The Art of Rhysisms

Rhysisms [Reece Is-ums]: Stupid, no meaning sentances. Created by Rhys Wynne [Reece Win] for his blog, The Art of Rhysisms. [more..]

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Tuesday, September 30, 2003

I'm Counting Up My Demons, and Hoping Everything's Not Lost
Despite my lack of modesty that will be disproved by this sentance, I have very few faults. Either that or my mates are too spineless to point them out to me. Nevertheless, yesterday I was brought down a couple of notches by noticing these two faults.

Are you sitting comfortably? Then we shall begin our magical and mysterious journery! Ah, balls to you.
The first is that I am quite patronising towards people who may not speak perfect English. North Wales Coast is quite a segregated society, and it's 99% White*. I haven't been able to experience other cultures, and, whilst not racist, I am not sure how to react when someone doesn't speak fluent English. I react the same way that I do to those small children, ie. act really patronisingly.

For example, yesterday I met a girl from Hong Kong, who has a version of Windows 2000 in Chinese on her computer (incidentally, I can use Windows okay in Chinese), despite that she was a year more advanced than me (she is a Computer Science Student), spoke broken english well and was a nice person, I still felt that I patronised her slightly. It's been like this from day one in Liverpool, as a second name of Wynne, I'm usually working with the Wai's, Wu's, Xu's and Yang's in group projects. Some of those speak perfectly fluently (and easier to understand than some Scousers), but I still patronise them a bit. Oh well.

Incidentally, the girl from Hong Kong also speaks with an American accent in English. Not quite as funny as the bird in the Chinese off Penny Lane that spoke Chinese in a Chinese accent and English in a dead Scouse accent, but if that isn't a sign of America's influence on the world, then by god, I don't know what is.

Pfft. Call that a Sausage? (how many times have people said that to me).
Ketchup or Catsup?!?
The other thing I most definitely suck at is shopping. Not in my usual shopping round trip in Virgin, HMV, Game, Topman, Bookies, Pub and then the offies, oh no. Food shopping. It's so bloody hard. My local is an Asda about the size of Bulgaria. Seriously, it's huge. If BBC continue to do modern versions of books like Canterbury Tales, they can do their version of Babes in The Wood in our Asda. Quite frankly, unless you come equipped with a compass and slices of bread to put down on the aisles, you're living on a prayer.

I suppose it's good that you have all that choice. However, even the most simple things are hard to find. For example sausages. The staple of the British diet. You can buy thousands of different types of the banger in Asda, except it seems the main, bog standard pork sausage. I had to make do with cumberland, which (although lovely) ate (no pun intended) at my wallet.

Yes, Asda sells almost everything, except, for some insane reason, screwdrivers. And guess what I needed yesterday?

Miss Shot! -1
On the plus side, I went to the Guild** yesterday, and in the Basement Bar, it has been converted to a mini arcade, with the excellent Virtua Cop 3 in it. Needless to say, I had a quick bash, and has pulled the gap between Time Crisis 3 and itself very close (Time Crisis 2 wiped the floor with Virtua Cop 2). It has weapon select like Time Crisis, and - like most Sega Games - has variable routes. However, by far the coolest feature in the game by a country mile is the pedal. Should things get hectic, you can press the pedal. When this happens, the game goes into bullet time (or 'Matrixy', as I described it to Rick), and you have about 3 seconds of this. It's like Max Payne in this sense, as it can be used whenever, but it needs to be recharged over time. All in all, whilst the excellent Marvel vs. Capcom and Crazy Taxi have been replaced with a shitty pool game and shitty kart game, I'm actually quite pleased that Time Crisis 2 has been replaced, with this beauty.

You Know When You're a Geek When..
Checking your bank account yesterday, and found it being exactly 1337 pounds (ie. no pence). I thought this was cool, or, as I said at the time, w00t!

Right, I want a chip butty, so I'll speak to you soon.

Keep the faith


* In fact, it's one of the only places in the country where asylum seekers are looked at as being okay, as asylum seekers want to work, unlike the only people to move into the area are only going to sign on. The trouble in Wrexham was mostly started by the so called 'locals' (which were mainly unemployed migrants from Liverpool + Manchester), and not by the quite willing to work Asylum Seekers. Again, I'm only getting the word on the street (a mate of mine was in the thick of it), but until someone corrects me, that's what I percieve.

** Incidentally, I am like the fifth or fourth biggest referrer to our Union's site. Get in!

Monday, September 29, 2003

My timetable is like most of the women who congregate outside our halls of residences. It's a bitch. Seriously, I've very little time off this semester (except for Mondays, which will now forever be known as "Rhys' day for catching up on all the lectures he missed due to sleep/hungover/couldn't be arsed"), and if I get lambasted (what a great word) with Snowdon sized mountains of coursework, then normal getting drunk service may be cancelled until Christmas. Bollocks it will be.

If I catch you again, you'll see the back end of me plunger. Errr...I mean, EXTERMINATE!
Anyway, attended my first lecture today called Software Engineering. At the moment, it seems a bit ambiguous, but the lecturer sounds like a Dalek, which is quite funny. Not like Steven Hawking sounding, which would be a bit cruel, but just monotomatic. Of course, any humourousness will probably disappear when introductions are over and we have to actually learn something, but we'll jump that hurdle when we get to it, won't we bargain hunters?

Oh, tangent coming up. Tom Jones has just been on the radio, and it got me thinking. What if everybody's second favourite Welshman (behind yours truly) actually did lectures. That'd make it a (little) more interesting. I mean, just imagine it:-

"So, if you differentiate x with respect to y.....y....y Delilah! (trumpet solo)"
God I crack myself up.

Oooh it's like Christmas Come Early
Today was the second day of the Freshers Fair, whereby you grab as much free stuff as possible. Compared to yesterdays lackluster effort, I hit a truly rich vein of form today, whereby I got the following free crap:-

  • O2 Sim Card
  • Bubble Mixture
  • Stress Ball Thingy
  • Mars Bar
  • Bag of Haribo
  • Times Newspaper
  • Chequebook and Pen (alas, not a Blankety Blank one)
  • Guardian Newspaper
  • CD + DVD
  • Deck of cards (Strip Poker anyone?)
  • and thousands of leaflets.

    Alas, whilst all these are stunning (especially the bubble mixture), there is no substansial food so I'm going to have to visit the old Asda to pick up some stuff.

    Wish Me Luck

    Keep the faith


  • Sunday, September 28, 2003

    Balls To This, I'm off to Liverpool (Again)
    Today I made my triumphant return to Liverpool University, just in time to pick up a few goods from Freshers fair and the local Spar respectively. If last year was anything to go by, I got far too many Rizla's and condoms (things that I rarely use), and far too few things I will actually use (chocolate and tea bags). This year I went one worse, I got a big pile of leaflets that, I suppose, could double up as posters. However, I've pretty much got all my walls covered in posters, so no real need for any more. There's still one more day to go, so I'll see what I can pick up tomorrow.

    Of course, the real reason for freshers fair is that you sign on to do stuff besides drinking. Sure enough, I hit a rich vein of form and was up for (or gullible enough to join) almost anything. I've re-joined COMPSOC (the Computer Science society, which have a suprisingly good football side), signed up to ten pin bowling, wrestling and - in a move that will have one certain southern fairy doing backflips - The Boogie Knights Ultimate Frisbee. Okay, I'll probably stop all of them within two weeks, tops. However it's nice to feel wanted.

    Invisible To The Untrained Eye
    I'm sorry to say this, but cracks are beginning to appear in my room. Not physical cracks mind, just little things about where I live that are becoming a slight annoyance. For example, I seemed to be plonked slap bang in the centre of Liverpool's Red Light district. To begin with, today I was asked twice if I wanted 'to do business' by two women who left little to the imagination. Okay, you may thing "Well, if you walk around the inner city at night, you're bound to get it" the fact is that it was Sunday afternoon at 2! Firstly, I was tired and was carrying a massive holdall, she was minging, I had no cash and even if I did 'want to do business', two o clock on the pissing Sabbath (whilst not religious, I still believe Sunday to be a day of rest. Although recently it's meant as a day to recover from hungover city) is not an ideal time.

    More developments when they come.

    Keep the faith


    Thursday, September 25, 2003

    I Laugh Myself To Sleep. It's My Lullaby
    If you are male, you'd might like to skip this post.

    Today in work, in admist of talking about how cheating Arsenal got their just deserts, we actually (horror of horror for an all male work force) talked about relationships.

    No, not Scientifical Relationships, or Managerial-Player Relationships. Just, bog standard, what women bugger off to the toilet in groups for hours on end to discuss, Home + Away Stylee Relationships.

    Okay, it was only for about 10 minutes, but by god, I probably learnt more about a lot of people than the previous time I knew them.

    After doing the rounds, talking about relationships. The conversation turned to me, wanting to discuss "my serious relationships".


    " do you feel?"
    "With my hands, you prick."
    After proudly admitting 'none' (not too proud on it, but then I remembered: how many of my work colleagues have such a fantastic blog, eh Bargain Hunters?), it seemed that everybody became like Robert Kilroy Silk, and offered their advice on how to pull. Most of it was a bit poo (buy flowers/chocolates/drinks etc. Do you think I'm made of money?), but one stuck out for me.

    "Rhys, if you make a woman laugh, you're 9/10ths of the way there."

    So, what I want to ask everybody is: "Seriously?". If that's the case, I'm screwed (in the bad way), as my jokes are immature, childish, and just plain hokey. I pride myself on actually telling some of the worst jokes in the world ever, for example:-

    An Irishman walks into a bar and orders a bottle of vodka. He drinks rouglhy half of it, and gets a bit wasted. He starts a fight with a random pub goer, himself also pissed. They are about to start to kick off on each other, when a few words are exchanged.
    "Listen 'ere." The Irishman bellowed. "Do you know who I am?"
    Came the reply. "Well then tell me. What is your name?"
    "Oh. Really?"
    "No. O'Reilly!"
    Okay, back from my tangent. To all the ladies: is humour the bee all and end all? Should be interesting to here what people have to say on this.

    Back To Reality
    Today I returned to work with little hoo haa. It was quiet today, so I wasn't rushed off my feet. Nevertheless, there was a small vocal majority (read "my brother") who, since my glorious return to Colwyn Bay, have been very vocal about the fact I went against my word, and am a fraud. We recounted the conversation from Saturday, the day before leaving:-

    "Rhys, you may be going to Liverpool tomorrow, but I'm not sad."
    "Well, you'll be home next weekend."
    "I promise you this, I will not be coming back to Colwyn Bay on Friday."
    And I didn't. I came back on Wednesday.

    Keep the faith


    Wednesday, September 24, 2003

    Hope you like the new look.

    Keep the faith


    Tuesday, September 23, 2003

    Paid, Laid 'n' Made
    Last night was my first night out in Liverpool this term, and my first since the tragic Little Miss Short Incident. There were loads of freshers out there, seriously. Tons of them. Every student under the sun will know, to pull a fresher you'd have about two weeks (before they all settle into their little groups that are nigh on impossible to penetrate). Last night was my first opportunity. Did I succeed? Well, there were so many moments to talk about, I'll bullet them:-

    Get yer tits out for wait.
  • Last Night I arrived at Walkabout at about 11 o'clock. After a few drinks, I got dancing. After a few more I was dancing on the stage (a platform about 10 ft higher, surrounded by a metal bar waist high and perspex glass surrounded. I was dancing away with, what many people have called, 'My Whiter than White Boy Moves', which produce about as much reaction as the news of a new Police Acadamy movie. However, this night was different, as I (well, percieved) was recieving cheers, claps and wolf whistles. For 15 minutes, I felt I was king of the world. However, there was a little commotion to the side of me. I turned to see a woman with similar hair to that bloke from Toploader dancing away with moves that'd make Christina Aguilera blush, all the while exposing her (to be honest, mighty fine) breasts to everybody. When realising I had been competing with the Scouseland Flasher, I retreated to a safe distance, but not before I was treated to a private flash. Well, a flash in my general direction.
  • I got speaking to a goth as well, and a fairly attractive one at that (she looked like Amy Lee from Evanescence, and I've got a thing for her at the moment). We got speaking for about 20 mintues, and she turned out to be very opinionated and had a strong, defining character - which I really liked. However, something was a bit peculiar with her. She was very strongly supportive of George Bush (which, for a goth, seemed a little odd), and also explaining to me how, as a working British Citizen (yep, wasn't a student), she could have a bank account in Gibraltar, avoiding taxes. Yes, she was a goth, but she was a conservative goth at that.
  • At 2pm, I left alone, ready to get a short taxi ride back to my halls. After a brief bullshitting session with the Taxi driver, my window shook. It turned out to be a girl. Weyhey, things were looking up. She needed a ride home, and wanted to share a taxi. As a desperate male who'd do anything to get laid, I was more than happy to oblige. We talked for a bit (she was from Bolton), and then she asked a question I imagined nobody would ever ask me:-
    "'stead of goin' t' that Melville whatsoever, wanna come back t' my place?"
    My heart literally froze. She was attractive, intelligent and friendly (not to mention absolutely waylaid). Whilst struggling through a second degree stroke and slurring my words, she let me know what she wanted to do to me.
    "You'd 'ave t' sleep in t'bath, 'n' be out by ten, cos I've got work!"
    Bugger. Still, probably the closest I've got to getting laid (yes, that's really depressing).

    Balls To This, I'm Off Home
    Tomorrow I'm heading home for a bit, as at the moment my house is empty, they're desperate for people in work, and, to be honest, if I'm going to bore my balls off, I might as well get paid for it.

    Keep the faith


  • Monday, September 22, 2003

    Ruud Awakening

    Bloody Hell, not again!

    In arguably one of the most heated 0-0 draws seen in a long time, Manchester United drew with The Pissin' Arsenal. The match had more drama than a week of Eastenders, with Dirty Paddy Viera being sent off (which was for a kick that didn't connect, although on Sky Sports and in all the papers this morning, the official reason was 'unprofessional behaviour', quite right too, the dirty French Twat), Arsenal generally being twats and Ruud Van Nistlerooy missing a penalty in the dying seconds.

    I was watching it in a pub chock full of Arsenal or Liverpool-but-supporting-Arsenal-becuase-they're-glory-supporters supporters, and, for the first time in my life, I felt very small. Well, as small as a 6'2", 14 Stone Welshman can feel, but small nonetheless. Why? Because I am now officially back in Liverpool.

    1 Down, 2 To Go
    Yes, today I moved into Melville Grove hall and, dispite the quite scary fact that I can pick up Walkie Talkie signals from some unknown source, it's quite nice. Met the other two who are living here who have arrived (both girls), and still got a few more rooms to fill. No doubt they'll arrive soon. I know that every hot blooded male's going "Wehey! Two Girls!" at the moment when reading this. However, I miss male company. I went to the pub with Graham, Goz, Ginner James and Fay, and I appreciated their company (part because I know them well, part because I know what they like and vice- versa). The girls, whilst incecently nice, are girls, and despise football. I mean, how can I get across the beauty of a Cristiano Ronaldo cross field ball, a Paul Scholes thirty five yard strike, or the intricate understanding of the offside trap? Oh well. I need a man (in a strictly pletonic way).

    Luckily, as far as I know, I haven't forgot anything. I may get a telly in the room (for the 3 s'es: Simpsons, Scrubs and Saturday Night Football), as I can see me spending a lot of time here, as I cannot see me going out much. I can also get internet in my room, however I cannot seem to find a place to put my modem cable. I'll have to investigate, using my now almost forgotten Computer Engineering Knowledge.

    I'm not going out for the next few days, just finding my bearings (not sure if we've got a freezer. We must have, surely?). When I do however, it'll be special. I've a pretty good record in Liverpool, and what with my new aftershave. Errr...wait a minute...I'VE FORGOT ME PISSIN AFTERSHAVE!

    Keep the faith


    Saturday, September 20, 2003

    Balls To This, I'm off to Uni
    Tomorrow I go to Liverpool, to (in a week) begin the second year of my course at the mighty LU. I'll be gone for a few days (as it's 50/50 whether I get the internet in my room or not), but I'll return no doubt, with a massive post all on that's hip, hop and happening in Liverpool.

    Not really got much else to say. Pretty non-existant week from The Worlds Favouritest Welshman.

    To pass the time, this is an archive forum topic from a video game coding forum (linked to Dark Basic).

    Keep the faith


    Wednesday, September 17, 2003

    Juan Sebastian who?

    Eric Djemba-Djemba. So good, they named him twice!

    In a game we should of 'scraped a win', we ended up thrashing Panathanaikos 5 - 0, with, suprise suprise, Ruud Van Nistlerooy being off of the scoresheet. Instead, Silvestre, Fortune, Butt, Solskjaer and Djemba-Djemba securing a good win for Man U. Now, we should all be set for the Sunday game against the cockey cockney buggers, Arsenal.

    Incidentally, I could of gone to the Panathanaikos game (a mate of mine had 14 spare tickets. Fourteen!). But the excuse I gave? "I'd like to, but I cannot be arsed really.".

    Back Again
    Yesterday I also went to the dentist. "Aha!" I hear you scream. "Didn't you go a week ago?". The answer is yes. I went for two fillings last week, this week was for my brace. So, my days as a braceless wonder are now gone (I've had not a bad record of pulling sans-brace as well), replaced with the brace-days once again.

    Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

    In the year 2040 AD, mild mannered individual Rhys Wynne was walking up Snowdon. He was bitten by a radioactive sheep, with a dose that could of killed him. Once recovered, he was trained by an army of Daffodils to fully utilise his new found powers. Once ready, he was released from the Daffodil stronghold located somewhere up the hard way up Snowdon (which nobody goes up because it's nigh on impossible), vowing to use his powers for good (with the possible exception of annoying Roland). He floats like a butterfly, and stings like one too. He is here to protect the universe from all that is evil and boring. For, Rhys Wynne, whenever he eats Leek Soup, becomes **drum roll** The Welsh Dragon!

    Yep! You too can relieve that task on Big Brother a few months ago where you can make your own super hero (back story optional) at: The Hero Machine.

    Nicked off Burnt Toast.

    Admit that You Are Wrong!

    "If you can keep your head when all about you
    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
    If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
    But make allowance for their doubting too,"

    - Rudyard Kipling. "IF"

    Okay, replace the word 'head' with 'lunch', and you've pretty much got the Wynne household for the last 48 hours. After being accused of being steaming drunk on Sunday night when I was actually plain sick, it appears that whatever I got has been well and truly spread around the family, as my mum, Richard and Aled all spending most of Tuesday morning hunched over the toilet (although not Rick, as he - quite humourously put it that morning - "had a monopoly on the bucket"). Of course, the only one laughing was me, as, even for all those nastysayers, doubters and unbelievers had to admit one thing. That I wasn't drunk. I spoke to my mum about it.

    "Mum, now that your sick with what I had, do you admit one thing."
    "Rhys, you get freaking contageous hangovers!"
    Ah well. close enough. Improvement on "Don't drink again, or I'll disown you." from Sunday.

    Keep the faith


    Monday, September 15, 2003

    Palese Raed And Udnresatnd.

    "Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht frist and lsat ltteer is at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by it slef but the wrod as a wlohe."

    - Mustang, forums.

    This work with anybody?

    Can You Feel The Love Tonight
    Saturday Night I went out to Llandudno. I had a pint. Something wasn't right. Thinking little of it, I went to Broadway. After half an hour of exchanging Phoenix Nights and I'm Alan Partridge quotes (including my favourite: "Lynn! It's Alan! Listen, I need some more Toblerone. I've got a few left but I don't like the white ones.". Genius) with mates, something still wasn't right. I left and spent the rest of the night hunched over a toilet.

    The Salmonella Virus. Enjoy your KFC Zinger Tower Burger!
    It is my sad duty to inform you that I haven't updated because I've been ill, and not as a direct result of alcohol.

    It's strange. For nearly ten years (bar hangovers, side effects to inoculations, the occasional sniffle and the classic 'Geographyexameritis') I've been pretty right as rain. Then all of a sudden, boom, struck down with such a force akin to Superman and Kryptonite. And, 36 hours on, I'm still none the wiser. Was it alcohol, and my stomach suddenly develop a rejection to it (I mean, 2 pints couldn't get a 3 year old drunk)? Was it some dodgy food somewhere? Was it the Almighty sticking his proverbial V's at me, in reaction to a comment last week where I confidently stated "I never get ill." (nicked from Bruce Willis' "Unbreakable" I know, but still) and him saying "Have this Salmonella esque virus, you cocky Welsh bastard."? Probably not.

    Usually (and probably rightfully) I stumble in drunk. This time, I walked as upright as a lampost. Nevertheless, my mum still thought I was drunk. I said it was Cholera. Since then we've agreed on a happy medium being just upset stomach. I mean, I did thankfully manage to convince everyone it wasn't alcohol using the following reasons:-

  • I wasn't hungover.
  • I woke up at 8 o'clock on Sunday.
  • My todger shrunk to almost microscopic proportions. I've heard, and experienced brewer's droop, but this time it wasn't alcohol. I mean, with brewer's droop, you can still get life. This time it had about as much life as a Fast Food Rockers concert. It was depressing, I tell you.
  • Okay, not convincing. But it beat the pants off of the "Was Drunk Arguement" (which was as deep as an Oompah Loompah paddling pool).

    Anyway, that's been the reason I haven't updated in a few days. I've taken the day off work today (because of the illness, as I was still a bit dicky this morning), so I'm doing a few university stuff, as I go back on Sunday. I cannot wait, as I'm getting a bit sick - no pun intended - of Colwyn Bay (the place, not my family, friends etc.).

    Egotistical, Me?
    A site that has been, ahem, doing the rounds amongst some people is this article on BBCi. Basically, what started out as quite a fair article has degenerated into a scathing attack on bloggers, calling them egotistical and narcissic. So? I can be arrogent, everybody who owns a blog must be a little. So is mainstream media. However, blogs, which were a lot about 'woe is me' teenagers that have all sorts of mental problems have become interesting reads from talented people (admittedly, this blog falls into the former catagory).

    One quote from the article made me laugh.

    "AOL users are not alone in being confused about blogs"

    - BBCi. This article

    Now, can anybody name one thing AOL users aren't confused with. If you don't believe me, and think all AOL users (with the possible exception of David Sibley, as it's not really his fault he's with AOL), read this site, then this one.

    Uninteresting Fact #11
    Tonight, on BBC2, is Never Mind The Buzzcocks. I have had the pleasure (or displeasure) of seeing three of the four guests in various guises (Har Mar Superstar, Mark from Feeder and Natasha from Atomic Kitten.). Well, I thought it was pretty cool. You see, I'm still in the stage of seeing famous people is still pretty much in awe. Kinda similar to the feeling you get when you get a question right on University Challenge. Which, I'll admit, I still struggle on a couple of them.

    Keep the faith


    Saturday, September 13, 2003

    Some bloggers like nags, some like cats (no obvious jokes please). I am more of a dog man meself. When my mum's best friend came round, my mum had to take pictures, and I just had to nick them:-

    Mini, featuring the added bonus of Aled's crotch. Boy, do I treat you people or what?

    Keep the faith


    Thursday, September 11, 2003

    We're On Our Way To Marsaille
    Or Lisbon, in this case, well, via playoffs (unless Azerbaijan can go to Italy and do a miracle akin to The Second Coming of Christ), if we get someone shite (like...ENGLAND! Two nil against Lichten-arsing-stien, who are technically ameteurs, agains the multi million pound England? Pfft. I can beat the entire Lichtenstein football team, single handed, hopping, blindfolded, and with a hangover. Oh, so Rooney scored. Doesn't matter, he's an ugly twat.).

    Now Simon Davies? There's a prolific goalscorer, not Wayne "I scored a belter against The Arsenal, sod all since, and I am now the reincarnation of Sir Stanley Matthews" Rooney.

    In case you cannot tell, I'm a bit pissed tonight after watching the game down at the Carlton.

    Didn't Hurt A Bit
    What I told my mates:-

    "Listen lads, I had two fillings without anasthetic. It hurt, but I took it like a man, because I'm hardcore"
    What really happened:-
    "Listen Rhys, I am going to give you two fillings without anasthetic. You asked for anathetic, but I won't give it to you. Take it like a man, you big poof."
    Bugger eh?

    By the way, it didn't hurt. In fact, there was this wierd vibrating rubber thingy he used that was actually quite nice.

    Okay, I've said too much.

    Keep the faith


    Tuesday, September 09, 2003

    Say Aaaarrrggghhh!!!
    Tomorrow I'm off to the dentist, for not one, but two fillings. And I am bricking it. Usually I'm quite a toughie (hey, it's part of being a bloke), and can take a bit of pain. However, dental work seems a bit unessicary at the moment (as I'm in no pain), and, if last time was anything to go by, I'll be in agony.

    This will not hurt a bit. Bullshit.
    I've got nothing against dentist, not least the ones I've got at the moment (it beats the dentist from about a year ago I had that had a dodgy degree from the Phillapenes or somewhere like that. Plus his assistants' apron was covered in blood for my first visit, so it wasn't a good visit). However, I am probably going to hate them tomorrow after recieving two fillings (admittedly only small ones), but the worst is not the actual drilling, but this wierd mechanism that they bung in my mouth. I cannot describe it. It's like a cross between a heavy duty scraper and a vaccuum cleaner, and it kills.

    Anyway, I the pain is only short term, but it's a pain nonetheless.

    Bangers on the Barbie
    Tomorrow I'm going to a barbecue at Sian's house. It'd be the first time I've seen Sian since about March, after she buggered off to Canada (ironically, right before my birthday, I'm that difficult to get gifts for). Anyway, should be good to see her again, after all of six months. Incidentally, Sian applied to join S Club Juniors when they were just kicking off (or she wanted to, but was too old. I'll confirm tomorrow).

    The Sheddites, in all their glory (front row only, as the back didn't really care too much for football, L to R) Goz, Fl*tch, Tom, Yours Truly, Sibley, John Boy, Balti, Wiz. Click for biggy.
    You Can't Score If You Don't Shoot!
    Max, completely by suprise, mentioned the upcoming Colwyn Bay vs. Celebrity XI football game (how the hell do you know about that game? I hardly knew about it myself!), and asked if I was going. I haven't decided if I am or not, but if I am to go, I'd have to have a ring around and re-form the Sheddites.

    The Sheddites were, for two years, shine or, more commonly, rain, dominated the terraces (or, more specifically the shed) and sung songs, cheered on the mighty Colwyn Bay FC, endlessly chanting of "Marc Limbert, give us a wave!" (until he did so), unrelentless worshipping of Eirias Sixth Former/Legend Gary Uruquhart, slated the opposition goalkeeper and generally acted like minor hooligans, the tranquility only broken by RPT (Ritiual Pie Time, where we grabbed a Sausage Roll and a Bovril).

    So what of the songs? Some of the classics are here (my personal favourite is 'The Ode To Barry Town'), which - unlike the website says - was sung, but the words 'Bangor City' and 'Barry Town' changed around.

    The sheddites grew in number by the second season, upto about 20 of us, as a bunch of little kids that had the rather disturbing knack of all supporting Aston Villa joined us. We've had stories to tell - The "You Can't Score If You Don't Shoot" relates to one, there's numerous Sheep Shagger stories (thankfully, not involving Sheep Shagging) and the classic "He's Got A Hook!". These stories (especially the last one) will be told on this blog in intricate detail. However, we still gather around the bars, and relate these tales.

    Ah yes, bars, the killing of the Sheddites. Hangovers from said bars on Saturday, coupled with a dismal last season performance and University, meant that The Colwyn Bay F.C. Sheddites no longer grace the fabled Shed End at Llanelian Road. Shame. Should, by some amazing run of events, the Seagulls rise to the dizzy heights of the conference, or above, then The Sheddites will be back. Some way, shape or form, but they'll be back.

    Keep the faith


    Sunday, September 07, 2003

    Bloody Italians
    I'm alive but tell me am I free. I've got eyes but tell me can I see. The sky is falling and no one knows.
    As I completely neglected to tell you all, last night I went to see American Soft-Rockers Lifehouse in Manchester with a couple of friends. Despite costing a fortune, and the bastard choo choo trains almost making a ballsup of everything, and the slight hangover I had this morning, and the bloody Welsh losing, I had a fanstastic time. No seriously, I really did. My mates organised a trip to Dublin over the weekend to 'sample the Guiness and a few other Dublin sights' , and I had this booked for months now, and was worried that I wouldn't actually enjoy it.

    How wrong could I be.

    Lifehouse came on, after a fairly mediocre support (I say that, but we arrived late, and spent most of the time in the bar, so we're ill to judge) came on flying. They did all but one of the songs that I know ('Only One' being the exception), 'Spin' was excellent, 'Hanging By A Moment' fantastic, and 'Sky is Falling' was great as well. But that's when it hit me. I didn't know any other songs, and they were still good.

    This is a curse and a blessing. A blessing because I got my money's worth. A curse because in the UK, Lifehouse are fairly unknown. The fans, however, are pretty loyal, and know every word to every song. I really did feel a bit out of place as I tried to sing along to songs like 'Sick Cycle Carousel'. I know how a mate of mine felt last night, as I gave him my spare ticket, and had two days to listen to both CD's, and failed miserably.

    Actually, he seemed to be enjoying himself, trying to pull some bird.

    After the gig, we went back to a bar which I liked (three words: Budweiser. On. Tap.) and, after a few, we staggered back to Liverpool and watched Karate Kid before falling asleep at about 4-ish.

    The Grand 'Lets See What Bloggers Know About Blogging' Table
    Last post, I posed a few words that have something to do with blogging, and asked if anybody knew what they mean. Below are the answers.

  • Blogger Bash: A party for bloggers, that is supposed to be blogged (kinda like what Choz and Roland did last weekend, only Roland would post, nudge nudge wink wink).
  • Blogopotamus: A dead long post. Like hippopotamuses, I see them everyday, and I find them boring.
  • Blogorrhea: Loads of little short posts. Often with lack of substance
  • Blogroll: A list of liked blogs.
  • Blogstipation: Unable to post, but trying really hard.
  • Clog Blog: Dutch Blog (oh come on, really?)
  • Dead-Tree Media: Newspapers, magazines and the like.
  • Edu-Blog: Educational blog
  • Stripblog: Something along the lines of Strong Bad ie. A comic strip/cartoon.

    And, exactly 8 months before the Premiship Table is Decided, this is the final table for my little quiz.

    Position Blogger Score
    1. Cyn 4.5
    2. Choz 3.5
    3 =. Tribal Night 3
    3 =. My Good Self 3
    5. Richard 1
    6. Roland (yes I know he didn't enter. That's no excuse) 0

    So, congratulations Cyn! Your prize? Your very own online blog...oh wait, you already got one. Sorry!

    Keep the faith


  • Thursday, September 04, 2003

    Don't Like to Toot My Own Trumpet But...
    Isn't this the best quote ever?

    "One thing the zoo must realise: If they call me in early, then I'm gonna be late"

    - Me

    Stunning. I was really pleased with that one.

    His blog stinks of shat...ner. Boom boom! (what? It's better than "Captains Blog" now, isn't it?
    Ooh, this just like that quiz that cheeky Islandic blighter used to present
    There's an article in The Sun today about Blogging. Needless to say, instead of looking at the funny, interesting, readable and, err, well, A for effort Roland. It looks at those blogging heavyweights that are Anna Kournikova, Barbra Streisand and everybody's favourite blogger by someone from Star Trke. Apparently, to get started in this blogging business, you need to know the following terms. So, as I've got nothing better to do, lets test you all! Below are the terms, leave in the comments what you think they mean, as these are the 'Buzzwords of blogging':-
    1. Blogger Bash
    2. Blogopotamus
    3. Blogorrhea
    4. Blogroll
    5. Blogstipation
    6. Clog Blog
    7. Dead-Tree Media
    8. Edu-Blog
    9. Stripblog
    First try at them, I got three of them, so that's par for the course. If anybody gets all of them, then I assume cheating. Answers up when I can be arsed.

    Come Back To What You Know
    As Jacob said, my new comments are ugly. So I'm chaging back when the server goes back online.

    Keep the faith


    And I'll Never Falter
    Unfortunately, my commenting system are do not abide by those famous Hundred Reasons lyrics, and therefore gone tits up for a long period of time. In replacement (as I cannot manage one day without comments), I've decided to go to the ones that Breaky's got on her blog. So, I've gone to put them up, but Blogger's on the blink at the moment. So you cannot see them.

    Hey, I cannot diss blogger, they answered my query within 24 hours, which was bloody nice of them. Much faster than the two and a half months for Geocities.

    Right, enough about nerdy stuff, onto other crap.

    Don't Make Me Angry, You Won't Like Me When I'm Angry.
    According to my book: '365 Excuses To Get Fabulously Drunk' (a book I didn't write, but I highly reccommend), this week is PMS Awareness Week. Basically, it's purpose is to raise 'awareness amongst members of the society (male especially) about Pre-Menstrual Syndrome'. Raise awareness for us? Anybody who has a girlfriend (or, in my case, a friend who is a girl), will understand that for a couple of days every month women become very irritable, irrational individuals. We don't need to be told this as well. We know already.

    So, after reading about it, I went into work, and put the point above across to my mostly male work colleagues.

    "Sounds nice Rhys," one said "but what's PMS?"
    Okay. Maybe we do need this PMS Awareness Week.

    Keep the faith


    Tuesday, September 02, 2003

    Wine Me, Dine Me, six-tee-nine Me
    Saturday, whilst not included posts about lesbian kisses or jokes down the pub, also saw my return to Broadway. The evening started out brilliant, I found my railcard, I won 30 quid on a bandit, and I had quite a lot to drink (including a Jim Beam + Coke, which is a bloody awful drink). I managed to get in, stumble up to the bar, and got speaking to a girl.

    Yep, a girl. I was debted, I was desparate, but most importantly, I was drunk. She too was desperate, but for another thing:-

    Heh, heh. Alright.
    "I want a arsing drink!"

    Great, we both pissheads and use the word 'arsing'. Ladies and Gentlemen, we have common ground.

    "I know." Looking over at the bird making the arsing comments, a tall bird with jet black hair. "It's like survival of the fittest here."

    The bird nodded and agreed. Another sign to a quick relationship. So after plesantaries and exchanging names, an outside force would try and muscle my way onto my girl.

    "Yes Sir." Said the barman to myself. "What would you like to drink?"

    Being a modern man, I declined my drink invitation, and asked for the bird to be served first.

    "Thanks." She replied. "But why did you do that."

    "You know you said 'Survival of the fittest'?"


    "Well, you are the fittest"

    Yes, I used a chat-up line that would make even Quagmire from Family Guy wince. Nedless to say, she didn't like it, and left me alone, well, I went back to my mates and talked about football and stuff like that.

    My new Eau De Toilette didn't work (yeah, I'm a big girls blouse, come kill me). I decided to invest in some after last couple of times I went out wearing a couple of my mate's sprays on my neck I got dancing with Little Miss Short and The Hulk respectively. I wanted to buy a Diesel one (the fashion label, not the ex-WWF Champion or refined crude oil). However, 8 quid a bottle? Get outta here. So I got the cheaper Adidas one. It's called something like 'Dive in'. If it is called 'Dive in', then I'm suing adidas under Trade Descriptions Act, because the one thing the ladies weren't doing was 'Diving In'.

    Dejected, I left at about half 12, as one of my mates was shattered.

    Cry Me A River
    A guy came into work today, big bloke. About 6'5", large build, tattoos that would make A.J.'s look pathetic, large beer belly, shaved head, stubble, pierced ears, England top and a bloody menacing walk. He strided confidently into my place, and, in a strong Moss Side, demanded to me the following:-

    "Alright Fella, can you tell me where first aid is, as I've been stung by a wasp."
    I kid ye not.

    Keep the faith


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