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..]

Runner up in the best tagline catagory of 2004 Bloggies

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

Support International Webloggers Day! July 9th, 2004
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Member of the New World Whore-der in the Liverpool University Ten Pin Bowling Club.

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Tuesday, February 10, 2004

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:-

  • Kidsymphony played. If you come here from Max's site, it needs no introduction. But they are a fairly decent small band who played a couple of songs. Unfortunately, the amount of alcohol has restricted the amount I remember of what they played. I do how remember that they were fantastic (to the best of my knowledge).
  • I also remember - when in the bogs - looking across at this random guy standing next to me. I say random, I knew him from last year. He was the pinnacle of fitness. He didn't drink, ate salad everyday and went to the gym a hell of alot. He is the god of sport, and got the perfect body.

    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"
    "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."
    Conversation continued, but alas it wasn't meant to be, she dissappeared off into the world that actors live and whatnot.
  • 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.


    Friday, February 06, 2004

    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:-

  • 10pm: Out in the Varsity in Liverpool with my mates. Having a really good time after bird mentioned in previous post texted me asking if I was out tonight. Agreed meetup at 1am. Also finished watching the greatest comeback ever....
  • 11pm Thinking I may get laid, arrogence goes into overdrive, even more than usual. Buy mate a Tequila slammer.
  • 12pm Head to Medication. Queued outside for ages. Dance on stage, shout "lesbians!" at two birds kissing. Begs friend to take picture of lesbians for a small price. Queued for ages for a piss.
  • 1am Said goodbye to my mates saying "Lads and ladesses, I'd never thought I'd hear myself say these words, but I'm off to get laid."

    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.

  • 2am Head back to Medication, told anybody that listened about how "I'll never meet another like her". Have another kebab. Then get taxi.
  • 3am Play Radiohead CD's and surf the net. Complain to everybody that listened about how "I'll never meet another like her.". Slept then until midday.
  • 1pm Got up, had toast and bowl of cereal. Went to 3 hr lecture. Mate told me he had 12 gigs worth of porn - 3 times my hard drive. Hardly believe him unless I see the evidence. Go back home to meet my mum

  • Jordan: Only famous for two things. And you can see them both....
    7pm Watched Phoenix Nights season two all the way through. Can't get "We're on the way to Amarillo" out of my head.
  • 9pm Browsed the Internet whilst family watched "I'm a Celebrity...get me out of here!". Seriously, I must be only person in the country not addicted to it. I've only ever seen one episode (which was actually half decent, it was the episode that Johnny Rotten said "F**king C**ts" live on British TV. Brilliant. Anyway, set ringtone to "We're on the Way to Amarillo.", still can't get it out of my arsing head.
  • 10pm Have sandwhich and a wee, then go to bed.
  • As you can see, fairly eventful 24 hours there. Don't really want to elaborate on the events between 11pm and 2am, as I know that a few of my mates are sick of me going on about it. Plus I don't really like going on about things like that on my blog. I pride myself on not being a emo journal, just a bit of fun. Anyway, sure if you'll give me beer, I'll probably talk about it in more detail (with the word 'bitch' used heavily).

    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:, 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).

    Tuesday, February 03, 2004

    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....
    The awful thing is that I wasn't meant to go out last night. I headed to the Flute on London road dressed in trainers, jeans, denim jacket and a t-shirt. Not exactly pulling material I know. But we'll get onto that a bit later.

    That being said, I actually did have a quality night. Below are the best bits from what I can remember:-

  • Firstly and foremostly, I pulled, twice! I guess you don't really forget a thing like that. First time since August. One of them was nice enough to give me her number as well. Things are looking up!
  • I remember poo-pooing amost all songs last night. Ryan Adams' "So Alive" came on in the club at around 1am, and me going absolutely mental. After that, there were fleeting moments of songwriting genius (Queens of the Stone Age, Coral, Strokes and Franz Ferdinand all got played) but it was sandwiched inbetween crap (read Girls Aloud/Busted here). Alas, it broke my heart and my alcohol induced body proceeded to shout "This song is fucking wank!" at the DJ. Yet, the shite tunes continued. Now, I'm not a betting man (actually, that's bollocks, I actually am) but my guess that he didn't hear me.
  • 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


    Monday, February 02, 2004

    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 kick.
    For you yankenities out there reading this, don't worry, this won't turn into a beratement on your beautiful game.

    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!!
    Truth be told, once I got around the terminology (I sniggered a lot when the commentators said "Oh my goodness! Lineback blah blah blah just got a sack. Sniggering and "no shit sherlock" followed), it was actually quite fun. Not a patch on the beautiful game (which, despite being a huge anti-Liverpool fan, by far the best game this weekend was the 0-0 Merseyside Derby), but fun nonetheless. I even decided to root for a team, Carolina, for the pure-and-simple reason that regular reader Lauren comes from that neck of the woods.

    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?

    Saturday, January 31, 2004

    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!
    Holding Hands With You, When We're Out at Night. You've Got a Girlfriend, You Say it Isn't Right
    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.


    Wednesday, January 28, 2004

    I Just Want To Dance The Night Away
    Two nights in a row (well, technically one a half). TWO FRICKEN NIGHTS OUT IN A ROW. I never ever do that. Especially with the amount I drink.

    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 fallen asleep?"
    Indie room, got chatting to this fairly nice looking bird during Muse's "Hysteria" (which is not actually called Hysteria, it's called "Interlude"), anyway, we join the conversation after about five minutes in, where she just asked me about Feeder:-
    "Yeah, I saw Feeder last Feburary in the Royal-Court."
    "Saw them at Glastonbury last year. Fucking amazing. Listen, can I buy you a drink?"
    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:-
    "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


    Sunday, January 25, 2004

    And We'll Really Shake Them Up...
    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)

    Monday Rowing, Tuesday Badminton, Dancing on a Friday Night
    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.

    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.

    Note To Self: If walls are pink, then they're not blokes....
    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.

    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


    Thursday, January 22, 2004

    She Me
    Just come home from a short, but bloody freaky night out. Here's the main jist of it.

    Jay Jay Okatcha, so good they named him twice!
    First, after watching Bolton dick over Villa in a hell of a match (finished 5-2, and there were 3 or 4 stunning goals), we headed off to Barbars. I myself was staying blind stinking sober at this point, just because I have an exam in approximately 10 hours, that is 3 hours long.

    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


    Tuesday, January 20, 2004

    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.
    So, in one of my famous slackfests, I headed off into town and looked around the shops. I bought Maroon 5's excellent "Harder To Breathe", and was just about to head home whereby a voice boomed out:-
    "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!

    Monday, January 19, 2004

    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!
    Anyway, it's cool to be nominated. It's a tricky catagory, what with this guy and this girl getting visitor numbers I can only obtain by including the words "FREE TEENAGE LESBIAN XXX" in big flashy letters at the top of the screen (and the other nominations probably get more visitors than I do), but if I can go on a shameless publicity spree around my mates not seen since the last Victoria Beckham single, then I may just creep into third. Ten pin bowlers of Liverpool, you have been warned.

    Oh, and while you're voting for me, also vote for Max. He's up for one in best UK + Ireland blog, and quite rightfully so.

    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:-
    1. 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....)
    2. An abundance of text messages
    So, imagine my suprise (and yes, I still get suprised when I get text messages) when I got a number 2 (that's a number 2 in the list above, not as in a poo) which could put a number 1 (that's a numbe...ah forget it) in my life.
    "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


    Sunday, January 18, 2004

    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.
    Finally, I can be the worst for scavving lifts of people. Often, say, to play football or go to the cinema or bowling it doesn't really matter. Everybody has a quality day. The only time whereby I feel rotten is going to the boozer. I have assumed the role of "designated drinker" in most situations (because I can't drive) and I usually get home alright, thanks largely to a few mates who make sure I get home. I mean, I try and get these people coke and the like, as if to say thanks, but I feel bad when at 2am, stone cold sober, they have to do these 5 mile round trips to drop everybody off (after going to a kebab house).

    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


    Friday, January 16, 2004

    I'm Back
    And I'm better than ever. Alas, no head ripping hormonal raging at some poor sap at Conwy LEA present, as the matter was done with little or no fuss. Still, it's good to be back.

    Ay! Calm Down!
    Pirates from Stafford Rangers
    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!"
    "He is not going to score."
    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.
    "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


    Tuesday, January 13, 2004

    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


    Monday, January 12, 2004

    Waiter! One Blogging Smoothie!
    This post is going to be the blogging world's version of a smoothie. Little bitty things whisked together for your reading pleasure.

  • First and foremost, I'd like to publically thank AJ for the lovely Christmas gift I got from him. Despite my mum waking me up at 6am in the arsing morning saying "RHYS! YOU'VE GOT A PACKAGE FROM THE STATES!!" (yeah, double exclamation marks. If only my grammar teacher could see me now), I thoroughly enjoyed watching it. It was fucking hilarious. I mention this now as Cyn was also expecting a package from everybody's favourite Texan blogger and, being the caring son of a gun that I am, I didn't want to ruin the suprise. Also thanks to Virginia for her Christmas card.

    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.
    An interesting thing on the box over the weekend was The 100 Greatest British Sitcoms. A point that is going to be discussed furiously at workplaces in little over 8 hours is "How in God's name did the greatest comedy in the past 10 years The Office finish below the "We make Leprosy seem funny" My Family? Sure the whole of the nation agrees with me, right? As far as you Yankenites, The Office is coming to your screens soon (although rumours that Brad Pitt will play David Brent will make me feel suicidal), and My Family thankfully isn't. It's kind of like a version of Friends with slower dialogue and the jokes can be seen coming a mile off.

    Did I vote? No. But I'm still allowed my opinion, aren't I?

  • Looks like the world's most unconvincing British Citizen Greg Rudedski has had Nandrelone in his blood. Like many of my countrymen I believe he is innocent. Here's why: Surely if he'd taken "Performance Enhancing Drugs" we would of enhancement in performance?

    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.

  • Vote Rhysisms! I'll only stop plugging it when I win!
  • I was watching some British basketball today (yes, we have a national basketball league), and there was an American commentator who made references to a "US/USSR 1972 travesty". Could someone explain that to me. The person who does will recieve an e-mail from me explaining (to the best of my ability) the picture above.
  • Thinks have gone a bit Pete Tong for United this weekend, with everybody (even Liverpool) scoring wins, the Mighty Reds could only draw.

    Still, could be worse, could be my fantasy football team, languishing somewhere near the bottom of "The Colwyn Bay Superleague".

  • Finally, hello to an ever increasing number of readers who actually not only are touch by this blog electronically, but actually know me in the flesh (as it were)! Be it friends, Ten Pin Bowling buddies, Fay (who always likes to get a mention), or the odd relative here and there, you are welcome. Now wipe your feet, and comment. You miserable gits.
  • Keep the faith


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