My visit to Failmouth

After an intense skiing session in Austria, I think I expected too much of England when coming back. It is apparent that Austrians have more efficiency than Jason Vorhees in a crowd full of young adults, whereas upon arrival to the reception desk in Falmouth things were different.

          The room was actually full of people my age, so one might have assumed that me coming in with my mother would only be joining such people, yet after an awkward 2 seconds of staring at the reception guy (I was expecting him to greet me) I said I was here for the open day. Another few seconds passed as he looked at me like I was completely retarded, from which he decided to correct me with “the interview?” Well yes. Interview slash open day.

          These strange awkward occurrences happened a lot more throughout the day. Soon after I explained I was there for the open day SLASH INTERVIEW, he pointed to a form on the desk from which I had to sign in. He pointed with his pen and in turn, I took this as a cue to take his pen and sign with it. Although it turned out there was already a pen on the sign in form. We looked at each other with a short glimpse of hatred. I saw deceit, he saw stupidity. I quickly signed the form and waited in the reception area for 15 minutes.

          Our group of about 15 were exported to a blank room resembling that of a gas chamber with a whiteboard. Inside was the tutor/teacher/lecturer/presenter/female with blond hair and thus the awkward silence ensued. Trivial questions were asked until the time to present the presentation started. I was the only person in the room wearing informal shoes, who had no pen or paper and no essay we were meant to bring. I sat at a remote length from most people, the closest person next to me I named, in my head, Hugh Laurie. Because we wore a suit. And was tall. And had glasses.

          We were set the task of writing a newpaper introduction for a particular newspaper given to our group. Needless to say, I think we did pretty well in our group and came up with a convincing headline. Whereas a group of 4 girls came up with a headline which I KNOW everybody was thinking, sounded EXACTLY like a rape story, rather than the Business Secretary having custard thrown at him. (That was the topic, by the way)

          Some guy I met during this exercise pointed out that the guy who looked like Hugh Laurie (Yet looked nothing like him) had grey hair. Which he did. It was SO distracting, to the point I missed most of what the woman was telling us.

          We then had a more than comfortable hour and a half for lunch and considering I had no money, it made it even more... Comfortable.

          The interviews were done in groups. I was put with Hugh Laurie, some guy that resembled Jack Black with curly hair and the most normal looking girl I have ever seen. The interview went pretty well, apart from half way in, where I got a really itchy crotch and considering that there were only 5 people in the room, it was extremely difficult to satisfy the itch.

          Nevertheless I think it went pretty well.
My mother tried to talk to me for about an hour on the way back, but all I could think about were Transformers destroying all the cars on the motorway, so I didn't really listen to her much either.

Response to "Why I Want a Wife" by Judy Syfers

This is basically an English essay we had to do in response to this bullshit article
http://www.verge.demon.co.uk/kerb/wantwife.htm

Anyway, we had to take on the role of some tabloid newspaper and share out thoughts. I took on the role of Alpha male "Donovan Steroids" a character I built up during this response...

STFU magazine

After reading the article by Syfers I vomited through my hands. I could not contain the pure anger that I felt. In my blaze of fury I swept the article in to the plastic bottle recycling bin and wrote about it on my blog

"How dare she! How dare this generalizing, whining, stupid bitch just assume all of these things! As a toned, alpha male I come how every night and enjoy my wife's company. We cook, we sing, we laugh, we dance and then make love like powerful eagles. My wife and I could not be anymore happier with our relationship.

Sure, we take on the traditional role of me going to work, writing articles and lifting heavy weights while she stays at home. But has this old fashioned excuse for a woman ever heard of a healthy relationship? My wife and I never argue, at best we debate passionately over botany.

Syfers article is nothing more than an old, disregarded complaint to society. No one cares what she has to say because it is so horrifically irrelevant to everyone. As N-Dubz once said "Times they are a changing". Women feel better about themselves and have a lot more power! Think about who won 'Miss USA' beauty pageant? That's right. A woman.

For the readers at home I quote one of her actual lines from this atrocity of literature.

"I want a wife who cooks the meals, a wife who is a good cook."

How dare she even write anything like that. It hit me like a thunderbolt atop Mount Everest. The words dissolved on the page in an endless, animal bleat. Nothing mattered in my life apart from this sentence. It tied me down and force fed me it's bullshit.

If there is one thing I won't tolerate, it's saying men can't cook. I LOVE cooking. My wife says I'm not not a bad cook, and to me, that spells good.

I therefore conclude that this woman. This insignificant limescale on society is undeniably wrong.

I'm going to relieve the stress and go work on my delts.


DONOVAN STEROIDS.

I think I just shat on a labrador.

As I sat on the white basin of water that was soon to collect the departing amorphous mess coming from my large intestine, I reached for customary toilet paper. At first I thought "Hmm, different toilet paper". It was soft to the touch, like a velvet palm tree. I sat and thought, this can only be but the demonic works of such a large cooperate brand like Andrex. I scanned the toilet roll packet next to my toilet and thus it was revealed. Handy toilet rolls and that adorable Labrador puppy.

Soon after this discovery, I began to wipe the pallet clean and respectively, flushed. Yet the thought of the Labador hindered my progress on the way to the shower. Why Andrex? Why must you associate cute puppy dogs with SHIT? That's got to be the most sick mascot I've ever seen. I wonder if they thought putting in a chocolate Labrador as their mascot would be too inappropriate? More to the point, why any objectively cute animal should be associated with human excrement is beyond me. Is it something to do with it being soft? If so, do you want me to feel the sensation of wiping my arse with Labrador fur? Is that the intended effect?

I quickly glanced at the puppy on the packaging, gazing infinitely at me as if to say "I didn't want this job. I was prostituted in to this business by the cooperate pimp"

So I said "Fuck you, get some counselling" and showered my toned body.

On an unrelated note, here's a picture of a sad black man. I like to think that the Andrex puppy was his.

"Let's get the creative juices flowing" No need to be so forward about it.

"Lets get the creative juices flowing"

Hang on... There is something inherently odd about this particular saying.
Like it means something else.

Shouldn't this be banned from being used in schools?

Or is that my particular tendency to find sexual puns within every sentence ever said by anyone? Does placing a question mark after every sentence make me look like a philosopher?

To be honest, it sounds like something that would be found in a sex education video or what scientists would say before sex. Not that I would know how scientists talk dirty. Perhaps they'd say something like this...

 "You make me release endorphins into my blood from the pituitary gland and into the spinal cord and brain from my hypothalamic neurons."

I don't know about you, but that's fucking sexy. If that doesn't get you turned on, I have no objection for you to continue watching your beastiality videos. But let's not talk animalia. I suppose what I'm trying to say is this, if Baa Baa Black sheep was comdemned for having racist connotations, surely we can find many of these innuendos and stuff in other stuff? To be honest, it's the way you see it, but come on. Look at that for a title. "Creative juices".

Alright. Whatever. It's just me.

Like my status you shit!

Let us consider this status. "Some people really need to get lives. Making me so angry right now"

A seemingly harmless status. Yet this does not need to be developed any further. It tends to be the case that the social etiquette of people on Facebook is to instantaneously like any status they agree with, infact there are probably some people that are frothing at the mouth spamming refresh and liking every status they can relate to with their fake friends probably, in order to make more fake friends.

The reason I say fake friends is because surely it is impossible for one human being to possibly sustain a friendship or companionship with over 500 people? Which may again be our friend mouth frother, furiously masturbating over his friend count.

Yet this is still all relevant to my main point.

It's not even subtle attention seeking, it is full on, display to over 500 people such a vague, normal thought.
Upon further analysis it begs the question why is it so vague? Why do you want people to reply? Do have have some kind of insecurity problem? Is it in order to preserve these particular "people"? Or, most likely, to leave it open for people to reply back something like this

"I know, there are some foul shits out there."

The reason I make these points is because it is such primal, useless conversation. I mean, sure it is good to post a status on your thoughts from time to time, but why does it have to be so obviously aimed at getting people to agree with your problems? Why must we be subjected to your problems?

Well done, you've slightly brung my day down with your useless drivel.

Facebook is a total mindfuck anyway. Have you tried to delete your account before? Before making your apparently life threatening decision to quit and completely lose all ability to socialize and live, it brings up pictures of tagged pictures including you and your friends to try and coax you to stay.

More often than not, it's just a picture of your arm or one of those pictures of loads of cartoon characters with your named tagged under "Mentally unstable" or something. Either way, it's a little pathetic! Like a small turd. Or an ostrich with one leg.

Word.