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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A Googlewhack for the words "Pocketable Tourniquets", which I created myself.

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Sunday, June 29, 2003


"Computer Games don't affect kids - I mean, if Pacman affected us as kids, we'd all be running around in darkened rooms, munching magic pills and listening to repetative electronic music."

- Kristian Wilson, Nintendo Executive, 1989

Wakka wakka wakka wakka wakka wakka
In totally unrelated piece of news, I went clubbing in Broadway last night.

I actually had a very wierd night. It was brillant one way and very very bad another. The bad parts first:-

  • We actually got told to keep the noise down in the nightclub. Yep. You read that right.

  • Within about 20 minutes of hitting the dancefloor, was a very real opportunity, if slightly surreal way, of pulling. Picture the scene, I had just hit the dancefloor with Goz, and I was probably the drunken I was all night, and was succesfully winning the battle of keeping my drink down in my stomach, although there were a few hairy moments. Anyway this bird, god knows how old she was, but mid-late 30's is me being nice, came upto me:-
    "My mate fancies you"
    [I turn around to view the 'mate', a girl, possibly a bit younger.]
    "Would you let her spank you with her pom-pom?"
    [I turn around again, to see the offending pom-pom twirling around in her hand, about as seducing as Jaques Chirac. This, coupled with the debatable nature of the pom-pom in the art of spanking and Goz nearly in laughter forced me to reply]
    "Not on yer life mate."
    Silly bunt still did though, and it was the most weakly, underhand spank I've ever had. Although I haven't been the recipient of too many spankings in my time.

  • In a space of half an hour, there were seven Justin Timberlake songs. Now, I don't mind old JT. He's in the "If he comes on the wireless, then I'll see what's on the other stations, then if there's sod all else, then I'd bare it." catagory. Which is quite a high catagory for me. However, after the third remix of "Rock Your Body", he most definitely dropped down to "Take hammer to radio. Repeat." catagory. It's a shame, but they made me do it.

  • Finally, I must of spent all night dancing around my friends. However, one of my mates (I'm sure) was getting the eye from a dangerous woman. The female version of Hannibal Lecter, if you will. In any rate. She was a minger, and saw one threat between her and him.


    Vic And Bob show what this site means to them.
    It's kinda wierd how this plays out. We often push each other on the dancefloor, to impending targets et al. Nothing major, just gentle nudges between the boys (oh i). Anyway, this girl, who I was as sure as the sun sets was chasing my mates turned to me and said "WOULD YOU JUST FUCKING MOVE!". To which was the reply "OOOooooooh!!" in a Vic + Bob handbag-esque kinda way Not wanting a scuffle (as you can never win fights with women) I duley obliged, letting her dance with my mate for....oooh...all of 30 seconds.

    Hell, I cannot blame her for her outburst. The one thing I've learnt about women is that they are very irratable at certain times (a certain case at university whereby I gave a girl who studied Archeology at Uni whom I met on a night out a tampon and asked her what period it came from) of the month. Couple that this bird was a complete and utter minger. Let me tell you something: if I was a minger, I would be mad at the world. Plus she was ginner. Not nice Gillian Anderson stylee auburn ginner (which is very sexy), oh no. Full on, could give a 10 Watt Lightbulb a run for it's money, paid with priveledges ginner.

  • So, enough of the complaining. I actually had a brilliant night. The reason? The lads were all really having a blast, and I got absolutely trollied (six VK's in a half hour period saw to this). I left pretty early (about half 1 ish), and spent less than £20. If the slaggy residents of Broadway had been less, well, slaggy, it could of been close to a perfect night.

    Right, off to watch Glasters. Feeder were on before, and they rocked.

    Keep the Faith


    Saturday, June 28, 2003

    Top of t'mornin' to yee.
    In a desperate attempt to create content (before tonight's piss up)

    You're Ireland!
    Mystical and rain-soaked, you remain mysterious to many people, and this makes you intriguing.  You also like a good night at the pub, though many are just as worried that you will blow up the pub as drink your beverage of choice.  You're good with words, remarkably lucky, and know and enjoy at least fifteen ways of eating a potato.  You really don't like snakes.
    Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

    Nicked from Cyn's site, if anybody's interested.

    Tonight I'm out on the piss. Lovely!

    Keep the faith


    Thursday, June 26, 2003

    Boyish Good Looks

    "Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked."

    - Baz Luhrman / Quindon Tarver - Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)

    Yesterday, while I should of taken an early night, I took a call from Sibley (incidentally, whilst I was, ahem, 'on my thinking seat') that we're off to Weathers in the Bay. It's always been one of my favourite places to drink, mainly due to the price, not on atmosphere (the Cottage Loaf will go down as probably the place where I've had most embarrassing at the time but good looking back memories ever). Anyway, I've never had a problem with it.

    Until now.

    I strutted up to the bar, thinking like I own the place (which, hopefully in a few years, I will), and uttered those now immortal words that lead to a good night

    "Pint of Carling please mate."

    Me circa 2002, after a bad day.
    The bartender looked at me, then spoke words that I thought I'd never hear again:-
    "You got any ID?"
    Bugger. You see, despite being 6'2", 14 and three quarter stone and able to grow a beard overnight and, more importantly, being 19 years of age. I cannot prove that I am who I say I am (well, despite the 6'2" and the weight thing, and probably the beard if you got 24 hours). I don't drive, and I haven't left the nation. This discounts the passport and drivers licence out of the equation*.

    This is where my insurance plan, albeit dodgy, comes in. You see, there are nice bunch of people called The Portman Group who, depsite promoting sensible drinking (which I do believe in, if I'm not drinking myself), also issue ID Cards. I have one of those cards, with the rather unflattering photo (it was taken after my Biology exam, when I needed a haircut and a shave) seen on the right on it. Generally, it's the most recognised form of ID as far as over 18's are concerned (discounting drivers licence, birth certificate, passport and the norm). Sure enough, it's worked pretty well (I haven't been refused entry with it).

    If it was up to the barmen, I would of been kicked out there and then. This is roughly how the conversation went:-

    "You haven't got another form of ID?"
    "No, why? Everything in order."
    "Well, I cannot accept this."

    Me circa 2003, after a bad day.
    "Cannot accept this?". I'm sorry, but on the door there is a big sign that says "We accept cards from The Portman Group". If he had looked over his shoulder there were leaflets that advertise the bloody thing on the counter below the Jack Daniels! I mean, how hypocritical can you get?

    Luckily, I think it's the cousin of one of my mates who was behind the bar at the time (and he does have a reputation of being strict, as I've been stopped numerous times when I was underage by him, god I'm rebellious) did say "Oh, they were all in school together [as all my drivers-licence equipped buddies got asked as well], he is over 18", and I was allowed to purchase my alcoholic beverage. We did have a laugh about it, for all of about two seconds, before returning to my regularly scheduled night out.

    Still, now that I've sobered up, I'm still irked over it. I mean, okay, I have had a haircut, shave, and lost a few pounds since that photo was taken. However, I cannot of changed that much, what a bunch of hypocritical bastards. Advertising something then don't provide. Maybe it's just me being hot headed my mum (who I've lost count on her age about 40 years ago) said "she'd love to look under 18", maybe I've got a point.

    I was half thinking about writing a letter to JD Weatherspoon, complaining about this incident. However, knowing me, I'd probably be better to get one of my friends to write it. This is due to mainly an angry letter by me would probably lead to a letter with liberal, and in some cases quite creative, usage of the word 'fuck'. Also, I'd probably tell Mr. Weatherspoon where he could stick his spit pump.


    Keep the faith


    * And before anybody says anything, I am well aware that I could get a provisional drivers licence. However, I cannot afford one. £22 is a lot of money for something I'm not going to use **

    ** Rick, if you write back "You don't use yer dance mat, and that was £30", I swear, I will kick your arse.

    Tuesday, June 24, 2003

    Have You Ever Loved And Lost Somebody
    A few nights ago, I was talking with Cyn for quite a length. She mentioned, in passing, that one thing she would love to do is sing Kareoke with me. Newer readers may not understand - but I love Kareoke (turn to any Tuesday/Wednesday post in the last 8 months to understand). Anyway, I suffer from the principle "If you cannot sing good, then by god sing loud.", as I'm not a good singer but....well....A for effort.

    Nevertheless, I have something that the millions of songwriters of calibre Martin, White, Timberlake and Lavigne haven't got one between them.

    I have a UK #1 hit single.

    The year is 2001. Rhyl is once again put on the map thanks to John Prescott lamping some bloke, Pop Idol becomes the biggest piece of crap, ever, and Manchester United run away with the title. Also, it were Children in Need in October.

    For those of you who don't know, Children In Need is a yearly event run by the Beeb. Anyway, they wanted to do something a little special, and get as many school kids (me, at the time, being one of them) as possible to sing on a record from putrid pop pickers (that are now defunct) S Club 7, in the hope that they sell records and get a bit of charity money. Our school was picked to "Sing Along With S Club".

    For me, I should of stood firm, I should of stood by my laurels and refuse to sing on that crap. However, as myself am not the best singer in the world, this was a golden opportunity to get a number one single. Not like anybody cared, but nevermind. So in a move that would leave Max shaking his head in disgust, I signed up to sing.

    We were called to a room one day after school, and then it hit me. Me and Tom (lead singer of Panacea and the future Chris Moyles, who also signed up to do the singing) shouldn't really be there. I mean, we were the only people with testosterone in our bodies, and that included the music teacher, male, who name escapes me at this moment. This helped us in a moment

    "Right!" He said, "Before beginning, we'll listen to the instructions in this exclusive tape given to us.". Oh please. The tape began.

    "We're S Club!". The tape began. "We want to break a world record, and we need your help! By getting all of us singing on the chorous of our new Children In Need song 'Have You Ever.." you can get a number one, and we're hoping to raise money for this worthy cause."

    Managing to hold the vomit in, the whiteboard (one of those cool music ones, with half blank, half musical score) had the said chorous written on it. I'm doing it from memory, as the heathen words are etched onto my brain:-

    There aint no party like an S Club Party? Well, give me a crate of beer, twenty lighters, fourty pipe cleaners, a roll of sticky bag plastic and a vacuum cleaner, and I will prove you wrong
    "Have you ever loved and lost somebody"
    "Wished there was a chance to say I'm sorry"
    "Can't you see, that's the way I feel about you and me baby"
    "Have you ever felt you're heart was breaking"
    "Looking down the road you could be taking."
    "I should know, 'cos I loved and lost the day I let you go."
    Not exactly Lennon + McCartney material, is it? Hell, I'm sure the Fast Food Suckers would reject lyrics like that - or maybe not. Nevertheless, two hardcore champions of the indie cause should of turned away at the thought of singing that. But there was a number one at stake, and I'll be damned if my morals get in the way.

    So, we sung. Admittedly Tom (being a frontman) is actually not a half bad singer, but for indie/punk/rock. Not putrid pop. And as for me? Well, I'm freaking awful. Paint your own picture to how the next 45 minutes went.

    Finally, we did get a recording on tape, which was bung in a jiffy bag, and sent to the BBC. Also included in this was a list of all the people that took part. Surely I'll get my number one. Won't I?

    Well. Kinda. You see, the recording with all the school children was the B-Side, S Club screwed me (well, I wish the women did). So the version sans me did get to number one, so technically I had a #1 hit single. Still. Nobody's gonna notice are they?

    I didn't buy it however. My morals (and my pocket money) didn't stretch that far. I thought "Hmmm....S Club's 'Have You Ever' or 3 goes on 'Soul Edge' down the local arcade". And really, the decision was made up for me.

    However, I've listened to it, and the testosterone paid off, as there are a couple of noticable voices singing about 2 octaves lower than everybody else. Surely, no other post-pubesent males would of gladly volunteered their services to S Club? (I'm talking about music wise, you dirty dogs)

    I have heard reports that if you open the sleeve of the single, my name is written in black and white (or, black and light mauve). This I do believe. However, as much as I like it to happen, the rumour of playing the said CD backwards would result in the words "Rhys Wynne will be bigger than Elvis!" repeated constantly has been proven negative.

    Bugger eh?

    Keep the faith


    Monday, June 23, 2003

    Come On, Give In, Let's Feel A New High Kicking In*
    Today, I have a day off, which I am very happy about (who the hell wouldn't be). Also, it's my first day off that I've not been hungover. This means that the world is my proverbial oyster. Or. At least. Some of the North Wales coast.

    Yesterday in work was a battle with myself to keep awake. I was ordered at one point to inflate a large quantity of balloons, to give to the little kiddies. (I think there was a party going on, we do do parties, if you're interested. Admittedly only birthdays at the moment, but hell, we're willing to do anything.). Anyway, for those of you who know me, will know that when blowing up balloons, I suck. This is technically a problem when it comes to blowing balloons. Nevertheless I got over it, and found some helium. Boy, did we have fun serving the customers when we found the helium. Honestly, you would of thought the Bee Gees were back, as I reached the level of voice-highness not heard since I got nailed in the knackers on the rubgy pitch in year 9.

    I pride myself on this being a Potter free blog. However, it was a bit rife in the zoo. We sell this product called "Magic Candy Floss" (Cotton Candy, if you're a Yankenite) which is our attempt to jump onto the Bespeckaled Wizard Bandwagon. Anyway, below is a conversation with some woman. Not a girl, a fully fletched woman about the said product.

    "Hi, er. What is this stuff?"
    "Candy Floss"
    "Oh right, it says here 'Magic Candy Floss'. Tell me, what is so magic about it?"
    At this point, I felt like saying "Who the hell do you think I look like? Harry Bleedin Potter?", which wouldn't be very polite, but oh so needy. Instead, I used the old fashioned trick.
    "It turns your tongue blue"
    Which is probably did.

    Look Roland, FRISBEES!
    Today, besides playing Mame for a good few hours (most notably Super Sidekicks 2 and Numan Athletics, although I tried to find a working ROM of Lucky + Wild), I also played in length Timesplitters 2, as I finally bought it after everybody has been going on about it. Anyway, I can say that I am very pleased with it. Not upto PC standards in terms of FPS, but in the same league as Perfect Dark. In fact, it's just like it (similar structure), and loads of modes in it make it a worthwhile purchase. You also, which is pretty cool, get a map editor. Pretty much the norm for PC games, this mapmaker for TS2 is pretty cool. Ain't played around with it much though.

    Today I paid a small visit to Llandudno, and had lunch in a nice country pub. No Maccy D's or KFC's in sight, just good quality food, and an abundance of alcohol. Admittedly I didn't drink, but just the fact that it was there made me happier. It has that sort of effect on me. Also, it did cost me a fortune. I say "me", what I really mean is my Dad.

    Right, I can smell barbecue, so I'm going to gatecrash it. Hopefully.

    Keep the faith


    * A shiny to anybody who can tell me the link between the title and the post. Bet you can't

    Thursday, June 19, 2003

    That's Going To Hurt Come Morning
    Last night, as you could probably tell from the nonsensical ramblings below, I was a bit shit faced. It was the classic Weathers - Broadway combination. However, they say that variety is the spice of life, so we went to the Weatherspoons in Colwyn Bay before heading off to Llandudno.

    Of course, only about 3 of you would understand the above.

    We hit "Broaders" (which is what I call Broadway, dispite sounding a bit like some disease in your arse: "Me broaders are flarin' oop again!") at about 11, and stayed until 1:30. It's quite wierd going in on a weekday, as we got a free drink of Castlemane XXXX, officially the second best lager from Australia, behind Fosters. The music is also pretty good (I marked out when they played "Living On A Prayer") as well, plus out of all the blokes, I would rate myself more attractive than most of them. Not being arrogent. Honest. It's due to the bloody place being full of dirty old men on a Wednesday. So I must of pulled, mustn't of I?

    Chris Martin needs to find a WHSmith one of these days or he'll get ink poisoning
    The fact is, that there are also large number of women who are instantly cold the second they walked in to the place. Why? Dunno. Probably due to the dirty old men. Anyway, I had one bird come upto me and said "I fancy you, want my number?" I actually agreed. She then gave me her number. However, she didn't have her mobile on her, or indeed a pen or paper. So she wrote it on my arm. Sorry, not wrote, etched. The ball point pen had run out, so she scraped it onto my arm. Surely if I got a date that'd be okay? Well, no. You see, she was quite drunk when she wrote it. Therefore along my left arm is something that resembles a Turner Prize entrant. After three washes it's still there.

    Okay, I understand why people write on their arms (Chris Martin being one of them). However, call me old fashioned, but I prefer the Palm Pilot approach of writing.

    So apart from that instance, and a girl calling me a "c*nt" (sorry, I hate that word) at the bar, I had no female interaction all night.

    However, I did have a good night. It was one of my mate's birthday, and everybody was really relaxed. One other thing that shocked me was that there was a birthday announcement for "Happy Birthday to blah blah blah blah, who is 57 today!". Fifty-seven? Fifty freaking seven? I understand that the club is for everybody of legal drinking age, but have you heard about growing old gracefully? I'm sorry, but at that age I'd be more like playing miniture golf, doing the Daily Mail crossword and watching Call My Bluff.

    Which, to be fair, is not a million miles away from what I'm doing right now anyway.

    Keep the faith


    Bit pissed boys at the moment. I cannot rememeber how much I've drunk, but it's a lot. A fucking loads. Did I pull? Did I fuck. Neverminde. I should be okay in the morning.

    Oh damn hangover kicking in.


    Wednesday, June 18, 2003

    Father Figures
    Work is getting better. After realising that nobody would pay me for sitting on my arse, I've realised that money = working in the zoo. Really, I was just being a lazy arse. Anyway, I was dreading work today, for the following reasons:-

  • Less dangerous reason: For those of you who listen to Radio 1's (debatably funny) Mark + Lard, you would know that yesterday they were plugging all things Colwyn Bay: The hotels, the football club* and the zoo. They complemented the cafe and urged everybody to visit there. Bugger.
  • More dangerous reason: The dishwasher was on the blink.
  • Anyway, thanks to a nobody paying attention as much as me and a plunger respectively, neither ones of those fears materialised themselves. However, was I in for an easy day?

    Not on your life.

    You see, my boss' boss is in tomorrow, so we did the customary "Lets pour bleach over everything to make sure that the place looks like we actually gave a damn and didn't collectively slack." cleaning operation. On top of the mediocre crowds we get daily, we had a fair amount of work to do. Not like I was complaining. Honest.

    Bryan Mcfadden: Apparently the world's best father. Though I'm sure old Father Ted could of given him a run for it's money.
    Anyway, one funny incident happened today, although I debate whether it was "ha ha" or peculiar. This kid, no more than about 4, came upto me, hugged my legs, and called me 'daddy'. This did shock me. I mean, the amount of times I have been laid sorta gives away that I couldn't be a father. Anyway, the loving mother eventually teased the kid away with the promise of a Mr. Men Ice Cream, leaving me as pink as my apparrent pink lips. I then got thinking. "Would I make a good father?". A couple of people in my past said "oh yes.". I'm not so sure. I mean, the amount I drink? I shun all sorts of responsabilities, go out on the tiles. And kids get in the way as well. Then again, I am known to have a bit of self-doubt. Any thoughts?

    One piece of good news. OUR WORK'S GETTING AN ICE CREAM MACHINE! We're not usually allowed to eat ice cream (as in cornetto's and magnums) as it's not classed as "loose stock". However, ice cream from an ice cream maker, I assume, is classed as "loose stock". I love ice cream. It's second on my list of favourite food (behind, anything with the letters "choc" in it, in that order).

    Tomorrow I'm out on the razz, as part of my mates birthday. I can hardly wait. As Thursday is my next day off. It sort of quite convenient (it weren't planned. seriously).

    Happy Birthday Roland! Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Whilst that seems a bit broad for you, here's some things you should do: get drunk, get laid, and (most importantly) steal traffic cones.

    As Sissy on Big Brother'd say: Yer let me down.
    In other News
    Becks is now playing for the dirty Spaniards. I don't think he's irraplaceable, although I do doubt whether Ronaldinho or Harry Kewell would have the same amount of passion as Becks has playing for United.

    Curtosy of The Scary One: Gay Bar - World Leaders Remix!

    I've been listening to Cambridge Student Radio Station. And if any of my mates (notably Tom, the DJ on said radio station - The Tom and Alex Show Fridays at 3 GMT) are reading this thinking "Yeah right, you said that last time, and you admitted you didnt. Pull the other one, nonetheless.", I have actually been listening to it. It's compelling hearing how many Tom has puked up in Cambridge.

    Finally, new Strong Bad is pretty funny. Nice introduction to said e-mail. Do I tan? Do I thump. I can lay outside for hours, and come in whiter than Jimmy White after seeing a ghost who painted him with tippex. And believe me, that's white.

    Keep the faith


    * To give Mark + Lard credit, they were really accurate about Colwyn Bay's recent history. Which is nice.

    Monday, June 16, 2003

    Comes Across All Shy and Coy, Just another Nancy Boy
    A lot of people (and this is becoming worringly more common) ask me "Rhys! You're a not half bad looking bloke, and you're witty. However, we're worried that you might be turning, y'know, a bit grapefruit.". And I do kinda agree with them. Whilst I'm not actually gay (not like there is a problem with it), a couple of things point in that direction. Lack of girlfriend in my 19 years on this planet, nobody being around when I actually pull, and my love for Elton John (music, that is) all aid it. However, there is one incident in the past that, those who know about it, could be the underlying cause.

    The year is 1998. David Beckham becomes David "Beck-scum" when he gives Diego Simeone a bit of a kicking. Skin cancer rates are on the fall thanks to Baz Lurhmann telling the world that "Everbody's Free to Wear Sunscreen", and a young 15 year old is trying desperately to find a creative output. He takes up photography.

    Skip foreward two years to 2000. The world realises that they've been taken for a ride as both the apocalypse and the Millenium Bug fail to materialise, Sydney manage to stage an Olympic Games that upstage the Atlanta one in every concievable way, and the song of the year is the summer anthem "Groovejet".

    In the Wynne household, my photography lessons go by the wayside thanks to the installation of the internet and my GCSE's. Instead, my mother, an soon to be avid photographer, takes up lessons with the same bloke. She's decided as she has no technical expertise whatsoever, to also purchase a digital camera. Though she cannot work out how to use it.

    A photo like this wouldn't get in Page 3. Because she's French, that's why!
    It's a normal Thursday. Eminem's on the radio, I've been surfing the internet for most of the day, and looking forward for tonight's episode of Big Brother (yeah, I had nothing better to do, I had finished my GCSE's). As my finances were not a problem, nobody cared whether I got a job or not. However, it was widely agreed that it would be nice. The clock hits 5pm, and my mum, after a hard days work, comes in, and immediately seeks out her eldest:-
    "Hey Rhys, how's your day been?"
    "Ah not bad, not been upto much. Went to the Bay."
    "Ah right. Listen, do you want a job?"
    "Where at?"
    "Well, do you know my photography guy?"
    "Well, he also does photography for The Sun, and he needs a male supervisior, as he's doing a Page Three photoshoot. And I said that you'd be interested."
    After picking my jaw up off the floor, I went to think about it. For the unitiated, Page Three in the sun refers the third page in the tabloid The Sun, which has features a picture of a laydee (from 19-23) with her boobs out, for no aparrent reason except that it's British. This is the pornography of hormonal 13 year olds who aren't physically tall enough to reach the top shelf. Anyway, this guy runs my mum's photography course was doing a photoshoot in Llandudno that would be Page Three. Nevertheless, they need a man, above 16, who would 'supervise' the shoot so that should anything untoward happen, I would leap in and save the day, a guardian angel, nontheless.

    Oi! Barry! Check out the size of the tits on her!
    Anyway, to get this temporary job (which paid £10 an hour, serious money, for sitting on your arse watching topless ladies) would of catapulted me up the blokiness list for almost all eternity. Also, I'd of been the envy of my mates, who were working in cafe's and paper rounds at this time, and would of got major respect.

    However, I declined the job.

    There was one reason for this. The job started at about 6am in the morning, this is so "Not to alude attention." (as you can imagine). Also, it would of started at a barable 7am, if it wasn't the fact that the site was coming under building work. And builders and page 3 girls don't mix. So some in the flesh (so to speak) would of caused much cat calling and the like. Due to my cannot be arsed nature, it cost me a job that 90% British male population would of given they're left ear for.

    Did I regret it, well, not then. But now I do. For a different reason.

    Fast forward to September. A new school year started and I settled with a group of people who'd become my major drinking buddies over time. The time came when we had to explain if anything happenned over the summer. Not wanting to say "Oh, I just sat on my arse, did fuck all, surfed the net constantly, and watched Big Brother.", I needed to say something that proved that I wasn't a bit of a bore, that I had substance to me.

    "I was offered a job on a page 3 photoshoot."
    "Right. Did you take it?"
    "Nah. Couldn't be arsed."
    At this point, my arse were covered in boot marks, kicking myself for not taking the said job. As, for the next few weeks, I was the subject of much hand gestures, name calling and Village People records.

    Occasionally, it still is mentioned, and I do find it quite funny now. But up until I get a girlfriend or pull in the complete view of the general public, I will always see myself as being known as the "One who's a little bit fruity."

    Keep the faith


    Sunday, June 15, 2003

    Last night, as the picture on the gospel sorta gave away, I was out on the piss last night. And how. First Weatherspoons, then Broadway, via the Cottage Loaf and the Town House. To be honest, I cannot remember too much about the night, except these two incidents:-

    Firstly, there were two birds we came across (ooerr) who came all the way from sunny, sunny Llanrwst, a town (about 12 miles away) that we sometimes go to as one of my mates go there. Anyway, Llanrwst has more in common with Mid Wales than North, and thus they shrilled a lot. They were pure Welsh, telling us (in, ironically, English) that "Wales is the best, speak Welsh!" etc. Okay, I'm all for Welsh supority, and I don't want to see the Welsh language die, but these two had more in common with Dilys Price of Fireman Sam fame than being in a club, drinking pints of bud.

    There were also a few Americans out last night. They were obvious to spot due to the strong accent and weak crap they were drinking. In one of my casual wanders through the club, I sat down next to one of them and got speaking to him. He, like me, hated the music they were playing in the club. However, he was more of a rap individual. He also asked me if I want a battle. Fearing a punch up coming on, I was shifting bricks. He then explained that a battle was freestyle rapping against one another. As I posses as much rapping skills as Bill Gates, I should of backed down. However, I was pissed, and had nothing better to do, so I took him up on it.

    I cannot remember much of what I said, no doubt it were crap, except for one line "I'm like the Matrix, like Keanu Reeves. I'm saving the world from mechanical thieves.". That was the best of the lot. Judge for yourself from that line whether the rest was abysmal or just crap.

    Anyway, I did have quite a good night. I drunk too much and feeling it this morning. Oh well, that's what days off are for.

    Keep the faith


    Saturday, June 14, 2003

    It's superficial I'm a misfit, but baby that's okay.
    Okay, as however hard it is for me to say, but I love that Amy "pop as pop can be even though I'm trying to pretend to be Avril Lavigne" Studt. I bought her single that charted in an area normally reserved for garage music, Big Brother contestestants, and Mel B. Nevertheless, I do think she's great. Am I going soft in my old age? I really couldn't care less. It's a quality song, and it says "arse" near the beginning. Therefore, I've been singing "Hey, girl, duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh. It's superficial I'm a misfit, but baby that's okay." all day at work.

    A Unicorn. Also known as a horse with a traffic cone stapled to it's head.
    Ah yes. Work. To be honest, it was nowhere near as busy today. But lets be honest: if the Welsh Mountain Zoo announced they had a unicorn in captivity, and given everybody free entry, it still wouldn't be as busy as it were yesterday.

    Nevertheless, I still screwed up a few times. Not pant losing screw ups this time, oh no. Only one, subtle one.

    "So, soup of the day, what is it?"
    Wrong yes. But grammatically correct.

    There was a coach party of sorts in work today: A collection of almost-ex-delightful Welsh local pre-school children, there to learn about nature and the like. In the midst of serving these little angels, I caught my finger in the till. The reaction of which (couple with my many weeks of watching The Sopranos) meant that, in front of these darlings, I almost shouted 'Fuck!' as loud as possible. I held my dignity as the "Ice Cweem man" (as the kids, and possibly people with lisps, would say), and served them all. I then locked the door, turned up the music, and shouted the f word.

    As you may be able to tell, I didn't go out tonight. Tomorrow I may, and, as Avril Lavigne once sang, "Tomorrow is a different day..."

    Keep the Faith


    Friday, June 13, 2003

    I don't do small posts, but I'll make an execption
    Not meaning to be alarming in a crude sort of way, but what the fuck has happened to Blogshares?

    Probably to stop Blogshares Annonymous.

    Keep the faith


    Thursday, June 12, 2003

    Slave to the Wage
    Today, quite frankly, has been a bit hellish. Working from 12 to 6:45 may sound like a mickey mouse shift, but when you only expect 3 hours, it can come as a bit of a shock. The reason being? Half of Brixton were out today, and were being, to put it politely, a bit tricky. There were only 3 of us, and as we worked, the washing piled up. It's bloody demoralising seeing washing. Anyway, I was on till, and this conversation tested my patience:-

    So what's in fish fingers? Ham.
    "Hey, what do you want?"
    "Can I have a slush please."
    "Yep, red or blue?"
    "Mixed please."
    "Large or small."
    "Mixed please."
    "Yeah, but large or small."
    "Mixed please."
    "Yeah, but do you want a large mixed or small mixed?"
    "Mixed please."
    Okay, I'm assuming that he wasn't retarded (because he didn't seem it). But he was certainly older than me. I'm sure he was trying to piss me off. Anyway I just gave him a large, urinated in it, and charged him double.

    Okay, maybe not the last two, but I would of. Maybe.

    I was also asked "What fish are in the fish fingers?". Who the hell do I look like? Captain Freaking Birdseye? Anyway, I got lots of strange requests for food. Iced Tea. Tossed Salad. Cous Cous. Boiled chips. This lead me to believe that the coach party were probably southern fairies. As "oop North", we have simple food and drink. Tap water, burgers, bangers and mash, chips. Cous Cous my arse.

    This coach party were trouble, and as soon as we shut the door at the last of them I shouted "Just freaking bugger off!". Nobody heard me, but I felt hard.

    Also, I had the very near embarassing experience of my trousers nearly falling down. I have a skater belt for the simple reason that they are variable. I lie somewhere between the third and second notch on UK regular belts, so the variability that come with skater belts are excellent. Plus they look cool as well. Anyway, I've found (the hard way) that running in them can cause the belt to actually come undone, thus causing almost pant falling down type situation in the middle of a car park.

    Also, the final bad thing that happenned today was my mum questioned my love life, or lack thereof. Which was nice of her.

    If you think I'm paying for that round you got another thing coming.
    These facts alone, along with reading this article meant that as soon as I got home I cracked open a bottle of beer. I've had two so far tonight. Not a huge amount, but it made me lose my week long detox. I haven't drunk (before tonight) for a week. Well, I'm impressed, as it's the longest I've gone without alcohol for a long time. Certainly this last term, where I've been a right Bobby Dazzler with my drink.

    Oh, and I also found that I had Weatherbug installed on my PC. To be honest, I don't know how it got there. But really. Two faults with this program. Firstly it's chock full of spyware. Second is the obvious. When I want to know the weather, I look outside, think "Hmm, it's sunny/cloudy/windy/pissing it down.", and dress accordingly. Not freaking look at a program, that's based in America, who probably thinks Colwyn Bay is in Colorado or somewhere, to tell me what the weather is. Jeez. I trust pinecones more.

    The Duke, in all his glory.
    After drinking a couple, I fell asleep for a bit, then watched Bargain Hunt (which is a great program, that's gotten shit now that David "The Duke" Dickenson has left). Sure, I'm not a fan of Antiques, but it's good fun to watch, and The Duke is a character. Hell, he's a national treasure, and the patron saint of students.

    I'm in work tomorrow, then maybe a night out. So I'm off for some sleep (and I'll probably not update tomorrow). Well, if me and Cyn stop arguing if my lips are pink or not (me no, her yes). As The Duke would say "What do you think Bargain Hunters?"

    Ooh, and I just got a text message from Fay (from Uni). Y'know, I honestly beginning to miss the F Block people.

    Live Forever

    Keep the faith


    Wednesday, June 11, 2003

    Wasting My Life Away
    As today was my day off, I thought I might as well do nothing. I was planning a P.J. Day (a day where I wouldn't leave my pyjamas), but it didn't materialise. Instead I wrote a letter, tidied a bit and watched the dire England game. That's really about it.

    I was so bored today that I wrote this using Quizilla: Which one of The Art of Rhys-isms regular readers are you? It's aimed at those who love quizzes. Anyway, not everybody is in it (sorry Max), in fact, only 5 of my millions of fans are in it (and one of them's me). Should be interesting to see what everybody gets, post your results in the comments. Or maybe not. Hell I'm bored, I have nothing better to do. I'm a stud(ent) for god sakes!

    Tomorrow I'm working in the zoo. Three hours only mind, but it's a bit of work.

    Keep the faith


    Great Balls of Fire
    Luckily my fears of the dentist giving me an earful were unfounded after it turned out that they only wanted to re-adjust my brace, thus completely bypassing the teeth that look Hamas has hit it. Nevertheless, it actually wasn't a bad visit to the dentist. Then work.

    Brings tears to your eyes...
    Actually I got no complaints about work. It was relatively quiet, and I did screw up a few times. However, they were my own accord, and nobody noticed. Both involved overly warm objects.

    First, I've burnt my finger. I am actually not sure how I did it. Nevertheless it hurts, and it's shown on the cam.

    Again, another burning. This time, it occurred in a more delicate area. Whilst holding a pan of beans I rested it on my lap for a little too long, thus resulting in a bit of singed skin and nothing worse than sunburn. Of course, as all blokes know the International Lanugage of Paintm (myself included, I've been the recipient to a fair old number of shots to the knackers in my time), we all know that any foreign influence + your todger = pain. Lots of pain.

    To be honest I wasn't in a "cannot walk" state, and I hid it well, so nobody (I think) latched on. Nevertheless, it caused me a bit of discomfort, and I was walking funny for the rest of the day. However, if anybody is wishing to offer me a bit of tender loving care, then I'm sure we can arrange something.

    Then again, when I complained about it, I had calls of "run it off, you pansy!" directed at me. So I just shut up and put the new wonder drug - Sudocrem - on it.

    Sudocrem is bloody brilliant stuff isn't it? I've used it for cuts, bruises, burns, swellings (of the bad kind) and other related deformations and pains. And, to this day, it's never failed me. Hell, when it was all said and done during my height of acne, Sudocrem rescued me from somebody who looked like a walking volcano to someone who could give Brad Pitt a run for his money (via a couple of days, due to the whiteness of the stuff, looking like Marylin Manson. Of course, in those days, it was uncool to be a goth). Breakages, comas, psychiatric problems, infertilaty, all could be cured with this wonder drug. Hell, I bet my arse that Sudocrem could be used as a cure for cancer. Which would be nice now, wouldn't it?

    I've been reading this for the past couple of days. Video Gaming dumbest moments. Yes, relive those times when you thought "Y'know, somebody must of liked this.". Already gone are the abominations of E.T. (ended up burying 10,000 copies in the Nevada desert) and BMXXX (yeah, that copy of Dave Mirra BMX last year that featured porn in it). As a seasoned vet of the video gaming front, I bet you are dying to know what prediction for #1 is. Well, I'm guessing it's probably Rise of the Robots (a game which I actually own). Fancy graphics, music from Brian May (the long haired bloke from Queen, in case you didn't know), and total lack of any fun whatsoever. As wooden as a oak tree with a boner, this truly was one of the worst games ever. Okay, I wounldn't say the worst, but it is remembered for being the biggest failure (this was hyped for more than 3 years) ever in video gaming. Yeah, I did say I bought it. For 49 pence.

    Finally, I've got a day off tomorrow. Quite what I'm going to do with my new found (and much deserved) freedom I don't know. Nevertheless, I'll find something destructive. Maybe play iSketch, which is more addictive than crack flavoured Pringles. If everybody actually played the game and stop drawing boobs.

    Keep the faith


    Tuesday, June 10, 2003

    In the Chair
    Tomorrow I'm off to the Dentist. Lucky me. For the first time ever I'm actually dreading going to the dentist. Usually I go all confident doing the recommended 'Brushing Twice A Day' (teeth, that is) and get shot down from my egotistical high horse when they say my teeth look like spaghetti junction (and in some cases, the spaghetti still being in there, which is nice). Anyhow, I know now my teeth are messed up. The dentist is probably going to lay the smack down on my pearly whites, which will not be very nice.

    On the upside, I am getting a filling, which will sort out that hurting in my tooth. Which will be bliss.

    More playing with my webcam at the moment: I found out the following things about it:-

    • Big brother, recorded 24/7. We all know how dull it is*.
      You can speak to people over the net with it. Okay, pretty standard stuff I admit (it's a webcam, it does exactly what it says on the tin). Nevertheless, it was fun for about 5 seconds the problem comes whereby whether you actually want your movements recorded 24 hours a day. Okay, my time with a camera on me is when I'm on chat, on the internet and with the camera switched on (and when I'm sitting in front of this machine, of course). But really, are people interested in watching me all day? I mean, even when I fart? Or scratch my armpit? Or stick my finger in my ear? Or dance around the room. Actually, that'd be pretty funny.
    • It can record video. Now, whether it's my large knowledge of the internet or just that I read FHM a bit too much, but webam + video = amateur porn. Of course, I'm not going to try this theory out yet (for one I don't have a bird). Even if tomorrow I walked out the door, saw a fit bird who said "Welsh bloggers turn me on.", and offered to make a video there and then, you really think you'd be able to see it? I can see that the Pammy + Tommy Lee one would probably be ever so little more popular.

    Anyway, never fear, I probably wouldn't that. I'm a crap actor.

    Tomorrow I've also got work, and I'm actually looking forward to it. Okay, not working. But I'm broke at the moment (yeah, I know the stupidity of buying a webcam while broke, sue me**), and any amount of money (as it's a short shift tomorrow, I'll probably earn somewhere in the region of £16) is very, very nice.

    I've started a photo blog. It's underneath the cam pic on the left. I've called it The Gospel According To Rhys. Why? Because I wanted to.

    Evanescence are number one! As unofficial head of the Evanescence fan club: Colwyn Bay branch, I couldn't be happier. This is the first decent song that's gone to number one (in my opinion) since The Hindu Times by Oasis. Coldplay should of, Avril should of, Foo Fighters should of, Red Hot Chilli Peppers should of, Evanescence are.

    Of course now they are numero uno my brother - possibly the only self confessed "Sk8er***" in the world ever to own a Ministry of Sound album - hates them. He says "They are too commercialised now." and goes back to his Limp Bizkit album.

    There's no pleasing some people.

    Keep the Faith


    * Expecting a female backlash with that comment
    ** Actually don't. I have no money
    *** Speaking of Sk8er. Did anybody see Avril Lavigne in The Sun? As Ollie in Byker Grove once said - "Aye, she's as fit as a butcher's dog"

    Monday, June 09, 2003

    Guess who just got himself a webcam?
    I bet you'll never guess.

    I say, that hedgehog looksa pretty nice I say a pretty nice...

    Yep, after an astronomical win on the nags over the weekend, I've decided to splash out and purchase a webcam from these lovely people. I had been planning to for yonks, so the win on Saturday was just an excuse.

    Anyway, I'm not quite upto regular cam whore status yet, as I'm still figuring out how to use it. Also, no screams of "Muuuum!! Rhys is taking a picture of his arse!!" has been heard yet (and, whilst I'm sober, probably never will), and the picture above looks a little white for someone who spent about 50% of his waking weekend outdoors (40% on here, 5% napping, and 5% watching the Derby). Anyway I'm still getting used to it, so I'll post a regular cam pic table thingy if (and indeed when) I get used to the cheeky photographic blighter.

    Keep the faith


    Sunday, June 08, 2003

    FIrst Past The Post
    Today was Derby Day. For those of you who don't know what the Derby is, it's a less jumpier, shorter but more hilly version of the Grand National. Basically a horse race. Anyway, as I hadn't had a flutter for a while (for me anyway: about 2 weeks), so as it were the Derby, I put the Refuse To Bend £1 e/w, Alamshar £1 e/w and Kris Kin £1 e/w. I was watching the whole Derby meeting with my dad, forsaking the radient orange glow of the star formally known as the sun to watch a bit of telly.

    Get in!
    The big race came. My heart was actually racing quite badly. Dunno why, just was. And that's that. Anyway, I didn't study the form too much (Refuse to Bend - the favourite - never lost a race), or the colours. Nevertheless, I was pretty much relying on commentry the whole race. About two furlongs from the end Kris Kin came storming through to win. As it were (when I got it) 9-1, and I have never been one to shut up, I jumped from my seat with such a force that would give any Olympic standard High Jumper a run for it's money, lifting my hands aloft, and shouted get in. To which, my dad (who thinks I'm a saint) turned to me:-
    "You didn't gamble did you Rhys?"

    Whilst not being possessed by a 24 hour Midas Touch - today I also dropped about £15 out of the fruit machine in Billy Hills - I also went shopping in Llandudno for some summer clothes. All my clothes are dark or bright. I need some paler ones for summer so I can look like a cool kid just all year round. I have a pair of "Natural" (ie. your screwed if you spill brown sauce down them) coloured shorts, but no T-shirts. Thankfully this changed with a very snazzy Hong Kong Phooey t-shirt.

    I was going to say something else interesting, but I forgot it.

    Keep the faith


    Saturday, June 07, 2003

    Out on the Razz
    Last night was my last night in Liverpool for a few months. And I needed to go out with a bang. I'd say I went out more with more of a pop, or that "psssssssh"ing sound you get when you have a slow puncture. But not a wimper.

    Blue Angel: Not only does it sound dodgy, but it also looks dodgy. And it smelt a bit.
    I went to a club called "The Blue Angel". Dispite sounding like a strip joint, it does have the honour of in the mid 60's being the first place that The Beatles played in or summit (hey, it said on the wall). Well, it has something like that on the wall when you go in. Anyway, the night is known as "The Razz", is pretty studenty. If you tell everybody "Oi! Before going in the Razz write down your name on this piece of paper, or we'll come around and eat your goldfish.", I'll bet my arse that the list will read "Students at one, of Liverpool's Universities". Anyway, enough about other people, what about the most important thing. How the devil did I get on, one week after the time that I pulled not once, but twice in one night. Let me repeat that. Not once, but twice in one night (despite what anybody says. The Hajj I'm looking in your general direction).

    The answer is, well, no. I did try to pull some bird who I actually liked for a bit, which makes a change from the usual "Pulse and nice breath" requirements from yours truly. And, was fairly sure that she kinda liked me back. Anyway, she flat out rejected me. The bitch. I bloody hate rejection. I've never been rejected from anything in my life. You could probably rip a liver out of an elephant, open me up, attach it, and it would work a treat*. My body doesn't do rejection, and am unsure how to deal with it. Last night, I dealt it with the way I know how: get pissed. Real pissed.

    Oooer missus...
    So, dispite being turned down by a fit bird with nice personality but something seriously messed up in her head to turn down the mighty Welshman, anything else much happen? Well, yes. I decided to employ my "The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone." and went on the pull again. This time to a small room where people could sit and chat. Surely my wit will come across? Well, it didn't have a chance. Clutching my two bottles of beer, I went into the room, without realising that there was a step. As a 7 year veteran of watching WWE, I've learnt that you should try to fall flat. I didn't, landing on my elbows, hurting them. More importantly, the beer shot out of the bottle in very innuendoistic white suds, causing me much embarrassment. I picked myself up and spawled out across one of the chairs, pissed as a fart still.

    So, was the night a goodun? Hell yeah! Despite failing at my last chance until September to get laid, I did have a good night with F Block.

    Ah yes, F Block. I know some of you read this, so I guess I should adress it (it's only fair). Those of you expecting a sob story about how I'll miss you lot so much will be dissappointed, as there will not be one. The reasons being:-

  • I'm a bloke, and we don't do those sort of things.
  • I know that, discounting nuclear holocause, I'll see you all around.
  • Anyway, I guess I should say thanks for taking me in, and accepting me as one of your own. After the general loudy crappiness of M Block, I thought uni was a boring sham. Anyway, now I know otherwise.

    Bloody hell that was far too girly. Guess I should end this before talking about moisturiser or summit.

    Keep the faith


    * And it's on this fact that, if I keep drinking as much as I do, I'm hoping for in a few years.

    Thursday, June 05, 2003

    And here it is
    Well, Blogger's decided to sort itself out, so I can post now.

    For those of you who are interested (and if it isn't all of you, I'll make sure you will be), here is my exam results, which I seemingly forgot to mention. Probably because I haven't really been too arsed with them. Nevermind:-

    Rhysie Boy's Official Test Scores 2002/2003 (2nd Semester)
    Microprocessor Systems 61%
    Audio Electronics 63%
    Software Development 68%
    Hardware Project 70%
    Data Structures + Information Systems 84%

    This means that I'm going through the second year. Which is nice.

    The only thing I want to mention: How in the name of sweet holy buggery did I manage to bullshit my way to 84% in Data Structures? Regular readers will know that Data Structures isn't exactly a subject I do backflips over. Nevertheless, you take the rough with the smooth. As they say.

    Today is my last day in university. Tomorrow will be a comprehensive look at my uni first year.

    Anyway, I'm out on the piss tonight, wish me luck.

    Keep the faith


    Wednesday, June 04, 2003

    They're Not Gonna Get Us
    Last night was the last kareoke night of the year in our bar, boo or cheer if you will. Due to an England friendly, where they struggled against Wales' next European Championship contenders - Serbia + Montenegro, it was also considerably shorter than normal. What made it more interesting was that there were a few of us, and we were all up for it (singing, that is. After The Smithdown 10 none of us could drink even if we wanted to. Nevertheless, we graced the stage with a rendition of The Calling that made Jemini look like Jimi Hendrix.

    Of course, I couldn't stop at just one. Oh no, there is beer on the line, and whilst I couldn't drink it now, I'm sure that in a later date I'll be more than willing to down a couple of cans. Nevertheless, I took to the stage and sang what I thought was a pretty good rendition of Ash's "A Life Less Ordinary". Unfortunately, I was the only person who seemingly heard of the song before. Nevertheless, the best was soon to follow.

    tATu. This is not enough, apparently.
    Two of my mates, Graham and Haywood, got up and did Tatu's "They're not gonna get us". Why they chose that song? Because they can sing anything (it's true...they told me). In any rate, they actually knew none of the song itself, except for the high pitch bits, and boy, did we know about it two minutes. Quite possibly one of the funniest thing I've seen since that Simpsons episode with the film festival, and one of them is "Man getting hit with football" and he get's hit in the groin with the afformentioned football. Anyway, it had me in stitches and I could barely sit on my seat, I was in tears of laughter.

    We should of won the beer with that performance, instead it went to someone else. A national day of mourning was therefore called.

    Anyway, I guess you just had to be there.

    Afterwards, we decided to see what the European Capital of Culture had to offer, and...err...we ate a KFC sitting in a car park. Now, wait just a minute, how did Liverpool win that again?

    Now it is* beginning of a fantastic story! Let's make a journey to the cave of monsters! Who ever thought that a crap sentimental could spawn some fantastic gaming action?
    Finally, a few days back I bought Bubble Bobble for my Game Boy Advance. I can honestly say that games have gone downhill in a big way since this piece of beauty. Regarded by me (oh, and a lot of other people as well, not like I care) as probably one of the best game in the world ever, it hasn't quite got the recognition I believe it deserves. Nevertheless, it is a stunning game, and I'll be waiting in line should Rainbow Islands (arguably better in my book, if not then certainly equal) ever comes out on the GBA. God, it better had, or I'll go around to Mr. Nintendo's house and give them all a chinese burn.

    If you haven't played it yet, go get yourself a copy of MAME, and experience one of the greatest games ever. None of your fancy 10 minute FMV sequences, just pure quality gaming of the highest degree, and officially one of the most catchy tunes in a video game.

    And while you're getting that, you might as well get Rainbow Islands as well. As the tune in that is quite catchy as well (what can only be described as a happy version of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow"). Oh, and the game is pretty decent as well.

    Oh, and we cannot swear in pubs anymore (thanks to Roland for link, despite the fact that I have heard of the story before. Honest.). Only got one thing to say about that: It's a fucking disgrace.

    Keep the faith


    *Notice the poor japanese translation there? Admittedly, not as bad as "All Your Base..", but still pretty sloppy. Admittedly, knowing what my grammar is like, it's a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. But what are you gonna do.

    Tuesday, June 03, 2003

    20 quid, 10 pubs, 7 actually open, 4 hours, no chance of soberness
    Last night was the infamous Smithdown 10. Ten pubs along Smithdown Road in Liverpool, and you have to have a drink in each. Unfortunately, due to two pubs being inexplicably shut, and because we didn't start till about 7pm, we missed last orders at the last stop: Our student bar. Nevertheless, I myself drunk quite a bit (7 drinks in all), and as I finished with double JD's and Coke, I was pretty wasted, not massively out on floor showing off my belly to everybody, but enough to slur my words, speak crap, and dash off the little boy's room every 20 minutes. However, despite the obvious hangover that awoke me at 7am, I had a bloody good night. It however was a blur most of the night, the following facts I do remember:-

  • About half way down there was a quiz machine based on Q Magazine. We (using the lamest sense of the word - Dave The Cat knows so much about music it's just scary) managed to drop a couple of quid out of it.
  • One bar, I remember Kerrang radio being on, and fantastic band of the moment Evanescence. Not being one to shut up, I sung it the only way I can. Very. Very. Loud.
  • The blokey talk in the last pub really I couldn't repeat what it was about, for fear of embarrassment (mostly myslef). Needless to say, it did involve some comparison, and a hell of a lot of bullshitting.
  • Apart from that, not been upto much today. My mum + dad came over to Liverpool to clear out all but the bare essentials from my room. My room is now as barren as Barnesley. I also read the not-really-communal-but-as-good-as FHM a good few times. And that's about it really.

    Off to watch England now.

    Keep the faith


    Monday, June 02, 2003

    Kicking Off
    Right now I'm in a bit of a sulk, and I'm allowed, as it's me, and I'm special.

    MotoGP: In all it's XBox bastardized glory.
    You see, heavily advertised outside The Guild at the mo are o2, a phone company who for the past couple of months I have been with. Anyway, they're offering an X Box to anybody who can get the fastest time on the phone game "Moto GP". As I actually have the game on my phone, I was walking in with such the advantage that it was simply unfair. I admit, I was a bit cocky to some people. Nevertheless, I soon proved all my doubters wrong by smashing three seconds off the standard time, and coming out with 1:27.5.

    Or so I thought.

    You see, it had to be registered on the phone, and the phone decided that "Ooh, I'm not letting the company that sponsors Arsenal's XBox go to some lowly Man Utd. fan, I'll screw him out of it", and all my times were wiped from the phone. This meant, dispite swearing on the holy bible that I got 1:27.5, I wasn't the winner.

    What happened? Well, I'm not sure, if I knew then I wouldn't be complaining. Anyway, after arguing my case to a non-complient judge, I decided to do the manly thing, and bitch about it on my blog. God I love these things.

    They did compensate me with a T-shirt (that doesn't fit) and a hat (again, that doesn't fit), and the knowledge that deep down inside that, not only am I a winner, I would of preferred a Gamecube. Nevertheless, the fact still remains: The bastards screwed me out of a XBox.

    In other News
    I've managed to blag myself another couple of days in Liverpool! This case, instead of going home tomorrow, forsaking the Smithdown 10, then coming back on Thursday anyway, I just go home on Friday. Makes sense, really.

    Finally, I've managed to upload my pictures onto T-Shirts. The store is available here. Unfortunately, due to it being located in America (through no fault of it's own), we have to pay extortionate custom prices here in the UK. Oh well, c'est la vie. Though I'm sure all you Yankenites will no doubt be snapping up my 'tees' faster than when that Pamela Anderson video came out on the net a few years back.

    Keep the faith


    Sunday, June 01, 2003

    Slowly living my life
    Okay, firstly, mum, don't read this post. As if you do, I'll probably find myself in work on Wednesday morning faster than you can say "Two burgers and chips - £4:80 please".

    Barnet: Not really got too much to say about it.
    Today, I have been so bored it has been scary. I've had sweet fuck all to do recently, and, whilst it has usually been bliss, today with my bugger of a left leg has been pretty much painful. Today can only be compared to 24 hours of Data Structure Lectures, as boring as Barnet.

    "Ah ha!" I hear you say, "Surely Mr. Stud would forget his problems with his gammy leg and go out to hopefully recreate the events of Thursday night, as, by god, the kid's in the best form of his life!". The sad thing is that, no, I didn't go out.

    Why I do not know. Maybe I'm sort of going on a bit of detox after spending the past two nights pissed to my eyeballs. So I forsaked the last time this year that I could in theory get laid (due to on Double Vision on Monday being both daylight robbery and the fact that my mum will be knocking on my door at midday on Tuesday, so that if the unthinkable does happen, it could lead to an awkward situation) to do something else. What was the something else? T-Shirt design.

    Yes, I'm trying to get back to my geeky roots, and sorta semi inspired by Imperial Doughnut's intrepid tale of wealth, fame and fortune by designing T-Shirts, I want to start. I've made two already, but haven't uploaded them due to the uploader being run on shockwave, which is probably the only internet program the Uni's computer network hasn't got. This, to say the least, is a bit of a bugger.

    Reason #29: Chun Li is a baddie in the movie, despite being a goodie in the computer games.
    As mentioned, I want to get back to geeky roots. Okay, I'm considered pretty geeky at the moment, due to an event a few weeks ago whereby I gave A Hundred Reasons* why Street Fighter: The Movie was technically incorrect to the storyline given in the game. Yet, I want to be a cool geek (as I enjoy going out, getting pissed and stuff), not a nerdy geeky nerd, as that's just pathetic. I managed to have a conversation with someone last night on how hard drives were better storage devices than memory cards (when it comes to consoles), so I'm slowly getting geekier.

    Why am I doing this? Well, as they said on Mortal Kombat: The geek shall inherit the Earth.

    Keep the faith


    * See what I've done there?

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