, using only my face to soften the fall and then sliding down the remainder of the way on my chest... What a knobhead! At the top of the dune were my friends who were clearly worried for my life. As I lay still at the bottom, I could hear two things from them... the first was their calls to make sure I was okay or at the very least still alive. The second was their attempts to breathe inbetween the mad fits of hysterical laughter having just witnessed my pretty decent impression of a sack of shit.

Crashing The Party

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I don't like sports, however that's not to say I have anything against sports movies- so long as they do something more inventive than spunk out the usual shit about being an underdog. Despite the obvious appeal of watching Stallone get his face punched in, I'm not a huge fan of Rocky however I'm certainly willing to turn my back on anybody that doesn't love Raging Bull. Of all the sports to have films about them, it seems like boxing is the most popular which I suppose is simply due to the dramatic ways in which people can get their mush fucked up. I thankfully haven't been exposed to that much crap but I did see Goal a little while ago and obviously hated it. Like football itself, I guess I just found it hard to feel much tension over some smug little shits ability to use his over-valued trotters to nudge a ball into a net. Obviously that's not a blanket rule and I'd always have an open mind but the general thing seems to be that sports films are better when they're about the player and not the game. With this in mind and considering what I said before, I'm surprised there hasn't been more films about racing cars. Are they even called 'racing cars'? Because when I read that back just then, it sounded like it was written by a child with learning difficulties... Fuck it- they're cars and they race so I'm not wrong to say it. Anyway, I'm surprised there haven't been more films about racing cars because they can have the same guff around them in terms of story but it's broken up by some high speed chases. I wouldn't ever watch F1 by choice but in terms of movies, I can't see anything unappealing about interesting characters being blasted around a track in a fuck off car that's using a rocket as a butt plug. 

Caesar Lead Salad

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The fact that any of us even exist is such a miracle that it's impossible to fully comprehend. Think of how hard it can be to find somebody to bonk off with and then remember that most of the time you really don't want it to result in the creation of a little baby brat. Think of how many people needed to meet and screw and then get pregnant at that exact time for you to be here right now. The exact combination of people doing an exact thing has been happening since the dawn of time and it's only because of all those coincidences that we're here right now. Amazing. Bearing all this in mind, you might therefore expect life to be a little less fucking shit than it actually is. As a whole, I am not a fan of people and really don't like the world that we live in. I do however love movies about the apocalypse which I genuinely do see as being a kind of wish-fulfilment thing. Usually in these movies, most of humanity has been wiped out which is fine by me because most people are knobheads anyway. Also, the survivors are now all on a comfortably even playing field- none of this ‘I'm richer than you’ or ‘your partner is uglier than mine’ bullshit. During the apocalypse, whether you're a success or a failure won't be dictated by the whimsical fucking chances that society may or may not present you with. It'll be judged on who’s got the pointiest stick and who’s willing to eat a dead person’s face. Meh... fucking fine by me.

Who Will We Become?

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Who the fuck ever knows what they want to do with their lives? Obviously I know what I'd like to do but, unless you happen to know of a private island that treats its bloggers to blowjobs then I guess I'll have to head back to the drawing board. How To Train Your Dragon 2 is all about this train of thought, with the lead character ‘Hiccup’ also struggling to find his place in the world. Having said that, it is interesting to see just how his situation differs to mine. When I was unemployed, my Mum genuinely suggested that I become an escort for lonely old women whilst a close friend actually recommended that I start “performing” for cash on a webcam. Both Hiccup and I are at a point in our lives where we just feel a bit directionless however at no point here does this film present him with the only two choices that I had. Will he fuck the hell out of some ageing, wrinkled tarts or will he wank himself stupid for some dirty old men? No... he'll just hang out with his dragon and explore a fantasy land until he figures it all out. What a prick!

Stopping The Bleeding

Maybe it's a stereotype but it always seems to me like the Americans are so proud of their leaders and.. I'm not sure why. As a young English chap I couldn't give two solitary fucks about the people in charge over here as, since my birth, our Prime Ministers have all been reptiles from the planet Cunt. Oh, and the less said about the monarchy the better. It's not that I don't like the Queen as a person because, beyond being the frowny looking bitch on my money, I don't really know her. It's just that as a matter of principle, I'd much prefer to string her up from a lamp post like a wrinkled, German piñata and beat the bullshit blue blood out of her before I consider myself one of her loyal subjects. I don't mind our national anthem “God Save the Queen”, but that's only because there's no such thing as God and so I'm basically just singing, “Fuck it, she's on her own”. America however does appear to properly idolise its presidents as though they don't seem to realise that virtually every single politician is a selfish, greedy, cock wart. Having said that, I might call the Queen a scrounging, work shy twat and feel nothing but the yanks have a bad habit of taking a gun and blowing their leaders’ fucking brains out... so who can know how they really feel!?

He Stole My Face

When I was about thirteen years old, my class went on a school trip to see a musical stage production of Macbeth because firstly, we were studying it and secondly, the teachers hadn't realised that this version was a musical. To quickly review the show several years later... it was as fucking brilliantly shite as you might imagine. Anyway, when it came to the break or perhaps more likely as the show went on I thought I'd treat myself to at least some enjoyment by waltzing off and going for a piss. When in the toilets though, I heard people talking towards me and muttering and so after double checking that I hadn't prematurely and keenly got my knob out I turned to see what the problem was. In the corner there was a gang of lads from a different school that had also taken refuge from the play here and who were all kind of huddled together and looking at me. As it turned out and as they subsequently informed me, I looked just like a mate of theirs who I presumed must be a pretty good looking chap. The extent of our similarity was kind of confusing them as though he'd had a brother that he'd never told them about. Anyway, before we could end our brief encounter so that I could get on with my pissing, the friend in question just happened to pop in too and fuck me, they weren't wrong. Like- I swear to God that looking at this guy was like just looking at myself in a mirror. I was shocked. Admittedly he was shorter and fat, so it was more like looking at myself in a circus mirror but his mates did certainly still have a point. Anyway, that's basically all that happened to me and is I suppose the end of the story. I managed to enjoy my cheeky slash and then get back to the play although now with the added comfort of knowing that for the rest of my life I'd definitely be more attractive that at least one other human on this planet. Gutted for him.

Fight Your Guts Out

If you were to slice open my veins, I swear to God I'd bleed out cheese. When my Mum left, I suddenly lost a shit-load of weight and for the first time in my life I was actually skinny. Not because I wasn't eating by the way, but because suddenly I was responsible for whatever shit I wanted to stuff into my greedy face. As it turns out, I pretty exclusively love meat, bread and not much else. It took me a few months to realise that I'd accidentally put myself on the Atkins Diet and was probably one spoonful of mayo away from a full cardiac arrest. In a brief attempt to remain alive, I therefore decided to go for a jog which to my surprise started off quite well. In fact it was so easy that for a split second I thought that I might actually be a runner and it'd just taken me this long to try it and realise. It didn't last... by the second minute, I was basically just dragging myself along the pavement unable to breathe and using what little energy I had left to try and resist the urge to puke out my fucking lungs. Oh, and none of that is counting the time I went so long without eating fruit that my lips started to fall off and I became the first non-pirate ever to possibly catch scurvy. To reiterate, I might not be fat but I am not a fit or healthy person.