What a Witty Title, Bravo!

Well then. As the readers of this blog may have noticed, the description has been changed to 'we'. No, McGee has not become schizophrenic since the last post, nor has he begun to use the royal 'we'. Actually, that's something that I would probably do, going by the title of 'Lord' for some time. Anyway, after a lengthy discussion yesterday, transforming a quip about me eating individually named jelly babies into some kind of Lovecraftian horror, I was offered the position as a writer-helper-person for this blog-o-matic, which I accepted, my own rambling blog about video games having staggered around for a bit before falling into the dirt. Anyway, that's enough of the friendly introduction, now to my bitter angry self. Yay!

So, as someone with far too much free time on their hands usually does, I spend most of my days sitting around, browsing web forums, watching cartoons and shouting about conspiracies to all who will listen. Or haven't managed to untie themselves yet. As such, I find myself as quite an angry person at the worst of times. I have, after much research, tracked down one of the main sources of my inexhaustible rage. Buses. Now, as someone who makes use of the bus often, embarking on the 45-minute journey to college at the beginning of each day, I have become accustomed to my mode of transport; never breathing too deeply or inhaling at any time, and generally avoiding those who look as though they would bother me. So, that's most people to my paranoid eyes.

Well, as my college is paired with a school, there is the deal of putting up with the packed bus each day. Well, there is only ONE bus that goes in my direction, and is usually filled with a variety of screaming children from both my school and a nearby one. The moment that bell goes at the end of the day, I'm off, powerwalking to the second stop to get a seat, which is usually available. It's these same kids, however, that every day run straight from school to the bus stop and jump on, determined to make as much noise as possible. It's times like this that I feel more like one of those old 'get off my lawn' type of person. I'm not a big fan of anyone who is younger than me, really. I haven't a bloody clue what to do with babies either. My mum put my baby cousin down on my bed while I had relatives visiting and walked off, leaving me alone with the potato-headed dribbler. Then it cried. Yes, we all cried as a baby, wah wah wah, but being an arrogant bastard at the best of times, I'm still going to complain about it. There are far too many babies these days anyway. People running around and dropping litters of these mewling cabbages everywhere.

Moving on to other things, it has come to my attention that most decent films these days seem to get pushed aside by those with larger financial backing. Last week, I went to the premiere of Iron Sky, a film that for some reason was only on for one night. Now, I had been largely unaware of the film until a friend told me about it the previous night, and I must say that it is the best I've seen in a while. However, it was only on once at my local cinema, one showing at night. You know what was on about six times that day? Piranha Double D. Yep. A film with David Hasslehoff, a man who probably doesn't even know where he is half the time, and boobs. That's the film."Oh, it's a comedy!" There's comedy, then there's shit. And I know my poop, ladies and gentlemen. I'm detecting a big hint towards Idiocracy (Another not bad film) here.

Ah well, that's it for today's nonsensical rambling rant. Maybe I'll have something reasonably coherent next time, something that isn't just me shouting at things that make me angry. Oh, and I have to make an obligatory bad joke at the end of every post. Okay, here's one from 'Russian Political Humour':

"Comrade Stalin goes to a football game. It gets cancelled at half-time. This is because he killed everyone."

The ravings of a psychopath

Blah, blah, blah chemistry... Blah, blah, blah retakes... Blah, blah, blah terribly hackneyed, repetitive excuses. Now with all that bollocks cleared up... Wait, my thinly veiled attempts to divert attention away from the fact that I haven’t written anything since last year are failing? Well screw you buddy, my life’s been a little hectic and as such, I didn’t deem this most grand housing for the brain farts that I call blog posts worth a visit. Fortunately for you, I’ve found a brief lapse in this crushing waste that I call a life to let you catch a whiff of the latest rumblings that have been brewing for some time.

I’ll level with you; my last few months have been tearfully monotonous save the odd moment of general absurdity. Now, I must proceed with caution henceforth, I make it a policy of mine to not explicitly state the names of people involved in various situations, namely to prevent embarrassment on their part but also to stop those I count as friends from being linked to the ravings of a crazed half-wit. Now, to the situation itself, essentially I lent a friend a pound to buy a gift for my ex-girlfriend who was going to give it to her new girlfriend, whilst sitting next to her most recent ex who also happens to be one of my best friends. It’s fucked up, I know. Apologies to any of those who recognise themselves in the piece, it was far to fucking surreal to pass up.  I’ve seen politicians speak that is less convoluted than this. Who am I kidding? That was a simile too far.

If that wasn’t strange enough, I’ve had another occurrence with the current women in my life. So, the other day I returned home to my humble abode to the chattering of my mother. She starts telling me about some panorama show about a brain scanning technique to test for psychopaths, says that the main scientist found out that he was one. Then she has the gall to suggest that I, Mr Sensitive, may be one such a character. I know right, she couldn’t be further from the truth! Alright, I may have only realised she was really ill with a cold when I happened upon her coughing a few weeks into it. Ok, ok, I may be coldly indifferent to the trivialities of the home but who could blame me? Distraught, I sought comfort from the one person I knew would have my back, come rain or shine; my beautiful girlfriend. Casually, I brought up and explained the situation to her, looking for some reassurance; she turns to me, looks me dead in the eye and agrees with my mother! How could they both say that! Fair enough, I did kind of make light of a friend of her’s recently deceased mother to lighten the mood. I’m also able to lie perfectly on cue now that I think about it... but that’s not the point!

The way things are looking, I should give up on the whole science biz and invest in hockey masks and sharp things...

Joke I heard recently and had been dying to share

Q. Why was the stupid basalt happier than the clever calcium?

A. Because igneous is bliss

When life gives you lemons...

A couple of weeks of relative hardship, combined with a lack of mental fortitude had driven me to close this particular bastion of self expression, but then I thought to myself, “who am I to deprave the net of my incoherent ramblings and general bemoaning of life?” so the blog is back. Back for how long, I cannot say; my fleeting temperament does not lend itself well to long term commitments to projects; however I will try my utmost to keep things going for the time being.

Without being too specific about my recent goings on, I will just say to you that if there are a set of fates on some cosmological scale that have chosen to play a part in my recent attempts at life, they have been decidedly against me in their actions. To this effect, I have decided to revert to my tried and tested method of introversion and self improvement; work my way from the ground up rather than aiming for the big goals in life.

That being said, there are just some instances in life when you really just curse your own luck, for example, last Wednesday I had a trip for my college English course in which we were to watch a play at the famous Globe theatre. Now I’m not really much of a theatre goer myself but I decided to persevere and partake in a free show. I could not fault the play one bit, it was a production of Dr. Faustus and it was performed expertly by a cast of amazing actors, had the right combination of drama and comedy as it followed the tale of Dr Faustus who sells his soul to the devil in order to gain his second, Mephistopheles, as what is akin to a manservant for 24 years, during which Faustus uses the magic of said devil to achieve knowledge, wealth and fame. To top it all off, Mephistopheles was played by Arthur Darvill, better known for his portrayal of Rory Williams in Doctor Who, so I had the opportunity to see the full breadth of this brilliant actor’s range. That’s where the good luck ends.

It would appear that the organisers of this particular trip had managed to pick the day on which the Gods had decided to empty every vessel of heavenly water at once, as it seemed to rain non-stop for about 3 hours. Now you may ask why this would be such a bad thing seeing as I was watching a play at the time, however the well versed in the theatrical arts and culturally aware (read: middleclass) among you should know that the Globe is an open air theatre, which may not have been so bad on its own but it was expertly coupled with the peasants standing position that I was told would “build character” that I had to hold for 3 and a half hours. If by, “build character” they meant, “Cripple your feet and ruin your suede shoes” then yeah, I had a whole heap of character building on that day. That’s not including the walk too and from the train station. Certainly a fun day, would highly recommend it.

Joke to get the blog going once again

A guy went to a psychiatrist. "Doc," he said, "I keep having these alternating recurring dreams. First I'm a teepee, then I'm a wigwam, then I'm a teepee, and then I'm a wigwam. It's driving me crazy. What's wrong with me?"

The doctor replied, "It's very simple. You're two tents."