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Hey whoah the Olympics is over. We can now resume our normal tele watching routines.
What’s that? There’s nothing good on tele in Britain? Oh what an almighty shame. Because if you travel to the US there’s always something on the box, and by something I mean repetitive reality TV. Its the golden chalice of entertainment. It’s the peaches to my cream. It’s so good it’ll make you want to take off your trousers and helicopter.
My potentially obvious sarcasm stems from an advertisement for a brand new reality television show I saw advertised recently. It’s called ‘Tanked’ and features a couple of middle aged blokes making fish tanks for rich people.
After watching this commercial I travelled to the local fishing lake and caught myself a 5lb catfish. I then drove to the nearest pet shop and repeatedly threw said catfish at the stores biggest, most extravagant fish tank, causing deafening vibrations to the clearly petrified creatures inside, and making the tank look like a disgusting bloody mess. I proceeded in savagely eating the dismembered catfish raw in front of the shops horrified visiting children and their parents.
I wonder where the days went when reality TV actually had an interesting draw. Something attractive about the show that set it apart from the other dribble we witness everyday. Of course gems such as ‘The Amazing Race’, ‘Survivor’ and ‘The Apprentice’ are still around, but these programmes are now feeling a little dated as the years have gone by, and are drown out by poisons that are ‘Orange County Housewives’, ‘Jersey Housewives’, ‘Housewives of Atlanta’ and ‘The Real Housewives of Baghdad’. The only shining light I’ve seen recently is TNTs new series ‘The Great Escape’ – a show where three teams of two must escape from famous facilities or locations of the world. Although the illusion is somewhat lost when contestants are caught by guards and must start from the beginning, as by this point it starts to feel more like an elaborate game of hide and seek with puzzles that have a difficulty level of nursery at best.
However, I can still find solace in my true love that is Hell’s Kitchen which is nearing its climax. There’s something strangely relaxing about watching Gordon Ramsey belittle and embarrass bungling chefs while they argue with each other about whose less crap at cooking.
I think I’m just happy I don’t have to watch Waterpolo on NBC anymore. I was getting horribly fed up of hearing about the Olympics and I’m glad they’re over. Oh, the Paralympics starts in a couple of weeks?
I think I’m losing my faith in mankind. The other day I was in one of America’s massive superstores and I noticed a bloke get into one of them motorised shopping carts that disabled people use to get round the shop better. Except this guy wasn’t disabled at all, as he so nonchalantly displayed to us when he waddled in through the automatic doors. He just had a rather generous roll of blubbery lard hugging his torso. Of course he really may be disabled, and I’m aware genuinely disabled people use these machines to get around, but I can’t help but instantly pass judgement on this man as this is a trend I’m starting to see quite a lot while doing a shop. Every time I see someone whizzing around in one of these they happen to have kankles the size of basketballs. Maybe these fatties wouldn’t have this nagging mobility problem if they stopped driving around in fatty mobiles. It seems a lot of the citizens of this country can’t get out of this vicious cycle of laziness and double stuffed Oreos.
I’ve got a feeling the Americans are either in serious denial about their obesity problem or they simply just don’t care. Never have I seen a country so readily encourage disordered eating as they do. Sure, mcdonalds may have introduced a new “under 400 calorie” menu, but in the same breath you’ll see them advertising prizes you can win if Americans Olympians do well at London 2012. That’s you winning burgers if other people more athletic than you are achieve great things at the Olympics.
I know you simply cannot take away fatty mobiles, but maybe a different approach is needed. If Twinkies were offered as reward for victors of the dreaded gauntlet that is Super Target the USA might have a new set of Olympians on their hands. Maybe they could redesign the fatty mobiles and have them require a deposit of two jumbo iced honey buns as payment for using the fatty mobile service.
Although I may have just had a stroke of genius. They’re clearly trying to emulate the workings of 34 stone Ricardo Blas Jr. of the Judo event. This case is closed.
Went to a soccer match the other night. This one had a twist though, it was in the USA.
Floridian third division side Orlando City played Stoke of the premier league in what must have been the worst match anyone has ever witnessed ever. Despite this disgusting pile of footballing fecal matter we were watching, the atmosphere the Americans were generating was commendable to say the least. However, there were some things we witnessed that were nothing short of tragic.
The national anthems played before the game, with my sibling and I happily humming along to ‘God Save the Queen’ in half hearted fashion, as we’re clearly too cool for patriotism. Expectedly though when the American national anthem played, people put their hands to their hearts and sang, everyone. What I didn’t expect though was the streamers, confetti and balloons being released when “the land of the free, and the home of the brave” was belted out. By this point I was instantly a Stoke fan, and for the rest of the night I could only picture the Orlando City fans with colourful face paint, honking a horn and driving a tiny car while the children run away in terror.
The game kicked off and was played in typical boring Stoke city fashion, so the vast majority of our entertainment came from the sheer stupidity and cringe worthy quotes coming from the fans sat around us. For example, every time Thomas Sorensen took a goal kick, screams of “you fat bastard” in Britain we’re replaced by “you suck, asshole”. Which frankly sounds like a back handed 9 year old insult you throw at someone when they nick your juice box.
“You need to score more goals man!” – when Orlando went 1-0 down.
“Whoever came up with that is a genius.” – referring to the “you suck, asshole” chant.
“America is the best country in the world.” – a drunk college students comment which was greeted with a high five from a hairy man in the row in front.
“Why is there 4 minutes injury time? There wasn’t even any goals. This is rediculous.” – a man clearly not grasping the concept of ‘injury time’.
The fans were by far the most interesting part of this game. I guess it was kind of nice to hear fans applaud players for trying their best in contrast to English football supporters, who basically tell the players how awful they are as they themselves eat a pasty and drink two pints at half time.
But even so I’d rather see the players get waves of abuse than staff squirming to clean up confetti thrown by overly patriotic Yanks.
Fishing is overrated. Maybe that’s just because I can’t catch anything. I get one of them weird feelings while I’m fishing where I keep thinking they’re plotting against me.
They keep suggestively splashing in the water, reminding me that they’re actually there, taunting me. They’ll eat algae off the bottom of small ponds but they’ll not touch my bait, I mean who doesn’t like reduced fat turkey hot dogs?
I read somewhere that fish don’t feel pain. I can’t help but think that’s just an excuse so fisherman don’t feel bad about themselves. If I had been granted three wishes I’d make it so fish can vent their physical and psychological anguish to their captors, then hopefully they’d need some heavy counselling. That would be after I’d wished for an unlimited supply of spicy tacos and a talking pet chimp.
Maybe I’m just doing it wrong. Those guys on “Hillbilly Hand Fishing” make it look so easy. Just reach in and pull ’em out. When I tried that I got nothing but an old bike tire. Eventually the boredom sets in and the stench of failure invades the air, what the hell is their problem?
I know, I’ll try worms. I pierce the hook through the worm, and submerge it into the swampy depth. After another age of disappointment passes by, the worm looks bored.
I’m boring the bait.
At this point I’m packing in, I’m not letting a worm make a mockery of my pride. I can’t handle the humiliation, I can feel the fish laughing and sniggering at me. I feel bullied and lonely and retreat back to the dock, if I could catch anything I’d release a swarm of small tiger sharks into the pond for instant revenge. That would teach them to play with peoples emotions. Jerks.
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.
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.