Category Archives: Fun

A Few Things That I Don’t Understand

I’m not going to lie to you all and pretend I’m some kind of Stephen Fry-esque genius, the kind of person who knows a at least a little bit of something about damned near everything. Some things just bug me, though. The kind of weird, niggly, gaps in my knowledge that I’d be too embarrassed to ask an expert about. Here are some of them. If you happen to stumble across this and actually are an expert in one the things I’m baffled by, then by all means and for the love of all that’s good and holy leave an answer in the comments.

Piss Shivers: Just after taking a whizz, my whole body will judder and I’ll make an involuntary – and startlingly loud – noise. Something like “Bwmnghnnngghur!” Not only do I not know why my body does this, but I can’t even think of a legitimate reason for it to do this. Bodies usually know what they’re doing, even if the brain doesn’t have a god-damned clue about what’s going on. This just strikes me as weird. I mean picture the scene… You’re a paleolithic era hunter-gatherer, stalking through the North European landscape hunting for deer. You stop to take a leak, carefully choosing somewhere your scent won’t carry to any prey in the area. You’re mostly finished, but as the last few drops squeeze out… “BWANGAHURRRGTHRP!” With that baffling cry, every bit of prey within two square miles takes to its heels and you starve to death during the winter. Where is this good evolutionary strategy?

Askmen.com: Seriously, I’ve looked at that site and for the life of me I don’t know who the hell it’s aimed at. Have you seen it yet? Go and have a look at it now, I’ll wait for you to come back before I continue… Ah, you’re back! Is it meant to be ironic humour? Serious advice for confused men? A huge, complicated, practical joke at the expense of the kind of dickwad who takes that shit seriously? I mean, come on! Smoking a pipe is a manly ritual that should be brought back? Smoking, and bear in mind I say this as someone who smokes like the chimney of an industrial revolution era factory, is something that should never be recommended to anyone, except maybe suicidal people who intend to go through a long bucket list first. Then die horribly as gasping, wheezing, cancerous, emphysema racked,  shells of their former selves. (Yes, yes. I should quit. I know that. Let’s accept that fact and move on)

“Lateral Thinking” Puzzles: I hate that shit. You know the kind of thing, “A man is eating in a restaurant, receives the bill, pays for his dinner and thanks the waitress, then goes outside and kills a taxi driver. Why?” then the answer ends up being something ridiculous like “The taxi driver sexually abused him when he was four years old” What I hate most about it, is that it is supposed to encourage lateral thought, but all it really encourages is wild guessing until you hit on the exactly specified “answer”. To make matters even worse, the idiot posing this as a puzzle will look at/listen to sometimes dozens of wrong answers, before smugly trotting out the right one as if you’re all idiots for not having the key piece of knowledge missing from the original question. This crap doesn’t make you smarter than me, just a fuckload more annoying. And I’m someone who picks my nose and wipes the snot on the undersides of coffee tables.

Coffee tables: Their existence doesn’t confuse me. They’re useful and practical items of furniture, handy repositories for magazines, ashtrays, paperback novels, laptop computers, unpaid bills and – as mentioned above – the undersides are a great place to stash recently mined nostril gold. What baffles me about them is their name. “Coffee tables” implies that these things were specifically made to put down your cup of coffee. But we live in Britain, renowned all over the world as a tea drinking culture, even more so when these little tables became the latest must-have bit of furniture, so why name them for the nation’s second favourite hot beverage?

Painful extrusion of digestive gases through the rectum: Also known (at least amongst my friends and acquaintances) as “Thorny Wind”. Let’s not be coy about this, we all fart. Whether it’s the loud raspy one when we’re at home, the quiet squelchy one in the lift that smells like a dead badger and leaves you praying no-one else gets on before you reach your floor, the one-cheek-sneak on the bus or in the queue in the bank, this is all perfectly normal. However, sometimes your rectum bowls you a googly. Everything proceeds as normal, then BAM! Your rectum feels as if some miniature sadist crept up behind you and hammered a nine-inch nail up your back passage. I’ve checked this with several people and those who’ve answered my question (mostly men, you won’t be surprised to hear) have experienced this and find it as painful and baffling as I do. No-one likes to be caught out farting in public, so being caught out by leaping into the air, clutching yourself and shouting “SWEET ZOMBIE JESUS! PHONE AN AMBULANCE, I THINK MY ARSE IS BROKEN!” is just downright humiliating, plus it’s a terrible reason to get barred from your local branch of M&S.

That’s all for now, but these are the things that prey on mind. I’m going to stop now, before you all think I’m some kind of (even bigger) weirdo, but I will round off this almost one thousand word rant by posing one question: What irritating gaps are there in your knowledge?

Film Review: Tekken

Tekken, based on the popular series of beat ’em up video games, is the latest in a long line of game to film adaptations. Keeping to the traditions of said adaptations, Tekken is uniformly awful. Before I go on, or you read any further into this review (i.e. rant), let me tell you that there are plot spoilers involved ( for a given value of the word “plot”). Let me also tell you that this means nothing significant, since the film is barely coherent to begin with. More after the cut…

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My God. It’s full of tentacles!

Oregon State university has put a webcam into an octopus tank!

Let me say that again, so that you grasp the full enormity of the awesomeness of which I speak.

Oregon State Universty has put a REAL LIVE FREAKING OCTOPUS ON A WEBCAM! Why are you even still here? Go and see the real live cephalopod doing cephalopodic stuff for your very own edification, entertainment and ellucidation. Oh the glorious tentacley, goodness!

OCTOPUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS!!!!!1!!!!one!!!

News on new story, plus added childhood memory defilement courtesy of John Scalzi

First of all, I must direct your attention to this item of, well, this. Words fail me. (Link fully, 100%, safe for work and eyes of any age. Unless you live or work with fans of either Star Wars or Judy Blume, in which case you may want to show them this at some point in the future, should they ever offend you deeply enough that you wish to damage their memories irreparably.)

In other, far less disturbing, news, I’ve been working on  a new story,  which I ought to have ready to post by next week at the latest. If I don’t have a rough first draft version of it up by next Wednesday, you have my permission to come to my house and poke me repeatedly with a sharp stick (Home address will be provided on request, to people able to prove they have no access to sticks, stick sharpening apparatus or the means of transport to my home address). It’s a little bit different from my other works posted on here. Is that a good thing? Time will tell. Is the idea original? In the words of the immortal Will Smith, “Aww, hell NAW!”. Hopefully though, it’ll be as much fun to read as it was to write.

Oh yes, make sure to go over to the master of his domain (link in the sidebar), that comic really does get better and better with each passing week.

Fun with Google: Further adventures in WTF?!

Earlier today, I had some problems getting AVI video files to run on my PS3. Being the rabid hater of customer service helplines that I am, I immediately turned to Google to help with my problem. The search term I was inputting was “why won’t my PS3 play AVI files”, find below what Google in its infinite wisdom thought I might be looking for answers about…

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And if I did, that would be the least of my worries!

I don't even HAVE a parakeet...

I can’t even make any sarcastic remarks about it, my mind is still boggling too hard.

That faint sound you hear, is 10,000 geeks falling into pleasure induced seizures.

This vaguely NSFW video <<Click here to view>>, shows performance art troupe Devil’s Playground doing some Star Wars themed burlesque routines. With Adam Ant’s Stand and Deliver as a backing track. At 1:03 minutes into the video, your childhood will be irrevocably tainted and you will love it.

Old dudes sing messed up lyrics. Fact!

Last night I listened to some Aerosmith for the first time in quite a while. Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing was one of the tracks. That line at the beginning? The one about laying awake to watch her dreaming? All you budding lotharios out there, take heed of your uncle Daniel. Don’t do that; seriously, just don’t. That’s some creepy shit, right there. As for kissing her eyes… Really? What were they thinking? “Hey baby, I love you so much that I’m gonna give you pink-eye.”? Anyway, the woman’s asleep, you shouldn’t be kissing any part of her, let alone her ocular cavities. Being woken suddenly to find a fish lipped O.A.P. looming over you is enough to give anyone a start. I’m just saying, that’s all.

Sometimes, Google scares me…

I’ll admit to being a world class procrastinator. When it comes to procrastination, I thought about writing the book, but got distracted and did something else instead. One of my favourite methods of passing away the idle time while I stare hopelessly at my short story due to be posted here Any Time Now™, is to ask Google metaphysical questions. As a fan of the late, great Douglas Adams I was deeply gratified to find out what happened when I Googled “the answer to life the universe and everything”.

A few minutes ago, I decided to mess around on Google, asking it stupid questions. I started typing, but paused when I realised I didn’t really know what I wanted to ask. Being the helpful page that it is, Google thought I might need some suggestions. One of those suggestions managed to pull me up short. Look at the picture below and you’ll see highlighted in blue, the cause of my momentary fit of “WTF?!?”.

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Google, messing with my head.

Google, messing with my head.

Seriously, Google. You have access to my search history. You know that usually I’m looking for Steven Wright jokes or pictures of Jessica Biel in her underwear*. I thought we understood each other. I use you as my default search engine, you give me sweet, sweet Jessica Biel  bikini photos.

Also, why are 52, 600 people baffled as to the appearance of a deceased Asian on their living room furniture? Maybe it’s just one person who got really confused by it happening and posted the question on thousands of message boards in the hope of finding an answer somewhere. Maybe there’s been a recent spate of people from Pakistan expiring on stranger’s sofas and I just never heard about it until tonight? What if Google has used complex algorithms to determine my future and I’m soon to be typing that exact query in a sense of mounting panic and desperation… QUIT MESSING WITH MY HEAD, GOOGLE!

* Reversing those two search queries gives far less hilarious results than you might imagine.

You all brought this on yourselves!

Thanks to everyone who posted comments over the course of the Halloween carol, I was forced into making a youtube video of myself singing the carol. Here it is. I accept no responsibility for anything.

!!!WARNING!!!  – Singing voice is extremely bad!

The Twelve Days of Halloween, the final version.

On the Twelfth day of Halloween my true love gave to meeeeeeeee,

Twelve spiders being all horrible and UGHHHH! I hate the damned things,

Twelve spiders being all horrible and UGHHHH! I hate the damned things.

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