I am...

Thoughts

Every time I get a text that says *missing text* at the end, it makes me think that maybe teleportation is not a good idea.

A couple of miserable Jeremys.

Jeremy Clarkson.

Jeremy Paxman.

Thank you for reading my blog. Now I must go and do real life things.

Weird

Just got a text from myself saying “it’s you from the future, forward this to yourself”

So I have.

Fucking hell

Has Brian May gone off his nut or something?

http://www.nme.com/news/queen/61513

I want to grind Dappy’s head across a pavement like a rubber so there’s nothing left.

One of my all time favourite poems: Six O’Clock News – Tom Leonard

lixxieb:

This is thi
six a clock
news thi
man said n
thi reason
a talk wia
BBC accent
iz coz yi
widny wahnt
mi ti talk
aboot thi
trooth wia
voice lik
wanna yoo
scruff. if
a toktaboot
thi trooth
lik wanna yoo
scruff yi
widny thingk
it wuz troo.
jist wanna yoo
scruff tokn.
thirza right
way ti spell
ana right way
to tok it. this
is me tokn yir
right way a
spellin. this
is ma trooth.
yooz doant no
thi trooth
yirsellz cawz
yi canny talk
right. this is
the six a clock
nyooz. belt up.

Story

Yi stoat ootae Club 520 and jump inty the first taxi yi kin see cause yi canny be fucked gawnty the taxi rank. You sit in the back yirself, gutted cause yi didny pull a burd but yir 2 pals did and they’re away ae a party in the West End withoot yi ti shag them probably. So yi start ti greet and the taxi driver goes lit aht “Yi awright son?” and yi reply wi a solitary “aye” and wipe yir face wae yir vodka stained shirt, which burns yir eyes a wee bit. Efter aboot 15 minutes yi check yir poakets fir money but yi kin only find 3.59 in smash and yi think “fuck… aye it’s awright, ah’ve goat some notes in the hoose, I’ll just jump in and get it when I get there”. Efter another 15 minutes yi reach yir front door and yi sayti the driver “Just needti jump in and get money fir yi, is that awright?”, to which he replies “naw mate, pay up noo or I’ll use yer heid as a fuckin baseball, ya wee fuckin prick”, he’s obviously ragin and yir heart droaps straight ti the groon. “Mate, I’ve only 3.59 oan me, I need to go in and get money, I promise I’ll be 2 minutes.” The driver goes lit aht “I’ll gie you 2 minutes exactly to bolt inty that hoose and git the money or I’ll fuckin invade it and kill yir family, awright?” Yi jump oot the taxi and bolt ti the front door and run in, straight up the stairs and inty yir drawer. Nae money. Yi check under yer bed, oan the flair,in yir sister’s room and even yir maw’s purse but there’s nae cash anywhere. Yi start tae panic and yir heart’s racing like a professional greyhound. Fuck. Yi git an idea and head doon tae the kitchen and grab the biggest knife yi kin find. Yir no thinkin properly, yir heid’s a mess, what the fuck ih yi gonny dae. Yi stand at the front door, waitin for it tae burst doon and fir the taxi driver ti be staunin there wi a baseball bat and an enraged expression. But it disny happen. Yi wait 15 minutes. 30 minutes. An oor. Nae chap, nae driver, nae bat. Yi check oot aw yir windies; the car’s away. Yir still sweating but and shiting it and yi make sure aw the windies and doors are locked. Efter 2 hours it’s noo 4am n yi retire ti yer scratcher, yuv calmed doon a bit and yi drift aff tae sleep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Yi wake to a sudden thump. It sounded lit a soft blow, sort ae like a giant egg being smashed inside a pillowcase. Yir head starts comin up wae mad theories of whit it kin be, bit yi kinda already know whit it is already. Efter 15 minutes, yi creep doonstairs haudin the kitchen knife, yi feel quite brave bit shiting it nonetheless, fuckin hell it’s scary. Yi reach yir maw’s room and open the door slowly, tryin noti make any creeks. Yir worst fears are confirmed as yi see yir maw lying on the bed, deid as fuck, her heid caved in wae brain matter scattered across thi pilla. Yi instantly throw up, the vomit faws softly oan the new carpet lit watery porridge. Yi start ti fear fir yir own safety, is the man still here? Yi step back inty the hallway and there stauns a figure, a sillouhette, a shadow of the man thit killed yir maw. He steps forward inty the light and whit yi see shocks fuck ooty yir system. It’s yir Da. He hauds the baseball bat above his heid and smacks you square acroass yir jaw. Bingo. Yir knocked oot and yir oot cauld for several days. Yi wake up in the hoaspital and yir family’s aw gethered roon lit a fuckin gang or somethin.Yir sister’s there and yir Da and even yir maw.
“Whit happened?” Yi ask in a mist of confusion.
“Yi took that acid son, oan Friday night, yi were an absolute state, yir Da had ti knock yi oot before yi stabbed someone wi that knife.” Says yir maw. Yi cannae believe it. Yi lie there as they talk ti yi aboot the dangers ae drugs and alcohol bit some cunt in a bed acroass the ward catches yir eye. It’s the taxi driver. He stares it yi and yi stare back. He gie’s you a wee wink and then mimicks slittin yir throat. Yir lit aht “Whit thi fuck”.

Thi End.

A game

Message someone on Facebook who’s not your friend (aye, ye can wae some people, right?)

“Here, that wasn’t fair, Kerry obviously didn’t know that her cousin was at court on Friday. On another note, did you stay for long at Henry’s the other night?”

See what they reply with and then get about 6 of your friends to send a similar message.

etc etc.