Monthly Archives: February 2012


ImageI have not a clue how it’s happened.

A few months ago if you told someone you were into a video game which happens to include dragons, magic spells, elves and other mythical beings you’d be instantly condemned to humiliation and immediate sexual rejection and stigma.


You kept it secret for many years, keeping it in your closet to conceal your erection for all things dungeons and dragons that was so painfully visible to the world and annoyingly rubbing on your comfort pants that you’ve now worn far too many times without washing.

But now it’s over. A game has been spawned that has saved your social life and granted you the confidence and right of passage to speak to those creatures you know so little about, those you have always known of, but also always feared. Girls.

They are now forced to at least look at your confidence drained, pimple populated and scarily lonely figure instead of looking straight through you at the kind’ve guy who thinks its cool to take pictures of himself in the mirror and post them on facebook.

Before, you avoided girls just like you did the mighty dragons at level 5. But now you destroy their walls of intimidation and absorb the lessons they teach you when they awkwardly ask who you are as you randomly approach them on Valentines Day or grudgingly inquire if it’s in yet.

It’s safe to say though now girls are much less of an issue. And rather surprisingly, so are the haters as the small minority of people who make fun of others for playing Skyrim are now severely outnumbered and are quickly banished to social Oblivion (sorry).

But Skyrim has pretty much made its way into video game folklore over the last couple of months. It’s probably the most addictive video game since Kratos from God of War got so hot and heavy in the bedroom he decided to incorporate his romps into a kid friendly mini-adventure involving a waiting blonde and a whole lot of player guilt for getting so excited about it.

I’m sure so many male gamers have searched for something like this in Skyrim. Not me though. Definitely not.

Awful in-blog video game references increased to 85.

Exaggeration increased to 100.


Diary of a Disgruntled Flyer

I wonder if anyone actually enjoys flying.

I would like to meet that person. Perhaps take them on a date and get to know them better. They must be truly remarkable.

Upon suffering multiple long distance flights in a short space of time I’ve discovered flying does not get the slightest bit more enjoyable despite the impressive array of playing cards and paperback novels you’ve brought with you.

As for in-flight entertainment frankly I’d rather catch up on The Teletubbies than the latest romantic comedy starring Matthew McConaughey and another robotic one-dimensional “actor”. And even if it is a film you were looking forward to it’ll be instantly underwhelmed by the 8 inch fuzzy, discoloured screen positioned uncomfortably close to your face because the gentleman in the seat in front decided to put his chair so far back he might as well have just rested his head in your lap listening to whale noises while you cradle him to sleep.

Children screaming and kicking chairs while you eat your chicken pasta which you masterfully chose instead of the roast cardboard and vegetables. But suddenly your beaming smile and new found sense of self appreciation for making the right choice crash lands when you notice your 5 star cuisine looks suspiciously like the child’s vomit sat in the row next to you. And probably tastes like it too.

I can’t help but feel excitement though when the lady with the cart comes over to feed us like cattle and pass us little boxes like there’s a spellbinding surprise inside that we can’t wait to unwrap like a child with an early christmas present. This atmosphere of anticipation is soon replaced with disappointment and humiliation as we all try so desperately to utilise the 4 inches of space we have to try and butter the minuscule piece of wholewheat bread like elephant seals packed into shoe-boxes. Cursing our gullible naivety because the butter is still frozen and we’ve already destroyed the last morsel of food we’re rationed until landing.

But I suppose the satisfaction of landing makes the journey more worthwhile. The noise of the wheels crashing against the runway being greeted by applause marks the end of a horrific ordeal like a woman giving birth or the end of the Academy Awards.

The Little Italian That Could


2007. The Messiah had arrived. The man who could turn water into wine had graced our country with his managerial grace and stylish spectacles. Fabio Capello had the doors to his football factory open and England had the golden ticket. Excitement lined the streets. People desperate for a shake of the hand from the guy whose touch could turn anything to platinum.

He can’t speak English? Not important.

The anticipation was in every England fans eyes. This was it, “40 years of hurt” was about to get an appointment with the most prestigious doctor in football. This guy was the boss among bosses.

Guaranteed stricter than your parents, as an England player you weren’t allowed phones at the dinner table. If you wanted to go out with a girl he needed to meet her first. And her parents. And you had to be in by dark and in bed by the end of Corrie.

But this was about the approach more than football. Gone were the days of booze and coke-fueled nights out featuring the cream-of-the-crop in foreign prostitutes.

Mr. Wolly with the Brolly himself looked like Winnie-the-Pooh compared to the stern face italian stallion who, at the same time wouldn’t look out of place with a shell on his back at Seaworld.

But this was it. This was the era. We would be bigger than the big sides like Spain and Brazil. Except not as agile, skillful,  entertaining, dominating, determined or good looking as them.

2009. We were on the way to the golden chalice. The Holy Grail that is the World Cup is surely ours. The qualifiers probably could’ve been played by any Royal Oak Sunday side. Capello nearly offered to manage one of the teams playing against England to give them a fighting chance. Because that’s the man he is, always thoughtful and willing to help others, and never for money. Ever.

2010. This was the year of celebration, we all knew it. We expected it. The World Cup is just the start. The next step is world domination. Our greatness would eclipse our competitors to such an extent we would eventually only need 5 players on the pitch. And even then it would be 5 too many as the fear-striking England name would be enough to make the opposition curl into a ball and weep until we took their lunch money and made them say “uncle”. Earth would then be re-named “England” with Capello walking on water.

Hold on. One step at a time.

We arrive at the World Cup. We scrape through the group stage in what is a shaky start to our breakthrough campaign. Doubters start to surface and are immediately greeted by hostility and disgust by the Capello faithful, the Messiah will get us through this.

But get through we didn’t. The Capello empire crumbled and collapsed upon the mans very eyes as the demonic and evil force that is Germany rip through and destroy England like a child rips the wings off a squirming fly for their own twisted amusement.

Fabio is exiled. Statues depicting his greatness are torn down, burned, laughed at, then urinated on for effect. Fabio Capello was not the King anymore, he was the jester who’d taken everyone in England around for a cheap laugh.

2012. Fabio Capello resigns. The-little-italian-that-could went from hero to zero while practically achieving nothing but wasting everyones time and making us feel foolish in the process, as we probably all should’ve realised he made next to no progression in learning the English language in over four years.

Capello is now homeless and lives somewhere in Lancashire with his dog Rex whom he bought in return for a 6 pack of Carlsberg and 9 expired banana flavoured condoms.

Forty years of hurt and England fans are still awaiting the remedy. 

Superbowl of Corn Flakes


After the dust has settled and people have just recovered from their superbowl hangovers, I came to a grim realisation about America’s favourite sporting event, as well as the sport altogether.

I watched Superbowl 46 and immediately switched it off when I noticed I’d been watching it for around 50 minutes and they hadn’t even gotten through the first quarter due to advertisements.

Something that probably makes me want to eat a plate of tacks for breakfast more than anything is how people can actually look forward to the Superbowl for the adverts. Adverts are not meant to be enjoyed they are meant to brainwash you like mindless vegetables to buy their product through the sheer motivation of greed.

People who watch the NFL hold a brilliant level of passion which is certainly commendable but I also believe their ignorance is worthy of them getting a Tim Tebow kick to the face.

Football is a sport that exists purely to make MONEY. Any game that requires the players on the pitch and the audience in the stands to wait for an NBC commercial break should be banished, strung up, tortured, raped and eaten with a garnish of loneliness and humiliation.

Don’t get me wrong. I am aware that all professional sports need to make money as this is how businesses work, even in Soccer (Through gritted teeth I use the horrific term ‘soccer’ to avoid confusion). But the initial core and purpose of Soccer is not to make money but to provide a service for its fans to celebrate their passion for their favourite teams, un-interrupted by the money-driven motivations of television networks or advertising sponsors.


If every fifteen minutes of every live Soccer match was interrupted because the television network it was being broadcast on needed to go to a commercial break there would be blood. Fans would realise their passion was being turned into a rolling money making machine. Unfortunately though signs are starting to crop up as the ticket prices to even see some lower division soccer teams is absurd as well as player wages and big team transfer budgets are reaching astronomical heights. Thankfully though it’s not quite at the same stage as the NFL, although as a passionate British soccer fan we all hope this isn’t just going to be a matter of time.

A Frank Guide to the USA


A definitive guide to a few things you may notice on your trip to the USA, some of them you may find interesting, useful (most likely not) and mildly amusing. Bear in mind all of these points relate purely to the state of Florida, so to be honest this list is quite shallow and unthoughtful as the points are being used to generalise the rest of the 3,794,101 square miles of the US (obviously wikipedia’d that). But by this point I’m pretty certain you’re past caring.

1. A lot of things generally don’t make a lot of sense. You’ll find yourself repeating the phrase “that’s stupid” more times then you’ll play “spot the guy under 200lbs” at Wal-Mart. I’ll make a sub-list.

  • Speed Limit Signs. Instead of a clearly visible red circle with a number in the middle they need a large white sign saying SPEED LIMIT underneath the number in baffling thin black letters. Huge common sense fail.
  • Road signs rarely tell you where you’re going until you’re actually at the junction. Usually you don’t mind until you realise you’re in the wrong lane when its always too late. Cue frustration.
  • Sales tax. When something is advertised for $5 you expect to pay $5 right? Don’t be so stupid, you’re a moron and this assumption instantly makes you a massive bellend. You pay $5.35.
  • You have to wear a seat-belt by law but it’s alright to sit in the back of a pickup truck unprotected.

I could honestly continue this list but I don’t want to keep you reading all week.

2. Facial hair is in abundance. For some reason the people of the USA think its fashionable to sport a big bushy mustache complete with a potbelly and trucker hat. Ignorance is also in abundance apparently, as evidently they’re unaware that in 2012 that image makes you look like the village pedophile.

3. You’ll most likely hate 90% of American television. If you don’t enjoy watching reality shows featuring rich, talent-less, attention seeking women with half of the programme watching adverts about the newest innovation in vehicular design or the latest steakhouse to put on an extra 5 stone, then you may be out of luck. What a shame. Although if the masterpiece that is “Kourtney an Kim take New York” doesn’t tickle your ever-so-curious fancy then please do not lose any sleep, I’m sure you’ll find a reality show featuring any other uninteresting subject you can think of. My favourites include “Storage Wars”, “Bayou Billionaires”, “Ink Master” and “The Next Great Baker”.

4. When you buy something the person selling it to you will most likely be EXTREMELY friendly. When you walk through the door you may even occasionally be greeted with “Hello there!” before you’ve even thought about buying anything. You could just be going to use their toilet but they still act like it was love at first sight the moment they laid eyes on you. Compare this to the horrifically rude unhelpful cretins that populate most of our shops in Britain purely to fuel their cocaine addiction whilst feeding their gremlin-like devil children they had with their cousin(perhaps exaggerated). You’d be forgiven though for thinking American bundles of sales-assistant joy constantly have the heavens radiating from they’re shiny posteriors.

5. Going back to television, they censor absolutely everything apart from occasionally the word “Shit” and even the word “Ass”, but they then bleep the word “hole”. Don’t even think about nudity. They even blur out a little bit of arse crack.

6. And contrary to popular belief, everything is actually much bigger. This includes people, meals, cars, parking spaces, houses, egos and people. Everything’s massive. You’ll see 16 inch pizzas in the supermarket, the pre-dinner snack for the 500lb land mammals who’ll then waddle to the local eatery to gorge on 30 hot wings before they tuck into their entrée.

So there you go a few more-than-handy tips to help you on your way to living the American dream. I don’t know what that means neither.

Stressful Social Network

I’m not usually a stressful person. But I’ve managed to stumble across a tweet that makes me want to avoid mankind altogether and live in an igloo somewhere.

“#Nothingfeelsbetterthan knowing your someone’s one & only love.”

This tweet happens to be from a guy called @KEVgotdajuice and he also happens to be a bloke with his cap turned backwards as well. Not only do I hate people who sport this fashion but when they publicly expose they’re sensitivity on the internet it makes me want to cave in my head. I have no idea what image this person is trying to create for himself but he’s managed to infuriate me more in one sentence than anyone has ever done in my entire life. 

These aren’t the only type of people on the internet that tempt me into jumping into a pit of venomous snakes to ease my psychological anguish. The other type should be forcefully packed into cages and fed nothing but toothpaste and pure orange juice with bits.

This other type being the I-want-to-publicly-narrate-my-life-and-moan-about-my-personal-issues-without-actually-naming-any-names type.

We’ve all probably had that one “friend” on the internet that thinks that if they don’t actually say the name of the person they’re having relationship troubles with it’ll make their post look more mysterious and interesting even though everyone can see who that person is because its displayed on their relationship status. 

I hope these people take up skydiving with cardboard parachutes.

It’s a Bit Like a Diary

Only just started blogging and I’m trying to figure out whether this is something I’m actually gonna carry on this time or it’ll again remain unfinished business taking up valuable bandwidth, much like my Tumblr account, which frankly I just couldn’t be bothered to pretend I’m a photographer. 

In my opinion though blogging feels much like a diary, except it makes you look less like a fag. 

I doubt you’re dying to find out more about me, but I’ll list important stuff as it makes me feel like I’m a person of interest. 

  • I manage “SHU Radio” – a student run podcast station at Sheffield Hallam University.
  • I enjoy my girlfriend Steph, socialising, computer games and aggravating taxpayers by spending their hard earned money on things purely recreational, such as drinking and eating too much pasta as portion control isn’t in my skill set. 
  • My family live in Florida and I like to show off by talking about my childhood there, I casually bring it up in conversation just like I have done here. 

I’m now going to add a picture to this post in an attempt to make my blog look less bland and un-interesting.