Curse of the Overactive imagination

I suffer from a chronic overactive imagination. Start talking about something and I'm already imagining it. This always helped when I made lego buildings and spaceships, but it isn't really that handy when your trying not to think about what your parents are doing in the next room (and I can imagine what yours are doing right now, saucy). Because of this, I've imagined most things most people would rip out their own eyes to gain relief from, and it's probably affected me a little.....

.....okay, so a lot, but it has it's benefits. It takes a lot to disgust me nowadays, I can figure out all of the possible scenarious with regards to any problem or decision I have to encounter, and I get hungry when watching big cat wildlife programmes and they're ripping a gazelle to shreds.

It also helps with making small talk and creating blog entries. If you ever see me out drinking and stairing into space I'm probably thinking about questions like "Why to penguins have wings?", or "Do cannibals chew on bits of themselves if they get peckish between meals?"

Of course there's more than the whole parent sex drawback (and not just the things your grandparents do after bingo). It can take me forever to make decisions because I'm focusing on the most negative results. I tend to live my life with the philosophy "If you expect the worst, then all of the good is a bonus."

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to imagine Mexico winning the world cup.

Messing with voodoo and is it just poodoo?

I've just sat down to do my daily blogging ritual....and then I realised that I've got no idea what I'm going to talk about. Well......I'm still in a bit of a weird mood, but they are going to be selling massages at work tomorrow so that might help.

If that doesn't work then there's always voodoo. Now this isn't my idea, and I must say now that I was tricked into it (a helpful note for anyone who talks to other people, don't trust them, they'll demand a part of you and either frame you for a crime or make a voodoo doll of you so that they can force you to pay all of the rent).

For my part, I think the effects of such things as voodoo are mainly placebo related in nature. If you see someone twisting the spine of a little effigy of you then you automatically begin to feel phantom twinges in your back. Then again, who's to say? It may be your bodies paranoia, or it just may be that it's all in the voodoo. It's just one of many questions in life, like why does B.A. Barrakas have more air miles than me when "He ain't getting in no plane fool!"?

Lack of ability

Lets get one thing straight. If we do not have the ability to do something, then we suffer from a disability, right? We are unable to perform this function. So, to settle an argument, if you laugh at someone who can't time travel, then you're laughing at the handicapped.

Well you are in my book....sicko.

Handicapped shopping

Now I know this sounds cruel and unusual, but one day when I was passing a shop that sells sofas and chairs, I spotted a communal wheelchair parked on the inside next to the door. This raises two questions to my mind.

1) Why wouldn't they bring their own if they needed one?

2) What the hell does someone who's numb from the waist down need a chair for anyway? Surely if you can't feel it then there's no need for cushioning or anything like that.

That Sherlock Holmes Shiznit

Last Sunday, when we were waiting for a landlord to show us the most disgusting flat I've ever seen, I had plenty of time to stare at the front door, as you do. I decided, as I'm a bit of a Sherlock Holmes fan, to put his methods to good use. I began to analyse the door with intense scrutiny. When I'd finished picking faults, and when the landlord finally arrived, I was overjoyed to find out how right I was. It's true what they say,

"You can tell a lot about a person by the state of the numbers on their front door."

And if "they" don't say that then they should. Mind you, I didn't spot the Nazi Godfather obsession, maybe because I never licked the door, Holmes is always licking things.

Fozzy

It's just dawned on me that I talk about wrestling a hell of a lot for someone who doesn't watch it anymore. That said, I wouldn't mind finding some of the 80's/90's shows to watch.

Aaaaanyway, to the point. Some of you might be aware that Y2K Chris Jericho is the singer in the band Fozzy (pictured). What you may not know is that they are complete shit. I'd figured that out when I saw them try and play on RAW, so for a laugh I went to see them play live in town (this was a year or so ago). I've never been so dis-interested in a gig in my life, the guy can't sing a note.

This reminds me of the time I went to see CKY, the warm up band was this kick ass old school rock group called Fireball Ministry, but CKY were let down by a really really bad sound system. In both cases atleast I got decent warm up bands. Now if only the Rock had come in and gave Jericho the people's elbow.

Favourite accents

There's just something about a female American accent that sends me doolally. I guess everyone has their own favourite accents and the reason is as obscure as "why do you like certain music?" A nice lazy Texan accent works a treat. Hehe, I'm getting relaxing thought's just thinking about it. Weird.

Weird mood today

Have you ever been in one of those moods where you don't know what you feel like, but you know somethings up? Loss of appetite is a good indication for me (although that rank sausage sandwhich from the cafeteria this morning didn't help), so I know there's something going on in that head of mine. Maybe it's just the big move dawning on me (9 days to go, crap, man!), or the petty theft that keeps on popping up in the office. Either way, somethings not quite right and there's nothing I can do about it 'till I figure that out. This is so frustrating. Maybe booze will help? Roll on Saturday.

Unorganised perverts

Why is there just one term like MILF? For those of you who don't know what it means, well how can I put this? He wants your mum!

Why does no one use the term GILF for your gran? Or NILF for your local nun? PNPSIBGILF for pregnant naughty psuedo schoolgirls in bondage gear?

May the flat sharing commence....in a bit

Some of you may be aware that Mummbles, Spicy and I are entering the flat sharing world. This will be the first time I've moved out from home and to be honest this whole thing is a bit daunting. I mean, there's all those bills, cooking for myself, doing the washing, just the fact that it will be so different. Not that that will necessarily be a bad thing, but it was still a big decision to get this far.

I must say, the first impression we got of the place was possibly the greatest thing of all. Due to a writing error, and some confusion between 3's and 5's, we accidentally knocked on our soon to be next door neighbours' door. I've never seen someone look such a fascinating combination of stoned, hung over, and just woken up in my life. It's my ambition to accidentally knock on their door everyday just to see if she's like that all the time.

There's also a kick ass tree outside. I know I know, "How can a tree be kick ass....hippy?", well if you see it you'll know what I mean.

We also went to see some other places that were, how can I put this? Shit holes. And not freshly whiped ones at that. If it wasn't Nazi literature and food lying all over the place, it was porn...although youo really can't complain about that last one. The landlord wasn't really selling it that well either since every couple of minutes she said "Yeah we're going to clean up this mess". Way to divert the customers attention!

But yeah, I feel we made a good choice. Sure I'd like a second look when the current tennants move out, but I've worked out that I should save around 3 hours of my life a day due to travelling time. How sweet is that? Move out of home and live longer.

Hacksaw pimp Duggan

I just wanted to make sure that everyone knows, since we're on a bit of a wrestling theme here, that Hacksaw Jim Duggan was a bad ass pimp. How do I know this? What else do you think he does with that bit of wood after shouting "HOOOOOOOOOOO"?

Tortoise in the no shell

It dawned on me this morning that I have no idea what a tortoise looks like without it's shell. Now I know what you're thinking, it looks a lot like a turtle without it's shell, but considering I haven't seen one of those without it's shell either, that doesn't help me a whole lot....and if anyone mentions terrapins then your wasting your breath there too.


Has anyone seen this before? Are you curious enough to actively find out? Can I watch?

Favourite Tag teams

I've been an off again, on again fan of wrestling since I was young enough to hide behind the sofa everytime I saw Sargeant Slaughter. In that time there have been hundreds of superstars in the WWF. Throughout history I've had two favourite Tag teams, the Legion of Doom (you can't pick faults with a bunch of guys wearing spiked american football gear) and The Natural Disasters.

The latter team was made up of Earthquake and Typhoon. The main thing that interested me was the fact that these two behemoths of men used to be archrivals. Typhoon (or Tugboat as he was previously) was the big "I'll help anyone in trouble and squash anyone who uses a cuss word" type, whereas Earthquake was....well just look at him yelling in the picture. He was one hell of a big scary guy.

I remeber seeing the episode (can we really call them episodes?) where one day Tugboat got tired to fighting this uphill battle and just creamed the Bushwackers (atleast that's how I remember it, and if it didn't happen that way then it's a better memory than reality anyway, no one likes the Bushwakcers). Now I know this is how all alliances happen in wrestling nowadays, but I still can't get my head round the reason why someone would change in an instant. Maybe it's a metaphor for life. An example of how people aren't always who you think they are.....oh my God, did I just liken wrestling to a profound philosophical thought? Who'd have thought it possible :P

Careful picture searching

A thought struck me when I was looking for a picture for that last post. Or more accurately it was a remembered thought. This dates back to when I was working as an IT technician in a school/college. One day I was given the task of helping the kids find pictures for the animal projects (yeah I know, kinda outside an IT technicians area but so was every rassin' frassin' thing with that job). On this day it dawned on me that these kids better stay away from certain creatures. One such child was determined to find pictures of beavers on the internet. Needless to say I kept a close eye on him.

How does that have anything to do with the previous post? I started looking for bush, but didn't quite find what I was looking for.




I call this picture "Hot wet beaver"









Can you think of any others?

Suspicious looking shrubbery

Have you ever passed someones garden and thought

"There's something odd about that bush"?

Some plants do seem to have a personality of their own, a mocking defiance of common logic and decorum. You get the feeling that they shed their leaves, not in order to preserve their food source, but so they can watch you clean up after them. It's probably the same with house plants too. Not that I've had many, but you still get the feeling that they're sitting there going

"Yeah bitch, you iron those shirts 'cos I sure as hell aint doing shit!"

A cat called ugly

Today I think it's time for a heartwarming little story that I was shown a few months ago which I like:

A CAT CALLED UGLY

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world : fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love.

The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly.

To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side,and his left foot had appeared to have been badly broken at one time and healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail had long since been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head and neck. Even his shoulders were covered with thick yellowing scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. " That's one UGLY cat ! "

All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around his feet in foregiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for love. If you ever picked him up, he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, or whatever he could find.

One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbours huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly's sad life was almost at an end.

Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home, I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear. Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head. Then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battle-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.

At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me, completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.

Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful.

He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for.

Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be Ugly.

The meaning of blog

Some of you may remember my post at the beginning of this epic journey asking the question:

Why do people blog?

Or something to that effect. Well I thought I'd discuss my findings so far. For me it's been a way of letting go of any stress and boredom I've picked up along the route of my everyday life. The most important part of this process however has been the feedback I've received and the loyal readers that have dropped by. It's nice being able to post a random topic at night and go into work the next day to discuss the issue.

A year or two ago I used to visit message boards everyday and discuss whatever random thoughts came into my head. When I stopped I never really thought about much outside my scope of vision. This blog has helpped me regain that urge to bring up obscure and seemingly nonsense topics and rip them out of my brain.

So, why do I blog? It's the cheapest damn therapy going.


....and no matter what anyone says, Shawn Michaels does suck. He never denied it.

Mexixo 1 - Argentina 2 :(

I know this is a crummy way to celebrate my 40th post (thats right, 40 in two weeks), but how gutting is it that Mexico are out of the cup? I kept getting visions of the referee being shot in the face as time went by, but unfortunately it never seemed to change things. I salute our brave Mexican bretheren, including their lazy embassy who still never replied.

My search may be over whale lovers

As discussed yesterday, I've discovered three possible translations for a whales ding dang do...ahem female genitals.

eine Walfisch-Scheide
eine Scheide eines Walfischs
Die Scheide eines Wals

If anyone can help me sort out which is more accurate, please let me know. I'm thinking it's the first one.

Bird scum and their persecution of me.

Now I know I'm always seeming to start wars with things, but the birds (the flying kind, not women in planes, don't be daft) started it. "How can a bird, or indeed a collection thereof begin the necessary proceedings for war?" I hear you ask in well spoken unison. I'll tell you how.

One day I was walking down the street, minding my own business (not that I have my own business, but you get the idea) when I heard a splat and saw a streak shoot past overhead. I shrugged my shoulders and thought nothing of it. I continued to walk, at which point I put my hand in my pocket and felt something.....moist. I pulled out my hand to discover a bird had shat INSIDE my pocket. Quite how this was done is beyond me as I saw the streak overhead move from left to right and the "present" was left in my right pocket.

How can a bird begin a war? Try keeping an alliance with someone who shits in your pockets!

Happy two weekathon

Well it's Saturday, which marks our two week bloggerversary and our 37th post.

As I gave a bit of advice last week I feel obliged to do so again...but I can't think of any, so here's a bit of wisdom from Primal Scream:

Dealers keep dealin'
Thieves keep thievin'
Whores keep whorin'
Junkies keep scorin'
Trade is on the meat rack
Strip joints full of hunchbacks
Bitches keep bitchin'
Clap keeps itchin'

Ain't no use in prayin'
That's the way it's stayin', baby

One step closer to the cup

As you may have read, I'm supporting England, Italy and the mighty Mexico in the world cup. I'm pleased to say that all three have made it through to the next round and if they end up facing each other I'm going to have to cheer and boo at the same time. Maybe I'll even start a fight with myself over fouls...you never know. Needless to say I'll kick my ass. No I won't. Yes I will, I'll show you!

Do me a favour...

Stand up, try to lick the outside of your cheek and rub the back of your right hand. If I'm not there right now or if I haven't met you in person, please take a photo and let me know.

Zippy is an ass

Is it just me or is Zippy an asshole? He was always putting people down and he whined like a little bitch all the frickin time (for those of you who don't know, that's him on the left, and the program was Rainbow, just so your not thinking that I'm talking about someone I know, but if they were anything like this guy they'd sharp know about it). He even had an air of superiority every time he said hello.

I really can't figure out how George (the one on the left) put up with him for so long. They're just two totally different types of people. Talking about George, was it a he or a she? Maybe it was the pink that confused me as a child, but if it's a guy then boy is he the campest puppet of all time? I'm starting to figure how I had such a messed up childhood. Thanks cockbites.

San Dieago (aka a whales fanjita)

Anyone who's seen the film Anchorman knows that in German, the words San Dieago mean a whales (not for wanting to get people into trouble who read this at work I'll call them lady lips).

Of course this is taken in jest, but it got me thinking...what is a whales *whistle* in german? A friends girlfriend is german so we asked her....and I promptly fell quite far in her opinion. Not only that but she wouldn't even tell me what it was. Of course this lowering in opinions was mutual at this point.

Today I foolishly stated that it was my ambition in life to look up a whales lower earlobes in german, and somehow, beyond all reasoning, this seems to be able to be taken the wrong way. The next thing you know we're talking about the need for breathing apperatus and a wrinkly old asthmatic guy who could sell me this service. The best part however was when I reached the bus stop. Now you need to try this at home kids. Apparently, if you say the word "Whale pimp" loud enough, people will run a mile. I don't know whether it's because they're hiding something, or for some other reason, but the next thing I know I've got two thirds of the bus stop to my self. Awesome

Dream decoding

It's been a question that's been asked throughout the ages. What do dreams mean? Do they mean anything? Is that one question or two? They're both sides of the coin in my opinion, and you can argue it's tails if it comes up heads if you want 'cos no ones given me a solid, stone cold answer.

Personnally, I'm going with the theory that dreams are the subconcious mind organising your thoughts into something it thinks we can understand. Sure the human mind can interpret pictures better than most things (unless your blind of course, although you've got a better chance if you weren't born blind. But that's not the point), but it would be nice to have some sort of super secret spy key to figure it all out, like those secret code dials everyone used to have.

There are books out there, like dream thesaurus's, and the one I've tried was very good, but who's to say it was anywhere near accurate? If this theory was remotely true, why not make dreams more straightforward so we can all follow the plot?

Because of this I've begun a theory of my own. Maybe dreams are a random collection of images that are there just to keep the mind occupied. Of course that brings up other questions, like why don't we all dream every night? Maybe it's because sometimes are lives are too hectic and our minds are just glad of the rest at the end of the day.

Another thing. Why do we forget our dreams so quickly. A few minutes after waking up these memories fade (at least the do for me). Maybe it's because they aren't real memories. They have no anchor in the physical world, and as such it's easy to forget a confusing metaphor that's telling you you need to eat more fruit through the medium of dancing halloween masks deficating on a nativity scene....or whatever.

Do crazy people have sane dreams? If not then isn't that a bit weird? Maybe this shared dreamstate insanity is what binds us all.

To be honest, I rarely ever dream anymore. I guess that makes each time I do a bit special....but it doesn't help me make any more sense of them. I wonder what that says about me?

Boom boom boom, let me hear you say wayho...

Hahaha. There are probably a few hundred thousand blogs to search from from this place. After checking my profile however, I noticed something odd. You may have noticed that if you click and interest or a favourite band, you'll be sent to a page listing peoples profiles with similar interests. However, I am the only person in the world to show up as liking the Outhere brothers. How class is that?...and of course deeply depressing because no one else seems to have any taste :P

Wayhooooooooo!

Transformers the live action movie

This is the reason time travel should be invented. Sure Megatron won't be a gun (the rumours say he'll be a tank) and Soundwave is rumoured to be a helicopter of all things, but as long as the essence of what makes Transformers great is there, that's fine with me (kinda).

Here's what I know so far. Spielberg is somehow involved (producing I think). Michael Bay is directing (the guy who did Bad boys and The Island, two films that don't scream giant robots). They've started shooting, but all I've read is that they've been shooting various vehicles. This gives me a bit of hope since it shouldn't all be CGI then. Other than that I've been desperate to stay away from any spoilers.

Oh well, just over a year to go.

Local rivalry phsycosis

I think I've been brainwashed. I've never been much of a follower of football (despite the evidence to the contrary in this blog) yet I still feel the ping of hatered for my rival town. You see I've got a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde thing going on in here somewhere. Once I realise I've crossed the border I turn into a raving lunatic. Last year I went over to see Bottom live (5 I think) at their local theatre. As soon as I realised that the metro train was nearing the station I flipped. I saw their football stadium and openly mocked it's size. We crossed a bridge and I stood their laughing and pointing. We (somehow) got off the train and I started mocking their charvas for actually using the public phone boxes and not stealing from them or vandalising them.

I have no idea how I made it to the theatre, but strange things do happen. Once we sat down and they tried to rile the crowd up as they do, by mocking the local rivalries, two HUGE guys sat either side of us. From that point, not knowing whether they were locals or not, and not really wishing to lose any teeth, I shut up. Thank god for a little self control.

Hate is so easy to share

I've not always been a spiteful, hate filled person. But that's not the point. The point is I am now and that's just the way it is. Obviously, hating so many people requires a high level of organisational skill and as such I've created a mental list of all my enemies. This list is quite extensive due to the fact that although on occassion I may forget, I certainly don't forgive. Because of this you will never be erased from the list, no matter how you try to ingratiate yourself with me.

So, if it looks like I'm writing your name in pencil, on a page in my mind, it may as well be a big permanent marker, 'cos either way your fucked.

Man Vs Nature

If you could fight any animal what would it be? For me it's the giraffe, but then again I do like a challenge. I just think it would be really satisfying if you managed to break it's jaw, especially considering how tricky it would be to reach the thing. Besides that reason I think giraffes are a bit up themselves. I get the feeling that even if they weren't 50 foot tall (or whatever), they'd still look down at you as if they had just bought a new pair of shoes, took them off and stood in you bare foot. What arseholes.

When Wrestling died

I used to be a fan of wrestling. That was until I saw it live, but not for the usual reasons. Most people seem to see it in person and it's so blatantly fake that they can't see it in the same light again. I however watched the greatest matches I have ever seen, then went home and was unable to watch it again since there was no buzz, no atmosphere. The kick in the knackers is that it was almost all B/C class "superstars" too.

Other things changed that night. I used to hate the wrestler Christian because he was a pompous ass, but once he entered the room I could see why. There's a reason he's called captain Charisma.

When it came to the big event I was overjoyed. When Rick Flair stood on stage I lead the crowd with a few "Wooooooooo's" as is traditional. But when Shawn Michaels came on to face him, I remembered how much I hated that guy. I don't know why, I just always have and always will. It was because of this I (possibly foolishly) waited until everything went silent and shouted at the top of my lungs "Shawn Michaels, you suck!". I'm sure he heard me but pretended not to listne. Ever since then I've had to look over my shoulder just in case. You never know when a vengeaful wrestler will clock you from behind, but it'll probably be when the camera cuts to you backstage by some flukey coincidence.

The zombie plague

We're all familiar with zombies (and if your not then bully for you, I don't fancy your chances when the apocalypse comes), but something has puzzled me for some time.

After a bit of research I discovered that the zombie idea was born from voodoo, which goes some way to explain things. Why do they eat living people if they have no stomachs, or have had their throats ripped out for example? If it all comes down to voodoo then they must be forced to feed so that they may inflict their torment onto others, or atleast teach them a lesson. It stands to reason since their bodily chemistry has already stopped and there is no way to deliver any sustenance throughout the body.

The other theory is that the good old zombie works off the principle that they are merely adhering to the pre-programmed behavioural patterns we already posses. Examples of these are feeding, forming social groups and moaning. It's possible that they form these groups in order to feed more productively, 'cos lets face it, if your getting chased by one zombie then you've got to be a paraplegic in order to not survive. In groups they are at their peak of proficiency. This is assuming that don't take the modern running zombie into consideration. We aren't going to either because they make a mockery of the whole culture. Okay, since you brought the subject up, lets consider it shall we?

The running zombie is a curious beast. They have the same characteristics as their slower cousins, but they seem to show more rage and agility. From a filmmaking point of view it doesn't make a lot of sense. Your stripping away your main suspense device (the slowly gathering masses and impending doom), and replacing them with a quick paced, quick thrill. Your giving people a chase, a device I'm sure people would put down to the so called 'MTV generation' who demand high paced thrills and spills and suffer from short attention spans. In a more realistic light these neo-zombies don't make much sense either. Part of the allure of a zombie is that it's a rotting corpse come to life. The fact that it's sprinting towards you kinda shatters that image and replaces it with an adrenaline surge. Answer me this. If a corpse is chasing you and he's been dead a week, how is the body supposed to keep itself together long enough to catch you? Surely the strain will tear it apart! The neo-zombie has no place in the culture from which it is derived.

Back to the second theory. If zombies are simply adhering to said behaviours, why do they never attack animals, devour the dead, or indeed each other? I guess that's one extra point for the voodoo theory.

Anyway, back to the question I mentioned at the very start. If a healthy person drinks a zombies blood, will they become a zombie? I believe this all depends on which theory you go for. The voodoo theory would say no, since the main method of becoming a zombie is via the torment you suffer. The behavioural theory has more leeway on this issue. As there is a physiological reason for their behaviour, then there must be one for the transformation also. If the zombification begins through the transmission of infected blood, then the answer is yes. If it's a saliva thing then we're on dodgy ground, although it is possible.

Maybe this is why every zombie film portrays an element of mystery regarding it's origins. The "of the dead films" (Night, Dawn, Day and Land), if I remember correctly, all have different explanations for what has happened. This is done primarily through clever little plot devices like radio announcements and televisions playing in the background. The first "of the dead" film even had about two or three different explanations in the same film. Besides being an ingenious way to intrigue people, it's a great way to force peoples minds into thinking about the here and now, much the same as the (living) characters are.

By the way, I made that picture up there :)

Almost went a day without blogging...

...and I feel dirty. If I'd left it another 15 minutes I would have started to get the shakes, and then who knows? Mugging grannies to use their internet connections so I can get a fix? Selling dog whores for half the usual price? Even dirtying myself with the cat market, and we all know how much of a twat cats can be.

Mental Holmes

Just thought I'd share this class picture of me in 221B Baker street, the legendary home of Sherlock Holmes. Can you guess which ones me?

There is a crap load of waxworks inside the house, as well as this cool Dr Watson guy that sits around and answers questions. Outside there is a Holmes, but he was French or Swedish, which kinda spoiled the authenticity. However, his detective skills were sharp enough to point us in the right direction towards London zoo, so he's not that bad.

Mexico v Angola

Mexico's second game of the world cup was tonight and more than a little disappointed that I only managed to see the last 20 minutes. I was even more disappointed to see it end as a tie. Ho hum, I guess it was another excuse to wear sombreros to work.

One week blogebration!

Well, it's been a week since I started my blog and this is the 21st post. Hard to believe really. To celebrate the occasion I've got some advice for all my homies in da hood, as quoted from Jamie Foxx:

"Keep your pimp hand strong, extend the fingers and keep your wrist straight."

Also, happy Birthday to Johnson, you crazy scatmofo

Cat/Boss brawl

Last night I dreamt that I was fighting a cat, but it refused to use it's claws or teeth (which was nice of it). I know this is probably due to my drunken tie-raid on next doors cat yesterday but the wierd thing is I'm sure the cat was one of the managers at work. Even weirder it looked just like any other black and white cat, no human face or anything, just the feeling that it definetly was them. Talk about your dream metaphors.

Mexico v Angola today

Damn it all to hell, Mexico play their second game of the world cup tomorrow and I'll be finishing work when the game starts. If I'm lucky I'll get home just as it's finishing. Gutter.

Autisim

Sometimes I think I have autism. I find it hard to get emotional about things, unless it's anger, then I'm there 100%. It would explain alot, like how I prefer to give people bad news instead of consoling them, or how I laugh when I am, or indeed someone else is in pain (physical that it). Maybe I'm just fucked up in the head? Now that I think about it the latter makes a lot of sense too.

The weird thing is, I don't really give a damn and I'm perfectly happy the way I am.

Mumm-Ra lives!!!

Today I'm going to appear shallow and an all round general bastard...but it's got to be done. Yesterday it was pointed out to me that a girl at work looks like Mumm-Ra's ugly step sister. Today I noticed she looked like an Afghan hound. I'd put a picture of her on here too but that would require me taking a picture of her and that just ain't gonna happen. The following is just so you get the idea of what she looks like:

A T-shirt related warning

If anyone thinks of wearing this T-shirt I'm announcing my right to jump you and pummel you to death. I thought it only fair I give you a heads up.

Next doors cat is an obnoxious ass

Next doors cat is a bit of a prick. I don't know what it is about him (other than the fact that most people thought he was a she until not too long ago and they never bothered to change his name from Tilly). Some cats look at you as if your scum, some just look right through you and wish you were dead. This one, you can see him scheming, but until you see the blueprints you never know whats coming.

Oh, and he's a peeping tom too. When you least expect it he's sitting there in the dark staring through your window. The problem there is that he can climb up sheer brick walls so you never know what he'll see. I'll never feel safe wandering around nude again.

What a dick.

First drunken rant....aka promotion scandal

Okay, so tipsy is a better description but that would just sound weird. I'm at the stage where I'll sing along to a song, but I won't dance to it...unless it's the Outhere brothers with Boom boom boom. Who can't dance to that?

Anyway, today I was going to rant and rave about being passed over for promotion, even though the promotion was on a temporary basis. When I found out I was ready to kill someone...although with me it doesn't take much for that to happen to be fair. But after it was explained to me why (apparently it was to give everyone the chance, but I'm just not going to get into that) I started to calm down. Now that I've had a few drinks I'm fine with it....admittedly I can't be held responsible about my state of mind when I wake up, but I'll cross that bridge (and burn it no doubt) when I come to it.

I've never really been the jealous type (apart from that time my bro said he met Jaws from the James Bond films...but that turned out to just be a look alike), and I don't think this was jealousy. It was more like anger and betrayal really. Put it this way, it felt like someone shat in my cereal. Ten minutes later it felt like they then shat on my toast and spread it on, then they made me a cup of tea, shat in that then handed it to me on a tray. Lets just say I wasn't best pleased with their shit special.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens.

Favourite computer game character

Personnally, for me it's all about HK47 from Star Wars knight of the old Republic. For those of you who don't know, HK47 is an assasin droid that doesn't particularly like humans/meatbags. Even when you become his master he'll treat you like crap, but in a humble way. I'll never be able to describe it properly, you'll just have to play it and find out for yourself.

T-Shirt fetish

Today I've decided to discuss a somewhat...unusual affliction of mine. Obviously, if no one replys then it's a lecture so it's up to you really.

This didn't start out as my own problem, I think I've been infected with it. You see, when I see someone wearing the same T-Shirt as me I can't help but feel rage and hatred towards them for their ordacity. It's worse when I'm drunk, especially if they knock my drink like last time. Curse you fellow thundercats T-shirt owner!

The weird thing about it is that they could be wearing the same jeans, trainers, hell even a mask of me with a sombrero and I wouldn't notice. It's all about the T-shirts.

Funky eBay auctions

While I was just waisting time looking for stuff I'll never buy, I came across two interesting auctions.

This one is for a real metal Sword of Omens (from Thundercats). Sooo tempting, and only a grand :P






The next one I spotted was for a wooden sword of greyskull. Rock on

Johnson is God....and he's driving me nuts

Have you ever met someone and been convinced they're talking complete gibberish? I met Johnson almost six months ago and I'm still not sure that he's not. Have you ever heard the song "Scatman" by Scatman John? It was released sometime in the early 90's I think. Anyway, I'm sure what they meant to call him was Scatman Johnson.

Just today for example, he came up to me and said: "Dusikawa hen freekon mooma". My usual reply of "Wha?" came out involuntarily and he reponded with "Dusikawa hen freekon mooma". I raised my eyebrow (possibly as a subconcious attempt to distract him while I tried to decrypt his question/statement/other) and replied with "Fliminabukama?". At this point he used the same eyebrow trick and retorted with "Hemisoka tuwa?". At this point I couldn't help myself and told him "Fliminabukama duloola zinkota!". We stared at each other in a bemused daze for a long moment, and then he decided to speak in a language I coukd (kinda) understand.

You've gotta love the guy for his unconcious gibberish and high pitched giggle, but I'm sure he's lying to me. Whenever he wants me to do something he always gives me the same answers to my questions (and life would be much simpler if I could give you examples, but rules is rules). Not only that, but everyone within earshot gives that same answer now. Added to that the fact that he came up to me today and gave that excuse when he didn't even have a problem is a good sign he knows it's getting to me. That reminds me, I must remember to take some thumb screws into work to try and solve this problem.

Until I can sort this one out, remember, as a great man once said:

"Flimina weedoscimiblaana?"

Italy 2 - Ghana 0, one step closer to cash

At work I've pulled Italy out of the hat (well bag really) for the World cup sweepstakes (although I'm not sure I should have a capital 'W' there but what the hey). Tonight they played their first match which was against Ghana. Funny story, a guy at work...lets call him Weeping thrush also played this sweepstake. In three attempts he pulled out Ghana twice. As Italy won 2-0 tonight I guess I beat him twice over, take that Mr 'I'm going to take your promotion by snitching or by subtifuse (or however you spell that)'.

Going out three time...the conclusion

Well that plan went a bit tits up. I ended up going out once, and it was a really good night. It's just that I feel a bit shitty for not going out for the other two.

Note to self: Force people to agree on times and places ahead of time in future!

The Unfortunates

Currently I have put together a group of people as something of a support group called The Unfortunates. Let me start at the beginning.

A few months back, a 'girl' asked me out at work. What first threw me off balance was the way she put it. After babbling on about who she thinks is cool and whatnot, and I said "I suppose so" (bare in mind I was still in shock at this point), she proceeded to tell me "I'm just tired of telling people I'm single". Yeah, I know, doesn't inspire you with confidence does it? That and everyone pretending not to laugh around you. Why were they laughing? Well she's pretty manly and built like a rake to put it nicely....that and she's a loon, but not the good kind.

However, once I regained my sanity I said a big NO to that idea and ran for the hills. Don't feel too bad for her though, she got with someone that same night (and most of the workplace it seems).

Around a month later a friend of mine is standing at the bus stop...lets call him Raoul2. This is where we begin to see a pattern. She starts by putting her head on your shoulder, usually without seeming reason (as she had done to me the day before my ordeal). Then she babbles about something mundane and throws the "Do you want to go out?" thing in your face. Unfortunately for R2 she said "We've known each other for a while now" even though they'd never spoken, and she immediately followed with asking his name. Oh how we laughed.

There then followed a string of similar instances and to date we have five such victims ( or UnfortuKnights). I know what your thinking, I look like a shall piece of crap by posting this, but she gives me the creeps. She's 23 and believed no one had heard of the glass being half full/half empty optimist/pessimist test. I get a cold shiver down my spine when she's near, she hugs without warning and generally make no sense at all.

So if you've suffered this ordeal, there's no need to feel alone, the UnfortuKnights are there to laugh at themselves and each other....it's just a shame that you've got to go through these rituals to be a part of us.

Til next time, watch out for that forehead.

Mexico v Iran

Unfortunately I was at work during the match but I caught the first half. I know sod all about football really, but I thought it was a really close game (at least in that half). Once I got home it was over, but once I saw the highlights I was blown away. Get in my Mexican hombres, 3 - 1!!

Tomorrow I'll be supporting Italy because I pulled them out of the hat for the sweepstakes. Added to that my natural support for England, I'm due to have an interesting World cup. Should I have two of my teams facing each other I'm going to be a bit stuck.

Which reminds me (although I have no idea how), I wish my small plastic team member 'Hombre' all the best in his life on the table he originally was stolen from (not by me, honest). I guess it's just me in my team again, damn those backstabbing inanimate gits.

The nature of the blog

Okay, so I think I'm addicted. It's my fifth blog post (I think), and I only signed up around three hours ago. I think I'll need counseling after a few days. When I haven't been posting I've been sitting here waiting for someone to come by and comment....obviously some of that time was spent trying to distract myself otherwise, but still, I'm in trouble.

So, instead of keeping all these topics pent up inside to be released on a day by day basis, I'm just gonna splurge stuff onto the page as it enters my mind. The topic that comes to mind at the moment is mans (and woman's) fascination with discovering the private nature of their fellows. I mean, why else would you read a blog? Personally that one flumoxes me as I've always been a very introverted person. I'm not one for gossip (unless it's funny, or humiliates my enemies, more on them in the future...must resist posting everything in the first day, but remind me about this one if I forget), I haven't even read another persons diary. Not that I've had the chance.

But at the end of the day, isn't this what most blogs are all about? Sure some are reviews and dissitations upon the nature of existance and whatnot, but to me a blog is an online diary, and to some extent a mixture of everything I've just mentioned if I choose it to be.

Is it a personal desire to know other people better, or is it a yearning to know yourself that drives you to read (or indeed write) these things? Do you search for a kindred spirit? Do you search to make yourself feel sane in an insane world? Or just to make yourself feel superior? Sure I'll read other people's blogs if they interest me as people or idealists, but until someone points me in the right direction I guess I'll be right here waiting for someone to come along and prove me right or wrong.

Sombrero's all round!!!

At work a group of us have decided to support Mexico in the world cup. I know I know, it's a weird choice, but we have our reasons. Firstly no one there is Mexican so it's the most non-racist thing we can do. Secondly, it gave us an excuse to dress up our desk with as much mexican memorabilia as possible. Finally, and most importantly, we have permission to wear sombreros when they play (tomorrow in fact). I have only just received the shipment of said hats so needless to say I'm over the moon.

Now if only I could cut a hole in someones rug and wear it as a poncho.

Going out three times tonight

I know I should probably wait for someone to get around to reading my first post but I do have a dilemna, most unusually I have been asked to go out tonight by three different people. One is for a guys leaving party, another is for a birthday, and one is to just go out and get as drunk as possible.

Now I know what your thinking, you would possibly dismiss the last as frivolous drunkenous. However, they were the first ones to as me to go out, which also gives them right to priority. Hmmm, if only I could combine a few of them then my life would be easier.

Hereeees Warthog

Here is a picture of me South Park style. It's probably a bad idea to post this as you'll now recognise me in the street instantly. Althought to be fair this was done before my haircut, I'll probably post the more up to date version too cos I'm like that.

Greetings strangers and passers by

Well here it is, my first ever post on my first ever blog.

I guess I should start by explaining why I chose the name "Straight Jacket Diaries" for this place. Originally I had planned to call it simply "Warthog", but that's been taken. I like the name because there's just something about those beasts that I can emphasise with....please don't tell me your thinking what I think your thinking. If so, the answer is no. What I mean is, they fairly hairy, they've got a brain and can get away with random acts of anger. Personnally if life isn't going my way I will randomly grunt, which can make sleeping tricky as every 10 minutes I wake myself up thinking there actually is a warthog in my room.

The other reason, and one, like most dreams, I almost forgot...and if your mind has wandered on this one again then your sick in the head...which I've gotta respect. Go you. Anyway, as I was saying, I once had a dream that I owned a pet warthog, I think it was called Betty. She was a great pet, and once I woke up the sense of loss was as if I actually did have a pet warthog, then someone took it round back, shot it in the face and smeared the blood on my face whilst setting my toes on fire. Because of this I think I better not get around to buying myself a pet.

So how does this get us to Straight Jacket Diaries? After sitting here for a little while I thought about my life and about a great quote the sister of a friend of mine once came out with:

"Anyone who says 'I'm crazy' clearly isn't and is just trying to be interesting. You're only crazy if someone else tells you you are."

Now I know it looks a bit pre-emptive with my blog title and all, but I can assure you that many many people have told me I'm not right in the head during the course of my life and to be honest I'm inclined to agree with them. I'm sure after a few blog entries you'll form your own opinions. Which reminds me, please do leave comments on my entries.

And I think I'll end on this for now. Atleast I've got a bit of warthog in here

Yours sincerely

The Warthog