Drink, Drink-me-do

You! Yes, you. Read this!

As promised, i managed to haul my dormant anus out of my land of sloth. This only happens when there is a good reason to do so, however. So, when the prospect of drinking a crate of Foster's sprung up, i left the house quicker than V.C.s from a Napalm-struck forest (or some other badly fitting comparison).

The night started pretty standard: Turn up, watch the telly, crack the jingoist/sexist jokes (of course, this is only for the sake of the blog. I mean, would i actually crack a joke of that nature? (yes)), listen to unbearably loud music until there is that funny buzz in each ear that won't go away (no matter how much you drink....).

I got to about Foster's # 6 (i...i..i mean 10! What do you think i am? a lightweight or something?!) and decided that i'd try and emulate scenes of films that i'd recentley watched (bad move? Yuss!). Somehow, the 'Beerfest' way of drinking beers became a quite desirable feat to attempt, so i went about finding a sharp, stabbing implement, and proceeded to murder some whores.
Wait! That last bit was fabricated. I actually went and found stabbing implements (in the form of a friend's keys) in order to pierce the beercan in the side. (The whole manouvere involves shaking the can, stabbing it, placing mouth over just-made hole, and then opening ringpull. This allows maximum speed when 'downing' the can)

I decided to go upto the host's top attic windows, open it, and begin to perform the required moves. However, the first stab did not pierce the can, so i turned and faced my friend, and with a blasé attitude, began stabbing the can profusley. This resulted in a surprise explotion of the can, and a subsequent surprised Lloyd (me). In the following seconds, i managed to throw the keys from the window with surprise.
My friend began to point out my error with some level of enthusiasm (mostly involving words that include, but were not restricted to: 'fuck', 'jesus', 'oh-noes' and 'i love mens bums' (i cunningly added that last one, in case he reads this...)), to which i reacted with complete indifference and replied "Look! I did the Beerfest can trick!".

I was still brimming with enthusiasm when numerous rescue attempts were hatched and implemented in order to bring the keys back to the safety of the owner's pocket, from the roof of my friend's house, where they then lied.
One attempt reminded me of a poor person's take on the scene of "Mission Impossible" with the big tall room and zip-wire/rope. One friend leant out of the window, whilst holding my unstable, pissed-up hand, and slowly tortoise-crawled down the roof of the house, towards the keys.
He hooked the keys with his toes. Success was near! Then, in true piss-artist fashion, he let the keys slip, and they fell to rest in a new, exciting location: The guttering!

I won't go on and describe everything, but in a crude/condensed form: The keys were rescued when the same friend climbed on top of the kitchen (directly under the said piece of guttering) and fished the keys out, with a rake. One extremley important lesson learnt from this experience is that if i ever choose (for some unbeknown reason) to visit a fairground, the smelly pikies will not be conning me out of cuddly toys and tenners stuck to magnets, no! I have a mate who can fish keys from gutterings, so all of their simple ploys won't get us!

Anyhow, the rest of the night was pretty standard as far as drinking with me goes. I managed to nearly double the earlier quoted amount, and do various 'funny' things whilst inebriated.
I then went to sleep, and woke up.

Goodbyes!

Waging War!

Greetings!

Since the last 'blogging', which i believe occured only yesterday, you will be pleased to read that i have decided to post another, and not quit the whole world of internet-writings. That would a bit crap.

Since yeterday, lots of interesting things have happened that i can write about!
The above statement is false. Infact, this is the truth:

- 24 hours have passed
- I have changed my clothes
- I've cleaned my teeth a few times
- I've ate some food

I could elaborate upon these amazing revelations, but i will save that for a day where i really do have nothing to write about, as opposed to a day like today, where it seems i can write what was intended to be an introductory paragraph, and stretch it (much like the bathing suit of a morbidly obese woman after a standard pig-out... Or an analogy that is equally as bad as that..)

In 24 hours, not a lot has changed regarding the 'ILP' situation that i ranted about last time.
One thing has become of it, which i have found endlessley amusing:
Due to the complete lack of cooperation, and subsequent completion of the said 'ILP's, a new 'deadline' has been given for them:
"This time next week".

It's funny, the way that the meaning of the word 'deadline' is mashed around so much when used by our form tutor. The rough translation of what she really means is "Err, i can't really make you do these, as you are studying for actual a-level courses, but because the school blindly signed up to the scheme, can you fill them out.. or something..?"

Thankfully, our students have a great ability to read these special undertones and carry out the applicable course of action (doing fuck all).

Next time mister mc-bloggery visits you all, he will have something interesting to write about. Most probably the weekend's drunken escapades of trying to pull a lamppost or doing that funny Russian dance (or at least, it's what a stereotypical Russian dance is, to me) naked on a table.

However, until this point (the weekend), i have only got 'school issues' to write about.

See you later, reader!

Hullo, and welcome!

Hello there

Isn't this interesting. Aye?

My first 'blog'. I always used to think the act of 'doing a blog' was reserved for fat 'internet people' with nothing better to do with their lives.

It turns out i was right!
(But i am not really fat. No, really, i'm not!)

The topic of my first bloggg will be this:
bureaucracy

Don't ya just hate it? (yes, you do)

I've had a particularly bad experience with the consequences of this medium-length word at my sixth form. Yes, it can strike anywhere (yes, even there (anus)).

Basically, as some new intiative (presumably invented by opiate addicts, due to it being incredibly absract, inconsistent and preachey... (yes, all opium addicts are abstract, inconsistent and preachey)) the sixth form has begun to make us fill out "individual learning plans".

These sound like something that may be given to retarded nursery (kindergarden, for the Americans out there) children in order to plot out what to do during the duration of their morning play. However, the target market for the Individual Learning Plan (ILP, for short) is far from this (not so far, judging by some of my friends).
We are aged 17-18, and when given such painstakingly mundane and patronising activity questions, such as "How can you strike up a healthy lifestyle, between 'leisure time' and 'work time'?", i begin to wonder if having a mental age above 5 (infact, even having a mental age) is a requirement when wanting to pursure high(er) education.

Not to worry though. I, in my usual 'unconventional' form, have decided to create a model reply to the latest 'ILP' brainache.
It can be found here: http://download.yousendit.com/7C871E803D9AB4CE

Note its pettyness.

Now, i'm off.
"tune in" next time!