I'm going to Hell

Calling Shotgun is an ancient tradition, going back many decades to those pirate wannabes, the Cowboys. Back in the famous Cowboy Era people used to travel around by wagons and the person sitting next to the driver would carry a shotgun. The shotgun was mainly for show, as no one would be stupid enough to attack a Cowboy, and the mythical 'Indians' have since been debunked as Yankee propaganda.

Since then the practice has extended to cars, with the rules of Shotgun becoming loosely defined. A lot of House Rules have been created over time, with many regional variations and changes being applied. Here are what I consider to be some of the most important Shotgun Rules:

1. Shotgun can only be called when in sight of the car.
2. If two people call shotgun at the same time, whoever reaches the car first wins.
3. Shotgun can only be called if you are on the way to the car.
4. Shotgun can be called for all seats in the car, so the last person to call Shotgun gets the Bitch Seat (middle seat).
5. Women can't call Shotgun.

Most of these rules were picked up or originated while I was at university. Before that neither me nor any of my friends really had cars, so the topic never came up. But at uni there were lots of lifts given to groups of mates, so some kind of system needed to be enforced. Rule #3 was important as calling Shotgun became ridiculous: before an event was even announced, weeks in advance or before someone even had a car. Rule #4 originated as no one ever wanted to sit in the Bitch Seat.

The most important rule is rule #5. Girls seemed unable to grasp the intricacies of calling Shotgun, they were constantly losing Shotgun rights because of poor choices of music, breaking calling rules and sulking when they lost the race to the car. To solve this problem it was decided that girls should lose the right to call Shotgun. Don't look at me like that, they had their chance. They can still vote, what more do you want?

Labels: comedy, driving, friends, fun, women

That's right, a new low. I will today be discussing the many different types of shit people take. I feel that this a much ignored topic, even by blokes. Men tend to make comments when they come back from the toilet, but full on dump orientated conversations are fairly rare.

To start things off, here's a few definition's that I've come across during those rare moments when the topic of releasing the chocolate hostage arises:

1. The Ghost - You've pinched off a loaf, but when you go to wipe, there's nothing there.
2. The Neverending - No matter how many times you wipe, there's still more poop to remove.
3. The Shotgun - It comes out so quick with a bit of gas, leading to a lovely pebbledash effect on the bowl.
4. The Ring Burn - After eating spicy food, mainly curries, you get a nasty burn around your balloon knot.
5. The Guinness - The nastiest, blackest, most foul smelling turd made by man or beast.

Of course there's plenty more out there such as The Train, The Behemoth, and The Rollercoaster to name a few. A few friends of mine at university had a tally running in the toilet of their shared house. Every time someone went to drop the kids off at the pool you had to mark how it went on the chart. The chart was conveniently located on the back of the toilet door, with a pen taped to it.

The Guinness is an oft overlooked style of butt fudge. I became aware of it in the worst possible way I could imagine. The Wench's Dad was getting remarried, and I went on his stag night. During the course of the night out of sixteen of us, fifteen were drinking Guinness all night. We were all sleeping in the same house, sharing the same toilet. It was my bad luck to be one of the last to use the toilet the next morning. By that point the smell had become a living thing, solid and angry, looking for a way to take revenge for the abomination it had become. They found me unconscious in the hallway, after I'd managed to escape it I'd blacked out. Sometimes at night I can still hear the screaming...

Labels: crap, drinking, friends, hangover, horror, wench

Adverts can be great, but the vast majority suck like MySpace: badly. Adverts can bring you down in the middle of a good program, or film. I can't wait to get Sky+ (England's version of Tivo) so I don't have to watch adverts anymore. Most of the good ones you get to see on YouTube anyway. In fact YouTube has become quite a good trial for a commercial, if it's good, it'll be passed around, like a drunk cheerleader at a frat party.

Bad adverts are boring, uninspired, stupid, badly produced, acted or dubbed. Here's a few of the adverts I've found illustrating a few of these points, or they just grind my gears:

1. Toyota Yaris
2. Get Unhooked (Anti-smoking)
3. HI! I'M BARRY SCOTT!! (Cilit Bang) - Remixed version! <-- Funny stuff
4. Orange Mobile Phones
5. Frosties

The Orange advert is clever, but is on all day. In my office there are TVs all over the place, and I hear this advert every 10mins. I'm on the verge of putting my head through the next screen on which this advert appears.

The Frosties advert is quite possibly the most annoying thing since the french. It's very well known in the UK, I'm not sure if it's in the US. It was played so much I developed a twitch every time it came on the TV. Over here it became so annoying a radio DJ started a rumour that the kid had killed himself because he'd been bullied so much due to the advert. It's kind of an urban legend now, despite the DJ telling everyone he's really alive and well a large number of people still think he's dead.

This redeems my faith that not everyone in advertising is as cripplingly retarded as a brain damaged chimp on acid.

Labels: adverts, stupidity, suckage, TV, UK

I've never had that much of a problem paying my rent. I know it's a common complaint amongst students and the like, but I was lucky enough to get help in that department. While I was at university my parents covered my rent for me for the first two years while I was in halls. My third year I was working 'in the industry', and the in the final year I was supposed to have saved enough money to pay it myself. Since then I've been working and it's not really been a problem.

So from my experience, and that of some of my less fortunate friends, here's my Top 5 ways to pay your rent:

1. Don't
2. Perform 'favours' for your landlord
3. Sell your computer
4. Get the Devil to pay it by challenging him to an elaborate Rock Off
5. Direct Debit

That's right, No.1 was 'Don't'. While this may seem like a stupid suggestion you'd be surprised how often this works. A mate of mine got away with nearly 8 months rent simply by not paying. Of course you need a landlord who is either stupid, lazy or threatened enough by you he is afraid to bring it up.

I've also had mates perform 'favours' in exchange for a months rent. Most of these 'favours' were in the form of 'work', where my friend would have to 'service' the landlord's 'equipment' using various 'skills' he had 'picked up' during his time at university. I don't know why I put all those quote marks in there, it was perfectly innocent. He just sorted out computer stuff for her every know and then. Oh yeah, and they were boning.

Labels: bills, devil, friends, work

So over two weeks after I said I was going to see 300 I finally managed to drag the Wench to the cinema to see it on The Big Screen. It was definitely worth the effort. The only thing I can think though is that it's probably not going to be as good the second time round. Sure it's impressive, the visuals are stunning, and everything looks just like a moving comic book, but other than all the dudes with rippling muscles killing hundreds of masked samurai-esque warriors what are you going to concentrate on now you know what's coming? What am I talking about? It was AWESOME!!

In honour of the magnificence that was 300 I give you my Top 5 Spartans:

1. Michigan State Spartans
2. John Spartan
3. Master Chief
4. Kratos
5. King Leonidas

The Spartans were apparently the finest soldiers the world has ever produced. What happened to them? If they were that great they can't have been annihilated. Maybe they moved. Or maybe, like those other highly evolved killers of long ago, the dinosaurs, they evolved into something else?* Yeah, maybe they just got so good at killing people and being the ultimate soldiers that they evolved into ninjas. Then they all disappeared, never to be heard from again, only to be remembered for their past deeds before they moved on to a higher plane of existence.

*Note: I think this is crap, the dinosaurs were killed off by a time-travelling idiot with the flu.

Labels: films, history, late, science, stupidity, wench

At last, I drag together enough time and inspiration to squeeze out another post. It's been a long time coming but don't get too over excited.

I've seen a lot of arguments recently, I've not participated in many, but I've witnessed quite a few. Arguments in modern times seem to quickly dissolve into shouting matches, with all sides deciding they'll win if they repeat themselves the most at the highest volume. Well this may work for dogs and retards, but civilised human beings should use one of these less violent and noisy alternatives:

1. Each side can put forth a well thought out and coherent argument, before hearing the next participants viewpoint, then decide on a course of action, possibly a compromise to the benefit of all parties.
2. Flip a coin
3. Rock, Paper, Scissors
4. Russian Roulette
5. Fight to the death

Personally I find a flip of the coin works quite well. Sure it doesn't always work, but if your bad at presenting your point then winning half your arguments, even against superior debaters arguers is a pretty good win/loss ratio.

As a solution to arguments I think that quite often fighting to the death is neglected as a possible alternative. In a better time gentlemen would challenge each other to duels in order to settle a quarrel, not stand about in the street in the middle of the night, yelling incomprehensible babble at each other until one side wonders off, is hit by a car, or falls asleep. I'm a firm believer in letting whoever is the finest swordsman or greatest shot win an argument. Even in the future we know that inevitably all disputes will be decided in the Thunderdome, just as they were hundreds of years ago. Two men enter, one man leaves! Two men enter, one man leaves!

Labels: drinking, films, history, stupidity

We've been in our flat apartment for just over a year now, I think, and during that time we were mostly neighbourless. The apartment to one side was occupied briefly, but the owner was hardly ever home, for months at a time, and she's just sold the place. The apartment on our other side was put up for rent, and only recently did anyone move in. We had grown accustomed to being alone and quiet in our corner of the building. Then Slammy McDoor-Swinger moved in next door.

Here's the top 5 things that make the Wench pray for a small localised holocaust and/or nuclear blast:

1. They're not particularly friendly
2. They don't turn off the hallway light.
3. They don't lock the hallway door.
4. They slam their doors.
5. They park halfway in our parking space.

These may seem like small petty things, and they are, but they really get on the Wench's nerves. Only the parking really annoys me, as we only have one space (which we own), the car park is always pretty full and they're taking up two.

Over the weekend the Wench discovered that when someone buzzes our neighbours' intercom, we can pick up the phone as well. So she was listening to their conversation and then whispered into the phone, "Helloo...". Apparently they both stopped talking and got a bit freaked out. So I guess that's the Wench's plan to get rid of them, scare them and either convince them that a) this one year old building is haunted, or b) we're mental enough that they want to leave.

Labels: assholes, fun, home, suckage, wench