Editorial: The Train and Why I Hate You

'This looks like the build up to a punchline'

I don’t find Train journeys irritating, I don’t find myself complaining about the four minute delay, I don’t stand in the face of what is a great service and damn it to hell because I didn’t pre-book my ticket. I stand humbly and commend all the trains, the lot, Thomas as well. The piece of the puzzle that is ruining our travel experience is you. You chewing with your mouth agape, you with your broadsheet paper, sitting there scratching your genitals, reading the copy of The Sun left on the seat that you knew I wanted. You’re about to get written about, Old Testament style.

'Just put them out of their misery'

A typical train journey has two possible outcomes; sitting alone, or God forbid, sitting next to someone else. Worst-case scenario, it’s an old woman, she hasn’t spoken to anyone other than herself or that magpie she assures you is “The same one every day, comes back he does”. No he doesn’t, no it isn’t, you lonely, old, wench. She’ll sit there spindling her old fingers, like a five foot pickled onion in a wig, waiting for the moment to speak to you, casually shuffling a bag of Worthers Originals in front of you. She wants you to take one, then she’s got you, one big caramel web of old stories; her dead husband, her dead sister, her dead friends, her old, forgotten vagina. It’s a regular old wives tale. All you can do is endure it, like a cavalcade of stones being hurled at your face. “I remember when this station was….”…. WHAT, WHAT WAS IT? EVEN MORE FUCKING BORING THAN WHAT YOU’RE SAYING? Then there are other conundrums (my word of the day), What if she dies? Does the train have a defibulater? Am I responsible? Did my story about being sick into a DVD case scare her to death? Because it literally splashed back all over my hair and face, it was dreadful. I don’t want to resuscitate her, she has old lips, and years of kissing peoples cheeks have wrinkled them into little beetroot crisps. Its for the best to just leave her there, At least I can say I was with grandma when she died, maybe I can use the sympathy to get a hot buffet at her funeral?

“Is anyone sitting here?”, a dreaded question, are these people thick? Its clear im utilising the other seat for my bag and two baguettes. You expect me to give up the privilege of not having to stand up to get my two, fresh made, expensive baguettes. I should just throw them out the moving train; you want me to not have my eight-pound baguettes. You’re talking to the guy trying to eat a fifteen-pound baguette here, COME ON!* Next time someone does that, I’m going to pull down my jeans and just bend over and take it. Because every time you make me move my bag you are sodomizing me. I want it there for convenience, and no, as you’ll joke, gesturing at my nice bag (plus baguettes) “Does he have a ticket, HAR HAR”. No he doesn’t, but if I had realised before I got aboard that some smart aleck was going to try to rhetorically fuck me out of my extra seat then I would have purchased two.

Maybe it’s me, its possible I’m the worst person on the train, because obviously it’s a crime to want to sit undisturbed for the duration of my journey. Without some pork pie slouching down next to me, smelling like an old library, eating a pack of Tesco’s basics sausage rolls. Is that so much to ask? For you not to look at me with that doughy face, that pair of beady eyes resting on my expensive, expensive baguette. These aren’t your only bad features Fat Man. I’m an internet blogger, so its pretty clear that I’m very attractive, like a young Denzel Washington, but not black or bald. This means I cant stand that sight of ugly things, it makes me want to be throw up my baguette (reasonably price considering what a great baguette it was). I cant even watch programs about ugly people. I was watching Katie and Her Beautiful Friends and was sick all over my genitals. This was because the title was so misleading I mistakenly believed it to be ‘wank-worthy’. Those people aren’t beautiful at all, poor marketing.

Aside from my bashing of the horrifically disfigured, I’d like to move back to my hatred of everyone else, because I don’t discriminate. I’d like to round this all of with a short-list of my most hated journey companions

'I preferred it when they just indulged in casual terrorism'

·      ‘One Upper’ – you pull out a Nokia, he’s got an iPhone, you call your mum, he calls your mum.

·      ‘Broadsheet’ – Buy a smaller paper you pompous idiot

·      ‘Phonesman’ – “No Fletcher I said ‘sell’, If those stocks are still there when I get back its your job. Yes I understand you’re just the caretaker but your bills aren’t going to pay themselves, what, well tell your wife you don’t like funerals...what do you mean ‘hot buffet’?” – No one cares about your business, shut up.

·      All the Children – In the event of a continuous, rhythmic seat kicking the key is to turn round and whisper , “Maddie did that on the plane to Portugal”

I just really love the train, and you’re ruining it.

From the Editor ‘a pretty locomotive deal’

*The new cultural reference system. Guess in the comments section for prizes. I'm not fibbing

A Special Thanks

If you haven't noticed, because you're old, senile, incontinent, that the site has undergone a few aesthetic changes, then you should get off my fucking site. However, if you did, then I would like to thank 'The Phipper', a fellow blogger and talented photographer/designer. It's a shame he's a complete twat.


Check out a few of his other designs I've put below and check out his blog, 'Shadow Boxers'
and keep up to date with 'The Red Door' a site coming in the next few weeks that I will be guest contributing to.. Also if you're interested in pretentious ramblings about clay pots check out, 'This Handmade Life' 

'Muhammed Ali is now senile enough to endorse this'

'the best film to never happen'

'If you wondering what B.D.C means, so am I'

From The Editor 'a pretty grateful deal'

Review: Alton Towers

I found it really hard to find the 'Towers', they weren't right there in front of you. First thing I saw when I walked in was Sonic the Hedgehog trying to fuck six or so children. I did try to approach him for a quick photo, but somehow, despite being a hedgehog, he got away. Blue bastard.


My main objective for the big A.T was to get on some rides, what was not part of the plan however, was the week long trek between each one. I had to light at least four fires, erect two tents and fight off a man dressed like a crocodile. Also, the incompetent, very lonely looking staff, provided me with a map that can only be described as 'not to scale', I was looking for landmarks, like the forbidden forest and the snow capped mountain, but unfortunately there was just grass, a pond and loads of Japanese people screaming into cameras.

The first ride I queued for was the newly re-named, Sonic Spinball, which seemed appropriate considering he probably did want to spin his balls in my mouth, from what i'd previously seen. Fucking rape rodent. I did enjoy the queueing, I ate a whole cheese ploughmans.. Some smug bastard marched past me in the single seat only queue. 'Look at you, standing in line, having to wait'. 'Ah but look at you, with no friends, on a 1990's themed ride, in a theme park, on your own, you daft cunt'.


Review within a Review: My Solero Ice Cream

'Me and my Solero'

I saw Inception not to long ago, and according to what all the cool people are saying, 'things', in other things, in other things, in other things, are AMAZING. Well I have an ice cream, in a soft sugary exterior, in a review, in another review. It was a good ice cream, maybe a little too cold, had to rush it, had to go into a haunted house with a laser gun. Done.

I normally give highly critical, maybe slightly controversial reviews. It's possible im a little harsh, however I would like to complement the jail-bait on show at Alton. It was just everywhere, they should have handcuffed me the second I walked in.  I penned a small poem about it.

Tonight theres going to be some Jailbait
Somewhere in this Town
Tonight theres going to be some Jailbait 
That im going to be around


I was going to take some photos and put them up, but a police officer told me not to, because if I got caught, i'd ruin it for everyone.

I came to realise after a few hours, that sitting down while something else does all the hard work, much like the wife I plan on having, is very tiring for me. The result of this is getting hungry, luckily for me Alton Towers has a vast array of different outlet, all ready to serve me the same shit, packaged differently. I decided to put my best foot forward into a Mexican. I would say the best thing about it, and this isn't saying much, was when I found half an eaten fajita on the table next to me and ate that as well as the burger I was trying to digest.

'Thats fucked up'

The highlight of Alton Towers for me, aside from the colourfully dressed pedophiles and long waits next to people who smell like Log Flume water, was probably 'Oblivion'. In case you were wondering, this ride does not descend into the pits of hell, but it does go downwards at a speed it makes amusing to try and eat a sandwich.

As I was leaving I simply stated, 'Wasn't that great?'. It was satisfying that for the first time I could use that question rhetorically and not have a girl lying below me say, 'Not particularly'

Please leave your own Alton Towers experiences below. With Sonic or without.

From The Editor 'a 150mph cheese ploughman's deal''

Editorial: The Playstation Network/PSN Is Down. Give Sony a Break

'God save our noble...'

I occasionally spend my spare time shooting people on the interweb. I don't think I would like to shoot people in real life, because blood is a tough stain to remove and people would wonder why im drenched in it. Im also under the vague impression that if I were to murder someone, they would not re-appear, sorry, re-spawn, one hundred yards away, only to be shot in the face.....twice. Take that geeks, you got 'PWNED'

Like every other person ever to play a video game, I am imbued with a level of confidence unbeknown to me in the real world. I find it prudent to establish myself amongst my virtual peers as a better person. 'Yeah you fucking nerd, I totally shot you with my LASER GUN, and im like humping your corpse and burning it and guess what, i've had sex with girls, IN THE MISSIONARY POSITION'. I showed them.

'Gritty realism'

But now, in the wake of Sony's recent online molestation, still lying in a computerised gutter, pants around it's ankles, screaming like a little girl, millions of young, over-confident and for the most part, homophobic ("Take that fag, you got owned by my MISSILE LAUNCHER"), young men, and some overweight, unattractive women, emerge into the daylight. What will they do now? Aside from a healthy amount of masturbation over things that dont have grossly disproportionate, computerised breasts. Will they hold a live death-match, a full scale Mortal Kombat? Mashing there puny bodies against each other, cardboard SUPER BLASTERS and DEATH RAPER-SHOTGUN-EXPLODERS at the ready.

Or maybe, these oppressed, unloved masses, finally getting a healthy redeposit of melonin from the lonely sun, should step outside, take a deep breath and stop complaining about something they were receiving for free. I dont want to use a crude example (but im going to do it anyway), but if you were receiving a blow job and god forbid, she was doing it all wrong, you wouldn't say, 'This is a fucking outrage, I appreciate you have gotten on your knees and literally sucked my cock, but christ, at least do a decent job. Im not asking for much, just your complete degradation'. In fairness, if she was a prostitute, you'd be well within your rights to tell her what for, because remember, hookers dont have souls.

I know that on May 31st when the Megastation 64 gets back the ability to turn people into anonymous, faceless dickheads, that everyone of those people that bitched and moaned will crawl back to there controllers, re-hone there skills and attack the virtual enemy with a exuberant level of enthusiasm. But please, until that time eventually comes, when Jestation Compuchrist resurrects and walks the earth, just do something other than complain, become a valuable member of society.

A final note: please dont assume I dont game or that I have no comprehension of the importance of that black box. I own one myself, I publish a blog who's symbol is a raptor clutching an assault rifle. Just do something else and give Sony a break.

I feel my new sign off seems pertinent to all those im referring to...'Go fuck yourselves'

From The Editor 'A pretty virtual deal'

Editorial: There, Their and They're

I dont understand the difference. It is too difficult for me to comprehend. I live in a world where grammar doesn't exist. Or, I just dont fucking care. There/their/they're you have it. 


If spelling mistakes upset you, you should only ever read the dictionary.

From The Editor  'a pretty grammatical deal'

Next up: Bar Review: Brass Monkey - 'Shite pie or Mai Tai?'

Bar Review: Market Bar Nottingham

Im not keen on Market Bar, though its fairly apparent that im not really keen on anything. Its not that I don't fit in, I mean, if I think about it, I should fit right in. Im a student, I live in Nottingham, I own a burgundy America Apparel hoody, and, just like everyone else there, my parents will always be more successful than I will ever be. But, as much as I like riding the 50ft wave of Jager off the back of their success, I still don't really understand what is appealing about standing in the dark, shouting at each other. Thats basically what happened when the Americans dropped into Normandy. The technical term is, 'ClusterFuck'.


"Can I have 5 Jagerbombs please and some taste"
"Sorry were fresh out of taste, would you just like another Jager?"
"I suppose"

'Katie and her Beautiful Friends'

The first thing you'll notice when you walk into Market Bar is that it's fucking dark. Its not just dark either, its misty. The only advantage to this, I suppose, is that despite the fact you probably look like you fell into a pit of ugly, the bird, dancing/shuffling/staggering in front of you, who herself is probably related to a moose, thinks you look like a young Patrick Swayze. If you capitalise on this you could end up doing things to her face, with your face, that to a normal person, LOOK DISGUSTING.


Really, i've gotten ahead of myself, I said 'when you walk in', but that's if you get in. You could be one of the many, many, many dickheads who stand outside, in the cold, with no hope. Or you could be one of the righteous customers, who chooses to cross the road and go into BaaBar, mumbling "I didn't want to go in anyway', with the rest of the sheep...get it? Sheep? BaaBar? Brilliant. It makes for a great paradox, you can either stand in the window of BaaBar, watching the queue slowly dwindle, wondering why you left your space. Or you can stand in the cold outside, looking back into BaaBar, wondering why you'd want to be in either.


Apparently when it first opened you could only get in if you were a 'somebody', now they changed the rule to 'anybody', or 'has a body' or possibly 'knows somebody, who's a nobody, but does have a wristband'. Sometimes people put themselves on the guest list in order to get quicker admission. 'The Guest List'? No guest has ever come over to my house and pissed all over my toilet floor, been sick in my sink, danced in my living room and gotten with my dog. Then again, thats just because i throw shit house-parties


I think the main problem with the bar is that not one person, once entering, is competent enough a human being to understand how much there putting in there mouth. It's almost like the hand and mouth have become symbiotic, unable to move away from one another. 


One particular experience  rings to mind. I was standing at the bar with a friend, ordering some drinks, the waitress looked excitable and pleasant enough, so we decided instead of a tip, to buy her a drink. Of course it was a Jagerbomb, what else, they dont serve anything else. This process repeated several times. we found out later, that was in fact, her first shift, and, due to the amount we had bought her, she collapsed and then pissed herself. Thats going right onto a CV.


Aside from it being a tiny, dark, dank, sweaty pit, full of people so pleased with there eventual admission, that they consumed a whole litre of thick, brown, sugar water and managed to pull someone they didn't know from freshers week, only because they couldn't get out of the way due to being asphyxiated by the sheer number of TWATS, the bar itself is shit. Sorry, did I say 'aside' from those things. What I meant was, because of those things its shit

'It really is'

Please dont be drawn into believing it's good because its underground and you can stay up till three in the morning, if you're looking for something underground, that is significantly better, try digging yourself a grave and climbing into it.


Lastly, it should be noted that they run a night called 'Dive', how fitting.

From The Editor 'a pretty sweaty deal'

.

Retrospective: A Coco-Tastic Apology

From the Team at ShuduxyBuxy, we apologise for any offence caused. 


The video below should explain just about everything. 

Double click the video to view in full screen

Robin Williams didn't complain - BECAUSE HE'S A FUCKING PROFESSIONAL.

From The Editor 'a pretty sincere deal'