H2O

I read in the paper today that a goldfish was caught swimming up a street, in Gloucester. Apparently it's being looked after by firecrews until its owner is claimed. The bit of this that i don't get is how on Earth anyone is going to recognise thier pet fish, when they all look exactly the same.
(I would be getting complaints from fish owners around now if anyone read this blog. My only consolation for its lack of readers is that i can subsequently write whatever i want, and nobody will complain. Perhaps, if i include the MI5 'key words', i will have some secret-service readers. Here goes: BOMB, AL QUAEDA, TERRORISM, PLANE, EXPLODE, JIHAD, WESTERN OPRESSORS, INFIDELS and, not to discriminate, IRA, ULSTER, CATHOLIC PIG, PROTESTANT BASTARD)

Yes, so i think that waiting for a fish to be reclaimed is quite daft. On top of the fact that the owner probably has other slightly more important things to worry about.

After extensive studying of 'ma telly', i have come to the conclusion that i don't really want to move house for a bit, because living on a hill seems to have a nice advantage (being that i can look down on those flooded out of their little abodes, in a condescending fashion, and gloat that although they may not have to walk up a big hill every time they go out, they do have to invest in a big water pump, for their big flood).

In more pressing news, i also stumbled across an interesting article about 'Oscar the Angel of Death', which is in fact a cat, not an angel. Apparenly it predicts when people will die, in the nursing home that it frequents.
If only i could get hold of it, i would drain Coral of all their cash....

Tequila, Tequila

Another weekend wasted to alcohol, eh?

Yes, 'same here'.

Sometimes, i am probably one that slightly overstates my drinking exploits, in order to help the momentum of a story/excuse some fat horror that i've been with on a night out/disguise being a bit of a lightweight in comparison to how big i am.

However, in regards to the Friday night just gone, i can safely say that even conservative estimations as to how much i drank are likely to be 'quite big'.

The moment that eye contact was made with the tramp fluid that is '20/20', i knew that sobriety would not be on the menu for the night.
Some clever bastard once said "The name '20/20' was chosen, as it is inversley proportional to your vision after drinking a bottle".

I have to agree.

Invariably, Count. Tequila rose from his glassy grave, to smite us all with his poison (we drank some tequila). After that, memory is actually hazy.
Often, the old 'hazy memory' tactic is employed when a large portion of the night was just too cringeworthy to bear thinking about. BUT, from this night, my memory is actually operating in blocks. Shit ones, with giant holes in...

Due to the previously mentioned cretinity (i have coined a new term, see!?), the weekend has been fairly dull and uneventful.

There is one thing that i think is worth sharing.
I have located, via a fellow perpetrator, a photo of my 'as previously blogged' bus shelter surfing!

Yes, the gurning idiot with his tongue hanging out of his head like a mental is indeed me.

Tell you what i want, what i really, really want - Less corporate grab reunions?

So, the world famous Spice Girls have reformed.
This comes to me as no real surprise.
It was inevitable that 'Posh' would start to feel shunned by the 'stardom' of her husband, that 'Ginger' would get depressed over her failed solo career and that 'Scary' would shag Eddie Murphy. So the only foreseeable option was a reunion! Woo! etc.

I'm not too 'anti' when it comes to reunions (take Izzy Stradlin making friends with Axl Rose again, and playing some shows... That was 'gold'). However, the motive for doing so, i always question.

All of their crap lives seemed to have reached a crescendo of shit, and a quick way of making some dosh for paternity lawsuit/diet/trying to get people to look at you for something other than your husband seemed to be as easy to predict as Paris Hiltons' sudden change in 'post-captivity morals' to achieve.

I for one will definitely be watching the new Spice Girls or should i say Spliced Girls (regarding the alleged voice-syncing with a studio track) whenever they get screened my TV, for purely research purposes ('wink wink', 'nudge nudge', 'fumble fumble', etc.)

Other than the most important story on the planet (obviously being this), it seems to not feel very different at all that Captain Black from Captain Scarlet has taken over as PM.... It even feels soothing at the prospect of him 'turning bad', just like the real Captain Black, and then starting a war with Russia, or something else that's really fun....

Anyway, Bye!

Blah, Blah, Blah

With everything of academic importance long dead and buried, i have had chance recentley to indulge in life's finer aspects.
I purchased on Saturday, a ticket to see heavy, screaming baby-rapists 'Enter Shikari', which i think i shall thouroughly enjoy, until being sucker-punched by some idiot in make up (whom i will swiftly deal a comeuppance to).
My interest in this band is best described as fickle.
I initially heard them and dismissed them as music for fat 'Games Workshop' people who perspire more than i drink in water on an average day.
However, it seems i was slightly harsh in my judgements, as they are actually this: GOOD

I am schedueled to see them in November, which will be quite nice, and that

In other very important news, it seems that Terry Bears has stepped down as Premiere of the cuntry.
This actually feels a bit weird, as i've been used to seeing his mug and likeness quoted hand-in-hand with the word 'Prime Minister' every time i watch TV (and Prime Ministers' Questions (i don't watch that. That is for rotund geeks (wait, i do...)))
It will be quite nice, i think, to have a completley contrasting face to Ted's. Garry Black, the new Prime-Monster seems to look like (to borrow the phrase) "A sack of potatoes, crudely slashed open to form a mouth".
Poor, un-smiling Prime-Minister

In VERY presseing news:

I urge you all to keep reading http://lordlikely.blogspot.com , as it is the best piece of history literature ever found...

Bye!

Post exams

Finally, the exams are over. After all of my long, labourious revision, there is nothing left to sit.
What also placed itself quite nicely into the equation was a horrid vomitorrr bug, which i 'came down' with yesterday. Thankfully, the exams were over upon recieving this little gift of nature, as my seven trips of stomach-emptying action occured at fairly sporadic intervals.

What wasn't very nice about this bug over other ones i've had (And i don't really get many, as i like to think i'm vaguely healthy and therefore have a very 'burly' and built-up immune system) is that even when my stomach was completley emptied of all food, 'the bug' kept insisting on trying to make me vomit.
This didn't really achieve anything other than pain, as there was nothing to vomit...

In other news, summer is approaching, and due to this, i have turned into one of those people that i'd have previously called a twat/fag.
I have ceased all alcohol/drug/junk-food intake, and am trying to get fit/'fit' again.
If all goes well i will no longer have to force ladies to meet me via GHB or Cholroform.

Sgt. Pepper!

I've been listening to the "Radio 2"s thing where they get a load of artístés from nowdays (some of which are good, like The Stereophonics and Bryan Adams, and some of which are utter wank, like Razorlight and 'The Kaiser Chiefs') and try to re-record the Sgt. Peppers' album.

I love how much struggle is created when having to record to reels of tape, where the tracks can't be raped by 'ProTools'. The whole process of having to record the perfect take of something, rather than knitting together 10 shoddy bits appeals to me (i am a pedantic twat, in many respects).

All in all, i think the various bands did quite well on re-recording the album. My favourite being the Stereophonics' 'reprise'....

What doesn't come as a surprise is that the prized twat, Johnny Borrell didn't turn up. The drummer was singing (as on the original 'Little Help From My Friends'), but surely he'd have been able to lend his shit rhythm guitar, like he does all over Razorlights' songs?
Johnny Borrell? Johnny Bumhole. (I am implying he's shit, see..)

Anyway, yes, i liked the album.
Was good.

Television

The time has come for the filth that is 'Big Brother' to again pollute our usual television viewing. Everybody i speak to seems to be aware of it's nauseating nafness, but they still watch it....

What i've never really understood is the 'pleasure' that some obviously derive in sitting down on their sofas, watching other people do exactly the same thing..
Is it the 'closet voyeur' that is burning inside of the masses, telling them to keep watching, incase something exciting happens ('John has poured a glass of milk and drank it!' or 'Charlotte has performed a variety of interesting relocation acts: she has sat on the sofa, and then a futon, and then went back to the sofa')
The program really is just a fix for pedants and sexual deviants...

That is why i am (as with every edition of Big Brother since watching an hour of one of the series' a few years ago) continuing to boycott this wad of wank and watch real television (like CBBC and 'Friends' (i am of course joking. Those two things are joint second on the "Jones' list of deplorable broadcasting"))

As mentioned on the blog of Paul Rose, i am no doubt going to be excluded from numerous 'Big Bruv' conversations in the coming future, but the knowledge that i haven't succumbed to the daft 'mob mentality' viewing of this trash is keeping me going!

In other news:

There's some girl missing in Portugal. Apparently.