Blog 21: Tweet Tweet

Recently I have gotten myself a twitter account. In hindsight I don’t know why. For those of you who perhaps haven’t heard of this new internet craze that is sweeping the world wide web by storm, basically, it’s like a site DEDICATED to facebook statuses… You just write what you’re doing.
The problem is, you have a limited amount of letters, which means you hv2 abbrvt unecsrly and write only a little bit of what you are doing. If you’re writing an essay, listening to Guns N’ Roses and chatting to a friend on facebook, you have to choose one or the other, you’re not allowed to do all three.
I don’t know why they’re so tight about that.
Also, unless you’re someone famous, (like I’m subscribed to Russell Brand’s, although I never have time to read it) you’re not going to be doing much of interest. I’ve often just typed in, basically because if I didn’t I’d feel bad, that I’m “not doing much” or I’m doing homework. Big woop, I’m sure the entire globe wants to know that.
Also, on the rare occasion that you are doing something interesting, say like skydiving, you’re gonna be too involved in that to even whip out your iPhone and tell twitter, so by the time you come to write what you’re doing, all you’re doing is being on twitter…
Having said all this, I still have a twitter account. I’ll probably go write “I’ve just posted a blog” on there right now.

Blog 20: Mishearings

Justice sometimes can be so infuriatingly screwed up. The worst thing EVER is being told off for something someone else did, or something that didn’t even happen.
The other day me and some friends were walking down the corridor and chatting, and then a teacher from half way down the corridor behind us told us off for our language…thing is, we didn’t know what it was that we said. We thought about it and concluded that she had misheard me saying “freakin” and had a go. It really annoyed me, ‘cos she was really cross and shouted at us, and she doesn’t even know whats going on. She was quite far away, and we were talking in the other direction, there were other kids having chats there as well and it was easy for her to mishear words, as she did, yet she still had a go as if she knew exactly what we said.
I don’t think we should bring back the death penalty if that’s what happens.

Blog 11: An Imposter Extremist!

You may notice that I have no blog 11 on my blog. This was because I removed it to prevent the victim of the rant from finding it, as I am clearly a two-faced git.
However, I saved it on my computer with the intention of republishing it once I arrived at Uni and no longer knew the victim.
Well, cleverly, my computer wiped it, so although this may appear to be the same, it is merely an imposter.
Here we go...
God creates the Earth in 6 days, rests on the 7th. God creates man and woman and gives them free will.
This bit is important.
Man USES free will!!! (gasp)
Now some Christians think that they, as a superior in holiness levels (because of some bizarre notion in there minds that they are after all higher than God AND the Pope) have the right to rid us of this free will.
Don't get me wrong, I am a Christian, and I have nothing against my own religion. I'm against extreme Christians who give the rest of us Christians a bad name. When extremist Christians come to you telling you you can't watch a film due to the sex scene it gets ridiculous.
The other day I was watching Watchmen with friends and for those who have seen it, it has a pretty dodgy sex scene in it. It's an amazing film, stylistically made, good acting by actors essentially unseen elsewhere. The next day I ask Mister Higher-than-the-Pope himself if he enjoyed what he'd seen of said film, and was surprised when he said "No, I didn't need to see all that nudity really." It still didn't click with me that he'd stormed out in the nudity scene, until break time when he came and told me that as Christians we shouldn't be watching that sort of thing because it doesn't teach good morals.
IT'S A FILM!
IT'S NOT REAL!
He says that he doesn't like sex scenes if they aren't done tastefully.
However, after my initial annoyance (which lasted 3 months) i took pleasure in the fact that Sin City is the film adaptation of his favourite graphic novel and also has dodgy sex scenes in it, he would say. I told him Sin City is really good except the sex scene and he said "yeah I don't really want to see it though."

Whatever.

What's really wierd is that one of his favourite films is Sweeney Todd, as if throat slashing is ok but sex isn't.
But its not the only thing he's ever done to annoy me.
He told me off for listening to the Rolling Stones.
He sent my self conscious and unconfident (but wonderful) friend a letter asking why she doesn't treat him like she treats me, and that me and her are closer than he and her, and why is this? (Hrmmmm, probably because she doesn't want to be treated like a cat, so stop petting her and see how that goes) This was followed by a phone call which made her feel pressurized into promising she'll change.
He hugs and pets this girl and tells her he imagines her napping even though they don't really get on and she is CLEARLY uncomfortable with it all.
AND other stuff as well.
Anyhoo, I'll post this up when I no longer know the guy, but I get the feeling he'd know who he is if he ever read this.
SO Yeh, i'm two faced and I'm bitchin' now, but if he is reading this then maybe he'll take a hint...
Or more than a hint as it turns out.

Blog 19: Prescribed Fun

Why do I get myself into the stupidest situations?

My mum and my sister decided to go away to a camp during the Easter holidays to get her used to half-extreme sports such as rock climbing, abseiling, etc, and being the adventurous person that I am I thought that there could be no harm in a little abseiling trip.

I mentioned to my sister that the trip sounded like fun, and it would be pretty fun. My mum asked if I would like to go, I said “why not” and then asked nothing more of it.

The time came that we had to leave. All happy that we were off on a little excursion, I hopped in the car with my laptop, music, stuff to read, an Iron Man DVD and off we went as if we were straight out of a Cliff Richard song.

In the car when we were about half hour away, I asked my mum to see the brochure, and then it dawned on me that we were off to a family activity place, set up mainly for children and their parents, where you were forced to have fun, or else. My stomach twisted, lurched...I panicked. “What have I done?” I asked myself.

On arrival, I found that the place we were staying was basically a Gulag, as shown in the photos and videos. It was scary. Blue-garbed guards patrolled around; one had a Mohawk which was all red and tall and I didn’t like him one bit. The guard who guarded us was called Mawry or something, and decided to offer me some orange squash on arrival, despite my obvious beard, and also was kind enough to knock on my door 10 minutes before 7.30 to let me know that dinner was in 10 minutes time, as if I couldn’t work out that dinner at the predestined time of 7.30 was going to be at 7.30.

Dinner itself sucked; it was the sort of dinner you’d give someone that you wouldn’t mind annoying or not treating very well because you know they’ll die during the night anyway.

Later that evening, which is as I write this, I was invited to join in activities and play with my 4 year old “peers” in an evening of prescribed fun. It all sounded jolly, but unfortunately I had to try and go on the internet to escape the reality of where I was.

Foolishly, I forgot that the place we were at was in the middle of nowhere, Lincolnshire, and of course, phone reception and wireless internet access is still something from the Terminator films out here.

So I stayed in a while, until I was intrigued to go outside to see if I could find reception elsewhere.

Outside was haunting. Although I knew inside that the screams were of joy, I couldn’t tell whether they were actually joyful, or screams of people dying. It was horrible, and I mean it without any exaggeration at all. The heavy spotlights beaming down on me, casting areas in deep shadow and other areas in bright piercing light, again, like a Gulag or death camp, and the tall “high ropes” course like a sentry tower, as shown in the pictures, together with the screams made me feel very frightened to be honest, so I walked (briskly) back to my deserted 6 bed room, complete with dust, one duvet and pillow, and half eaten skittle, and sat down on a mattress on the floor and typed this up. I can still hear screaming from outside.

Blog 18: Social Butterfly, or Wasp?

I have a saturday job, which I have ranted in relation to before, and you may have read all about my unencouraging boss. You may even remember the intellectual comment from Mr. Li, my medical sidekick, about how he agreed.
Well this is sort of a follow up rant about that very same boss.

I'm quite a talkative guy, as you may have been able to tell from the endless chatter on this blog, and this gets me into trouble at times at work, as I chat more than work sometimes. However, it has become somewhat exaggerated by the bosses.

3 or 4 times in a year I have been told to not chat...I think that's pretty good...
However, apparently, this is too much, and it has become apparent to my boss that I am something of a troublemaker.

So now he thinks I'm behind everything...and I'm unfairly treated as a result. For example, I now frequently put eggs out (they're on a different aisle) so I am seperated from others. Similarly I have to put fish out whilst the boss is upstairs in the morning, and whilst everyone else is the other end of the aisle, again being seperated.
Moreover, twice I have been told off for being, like 3 or 4 minutes late to work even though I have a colleague who was an HOUR AND A HALF late and got off scot free 'cos she apologised. I even worked ten minutes after my usual finish time to make up for it...yet its not good enough...
The other instance was when my colleague went up for lunch (we have an hour) and then I went up a couple of minutes later...
I came down 1h3mins later, and he came 2 minutes after that...guess who gets told off?

The other day we were all restacking a cage, which for some reason my colleague decided to set up a rather impressive conveyor belt system, only with people, and when my boss' boss saw us, he told our boss, and guess who got told off? Me. As if I was in charge, or the ringleader, when the reality is I was manipulated into it.

I can't quite put my finger on the reason for his judgement. Maybe it's my long hair, or my reluctance to shave for work, or perhaps the Che Guevara wrist band I occasionally wear.

I only wear it because it has nice colours.