The 36 Print

2012-02-12T11:26:00.001-08:00

Here we go, the big question… What are the rules?

Seriously guys, can we just be totally clear about this. I have recreantly come to terms with the concept of playing hard to get. Some women like to pretend they aren’t interested or haven’t noticed you exist when really they are/have. Obviously issue number one here ladies is that by confusing the line between ‘try harder lover boy’ and ‘fuck off creep’ your opening yourself up for a world of lechery. This isn’t the worst case scenario because after all there is an undo button. Just say ‘fuck off creep’ out loud, directly into the face of said creep.

The problems I have had with ‘playing hard to get’ is that, actually I consider the act of hitting on someone not only humiliating but incredibly nerve racking. There is nothing more destructive to your sense of self worth then being gunned down. NOTHING. So if I’ve actually dragged the nerve to start a conversation with you from the pit of my stomach, and you give the impression you’re not interested I am going to get as far from that awkward scenario as possible.

ONE MORE THING, if you don’t seem interested or play hard to get, I will respect your decision (it being right) that I’m a god-awful specimen of a human and leave you alone. So what you have done, woman kind, is invent a flirtatious tactic that filters out anyone who considers you to be intimatingly attractive, anyone with respect for your opinions and anyone who trusts implicitly what you say.

This is why men believe chicks dig assholes. All men (including the assholes) think you’re actually attracted to letchy dick bags with more STDs the brain cells. Any man who waits three days before calling you back after getting your number is doing so because he’s open to the idea that he could get a better number in three days? Any guy who is mysterious is doing so because lacks any major life experience from which to draw proper emotions. You always complain that all men are assholes, and yet you filter own the quiet, the paranoid, the thoughtful, the respectful and the intelligent. No wonder every dick that enters you does so as the conclusion of a evil scheme, you turned down someone who spent all his time working, studying, mastering an actual talent and had none spare to go to the gym and chug protein shakes.

All women, the following are facts.

1, You are more likely to pick up a better quality of guy by blindly picking one in the street and telling him that you would like to get to know him then you ever will in a bar or club

2, A man is less likely to turn down woman then a woman is to turn down a man. So you put your ego on your fucking sleeve and see how it feels

3, I think therefore I am…

…alone.

2012-02-02T10:55:00.000-08:00

Soooo…

How’s it going world? No news? Then I’ll talk I suppose… I’ve gone a whole month with out getting myself violently assaulted, almost, I was punched in the face by two different women within the space of 30 seconds. But they were aiming for each other.

Aaaaaand

I was bitchslapped by a friend so hard my jaw doesn’t close, but I think that was a joke. But other then those two incidents I have completely avoided pushing people to the point of violent outburst. I think I’ve made a break through in Chris and Human relations. Before, I was (as I still am) an alien, amongst strange apes and their stranger concepts, but as an alien race I found myself immediately engaged in diplomatic debate. Simply talking to a human being felt like I was having to explain and apologise to them, but received a similar response to an urban fox trying to explain that it wasn’t him who tore open the recycling bin to eat the left over chicken, but in fact a ordinary human drunk (Saw a man do it).

My new plan is simply to shut up. Don’t try to explain why you’re doing anything your doing; let them think you’re strange. It so much easier then trying to explain that actually just because they way you do something isn’t normal doesn’t mean it’s not just as, (if not more) practical, or at the very least more fun.

The draw back to this plan is that there comes a point at which I feel I have taken a vast amount of shit from total fucking strangers, all of whom have no idea that their every interaction with me is a patronising exercise in self humiliation. If the moron in question has proven beyond reasonable doubt that they don’t deserve to be part of a rational conversation (let alone earth) AND The four hours of constant irrelevant noise has driven me to the very cusp of a hemmorrhage then I come across crazy, because suddenly I’ve had to much bollockary and I’m trying to cram four hours of ‘why you shouldn’t vote’ into a sentence, Which always comes out sounding more like BURN IN HELL, BURN IN HELL, BURN IN HELL

But like I said. I’m better.... then I was... Marginlly

:D

2011-12-04T08:43:00.000-08:00

Bald women scare me. I wasn’t at all aware of how I would react to a totally bald woman (having NEVER seen one) but a few months, maybe almost a year back I went to an epic comic/anime expose in London. When I got the tickets my plan was to get a hundred copies of Witch Doctor and some business cards printed and throw them at the crowd in an attempt to raise some awareness of the 36 print. In the end the 36 print wasn’t launched until December and the comics never got printed. This was due to the fairly shocking fall out of C-Day.

So I went any way, no place to crash in the capital and a mind that was at that moment in time ready to drink itself to death. 1 Bottle of Jim Beam Black on the train, 3 pints of Guinness with random’s in pub, then the exposé. I was slaughtered; I met some random cosplay folk and lured them into the pub away from the swarm of fat men dressed as various doctor whose. Long story short I executed a flawless plan to not only get myself someplace warm to sleep, but also to achieve something far greater. Something I will forever lord over and in the face of any anime fan in the world. I took ‘Riza Hawkeye’ back to her youth hostel and did everything Roy Mustang never had the balls to do. 12 hours and utter filth later and she’s got a train to catch. As is the right of any man with whom an attractive girl is dumb enough to sleep with, I watched her get dressed.

Apparently this is common with people who cosplay a lot, because they where a lot of wigs, they shave their heads… my reaction was not dignified, and no lie on earth would have covered the weird noise I made. It was like a mouse trying to scream its way out of a bagpipe. I froze, waited for her to leave without exchanging numbers and then got my own train in the opposite direction.

The question is, is it okay to ask if someone’s wearing a wig before you sleep with them, or is this another hazard of the sex world societies rules prevent me from avoiding in the future. Along with ‘Is your abusive boyfriend bigger then me’, ‘it smells a little funny, I don’t really mind, but if you have an STD I’d like to know’ and ‘are you sure your 23, I mean, you looked 23 in the pub, but now you look like 12?…’. it is now a question social etiquette prevents anyone from asking.

Life is a less scary place if you never ever have sex with anyone for any reason.

Fact.

2011-11-14T10:03:00.001-08:00

This is not a funny post. If your looking for another amusing account of fun and games with Mary Jane and Jim Beam. Fuck off, there’s more to me then the continuous emotional/chemical car crash I present as a front.

I have been living in Cardiff for two months now. And making friends as an adult is not easy. I never realised how special the people I care for are, my friends were my family for so long, they were my housemates, my drinking partners, the pillars of my emotional well being, the source of my happiness and the validation that I wasn’t a worthless piece of shit like all the other people. It was a privilege to be a continued part of my friend’s lives.

A part of life is moving on, my idols are still there for me, they’re just elsewhere, other lives in other places, happy little gods hiding among crowds of everyday people.

So I’ve started making friends, but it’s like getting a new dog after an old one dies. No one is special, they’re all thick as shit, and they all have friends and have no need for another. I have met people I like; I am not alone in this city, but no one I love, I want the joy back, and I don’t see it happening

I apologise, this is the first time I’ve posted a blog about me and not the things I’ve done. It wasn’t funny, but I’m not in a funny mood.

Make friends throughout your life, never turn down the chance to meet new people, you never know, they might not be a total cunt.

And that’s the best we can hope for

2011-10-24T15:07:00.000-07:00

For about twelve hours last month I owned a lamp that turned on and off when you clap. AMAZING! I know, welcome to the future. That aside, here is the story of how I unravelled time and space…

I started my meditation by turning off all my lights and lying down on the floor. Then I proceeded to consume hallucinogens and attempted to slide into a dream state. This didn’t work so I just thought a little bit about how we as people understand time. It was after a few minutes of tranquil isolation the revelation that we misunderstand times passing came to me. My theory being that forwards and backwards are the opposite directions in time then we think they are. If we are stationary and time is ‘passing’ it would like be being on a train platform and having a train pass by. You appear to be travelling from the front to the back. I began to think VERY hard about this.

As I focused on the darkness now without a thought in my head I could feel myself aging, cells dying, hair grown, not sped up, just with greater awareness then usual. By focusing on the time I was able to slow it by starring through my eyelids and the blackness beyond at a certain point. Around that point time was normal but I had achieved stasis (I just knew it). I over a period of what was probably years I mastered speeding up the passage of time and began experimenting with projecting my body into the future. I knew deep down I was off my tiny face but was enjoying delving deep into the fantasy.

My third theory was that the only reason I couldn’t jump forwards in time was because the floor on which I lay was connecting me to this point in time. I had been lying on the floor motionless for so long now that clambering shaking and grinning with my own sense of self-awsome-ocity took some time. I stood in my room. I used my understanding of time and space and its every twitching metric moment to gather together the energy from the universe itself. I prepared to jump and jump forward in time at once

I jumped up and concentrated harder then I though tiny human minds could.

I landed and for a split send (in which I opened my eyes to the darkness) nothing happened

Apparently the noise I made as I landed on the wooden floor was very similar to that of a clap. Eyes wide and maladjusted for such brightness. Mind scrambling in torment. I reeled like a wounded epileptic and collapsed in shock.

I cant look at my lamp any more, it lives in a cupboard a long way away.

The end, or beginning, depending on which way time really goes…

2011-10-21T11:58:00.000-07:00

"Chasing dreams, scream at screens and cofee beans"

I went to a job interview today, dressed in a badly ironed shirt and jeans. When I arrived at the telesales office expecting to be turned away for quite clearly not giving a shit I found seven of the most dishevelled looking goblins dragging hairy worm ridden ass across the reception floor. I have realised what competitive job hunting entails. Eight people, fighting furiously to remain on the doll. For my personal reasons my free time is spent running this site and looking for apprentiships s in film and graphics. My free time is integral to any chances of ever securing a job that might further my career as an artist. To the mongs (or as I discovered EXPERT BENEFIT MUNCHERS) the doll is about satisfying a lust for Jeremy Kyle and doing as little work as possible. I know it seems hypocritical to hate JSA scrounging pond life while claiming benefits, but I easily work longer hours then any of my full time employed friends, I just don’t get paid for it (hobby, obsession, passion, stones cast into the void call it what you will).

Any way, I quickly realised that out of me (smelling like whiskey and sweat) and my hooded fag stain yellow competitors (I believe they have a nutritional deficiency caused by a diet of L&B and Greggs, not that they were Asian) the sensible decision was to hire me. Terrified of the implications of a full time job that pays a whole ten pounds a month more then JSA I got competitive. Surely me, a sentient being could out fox some monkeys, so I quickly developed the most unnerving twitch I could and starred like a coke head deep into the eyes of my prospective employer. The theory being he would rather hire a useless chimp then a lunatic. This coupled with a few other factors I feel secured my lack of a follow up interview.

When asked what my biggest weakness was I answered simply that I was made in gods image and therefore flawless. RELIGIOUS CRAZY

When asked why I wanted to work for the company I said because I LOVE TELESALES. IT’S WHAT GETS ME UP IN THE MORNING

He laughed

I very seriously told him not to laugh at me

My phone rang, I clicked my finger in his face and gave a quick hush “Sorry, This could be about the job I wanted” then I faked a three minute conversation with a friend and hung up.

When I left I very obviously took the bic from his desk and put it in my pocket. That was mostly because I think a good bic is like a friend. BICS ARE AMAZING

2011-10-08T10:02:00.000-07:00

 THE WOBBELY TABLE 

I haven’t blogged in a very long time, what with moving to Cardiff and back to comparative normality. My blogging problems are mostly that now I’m back living around people who read my blog I can never be to sure whether or not its right to share the crazier of happening. There is however a loose end I never tied up… The wobbly table…

I decided that if I was going to wreck and run on an emotionally damaged human for sport it was more humane to target the one who was already bat shit mental. My stalker. The part of this harrowing tale my friends know is as follows, I had a stalker, she was a fifteen year old girl who went to a party at a friend’s house where I used to live (and now fear). She developed a thing for me; I shot her down like any normal person would. She then began to stalk me, leaving notes and messages at my work, on my phone and on the bus. Each message signed off with the number of days left before she turned 16 (legal). So there’s the crazy I thought I’d have to out crazy. My theory being that if I show weakness she’ll eat my skin, so I have to show her she’s in too deep. The plan was simple, take one steak knife, wrap it in cling film and present it to her on the bus and tell her its of paramount importance she destroy it.

I think my first mistake was to underestimate her absolute devotion to psychosis. I mean she is committed to getting committed. She continued to follow me for weeks, occasionally approaching me when I was alone carrying the knife and telling me it’s safe. I told her we could never be seen together, what with the knife being evidence. THIS SEEMED LIKE A GOOD LIE.

-I have reservations about writing this next section-

-If you are family, do not read on-

The part of the story nobody knows, and I think I’ve only recently come to terms with was that on my way home from a pub in town called Shrewton, I was met, by my stalker, who while brandishing the same knife proceeded to weep uncontrollably and in all honesty scarred the living shit out of me. In blind panic, and knowing I was moving to Cardiff in just under a week I told her I liked her, it was the age difference that put me off…   She had turned 16 a few days before.

The events that followed haunt me to this day. It’s not so much the knife, the threats, the constant weeping or the act I had to commit to prolong my life but that she filmed the entire thing on a baby pink blackberry.

One day, this will come back to destroy me…

I’m sorry this isn’t funny. Again! But I sort of felt like telling you why my exploration in the world of these crazies has taken a bit of a slower approach recreantly.

Over and out.

2011-09-08T05:18:00.000-07:00

"You will remember where you were when The 36 Print went live for the rest of your life"

-I do say so myself

Massive month in my books, haven’t had the time to write a post since way back. I finished working at ArtCare in Salisbury in mid August (Not a great start) but then I decide to move to the big city, do the whole struggling artist living off cocktails and their waitresses thing for a spell so I went house hunting. I saw eight houses in Cardiff in one day, every single one was a woodlouse infested crap shack I wouldn't want to set foot again. Then I found this crazy awesome little room in a house share...      I know it’s not my usual scene, pleasant folk and stable household but if I'm going to get this site of the ground I need to start less fires, and use less metaphors and start less fires.

So I moved house at the start of September which by coincidence was the launch date for The 36 Print and if you haven’t checked it out you should (www.the36print.co.uk). Despite its occasional teething troubles I love it, and keep throwing business cards at every nerd in Wales (that’s my business plan).

Other then lugging vast quantities of art supplies across the country nothing has happened, OTHER THEN THE 36 LAUNCH! Seriously it’s sick

The A36 is updated Monday and Friday

Last Resort is updated on Wednesday

And we have daily content from Lula vision. Get excited, get high, and lie down. I COMMAND IT

2011-07-06T14:06:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had one of those weeks where every day feels to take longer to grind from one end to the other, every time you get on the buss its full of weird creatures that as the journey continues to cease to end seem to mutate and deform beyond there already disgusting forms. I HATE PEOPLE! Nearly all people are hideously ugly, there’s this zit ridden blob who waddles up and sat next to me today and fucking hit on me. Now I have the common decency not to hit on people, but it is a cardinal sin (not the child molestation sort) to punch above your weight, when the second party is totally sober, and trapped between the devil and the deep scary folds of your HORRABLE FORM! 

I don’t mean to sound vein because no one knows how to hate me like I do, but Jesus Henry Christ she smelt like the thick mint cream from the middle of after eights coupled with ass sweat. I genuinely stifled a full blown puke fit and climbed straight over the three seats in front of me (over a few folk) and sat trying not to picture those postulant white headed bastards. THE HUMAN FACE SHOULD NOT BE STRETCHED SO FAT IT CAN HOUSE SO MANY SPOTS. 

2011-07-03T09:08:00.001-07:00

Life is good, and I feel like putting it in writing before I forget that for a brief time I both sober and happy. I am not misguided by the acquisition of property, the delusions of love or the weather; I am genuinely revelling in my own existence, There is war, injustice, bureaucracy and Burberry, but not here, not now. I think taking a moment to be thankful for the few merriments and Murry Mints we get is an integral part of being. Without it misery becomes status quo and we waste our time chasing happiness.  Hmm, I come across quite Christian when I blog cheerful, somewhat preachy. Its not like you shouldn’t burn down a hey barn, I’m just saying if your going to neck a fuck-tonne  of vodka and ignite that son of a bitch with roman candles you shouldn’t do it screaming into the night, bleeding from the fists and so angry you tremble like a virgin on her wedding night. Do it because the act of destruction itself is a wonderful somewhat burny spectacle, I wish I had. Not that I did. 

2011-06-15T11:20:00.000-07:00

cun·tem·plate

 [kun-tuhm-pleyt, -tem-plat·ed, -plat·ing. 

–verb (used with cunts) 

1. To look at or view with continued attention, observe or study thoughtfully the subject of cunts. 

2.  To consider thoroughly; think fully or deeply about The subject of cunts (Also Shit-cunts, Cuntery, Cunting, Worthless-cunts, Cunt-holes and Cunt-tards)

In my life I have met a multitude of people (probably more the a hundred). Admittedly most of them white and middle class but just about qualifying as people for the sake of argument) I would wager that 50% of these rodents scurry about there septic lives eating scraps and  not really getting in peoples way and in general could not be described as anything more then spineless cretins. Of the thousands of people I must have encountered I have chosen to see only about ten of them on a repeated basis. Ten people out of thousands, leaves a remainder so close to 50% it might as well be who I would consider cunts.

In my life I have been to several towns and cities and although I have hated some more then others it is fair to say I have never found one that wasn’t bile incarnate. The problem isn’t the city itself, there’s nothing particularly unsightly about a steak lying in the hot sun. It’s the smell that makes you wretch, and the maggots and the flies and the micro-organisms and the cunts and the white middle class fuck-twats shitting up the place with there existence. I think cities are like road kill, from just the right angle you can convince yourself they look fine. Tilt your head and you’re looking at the splattered remains of an urban fox spilling the dustbin turkey it just ate into a gutter.

In my life I have tried many things, I have eaten snails, I have drunk hogarden (mistake), I have known junkies and lawyers and doctors and pikeys, I have been to great European cities, I have started fights I couldn’t win, I have been wrong, I have felt shame, love, delusion and spite all at the same time, I have cut and bitten, I have admired, envied and resented, I have had sex with a woman so thin I found myself studying how the human skeleton worked, I have seen things that don’t exist and I have denied things that do. There are very few things in this world I hold dear and my tainted memories are not amongst them. I love that tiny fraction of wonderful folk. I love inevitability with which I embark upon a vomit educing bender. I love a spliff in the rain. I love the sound of Jefferson airplane. I love every woman I meet if only for a evening. I love that do or die moment when you have half a pint of black in your hand and the shit kicks off. I love the feeling you get when fear dissipates. I love the feeling of bruised bone. I love spinning the legend. I love falling down drunk. I love drinking strawberry milkshake with a hangover. I love singing till it hurts because I’m alone and its dark. There are not enough things I love, to counter balance the festering mass you all represent…

Burn in hell.

2011-05-15T03:37:00.000-07:00

I’m not telling you how the wonky table shit went. It’s too recent to be funny. Instead I will ramble.

I recently found myself in hot pursuit of happiness. Consuming, abusing and possessing everything I desired. Fleeting enjoyment, material profit and anesthetising narcotics. I found the longer I maintained a state of numb and ignorant bliss the harder it was to separate myself from the emotion. My state of mind was beginning to define me; this isn’t a confession of addiction or reliance on anything by the way. It’s just an observation I was making about the nature of happiness, like depression it destroys you. It makes you numb and makes things seem worthless, you loose sight of the things you love (Love in the sense that I admire and respect and cherish and want and need, not in more common meadows and poker dot summer dresses sense as I think we can all be quite sure that that emotion is a facade we drape over infatuation to deny to ourselves that all things end). 

            My problem is as follows, when I am happy and when I am sad I am self absorbed and self destructive. When I am neither I ridden with such numbness I lack the ambition to drag my sorry ass out of the trench I’ve dug for myself. Its like I’m in need of an epiphany, but there aren’t books about how to have an epiphany, my dealer doesn’t sell it and you can’t drink, fight, fuck, cry or smoke it. I used to think you didn’t join the human race until people accepted you, then I though you didn’t join humanity until you lost everything and realised it was worthless any way. That moment when your heart breaks and you don’t miss it, that deafening sadness makes us human. But that’s not it. I have been in search of something to fill the void that faith should fill, and all encompassing purpose that distracts me from the pursuit of happiness, the ever watching numbness or the sporadic anger. People loose themselves in art, religion and office work. But surely when we find the right answer it shouldn’t be about loosing yourself. If anything (not wanting to sound like a hippy) it should be about finding yourself. 

            Maybe the answer is to join the idiot masses. Just live as pigs in shit, because the alternative is that we wither feeling the dissatisfaction of knowing just beyond our furthest stretch is as we all wish it were, an epiphany. 

It’ll make sense; I will make it make sense, if I have to starve in the wilderness, if I have to hum with druids, if I have to drink a bottle of Jim Beam Black and punch a vicar I swear on my own sanity I will make the pieces fit.

PS: When I started typing I half expect that to turn out humorous. I apologise. 

2011-04-20T14:22:00.001-07:00

Although I said I’d start typing up extracts from my notes over the last year I have decided that I will wait until less fascinating shit is going on. There will follow a short list of wonky tables waiting to topple, but first I must explain what classifies someone as a wonky table.

A wonky table is a person who is just damaged enough to be a little wobbly, when the table wobbles everything on it looks like its going to collapse and people winch in anticipation. A chum of mine instructed me to ‘kick the leg off the wonky table’ which I think loosely translates into push a bunny boiler over the edge. Which to anyone else is probably a terrible idea, but as a man with an unhealthy interest in completely deranged woman I find it kind of hot.

Table one: Table one is a woman who a few months back commit a diabolical act against me, an act so unpleasant I was later sick. Few people know what this act was, and those who do had tears in there eyes when they heard. 

Table two: My stalker, Imagine jail bait that thinks it’s invisible if it wears a hat. She hangs around the hospital (where I work) wearing a cap and following me, she steals my pictures and she tried to steal my phone

Table three: my only male table is currently a man who as we all once did genuinely believes his first love will last forever. Like every moron who ever trod the hallowed soil of romance he has emotionally tethered himself to a whore. I don’t mean to say every woman is a whore, which is wrong. Every woman has whore potential, the ability to for no just be a fucking tart. Felt a bit bitter there…

Table four: Is a woman who inspired a bet worthy of Phillias Fog. I slept with her a while ago because she looked like Phil, my softest friend and co blogger (although he’s posted twice I think). And thus have been bet by another good chum of mine that I cannot sleep with a woman who looks like each of my male friends.  There’s a bottle of Kraken riding on it to… …soooo plan right?

Although it would be wrong to deliberately kick the leg off the table, I am tempted to see if I can whip out the table cloth without toppling the lot.

2011-04-01T12:47:00.000-07:00

“Davey you have

to be here, this

is unstable as

fuck, Beckies

house ASAP”

                                    -A text to my phone earlier this afternoon

Firstly I understand it may seem strange that someone would be calling me Davey in a text, I will not be explaining that at this time, it’s a very long and complicated story that when appreciated makes me sound like a weirdo.

Understandably I responded as I jumped on the bus (its Friday, I don’t work Fridays). And having received no response found myself powerfully intrigued. Three villages up the road I hop off and go to the house to which I have been summoned.

Now being very straight for a moment, I don’t have many friends. I can count my friends on my fingers, and none of them live within an hour of where I live. But I find it impossible not to hate new people on sight, which makes making friends very difficult. So I pretend not to hate people, integrate with one social group and then jump to other overlapping circles before spending too much time around some people, who might drive me more mental then others. But this means I attend quite a few parties, entirely populated by people I despise, and to cope with them I drink.

SIDE NOTE: I tried not being around anyone for a bit, resulted in a kind of mental breakdown, so I adopted the being around arseholes scheme

I stepped through the door, expecting ‘something unstable’ and found myself confronted by two women I’d slept with and three guys I should have known the names off. The door was shut, I was grabbed and the first intervention I’d ever attended began people I hated, and have known for less then a month started with poems and accounts of my behaviour from recent trips to the pub. People who didn’t know my real name started telling me they loved me, during the event (Only an hour and a half in) The realisation hit that I had had quite a few drunken incidents with these two women, a fact I had assumed was common knowledge. 

SECOND NOTE: Never let collage kids organise an intervention, they get emotional and loose concentration

As the screaming began I made a run for the door, the most unexplainable fight ensued. Neither party trying to hurt the other, just a cycle of restraint and release, after a few minutes I got a ground floor window open, smashed a hedge like hulk would a tank and legged it around the corner, got on the buss and went home. In under two hours all this happened. Not the strangest thing you can do in two hours but sure as hell not what was written on any of the post its dotted around by life.

-NEW TOPIC-

I apologise for the lack of posts, phils been making me a website, its not done but its at www.the36print.co.uk . and I’m working on several comics at once, so what I’ll do over the next few weeks is just copy up the demented highlights of my past year, keep you up to date

Thought about writing an anti self help guide, for people who would quite like to deconstruct the walls of their close society and live life like a drug addled moron. But then, If you package the sun, it can’t shine…

Does that make sense.

2011-02-17T09:15:00.001-08:00

The little girl who pissed herself

I was in the job centre, signing on for the last time and there was this little girl. Sweet child pikey mum, you know the sort. She asked her mum 20 times in the space of ten minutes if she should go to the loo. Her mum said no and the girl pissed herself. The mum then preceded to bollock the child in front of everyone in the job centre. So obviously, Chris Caesar voice of the pissed stained piped up and put the skank back in her place. 

   The story isn’t about how the girl pissed herself, its about how I got put in the room with the bullet proof wall on my last visit to the job centre. 

2011-02-08T09:32:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the exceptional world of me. I am a man who strives to prove that television did not ruin my life. Television prepared me for the demented world of animals into which we are all cast. My TV painted a very simple image of adult life, good vs. evil. It taught me that whether you’re a pizza eating turtle living in a sewer or a lone rider ordering gulpin’ whiskey in a whore house you don’t just take shit lying down. The juxtaposition to this wisdom is the nonsense that parents and teachers spout. Shaking hands and making friends, dropping grudges and ‘best friends best friends never never break friends’ bullshit. 

I was in a bar the other day (same one where an old man attacked me), not quite the lone ranger but enjoying a nice pint of something badly poured. When a pigeon hopped wounded into the bar. The poor one legend festering birdie clearly just wanted a cold drink, but noo. The powers that be demanded it be removed. Luckily some helpful sod had a harmonica, and so played catch the pigeon while drunks chased a pigeon. 

‘Where is he going with this?’ I hear you cry. Well let me finish.

In the pigeon catching process the pigeon became a pigeon shaped corpse. Saaaad. Suddenly chaos broke out. Scene kids throwing punches, pool cues snapping over fringes and obviously having learnt how I was meant to act in these situations by Clint Eastwood I picked up a stool and jumped in. Obviously the second someone swings furniture an arms race begins and before I could say ‘Varmit’ a cobra bottle had shattered on my head. Nothing is that kind of painfull. I lay unable to move sweating blood through my scalp sure my eyes were looking in different directions listening to an improvised catch that pigeon harmonica solo.

The moral of this story is that although I had to have my head scanned by a medical professional, this anecdote would have been rubbish without a quality ending.

Play safe kids

2011-01-29T06:40:00.000-08:00

"True story..." 

In the past twenty two years of my life I have comited a number of offenses that could have ended me in the court room. Probably going a bit 'a few good men' and being slapped in the face by a man in a wig. YOU CANT HANDLE THE TRUTH. My point is that i was phoned by a police man who asked me what happened in the pub the day the old man hit me and hurt himself. I told him, he was all like 'seriously mush' and then he phoned the old man. who like a retard told him the truth, which places the blame on him, I proved myself as a better person by not pressing charges and skipped on my merry way.

Interesting fact though, policemen do have a sence of humor, mine told me the old man got a slap on the wrist. I wish he meant it literaly...

2011-01-26T10:12:00.000-08:00

2011-01-23T09:23:00.000-08:00

This is a story about how I broke a mans wrist. Many people might already be think that this is going to be full of bravado and the such like. Its isn't, you see I broke his wrist by hitting his fist with my jaw. I shall start at the begining...

I was in a pub, as I sometimes do. While waiting to get closer to the bar (which was quite busy) the old lady infront of me turned to be and quite casualy said "If the pub hired less slavs maybe people would get served faster". My response to this was 'maybe if you didn't look like a sad face drawn on a rhino's ballsack, you'd be more aproachable, but then I supose you'd only make the same terrable first impression you just did to them. so maybe its ok that your just a sad racist old trout' (yeah, come on oscar, eat 'yo' heart out). Any way, later in the evening her hammered drunk posh old husband came out the blue and hit my face. here i went from oscar to man of steele. he left, I didn't think it was worth blogging about untill i heard he broke his wrist and went to the police.

dick.

Well it has been a quiet week...

2011-01-23T08:25:00.000-08:00

Good evening boys and girls. I do like a good Sunday evening, sat at my computer, wrapped up toasty and warm whilst the rain thuds down on the sky light.

Today, I have been processing photos, hundreds of them. I'm sick of it, watching the queue tick down about once every ten seconds. I have also cleaned the bathroom. So now my hands smell of bleach, but that's by the by.

Anyway. If you're a keen photographer (which I am), and if you prefer to shoot RAW (which I do), then you could do a lot worse than checking out RawTherapee. It's a dedicated RAW processor, incredibly powerful and (listen, this is the best bit), it's absolutely free. I've been using the alpha build all week and although it's crashed on me twice, it works smartly enough that I haven't lost any work. First time it did this I nearly cried - I am terrible at saving my work as I go), but once I'd reloaded it, everything was exactly as I left it. Or rather, how it'd left me. I went nowhere.

Obviously, it would be better if it never crashed at all, but this is an alpha build, and it could just as well have been my computer, because I do push it so. There's nothing quite like multitasking image editing to make a PC cry. Except maybe video editing, but my University proved that if you have nothing to do all week, you can get away with most things on a ten year old spec. Also, when you consider that Adobe Lightroom is about £200 standard, it's a good saving.

For those of you that are keen photographers but don't shoot RAW, why the hell not? Obviously if your using a digital compact, or any film camera, this won't be an option, but I'm talking to those of you that have an expensive DSLR, with more expensive lenses and funky-looking flash guns. I know it takes longer, but seriously - you're giving up control for an easy life, and you'll never get the best shot you can, because your camera will throw bits of it away when it saves the JPEG.

Anyway, now I have thoroughly alienated my audience, I am going to step back and go do some more processing. Hurrah!

2011-01-17T14:06:00.000-08:00

And So It Begins...

2011-01-17T12:50:00.000-08:00

My dear friend, co-contributor and confidante has recently expressed the opinion that I should blog. I should probably make it clear from the start that he was drunk at the time and thus, if nothing comes of this, I shall blame the demon drink. Albeit not my own.

In the interests of full disclosure, I will also mention that this is not my first foray in to the world of blogging. I previously wrote for a current affairs blog "The Patch". There are a number of reasons this failed. The first was the demand to write to a tight regular schedule with a tight brief (namely, international affairs). The second being that, being a factual news blog, the articles needed to be tightly sourced, which would usually mean I spent my Wednesdays reading through things like governmental policy documents and US federal fiscal reports, taking hours to write a few hundred words. Also, given that I was anxious not to stray too far into other areas - namely domestic news and politics - I usually wrote about 4 articles a week before deleting everything and starting afresh.

I can hear you now, my dear reader. "That's all well and good, but I don't care". I appriciate that, and embrace it, but the above paragraph is a warning, and one I shall spell out to ensure that even the slow ones at the back have their expectations set at an appropriate level from the off. The warning is this: I am unreliable, and I am poor at containing my self. This blog will end up being esoteric and egotistic. My posts will be for my entertainment and for my own amusement. I sincerley hope they give you enjoyment, interest, debate and disagreement. But if they do not, then please accept my apologies and move on. There is nothing more here for you.

I will also warn you that I do not believe in using 1 word when I can find 10 that will be more specific and eloquent. I would be a rubbish journalist, and the paper would break your back. Never the less, I do hope that if you stick with me, then you will get something from it. That's not a promise, by the way. Chances are you won't, but I hope you do.

By now, I imagine I have frightened those of you who wanted a bit of light entertainment, so I should probably make an attempt to tell you what this blog will be. I say attempt as I'm fairly unsure myself, but needs must. Technology is probably something that will crop up again and again, but given no-ones giving me things for free, I will not be reviewing the latest iPhone or games. But Imight talk about them, if there's something noteworthy to say. Film has been, for some years, something of a speciality, but I've never liked reviewing films in the traditional sense of the word. I also avoid the cinema as it brings back bad memories, so you're likely to get more on the art of film than whether you should go see the new "Twilight" film (I won't be, by the way).

SO this should be enough to start us off. If you've read this far, then I offer you my thanks. I will try and keep this updated on a regular (if ad-hoc) basis, so please, do return. Also, I think Chris will hit me if I don't.

2011-01-13T06:28:00.000-08:00

I probably won't post over the weekend...

I met someone who truely rendered me speachless yesturday. You know how sometimes when your talking to someone, in the back of your mind your trying to work them out. I tend to start by making great sweeping judgments based entirly on the way they dress. you know like we all say we don't but blatently do. No clues there, can't tell anything from jeans and a t shirt. So I decided to go for physical apearence, are they compensating for being a horrable person by being a bautiful person. Again pretty avrage. so I decided maybe a conversation would clear this up. So we spoke, extensivly for an hour and a bit, the usual exchange of brief histories through anicdotes and 'back when I' stories. It was about the time I told my 'I punched a sparrow' tale when I twigged. 

       I was talking to someone who had no baggage, no damage. Nothing. It wasn't like they had a possitive attitude to cope with the shit. they had a sunny disposition because they didn't know the shit lurked round every corner. I don't think I've ever met someone who didn't have a history I didn't want to know. even if its slight or in most cases the kind of overlooked middleclass trauma that nobody ever takes seriously but ends in massive jail terms.

Soooo I legged it, made a quick change in pubs before I could soil the crisp snow and went on my merry way. It would be nice if we took an island and sent the untainted to live on it. manufacture paridise so that others don't have to share our world with us. i supose that would require a higher degree of charity then throwing coppers into a jar. and thats inhaman

2011-01-12T10:19:00.000-08:00

2011-01-10T11:14:00.000-08:00

Britania rules!

I found out yesturday that I aparently have a bleak outlook on life. So today I am going to Blog the crap out of something I love.

I am mega proud to be brittish. Not because we have a queen (who cares, I've met old ladies there rubbish) but because we have things like the NHS. I am proud that when people look at there own wartorn shithole countries they think lets move to britan. There must be easier countries not ravaged by conflict they could run to. I think we should instigate a policy where anyone who has ever said 'Britton for the brittish' should be packed up in a box and swapped for someone with an apreciation for what we have. Britton for the Brittish, Jesus its like somones mother never taught them how to share. I'm sure that imigration is much more complicated then this but most of what i'm proud of is that people of all colours and religions are Brittish. God bless this rainy, pretentious, over priced grey hole in which I consider myself lucky to live. 

2011-01-09T02:49:00.001-08:00

2011-01-08T05:38:00.000-08:00

I deserve a medel. I've been thinking about this for some time and I have decided that my key virtue goes unrewarded. I don't attack fellow members of the public without mercy or warning. I live in Newport for three years and never once just flew into Burtons like a bat out of hell and started popping heads. I hate people so much that to be in their presence for to long drives me mad. However, not attacking them while they blow fag smoke into their childrens faces, not hurling a steaming hot chicken bake in the face of the bank teller who can't operate windows and not even jamming a rotting street pigeon into the open pie hole some welsh throat singer is using to scar my ears. I deserve a medel just for putting up with every unpleasent sod that crosses my path. I hate them. I hate them. You have no idea how I hate them.

PS: I was going to write about what a sunny day it was, butthen I ruined it by going to town.

2011-01-07T03:37:00.001-08:00

2011-01-06T15:24:00.000-08:00

H is for Antelope...

I think its high time I told you about my toe. This morning a flap a skin where I accidently kicked a stray nail was hanging off. Obviously I pulled the flap, as said flap peeled away the wound got deeper. it reached a point where a little blood seeped out and I decided it was time to man up. So testicles in hand I grabbed the flap and in one quick movement I tore the strip off. I have never regreted a decision so suddenly, so deeply and so loudly in all my days.

2011-01-06T03:21:00.000-08:00

2011-01-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

"Fix humanity, then do what you want with the bloody pandas"

                        -The Kithican

Have you ever looked at people and just reckoned there was something undefinably broken about them. they arn't stupid or unpleasent for the most part. but they are damaged somehow. I can't hate this about them, it is not there fault they cease to function properly. Their upbringing or their sociaty has done this. They have lost some soul. I feel incomplete, and I think I see that void when I look at other people.

I have pondered, now I will lie in the garden and listen to Jefferson Air plane and pray that as White Rabbit climaxes and I open my eyes I will not be troubled by such stray and distracting thoughts.

PS: I really want a panda coat after drawing that picture

2011-01-04T08:40:00.000-08:00

“Too long has wrath been unspoken, too long has my disgust for civilisation been festering in the hateful corners of my mind. It is time to divulge the roots of misery and suffering, it is time to uncover the mother of our sin and hold her to rights. Place her gluttonous body against the wall and force her from this mortal coil. Barrel in mouth we condemn our queen to hell.

She has grown sick in the glory and wealth her children have provided for her. She is ignorance, betrayal and greed. She is why my fellow humans are degraded murdered and raped. Civilisation is at terminal velocity, inner city life is rapidly becoming a firestorm of violence and lust deprived of reason. The fault in violence and lust lies only with the ignorance with which it is commited. I am a godless man, I am not Christian, I have no faith or hope in things I can’t see as I have no hope for those I can, and like those I judge I am guilty. It takes clarity of hate to throw stones in a glass house.”
-The Kithican

2011-01-03T17:34:00.000-08:00

2011-01-03T14:37:00.000-08:00

The smell of fresh ink stings the nostrils as i inhale the atmosphere surrounding my first post. or at least it would if i lived in the real world, I have been living inside a computer for so long now that real things and virtual ones have begun to mean the same to me. If you have ever found yourself valuing a facebook friend as you value a physical friend then you my chum know what I mean.

I have a dream kids. In this dream the big scarey monsters of media have crashed. they have been brought to there knees by the awsomeness of computers. Any vicar or jet pilot can buy some software and start making comics, films and cartoons. they can write novels and develop photos and bollocks to studios and the lights that shine on us from above. Nothing is stopping ordinary people from producing the kind of things they want to see themselves and this power will only grown with time.

I will make snow angels in the fall out