Out On The Razzle
One of my mates has a theory: "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone". After the dissappointment of last Wednesday night, I decided to shift my pulling ability onto maximum tonight at Double Vision.
Did it work?
Did it fuck.
No no. That's not saying I had a boss night. I did. Just didn't seal the deal. There was actually quite a lot of birds dancing around me at various parts of the night. However, none came upto me and said "Hi, I'm blah blah blah, I read your website, shag me rotten.". It truly is a sad day. However, the night was pretty good. Here are the highlights:-
So why has he got a considerably smaller penis than yours truly?
Actually, if I'm to be cocky, the amount of blokes in the loos that had smaller members than me is quite incredible. Sorry if I'm to walk about with my head (both on my shoulders and down below) held high, but it is true. Never thought that my little guy was anything above average, but now I know it is...well..bonus!
The other cool thing was this. One of my mates has a passion for the theatre, he loves it. I decided at the end of last year to go and see him perform in Bugsy Malone. Despite my reservations, it was fantastic. He saw a few of his Bugsy Malone mates out tonight. One was attractive, so I mate my move:-
[Tapping her on the shoulder] "Hey"Conversation continued, but alas it wasn't meant to be, she dissappeared off into the world that actors live and whatnot.
"You were in Bugsy Malone, weren't you?"
[Startled] "Yeah! How did you know?"
"I went to watch it. Primarily because a mate of mine was in it."
"Oh yeah. And do you remember me in it?"
"Of course. How could I forget?"
"And what did you think of it?"
"It was excellent. And that's coming from an actors point of view."
"Really?! What have you done?"
"Well. You know the Nactivity play?"
"I was the back end of a camel."
Right, I'm pissed as I write this (apologies for any messed up words...), so I'm off to sleep off the hangover.
Keep the faith.
What a Difference A Day Makes
24 little hours. That's all. Yet, to avoid getting philosophical as much as possible, I've managed to cram a lot in the last 24 hours. Lets start at 10pm yesterday:-
Oh, pride comes before a fall.
Meet afformented bird. Fleeces me for two drinks in a shocking and desperate move that I would never do (honest). Then tells me she is "Not interested.". Leave and get a kebab.
Jordan: Only famous for two things. And you can see them both....
Ah well. Her loss. Could of gone out with a blogging celebrity.
BUI - Blogging Under Influence
I'm considered to be fairly influential person. After all, Lauren says that the words "Arse" and "Bugger" are used in her daily speech now largely due to me. However I always though that the only influencing I did were people from the other side of the world.
Now, that has changed.
Enter Jon. Also known as 'Home Bargains' (from the dreaded TPB "Third Truck Rule"*) from the tagboard and comments. He has been following this website for ages, and thought "ooh, if that fat yet strangely attractive in a pletonic way Welshman can run an award nominated blog, then by god so can I (the awards in the post)". At the moment it's like Kate Moss - there's not much on it. However, drop in and give him words of encouragement (although he will never be as good as yours truly). I especially like the following paragraph:-
"Why am I doing this? I suppose I was inspired by my buddy Rhys Wynne and his attempts at keeping the planet amused. As a result of these efforts, he is officially the most famous Rhys on the internet (Source: Google.com, January 2004). I suppose this shouldn't be an advert for the blog of someone funnier, more interesting and - goddamnit - far sexier than I'll ever be. I just haven't got anything interesting to say today."
- Jon, Jay's Blog
See, told you I was sexy. Even blokes with long time girlfriends, Championship Manager addiction and an abundance of stubble think so.
Keep the faith
* Third Truck Rule: When out and about, should any member of the bowling team not have a nickname, nickname shall be decided by what is advertised on the third truck that you pass on the motorway (in this case, it was a "Home Bargains" truck).
Dude, we were totally wasted last night!
If last night was a film, it would be probably akin to "Dude, Where's My Car?" Except without the car, or the end of the world, or those german blokes, or those necklaces that made women's boobs grow. Okay, so it isn't anything like "Dude, Where's My Car?", but you get the jist. I just cannot remember much of last night.
You can't seriously want to make ban alcohol, it tastes great, makes woman appear more attractive, and makes a person virtually invulnerable to criticism....
That being said, I actually did have a quality night. Below are the best bits from what I can remember:-
One problem I had this morning was...well...this morning. My hangover was god awful. I awoke from my slumber at around 11 with a throbbing head (one on my shoulders, sicko) a thick stench of alcohol radiating from me and me looking rough. I made a trip to the bathroom where I made a startling observation.
My floor was soaking, and I don't know what from.
Didn't smell funny or owt, but it did shock me for a time, until I realised that I spilt my glass of water on my way to bed. Arse.
Today I've been trying to piece together what was a brilliant night. Hopefully I didn't piss anybody off.
Keep the faith
Ah. The Superbowl. For the Americans, it is the pinnacle of an exciting season of grid iron. For Brits, and the rest of the world probably, we fake an interest to hopefully catch a pretty fun half time show (which, this year, lets be honest, didn't fail to deliver - it were just like Bucks Fizz) before switching off at half four in the morning.
And here's John Barnes attempting a field goal...err..free kick.
Yes, I didn't expect much when switching on just before midnight. John Barnes (yes, the ex-Liverpool proper football player) provided 'expert analysis' on both teams. Then the fireworks and Beyonce crooned the national anthem. Despite actually knowing half the rules of American Football (go 10 yards in 4 go's - god bless John Madden Football on the Megadrive), I didn't expect it to be worth watching. Sorry, but with all the flair and pagentry, might suggest hiding weakness in the actual product. It would be kind of like what it'd be if Vince McMahon rang me up and said "Here Rhys, we're going to debut you at Wrestlemania Main Event. You will not be seen before then, but we will introduce you with little videos every week. At the main event, there will be lights, pyro and mad music, then you'll appear! Oh, and don't do any training, we want you appear just as I am. Plus, you will pin HHH cleanly, the fans won't see it coming!*".
So, with little reservations, I expected my tradional up-to beginning of second half viewing, even if I expected to switch it off before that - not really a huge fan of Janet or P Diddily. Bloody hip-hop.
Kiss kiss, BANG BANG!!
At approximately 4 in the morning, after watching the New England Patriots produce a kick akin to Johnny Wilkinson to beat my 'beloved' Carolina Panthers, I am converted. Not going to be a big fan, but by god, it's a hell of a lot better than the "Rugby with stops and pads" I'd previously called it over at Madpony a few weeks ago.
But, it's still a bit poofy compared to ruggers.
Right, I've got work to do now, been doing sod all all weekend (except for sleeping off various hangovers), and should really do something.
Well, I am a student, aren't I?
Keep the faith.
* Someone? Not a McMahon? Pin HHH cleanly? How unlikely is that?
Getting Things Off My Chest, Getting Off My Face
What I said in the wee small hours was incredibly good for me to say. Okay, I think I overreacted quite a bit (only inhaled once, and it really isn't that much of a big deal) but it's nice to know that everybody now knows. Spoke to a bunch of my mates this morning, and they didn't realise for the better part of 4 months I occasionally smoked.
In the clear light of my hungover day, I know what I did was a mistake. My mouth tastes like an ashtray this morning, making everything that I eat taste just horrid. It's not a nice feeling, which is a good thing, as I will not do it again. How I did 4 months of this is totally beyond me.
Thanks for the kind words for all who gave me them. I don't like fishing for complements, as I don't really know how to react when I get them, but last night I did want some sympathy, with mates away, my family asleep, and not really in the league to ring the Samaritans, I turned to my blog. Thanks.
That being said, incident aside, I had a fucking great night. We went to the Aussie bar Walkabout located in town. Saw a bunch of my mates who I haven't seen in a long, long time (it's quite criminal) and a lot has happened to many of them, so just caught up with them and met tons of people I never knew before (like new girlfriends and such), a few mates from back home also came upto Liverpool so I spoke to them in length, exchanged answers on the football quiz (more on that later), cracked Little Britain gags, discussed the latest music (again, more on that later) and generally had a really good time.
Liz Phair. Yes, she's attractive, but she's the business end of the thirties. Get a grip son!
Song of the moment for me is Liz Phair's "Why Can't I?". I sorta discovered it by complete chance when it came onto my Launch station. Since then, I've been whistling away, and disturbed the guy next to me in the Library on Friday when I sang "Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you". I really shouldn't like it, it's phenomonally pop that would have some readers shaking their heads in disgust. The song makes me smile, which is very rare for a song (often only Radiohead songs make me smile, which they really shouldn't). Still, it's my reccommendation, do what you will with it.
Since When Did Daniele Dichio play for Derby?
A mate of mine sent me this file over the weekend, and it's been pissing me off for the past two days. Basically, it's guess the footballer from their transfer history. Despite some atrocious spelling on the part of the maker of it (Jay-Jay Okocha for me doesn't come up on one of the answers, even though I know it's right), it's incredibly good fun to do if you've got a spare minute, and my mates have been discussing it all weekend. The score that I'm on at the moment is 29. The best I've heard is 45. Adam so far is on 3, with my help.
Keep the faith
I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself
This will probably be the hardest blog entry I'm going to write. I try to keep my innermost feelings hidden behind the old 'went out last night, try to pull' routiene. However, tonight I did something which I really am not proud of.
I took a drag.
Okay, took a drag, puffed a half, whatever way you look at it. I smoked a cigarette.
Half of you are looking now and thinking "what's the big deal?". For those (mainly my non-knowing what I was like before Ten Pin Bowling Readers), let me explain.
For about 3 months last year (October-December 2002), I smoked like a chimney. Approximately 5-10 a day (depending on the day). I kept this really well hidden. Last year's resolution, to co-incide with ex blogger's Katie New year's resolution, I gave up my habit of smoking.
Why did I start? Simple, everybody seemingly in the university did so. I never dragged in public, but when I returned to my room, I smoked like a chimney. Primarily because it relaxed me. This was the time whereby I was in my shitty M block room, before I moved to the mighty F block. After I moved to my F block who were fitness fanatics, I stopped. Simple as that.
I smoked a cigarette on my birthday last year, just to remind myself of the world I left behind, and I thought it was disgusting. My 3 month clean lungs were soon filled with tobacco, and I really didn't like it. That was what I thought was the end.
My, how wrong could I of been.
Tonight, I took a puff on some random bird's ciggie, and - even in my pissed state - I'm not proud of myself.
I know half of you are looking at me saying "Oh Rhys, you are complaining about nothing.". Please don't think that. To me, this is once again trying to quit the deamons (okay, I have alcohol and drinking deamons, but those aren't as important) that posses me. One rule that my dad lay down is 'You can do whatever you want, but please don't smoke.'. Not like I listen to my dad much, but that rule I respect. I was brought up in a family whereby the only filthy habit is smoking. To break that, I feel so dirty, so evil, so disgusted with myself.
So please, give me words of support through this - acutally quite traumatic - time I'm having with myself. I hope my mum reads this, so it's out in the open. I'm not proud of myself. I hope that with the support garnered through this website - added with the support of my mates I'll see over the weekend - I'll destroy this niggling problem that is inside me.
Keep the faith.
Anyway, Monday night I went with a few mates to Double Vision for a bit. First time in a long time (which is kind of idiotic for me, as I'm sometimes on the guestlist, due to my ten pin bowling ability - or lack thereof). Nothing really special happened (which is why I haven't blogged about it sooner) but it had one top quality moment.
"You see, if you put my student loan in a high interest ISA......you fallen asleep?"
"Yeah, I saw Feeder last Feburary in the Royal-Court."Bonus. Nobody ever, EVER, buys me a drink (well, except for birthdays, and my mum). Being both a pathetic alcyholic and broke, I milked it, just a bit:-
"Saw them at Glastonbury last year. Fucking amazing. Listen, can I buy you a drink?"
"Triple Jack Daniels Coke please."Fair play to the kid, she bought it (and probably slipped a couple of roofies in them as well) so I decided to keep my end of the bargain up (as it were) and sat down to talk to her, for all of about 3 minutes.
She reminded me a bit of my dad, and talked to me about finance. Now, I am close to my dad of course, but if I was to list "Qualities in a Woman I like", I don't think "Reminds me scarily like my dad" would not be terribly high. Anyway, she complained a lot about "Having a lack of money".
Ummm.....then why did you buy me a drink?
Last night was fun upto a point. To be honest, I have only myself to blame. Went for a nice meal at some Greek restaurant (whereby I pushed the boat out and had a Chicken Kebab) and then off into town whereby I was miserable. No apparent reason for it, just very, very miserable. My friends were pretty cool about it though, and tried to get me in the mood, but I was having none of it.
The worst thing was I had no reason to be miserable. Only lame-o excuse I could give was that it was the first time in RSVP since Little Miss Short. Alas, no luck since then. Even then, that's a pretty Kieron Dyer excuse to use.
I'm like that though. The downside to being witty and pretty sociable and friendly most of the time (other people's words, before you call me an arrogent fucker) is I get inexplicably miserable at random times. Usually wears off at about a day. Maybe it's because I generally don't show my emotions. Maybe I'm just wierd. Maybe the depressant effects of alcohol kicked in 24 hours later than expected.
Right, I'll stop ranting, I don't want this website to be emotional and whiny, do I?
Anyway, I'm fine this morning. Probably in COMP204 today we were talking about fork() calls and fork() queues. Nothing like a bit of innuendoes to get a smile on my face.
Oh, and I keep referring to a certain self-satisfactory act as Killing Kittens at the moment. That's about it.
Keep the faith
And We'll Really Shake Them Up... Monday Rowing, Tuesday Badminton, Dancing on a Friday Night The place? The Krazyhouse, Liverpool. Despite the "ooh, we're hard, we deliberately spell our name with a K as we are like Mortal Kombat" mentality of the owners, it got it where it should be: fun, and having it thereof.
As this weekend is FA Cup Weekend, I thought I'd show you this, from last Tuesday's events:-
A important piece of British Cultural History....and the FA Cup. (apolgies on the quality. I tried using my scanner to scan it in, but that's broke, so I took a picture of it with my webcam)
Friday Night, in my honest opinion, would probably go down as one of the best nights out I've ever had. I dunno why, but it's up there with all those nights I've pulled, all the gigs I've been to, and the night that this website was born. As far as memorable things happened, there weren't actually that many, but it was just such a cool night. The exams were over (thanks to all of you who wished me good luck in them!), I was awake, and I had been abstaining from alcohol for the better part of two weeks.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the place, it is pretty much a rock club. It has three floors: bottom is headbanging death metal, second is quality indie rock, and top is cheese. We spent most of the time on K2 (that's floor two, not the big whackoff mountain in Nepal). Primarily because of the quality music (how many clubs can you name that play 4 Feeder songs in a night?) but that they also have Pool tables on this floor. Anyway, I crashed home at 4am without much incident but smiling like I'd taken a shedload of Morphene.
Note To Self: If walls are pink, then they're not blokes....
Monday Rowing, Tuesday Badminton, Dancing on a Friday Night
The place? The Krazyhouse, Liverpool. Despite the "ooh, we're hard, we deliberately spell our name with a K as we are like Mortal Kombat" mentality of the owners, it got it where it should be: fun, and having it thereof.
One incident (which, I still maintain was the Kray's [Krazyhouse's] fault) that occurred was a certain trip to the bathroom. Basically, above the toilets they have neon signs that tell you if you are allowed to do your business in it. They say "His", or "Hers". I thought that "Hers" said "Mens". So, when nature called, I toddled in, and was halfway undoing me flies when I turned the corner and noticed something strange:-
"Hmm...these loos are awfully clean. Now, where are the urinals.....uh oh, not again!"My fears were confirmed when there were two scally goths (there's an oxymoron for you) with thier thick-black makeup covered eyes went as wide as dinner plates. Okay, luckily nobody saw anything, poor little guy, does nobody love him?
Luckily, and to save my blushes, a guy did exactly the same thing about two minutes later, so we had a bit of a "fucking disgrace, confusing us, women hijack our loos, why can't we?" rant in the bloke bogs when we finally found them.
He went to bed and Knocked his Head, and couldn't get up in the morning
This post was going to be posted yesterday, but unfortunately on the way home from the Kray, I fell and knocked the back of my head on my bed. Seriously, yesterday morning when speaking to my family I couldn't concentrate for more than about 10 seconds without me switching off. Was it a hangover, general tiredness, or a mild concussion? I don't know, but when I checked it in the mirror, my head was purple and throbbing (that's the one on my shoulders, pervert).
Keep the faith
Jay Jay Okatcha, so good they named him twice!
So, this is where it gets wierd. First my mates try and set me up with this bird, and although I suppose she was attractive, I really couldn't be arsed. I was knackered, she didn't seem interested, and that was it. Not even calls from her mate saying "She's a fresher, she needs breaking in!" could set up even so much as a wink (yes, wink) in her general direction. The words were falling on deaf ears (literally, I mean, the music was loud, and my mind was switched off from a hard morning's revision). It was not meant to be.
So, after that brief cuffaffle, and the Little Britain esque "Oh Rhysie! You bloody idiot think of all the cock you could of gave her then?", a freaky thing happened.
A woman appeared, who - a lot of people thought (myself included) - bared more than a passing resembelence to me.
I cannot really describe it. Okay, she had (debatably) a bigger chest and longer hair, but even so, it was kinda freaky. Also, it must be said that it wouldn't be what I'd look like if I had the op, as I'd still bear some male features (as in face line, idiot). If I had of had another X chromosome, and was actually born a woman, it would of been what I looked like. A mate of mine has seen his doppleganger, and he said it was quite freaky.
Sorry if this is going to be a shitty blogging entry (because it is, I cannot describe what I'm feeling, and I'm knacked. I would write it in the morning, but I'd forget), but there's going to be one question that has to be asked.
Did I like my female me?
Actally, she wasn't too bad. A friend said "She's pretty!", which - in a kinda roundabout way - is a complement. They say that if you could find your female opposite, then they're supposed to be your perfect partner.
Anyway, the good thing is that those two interesting events have been the closest thing to pulling in ages, which sorta says that the lucky charm I got (a Native Amercian lucky pendant I got as a present) is pulling it's weight already.
Now, if it can do the same in the exam tomorrow, I'm sorted.
Keep the faith
We're on The Way To Wembley
You know what I love about being a student? Just the randomness of it all. It's the part of your life whereby you're not ruled by set hours, and - should you be able to manage your time effectively - nobody'll give a damn.
Unfortunately, I can't.
I couldn't find a picture of a decent team holding the FA Cup, so you'll have to make do with the dirty Aresnal. Sorry.
"Come hold the FA Cup!"For those of you who have a sod all idea on football, here's the jist of it. The FA Cup is the oldest cup competition in the world, and - despite the recent years where it hasn't been as important as the premiership - it's still up there with the greatest cups in the world. Think of it like the Stanley Cup, but for football.
Now, I haven't held THE FA Cup before (the Charity Shield is the best I've done, although I have held the North Wales Coast FA Cup - which is an exact replica), and I don't know if any of my mates had. One had the chance in a shop in Cheshire Oaks, but his missus was buying shoes, so - being the caring son of a gun that he was - he forsaked his chance to brag to his mates.
And so, I toddled off to capitalise on his mistake.
I joined a relatively short queue, and was soon let into an enclosed area. Security guards lined the outside of the booth, and a quick polaroid of me was taken, I was ushered out. That's it. The historic moment of the first Welshman to ever hold the FA Cup was over.
One thing I did notice in my brief 10 second of football glory was how bloddy light the thing is. Sure, it appears all metallic, but I've lifted heavier feathers. It almost caused an embarrasing moment whereby I picked it up with almost too much force, nearly causing the top to come crashing down from it's lofty perch.
Nevertheless, second I can find a scanner I'll scan it in. Sure, it's not the best picture of me in existance (the one on the sidebar takes that crown), but I don't care, as standing next to me is a piece of history. It's amazing how little things can brighten up a wet Tuesday in Liverpool.
I mean, it's not like the FA Cup is going back to Liverpool again in a hurry, is it?
Keep the faith
PS. Vote Rhysisms!
Oooh, It's Just Like The Oscars, Part 2
Well bugger me sideways. It appears that I'm up for a Bloggie. I know a few of you voted for me in various catagories, but I'm only up for one, and it's "The Best Tagline" one for the inspired by a certain day in November: "Stealing Traffic Cones From the Information Superhighway since 2002". And would you Adam and Eve it, I've been shoving the url for the site along with the words 'Vote Rhys' down people's throats all day.
Look! That's me that is!
One casualty of this quite unexpected news has been my revision. Such the "OH MY GOD I'M NOMINATED!" reaction this morning and the subsequent e-mailing of mates/bloggers/my mum meant that any attempt to perform constructive Software Engineering revision would be in vain.
Bugger eh?Super Successful Matching Program!
Being an insociable arse at the moment, I am currently lacking two main ingredients for a student lifestyle:-
- A girlfriend (or at least a 'shag', as one of my mates puts it. It confused me for ages, I thought he was a carpet enthusiast....)
- An abundance of text messages
"Over 150, and 739 divorces from mobilelove! Text blah blah to summit!"Now, I'm sorry, but if I ever woke up one morning in the not too distant future and thought "Okay. This whole lack of girlfriend thing is getting beyond a joke, I'm going to put something right about it.", the last thing I'd do is advertise myself in a singles website/texting thingy, and if I was, the last thing I'd do is to advertise myself in one with a 20% success rate. I mean, if 66% of marriages succeed, why pay for a service that has a 20% success rate? Seems a little odd thing to advertise.
Oh well, Keep the faith
Looking To The Sky To Save Me...
Yesterday, for the first time in half a week (which, for a mummy's boy like me, is a long time) I spoke to my mum. She mentioned that herslef and my dad want to put myself and my brothers through the driving test.
And guess what? I'm first.
I mean, obviosuly she's not going to drag me by the earlobe to the testing center and force me at gunpoint to perform three point turns, reversing around corners and the like, and I did agree to it. However, doubts soon began to surface.
Bugger, there goes my no-claim bonus.
I'm going to be a shite driver.
Hell, I am probably the only bloke on this planet to not make the old "women drivers" jokes, because, deep down inside, I know that I am going to be terrible. Unless you point something out to me, I'll probably miss it, and last nights escapades on Gran Turismo also suggested that even going in a straight line I have problems. Still, I suppose that's why you learn. To become good?
I suppose. However, as my mum, Sibley and a few of my Liverpool buddies will no doubt testify, I can be a bit of a backseat driver, and complain about everything on the road. So, imagine if you will, this rage, with about half a ton of machine in it's grasp? There will be trouble.
What I'd probably look like with "Mug" written across my forhead.
And guess what? I don't want to be one of these people.
I think I'll find it hard hitting a balance between not being a tight arse, not driving and been chauffered here, there and everywhere, and not having "mug" etched on my forhead.
I'm just complaining, to be honest. Learning to drive I've heard is the best thing to do with your life, I just reckon I'll be shite at it.
Christ, not pulling since August and admitting I'm shite at something. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm developing an inferiority complex. Who'd of thunked it?
Look At The Stars, Look How They Shine On You...
Big ups to my brother, who used his General Studies paper to do something amazing. He managed to sneak 13 Coldplay titles into one essay. However, he can only remember 11 of them, and I'm not counting Politik. Still pretty impressive though, and gives me something to aim at for my Networking And Multimedia Exam on Thursday..
Keep the faith
Ay! Calm Down!
Ryan Perry put this on his blog today, and immediately I e-mailed my mates. Why? Because it's a hilarious story? Well, it is, but that's not the reason. The reason is that it sounded a hell of a lot similar to a certain story in my past.
The year is 1999. Arguably the best year for films in recent memory with Matrix, Fight Club and Lock Stock hit the screens. Arguably also the worst year for music in recent memory with the birth of UK Garbage...err...Garage music. Football wise my love for Colwyn Bay football club was tested heavily with a bad run of results that made Leeds United's recent form seem like championship winning run. Reluctantly, I trudged to Llanelian Road, expecting another defeat. This one was slightly different though, it was in the Cup.
Ten minutes gone, and we were one down with a typical Unibond League scrappy goal. This was going to be another hammering. Us sheddites were once again having our faith questioned with diabolical defending, miserable midfielding and shitty striking.
Then, a miricle akin to Moses parting the red sea occurred.
Deiniol Graham, our squad's leading scorer with...errr...2 at the time was brought down by Stafford Rangers' keeper in the box. Sure fire penalty was awarded. Luck would have it, as the ref sent off the keeper. In the premiership, a substitution is usually made at this point to bring on a sub keeper. However, in lower league football, most teams only have one keeper in the team (as you're only allowed 3 subs), and Stafford had no keeper, so - in a fantastic tactical decision - they put the smallest most unmobile player in goal. Deiniol Graham stepped up against the Barry Scouse lookalike.
We were front row, behind the goal, and so close to the pitch. So, let the mocking begin!
"Oi! Barry Scouse! He used to play for United! He's deadly! D'yhear, DEADLY!"A voice from behind us spoke up. Behind us, an old bloke, mid 60's-ish, wearing Stafford colours. We, being testosterone-fuelled 16 year olds, questioned our elders.
"He is not going to score."
"What makes you so sure of it? I mean....JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY HE'S GOT A HOOK!"Sure enough, petruding from his right jacket sleeve was a hook, a spitting image of the ones you see in pirate films the world over.
However, no amount of spiritual hook power could stop Deiniol slotting a quality penalty away.
We cheered, then we legged it.
Speak Up Son!
I've put up a chatterbox on the sidebar. You may spam at will.
Keep the faith
Due to a screwup somewhere between Colwyn Bay and Liverpool, my tution fee payment has been lost somewhere. Therefore I'm not techically part of Liverpool Uni. Anyway, updates for the next week or so will be few and far between, due to the problems.
Normal service will be resumed just as soon as I give the Conwy LEA a Bollocking.
Keep the faith
Seriously though, AJ's "The Chinaman" DVD is fantastic (so good that I'm nicking half the jokes to use on my mates. What? Not like they'll have a copy of the DVD), and those who don't own it can purchase it here
People of America: I'm not even going to bother explaining this, so don't bother asking.
Did I vote? No. But I'm still allowed my opinion, aren't I?
If it is true, then Rudedski should release a cover of The Verve's "The Drugs Don't Work, they just make you worse.". By god, he'll know it better than everybody.
Still, could be worse, could be my fantasy football team, languishing somewhere near the bottom of "The Colwyn Bay Superleague".
Keep the faith