Monday 07 May 2012

Wank Holiday Monday

I don’t really have anything to say about bank holiday-ness, I just though the highly pathetic and immature play on words could not not be used.

What did I do with the day not in work? I was visited by two-thirds of my close family. I’ll tell you this for the price of…well this is a free for the price of that Prince album that was free: I essentially moved out of my parental home in 1996 to go to university – returning intermittently to lie in bed for summers and Christmases before permanently moving out. 1996. Did you know it is now 2012? That’s 16 years*.

SIXTEEN YEARS. This was the first time my mum ever visited somewhere I have lived, other than the one in Stalybridge – but that doesn’t count. I’m not one to make a deal out of things like this, though. And I certainly don’t mention it to my mum all the time like some ungrateful little twat ignoring all his mother has ever done for him. No, I don’t do that. Wellllllllllllllllllllllllllll…nature vs nurture, surely it’s her fault either way??

*Shit that makes me realise what an essentially pointless waste of existence my life has been: if I had knocked some desperate woman up when I went to University the baby girl would now be old enough for me to legally have sex with – not legally because I would be her Dad…but you catch my drift. I suppose at least I would feel my life had some point because I had reproduced: at least that’s the sense I get listening to people in their late 40s at work who seem to have a life almost as pointless as my own but they have children to talk about as though they are talking about something interesting. Newsflash: your children are about as interesting as cagoules**. Are cagoules interesting? No.

**Some people take everything I write literally, I don’t (completely) mean this; I am being overly aggressive and dismissive for (not even close to) humorous effect.

Ballbag Central

I don’t know what’s happened recently to the area around my flat but it seems to have become about 25% more scrotey. It’s not like there was never any gathering of loud and bored youths hanging about; nor is it like it is significant or effecting in my life. I have just noticed it and don’t quite understand it. It’s like hanging about at the bottom of Platt Lane suddenly became cool. Standing in the middle of the road or kicking a football at shops near Fallowfield Library is to now what The Beatles were to the 60s, what disco was to the 70s…what AIDS was to the 80s: it’s fucking cool and everybody wants some.

TV Update

I forgot to say when I was doing my TV thing yesterday: House got really, really fucking shit in the last series. There were like two good episodes: the first one and one random one the other week. Without trying to exaggerate about how bad it is, occasionally when watching this series I have wondered why I was watching Casualty.

Zokora sic racist balls

Far be it from me to say that kicking someone in the balls for saying something racist is the best way to sort things, but this video was something I found satisfaction watching. Basically Turkish footballer Emre called Didier Zokora an effing n-word in a game earlier in the year. Emre kind of got away with being banned for a couple of games. They played each other for the first time tonight and Zokora’s team-mates kicked Emre about a bit before Zokora finished it off by kicking him up the balls. Well, I enjoyed it.

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