I am the eggman, they are the eggmen...

I am the ARSEHOLE! (goo goo ga joo!) You see, I realised today how unfathomably bitter I can be. By that I don't mean I can be a wanker to anyone who challenges my way to the breakfast table when I wake up, nor do I mean when people laugh at jokes that genuinely aren't funny and I sit there alienated because I have good taste. I mean I have an answer to everything and it's always the antithesis of what people want to hear.

Someone talks about how amazing a Windows PC is. I immediately think about the blue screen of death, how shit Windows Movie Maker is, how many viruses there are for Windows (unless you've got Norton), how Macs can install Windows on them anyway, so why even bother with a PC? The list goes on.

Hell, I'm perhaps worse for things I love. I'm a huge Metallica fan, but that doesn't mean I'll not take the piss out of them if someone says how cool they are. I have hundreds of things I could say. It's almost my instinct to use my knowledge of a subject and manipulate it like I'm some kind of evil genius. My jokes are horrifically ironic, and it's no secret that 90% of them aren't funny, but they're considerably awesome in the tiny little world echoing around in my skull. It's always amusing to be facetious. After all, that Hitler's a pretty cool guy.

Additionally, I think it takes the piss that an assignment I've been given this week from my course is to start up a BLOG. Yes, they're FUCKING SERIOUS. Everyone who has Facebook blogs in their status updates. Everyone who's heard of it knows to a degree how it works. Why do we have to write a new blog on the Grimsby Institute's online facility that's not only ridiculously hard to navigate, but also nobody will fucking read. That's not a shot at the course tutor, that's a shot at the establishment trying to control and integrate the internet. Some people just don't realise that thanks to the international web-o-vision, the world shrank like a dick in a box of ice, in a room packed full of ugly motherfuckers; that, and while the world was shrinking someone on the outside picked up the world and bowled it down a hill. The ball's not going to stop and we can't see through the clouds to the floor yet.

That being said, it was probably 3D Realms' Duke Nukem development team who're responsible for this. They spent all the time they should've spent designing the game and put it into designing the whole internet and brainwashing the planet into thinking they're acting on their own independent thought. DEVIOUS BASTARDS.

An old friend of mine died today.

And it's starting to hit me. Not in an uncontrollable burst of tears way, but in the annoying way how you start to think when someone dies. I can remember things about him I've not remembered since he left school and as I see the scenes play out in my head through smog by pure search lights of remembrance and imagination, I'm looking at the situations in a new light.

It's annoying. I empathise with the dead more than I do the living. Perhaps it's because when you imagine your friends, you remember the funny things they've said, their personality radiates from them. In your mind, they converse without words. Your ideal rendition of them smiling at your jokes, but in reality they contradict those imagined traits. Or maybe that's just me. Each new encounter with them fuels my imagination. How odd then, that I saw him over a year ago and I can picture him clear as day with a smiling face laughing at silly jokes and making his own. I remember him in school classes simply doing what he could: being himself.

I think the saddest thing to me is the suddenness. He had things to do, friends to see, a life to live. It feels so...pointless.

A-Ha!

This past week I've rediscovered the two series of I'm Alan Partridge, hosted a ridiculous session of Pro Evolution Soccer 6 (featuring Inter Milan Vs. Czech Republic; or Vs. France), had a pint with two wrestlers mentioned in a prior blog and unwittingly been somewhere in the eye of a shit-storm between friends.

Yes, life's perfectly balanced...like every character in GUILTY GEAR. Nothing happens, then everything happens. It either predominantly goes super wrong, or goes super right. This time around everything seems to be going alright. HOWEVER, thanks to GLORIOUS karma (why isn't that spelled with a "c", it makes more sense; "k" makes it look like it's trying to be hardcore), that means that the next time nothing's going on, it will be followed by floods of VOMIT and shit. THAT'S LIFE, FOLKS!

ERNAN CRESPO IS INCREDIBLY BROKEN. He is a fucking menace on every Pro Evolution Soccer game I've played in the last two months (and Viera is the most likely to be injured). I'm not that into football (any Americans reading can screw yourselves with your inverse logic; Americans play FOOTball with their HANDS. LOLWUT?), but I appreciate the video games and I like playing it in real life. One might call me a FREAK for not liking to watch on television, but rather partake in the activity; if you are one of those people, fuck off. It's not even funny. Hang thyself.

Tuesday night was a little mental too (though not in the sense that it was exactly where it needed to be to score a goal). I had the OBLIGATORY couple of pints (if you drink cocktails EXCLUSIVELY you've either just turned 18 and/or you have appalling taste), popped down to McDonalds (in which they game me a fucking cup for buying a large meal. Where do I put a cup on a night out? Idiots). We went back to the pub and found Sykes and Havok (two wrestlers I saw a couple of weeks ago). WHY? They were welcomingly friendly and stayed to chat, but I spent the whole time thinking "WHAT?". Why the fuck were SYKES and FUCKING HAVOK in THE LLOYDS ARMS drinking pints with me and my mate and talking about everything wrestling? It was stupid and AWESOME at the same time and will probably never happen again.

I could chat to my audience of 7 (on a good day) about the MASSIVE FURIOUS FIRE STORM that erupted yesterday between some of my friends, but I don't want to bring my mood down. SCREW YOU JEREMY KYLE! (a more considerate Jerry Springer, for those reading from over seas) Instead, I'm just going to say this: "HOLY SHIT THAT ROCKET LAUNCHER JUST TOOK OUT HALF A SUSPENSION BRIDGE!...FUCKING HELL, IT'S BREAKING AWAY AT THE MIDDLE...GOOD LORD I'M STILL ON THE BRIDGE *girders flying everywhere*...RUN!" That was the scene just prior to Alec Mason plummeting 60ft to the floor off a suspension bridge. Red Faction Guerrilla was excellent while it lasted.