Of Freezing Florida Birds and Fantastic Films

So, I got distracted. Having sat there saying, "I'm gonna podcast, I'm gonna podcast, I'm gonna fucking podcast!" I still haven't got round to podcasting. I have no excuse, except that, in everything I've recorded, I sound like myself; which, in case you haven't yet spoken to me in reality, basically sounds like a toothless howling monkey with huge chunks of banana sitting round its gums... I think maybe he was trying to fashion some banana teeth, but keep forgetting what he started and just swollowing the chunks down and then sticks a bunch more of the banana in when he remembers he wanted to make some teeth... see, I get distracted... basically, I'm gonna leave it now in development hell and just say it's coming soon and hope that I can find the time within that timeframe.

So, my dad and his mate are slumming it in the soil of england having been living the american lifestyle for a good three months. They're back for two weeks and we're hanging when we find the time, which is funky, missed hanging... watching movies and talking about random-random stuff and traipsing about the local shopping establishments; having not had the money or the need to shop for months, my father leads me into a HMV and proceeds to remind me of the twenty seven million things I still want to watch hear or do... I'm such a whore for other peoples stories and creations. Spent what little I had, and then what little my dad had, getting my tequila drenched hands on a copy of Primer and the Coheed & Cambria album "In Keeping Secrets Of Silent Earth: 3". I'll start with the music as I would like to group the movies together... I'm assuming nobody minds...

I have been expanding my musical tastes for the past... well, it's always kinda on the grow, but over the past year there has been kinda of a major influx... meh, I think it was probably more accurate to say it's always on the grow... This is prewritten, i really shouldn't be this unclear... I just meant I kinda had a shift away from the pure black metal (insert "Roar, Roar, Black Metal forever," type chants here); it started with my love of Eternal Sunshine Of A Spotless Mind leading me to The Polyphonic Spree and then falling into Sigur Ros through a friend and then not really wanting to stop finding all this really beautiful new stuff after Sufjan's Christian pop stole my heart... So, new music means new people who love this music and want to show you more stuff that they love... the good doctor, for lack of a clearer obscure way to name him, he's currently my main pimp for finding the new stuff... but recently new lines of music have been found, in particular, an individual who has the most impeccable tastes... hence I found the recommendation for Coheed & Cambria. All I'd known before putting that CD on the counter was that they were some comic book geeks who make varried music... I think that's still all I know; only now it's supported by the knowledge that the varried music is damn funky and kinda covers every area in the space of an album that my ears kinda wanna go in about an hour... and to top that, my plot whoring "meaningful creative projects please" side is appeased too...

right, so while my dad is over from florida, we watch some movies, we're big movie watchers... we sat through the copy of Primer I bought... and tonight he brough over Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, which he'd purchased today. Now, about the movies... about two hours ago, I was gonna sit here and get up on a little tiny soapbox and didactically yell that every single one of you who comes and reads my minutiae of life in this little corner of the universe should go and see Primer... but, having sat through Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, the significance of Primer will have to share the space within this blog... basically because they are both damnedably superb...

Primer is a very low budget Sci-Fi Piece about four guys who build stuff in their garage. I'm not gonna say any more about the plot than that, and if that doesn't sell it, I'm sorry, but I think saying anymore ruins the construction of this film, which is perfect, in personal opinion. Esoteric and detached enough to fuck your skull, yet constructed perfectly so that it's like having your skull fucked in that good way... you know... I think that just about covers what I needed to say about Primer... on to Kiss Kiss Bang Bang... Right, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang is Lethal Weapon if you take out the barrier of the fourth wall and make it parody 1950's crime fiction and include the best joke I think I've ever seen... I mean, I can't even begin to imagine how that joke was originally stubled across and the writer went, "I know, in the next movie I want to write, I wanna do that," it's just so... wrong... and wonderful... basically it's like watching The Big Lebowski without the nihilist, the bowling, the white russians and the marmot... actually... it's not really like watching The Big Lebowski at all, I just love mentioning that movie... and that rounds up my pathetic attempt at reviewing movies for today... stay turned, I'll be sitting through GITS2:Innocence hopefully sometime next week, I'll probably pimp that to in a similar vague, "just go watch it," fashion.

Finally attempting a first draft of Zombie Hordes... it's damned thin and sketchy atm, it's really impossible to do the pacing to something when you don't know in what way you want it to be experienced. I'm tempted to do a purely prose first draft and see how it stands on it's own... meh, I'll keep working on it for know and let you all know. All I do know is it's gonna be good, even if there is only three or four people who agree. I must remember to be esoteric... having played with the plot for ages, I've forgotten how I wanted the actually story to carry... remembering as I write it though...

Right, I'm gonna have to close this off... I've said so little of actual importance... but then again, that's life... So, I'm going to see Okey Dokey Good Good on friday... and to make a unsubtle yet hopefully obscure leap... I'm sorry... I was out of line... and Lunchbox, could you get your ass down here before friday, I wanna hang out sometime this week, you know, sip good beers you don't know exist, watch a bit of the firefly, adlib comedy that makes sides rupture and bleed out... we have to wade through the bloody guts of our amused dead to pick up wallets and and other valubles... it's a masterful plan, may even find the keys to a VW golf or something in there... you know, we'd so kick ass... well you'd kick ass and I'd make you look good, but whatever... I'll touch in again soon... Use the funk everybody...

"The world of cowboys and indians and milk"

Damn, I let it slide. I had this whole blogging thing reigned in, but then I went and ruined it all by failing to write the podcast and then by physics coursework, which is impossible by the way.

Right, I shalt not keep you long, and infact I'll scare you all by doing a tiny post. (cue "OMG, TINY POST")

Just wanna say that for the few (and by few I mean one, and by one I mean me) waiting for the podcast; it will exist tonight, even if it's just a five minute thing of my mumbling incoherence into a microphone. I need to just get it rolling.

At the moment I'm sipping a sol and bitching to steve for not pulling his butt down the hill; he has an unbeatable reason, but it's not really an excuse :P.

Hope you're all having a great great day;

Be so funky it hurts.

EDIT: due to occurrences within the last hour and the fact that everybody stayed in, I shall say that the podcast WILL be tomorrow... plus I'm drunk now, posting me talking drunk online can't be doing anybody any favours. Have a funky one.

EVEN LATER DRUNKEN EDIT: I fucking fucking fucking fucking fucking hate my cunt of an ex which I am burdened with and every mother fucking one of you cunts who has anything to do with her for being the most two faced manipulative ass wipes who I've ever had the misfortune of being involved with. Thank Odin and the other fallen lords that in 5 months I won't need to see another of you again. I'll so regret saying this in about a week, not because it's not true, it's always been true, it's just none of you pathetic cunts are really worth writing about and because the few people who read this and are funky as sin don't want to listen to me whine about you half wit shitholes. Plus, if I ever felt or thought it, I wanna say it here, so I feel ever so slightly vindicated that the a few of the people in the world worth the time of day got to know what dickwads you all truely are.

MMMM, self-centred posting.

"Are you dumb enough to break the mold, or are you smart enough to bail,"

Thanks for coming to this blog to read the adventues of a crazy head. Nice 48 hours, feels alot like a blur, lots of fun though. Not really sure where is a good place to begin. I guess friday and the social gathering is a good place, but it's difficult. First arrivals were the couple who I am going to view Ok Go with, the midget and her smooth pimp. It's around 6 pm, too early to do a beer run I feel, and so we slide into the DVD player the trash fest that is "Lords of Dogtown".

Now I should explain that, me and little bear (the smooth pimp), we're skaters, you know, "dude, let's board" type skaters, totally like "sweet like totally" kinda guys, at least, we like to pretend we are. He's been skating about four years, the dog is tight on it. I've been skating three years, and I'm like some sketchy kid with a style that isn't used by anybody because getting it to look sexy and tight is a total arse and actually being sexy and tight using it is ever harder. Damn fun though, I wish I had the concrete and the weather to skate like a super sick monster dude, but I'm sure I wouldn't be, even if my current enviroment supported the idea. So, back to the reason I explained my skating roots; "Lords of Dogtown" is one of the worse movies I have ever seen. Myself and Little Bear, we were both hoping for a skate video with a tiny bit of plot that really wasn't worth listening to. What we witnessed was a parade of how not to, ever, even if you are a drunken chimp who is learning to speak english, write a script and shoot a film. "Lords of Dogtown" is a self-indulgent 2 hour ego fest from the skull of Stacy Peralta. Now, don't get me wrong, Stacy, now that dude can skate, and oh my, that cat can shoot a tasty skate video, but I can't even begin to explain how much that ego-driven moron can not write; the guy can't even pull a single scene out of his money swimming butt, let alone a cohesive plot or any sense of empathetic drama. This is a story in which the main character is himself. This is a story that every skater who cares about the culture of skating knows and does not need to be retold. This is a film, which having made an award winning documentry about already, has been rehashed into a series of barely interesting half truths, then padded with teen party scenes. It really amazing how he has managed to adapt an actually interesting piece of history into this poor a film. I'd have been happy with a plotless skate video about that beautiful style of old school concrete surfer skating. I'd have been happy with a nicely paced film about fictional characters developing a land version of surfing padded with scenes of just that. I'm not happy with a lame ass drama about the meaningless effect of broken homes on all these troubled teens who turn to skating as an escape and then barely skate at all. When I purchased the film, I was buying the documentry, it came for free. I am so damn glad this is the case. This film deserves nobody's money. Everybody, please go out and buy "Dogtown and the Z-boys," that is a masterful skating documentry about the rise of skating in southern california. Please do not even joke about watching "Lords of Dogtown," I think I've been clear enough already as to why, but just to clarify, it takes the awe inspiring story of the rise of skateboarding in southern california and turns it into a very boring, very awful teen party flick.

About half way into "Lords of Dogtown," Mark arrived, yes, that's right, I got naming permission, drunk and supplying cider. I hate cider, terrible stuff, makes my brain shrink just thinking about it. We pause the movie none of us are watching and do a beer run, leaving Mark in charge of the house. In retrospect, that something nobody should do, but the house still stands, so I got away with it on this occation. We grab a crate of Calsburg, which is flavoured pisswater in my opinion, but the red headed particle seems to enjoy it and it's mostly her money. We also picked up a multi pack of McCoy's, a tube of Pringles, two boxes of Jaffa Cakes and I finally got my dirty pisshead hands on my, long sort after, bottle of cherry brandy. Finally, I can make Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters and Cherry Hookers; Cocktails are so damn tasty, it's all Tiki Bar TV's fault that I've fallen into such forbidden loves so early. We make it back to the house and Mark has nearly finished his supplied cider and is offering to finish the cherry brandy with me. I quickly sway him off the idea as I get the food into an accessable munching point, only to find that the Pringles have already been devoured. I live less than 50 steps from the shops, how the little'un has managed to stuff that many pringles into herself in that amount of time is beyond physical conception, you need to slip into the realms of science fiction to explain the phenomena; T.A.R.D.I.S like ideas need to be drawn into process of thought. Regardless, we crack open the booze and sit back in front of the film none of us are watching.

Roll on nine thirty; the film has been finished a little while and we've drank enough to force the worst of it out of mind. We're down to the last few beers. Me and Mark are snuggling down to watch "My Name Is Earl," of which this eve channel four are supplying us with a double bill. "My Name Is Earl" is a masterful comedy staring the charismatic Jason Lee, who incidently is also a skater, the skater who started the, now failed, Stereo Skateboards Inc. before becoming Kevin Smith's actor gimp for a good 10 years. Spike Jones directed the classic skate video that contains Jason Lee; if anybody knows where I can get my clammy claws on that piece of damn sexy skate history I'd love to have it pointed my way, please. The last of the few who could make it to this great evening finally arrive with fake Malbu and even more potato based snack produce. This allows us to make another beer run, this time for Tetley's; which turns out to be the spike haired arrival's drink. I throw together margaritas for the few who want them and then settle back into the end of the second "My Name Is Earl" of the evening. Somebody is missing at this point, but I'm not sure who, too drunk to care about anything at this point but the comfy comfy chair. Roll on conversation and a review of the sickly entertaining Death Wish week that channel four provided the friday night shut ins during January. My bladder has reached a point that it needs to get rid of its contains in the fastest possible way, and so I excuse myself before flesh and urine cover my friends from the forceful explosion of my poor tortured bladder. Stumbling onto the stairs I'm hearing a very loud and heavy panting that makes me stop and wonder who the hell is upstairs. Suddenly my brain performs a spot the missing person on the living room and I realise that both T.A.R.D.I.S girl and Little Bear are missing and have been for some time. I decide it is wise to probably not try and interupt them, as I'm not sure of what or who I may see and I'm not sure I want to ruin friendships and the such in that way. For future reference, when I finished the last post with Learn the funk, I really never meant in my room. But such is horny drunk teenagers. My friends everybody, such wonderful people. Of course it raises the invaluable question of "fleeting or love?' but time will tell on that one, and heck, they make each other happier than I've seen people be happy, which is nice... just not in my room again please.

So, everybody is cleaned up, bladder is emptied and relaxing is to be had. The sexually charged couple are picked up and many jokes are made at their expense. I'd retell a few here, but it's all a haze by now. The fake malbu girl is not having a good time with Newton's fur, my cat. So, they discuss leaving. I'm not so keen on the idea; I've been fleeting all over the place all night, I've no idea how much either of them have drunk, and I'm stonked enough to think everybody is drunker than me. I really don't want people driving drunk when they can welcomely crash and be safe. Of course, I'm not thinking about the fact that she is choking as her air way slowly closes with this cat fur, but regardless of my worries it's decided that they shall leave. So, I say good bye to the second couple as the evening runs into the usual drunk rambles of me and markie. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a nagging paranoia tells me I scared them away, but I'm sure that's not the case, they knew I was crazy before last nightt, I'm sure. As their car drives away and I stumble back indoors I must end the retelling of last night as I don't remember anymore, but I remember why I don't remember. Once I'm back indoors, I notice that both margaritas are mostly unfinished and down the both of them. That's about eight units of alcohol and one of the dumbest things I've done in a while. It was a damn fun night.

Woke up at 9 am, my room is a tip, my mouth is furry and my mind is a screaming firey evil pit that is so dehydrated and tiny that I'm sure it's at the point that the nerves that attact it to the walls of my skull are so taut that I'm sure the slightest movement will sever every connection and kill me, as it detaches and escapes my torturous ways by sliding out my ears. I tidy my room followed by the house and drink fizzy water to try and shift the dwarfs mining my brain for food and education. I slide back into bed and then spend the next few hours charging in and out of my room as my stomach punishes me for last night and I punish it back by throwing more sugar and carbon filled water against it. Barely recovered and hacking my PSP to run Nethack, Little Bear turns up in my room, I'm very confused by this and we talk as I rush to pile clothes on and be in a sociable fashion. Turns out last night I apparently agreed to be a lighting/sound guy with him at the local theatre tonight. I'm shocked by this, but I stand by my drunken word and come along. Being a crew member is fun suprisingly, and while I sucked, it's not like it was finding the point on a plane in Cartisean form. But sweet Jesus those bulbs get fucking hot. I'll get up tomorrow with them swollen and blistered I'm sure.

Steve, Lunchbox extrodinare, has begun his blog. I'm just pimping it. He's a better and more entertainging writer than me, so enjoy, and his profile says where we live, so I think I'll probably stop being so closed about that information now I guess. Right, that's enough of an essay for now, hope you all enjoyed it, and sorry if I've forgotten to inform you of anything interesting. Keep being funky people, but not in my room.

"It's friday, I'm quoting songs"

Still on the short posts at the moment, only finding about half hours to post in. Yes, It's friday and my promised Podcast still doesn't exist. I fell asleep very early last night, which is a shame, as I finally feel like I've got stuff to say and the next two nights are hectic... So, sunday it is, I may write some in advance in crazy vague note form to kinda make it a bit less esoteric and so it isn't me just filling my harddrive with silence as I search the vacuum of my mind for the few bits of information that I want to force you to hear about. Meanwhile, I finally start having the security to show more than the three people I proded into reading this that I'm existing in sexy text for you all to read and be bemused over. I should really learn to proof read though, there are so many typos in the first few posts.

I'm sane again, which is always a help. Looking forward to the gigs coming up in the next few weeks, going to be funky, planning to get a friend high on glucose (she's very small, it has a unique effect on her. By unique I mean she excellerates beyond the human capabilities of speed and into that of very small particles) and convince her to rush the stage during the Ok Go gig, which will be fun. I'm dying for this year TMBG gig, I'm finally old enough for one of their shows and I'm determinded to make sure I'm there. Also sometime in late september, I'm going to try and make the MDB this year aswell, thinking of asking my open-minded metal-loving friend if he'd be willing to go again, he's the right kind of guy for the scene. I've got to start getting permission to use names in this thing, I don't feel it's right to use it without their permission, but this is getting so unclear, especially for the people who know me, to work out who I'm on about.

Crazy house party at mine tonight I think. By crazy house party, I mean a bunch of us drinking and chilling and having fun. See, told you living 6 miles from anywhere limits how wild the party can be. If I wasn't such a egocentric being, I'd actually just say it's a small social gathering... meh, it'll be fun whatever. Food on the table is beckoning me, I'll be back sunday with another text blog at the least, I want a podcast really though, I need to be ready for when Lunchbox and me start the path to comic genius. Right, I bid you a awesome evening as I adjourn. Learn the Funky.

Wow, what promises to be a quick one

A lot seems to happen in a day or two for somebody who is a major shut in. Looks like the plans for Moscow are turning from a crazy drink and insanity fueled trip into more of a documentary styled films of the dreams of some comedians being crushed as they fail to pick up the art of performing in a few nights and are set adrift on the tides of fate with no money, while they all feel happy and funky regardless. This way we need funding to fuel it really though, so we're writing stuff... well, I'm writing stuff... so I can pitch the idea to various people and hopefully see what I can do...

Doing the podcast tomorrow night hopefully, and a second one with my old friend soonish, some night next week if he can lug his ass down the hill. The second one I can see being much more entertaining, ad-libbing gibberish from the fallen church of insanity, which will gather a cult following in days I'm sure. Where as, I imagine my personal one will be very introspective, possibly very whiny and not talking about anything but the stuff I wish I was talented enough to be writing at the time, all of which will be mumbled into the microphone with poorly hidden vehemence.

There's more to say, but I've got to cut it here right now, as I need to leave the house. Doubt I'll come back to this today. Just see how things pan out tomorrow evening I think. Stay Damn Funky.

Of Old Friends and Mother Russia

See, said these would get more regular, probably going to podcast soon too, thursday night at the latest. Still not sure what I'll say as I seem to be typing most of what I'd like to say into this place, though I expect I'll entertain the idea of S2M Comedy tour in much more detail then how I carry it here.

Another lousy day in the schooliverse. I swear I'm going end up postal in the place before the year is out. I can't cope with dealing with people who know me and dislike me everyday anymore. I can't cope with looking at people and knowing what they think of me so clearly that I have to leave the room, while I'm cutting myself away from everyone by making my ears bleed as OK Go and TMBG blast synth pop loveliness into my skull. I can not deal with any of them any more.

Sorry about that, needed it off my chest. Remove the anger tinted lens and you'll notice I had an ok day. Hung with the usual friendly people and explored ideas for the summer. Through an interesting line of conversation centring around the public transport system of europe, the paid homicidal tendencies of a friend and comedy busking, we came up with the masterful plan of going from our hometown, "Here", the home of nothing much, some rain, a lone tramp and pre-teen pissheads, all the way to Mother Russia, "Moscow", the home of vodka, attractive women, sexy accents and funky hats. This journey would consist of a small group of us, the crazies of my small circle of friends, getting trains from town to town over the space of a month or two all the way to Moscow, making money on the way. My idea is we pitch it to each venue, convincing them that we don't know what we're doing, but it doesn't matter for a second, they give us a night or two set to make enough cash for the next train along, surviving on less than a shoe string, filming a confused and drunken documentry on the way. A friend had the alternative concept of pitching it to somebody who would fund the project. His idea is slightly better, as we only need to convince one person. However, his idea has a huge flaw; we only have a chance if we can convince this one person. Plus his way we don't have the crash fun of being broke for about a straight month. Whatever happens though, we'd end up with a cross-culture cult fandom emerging, I'm sure, which would be the first of it's kind I believe. Oh, how I dream these insane things. Plus if this idea does get carried out, I'd get to visit another of the few places in the world I want to go to at least once, Mother Russia. Most people who know me can guess the places I want to go... maybe someday if I'm low on stuff to ramble about then I'll go through the list in detail on here.

Caught up with another friend yesterday. One who vanished when year 11 finished and occationally reappeared out of the woodworks to drink and have a laugh and try and catch up on the 6 month or so gap in conversation. Finally, it would appear, he has learnt enough to drive. His test is tomorrow and I wish him luck, but if he has to get his ass down mine to say at least a "hiya" more than it currently stands if he passes. I mean it Lunchbox, we miss your being down here at the Molloy household. Plus you and me ad-libbing would make a beautiful podcast, and we both know we owe it to the world. We were doing the boosh before they were making money off it; we need to get stuff out into the ether.

Damn, I'm enjoying writing these. Keeping me on my toes between difficult patches in fictional projects. I guess it's because it's a retelling that makes this so enjoyable for me, as opposed to the head banging process of making massive intertwined plots that have far too many flaws, are too egocentric to be enjoyable by many and too esoteric that even the few have troubles. Anyway, I'm going to crash out infront of firefly and then work until I sleep. Have a funky time people.

Start of something. Maybe the start of something special, but probably not.

So, I still don't feel like you know me, that is if anybody has stumbled over this and read that first post. Never the less, I'm going just kinda ramble and blog and see where this takes me, not like I'm doing anything more important. I'm going to start my podcast, but as of yet it has no context, so it will feel disjointed and stuff. I'm thinking it will take at least five to get into the swing at least, if I'll find a swing at all. I may record it tonight, but I'm kinda already drunk and there are people in the house. Being incoherent sober leads me to think this may be a bad night to begin.

Finally got into OK Go; having promised myself for months to give their stuff a listen, I finally got my dirty dirty paws on the albums. Man, it's surprisingly sexy, but then again, with a video which spews as much appeal as "A Million Ways" does, I don't think I should be at all shocked. If you haven't seen that yet by the way, you should definitely video-google it now. My new found enjoyment of this band has led me to cause a further caesura in my bank account so that I may see them at the far end of this month. Should be a fun night. Different kind of gig for me though; I doubt drunk opethian twins will apprehend me with their love of morningrise while Aaron Stainthorpe growls the crowd to ecstasy and I debate whether to buy the twins' beer or a band tee. What a wonderful gig that was, must go in september. The twins got their beer in case you were wondering the outcome. While on the topic of gigs, going to enjoy The Mighty Boosh in early april, those two are absolutely wonderful, seems to be a solid topic of debate though, as most people watch it and wonder if they have slipped into a tacky nightmare... each to their own I guess.

Tonight I'm fueled by Brahma, the brazilian beer. Odd stuff, not what I'd ever expected from it. I think I know too much about what I want to be drinking... I shall not do my pisshead alcohol praising ramble tonight, but one day it will be unleashed I'm sure.

Screwed up today, I'm not sure I can really redeem myself on this occation. Spent all week telling myself the 5th was important. Tremendously Important, yes, that's right, capital letters Important! However, I neglected to remember as to why it was so very important. So, I woke up, exposed and shocked, as two of my friends look into my room at me. I'm not a pretty sight; uncovered hairy legs spead at odd angles, cover over my head to hide myself from the migraine of heavy drinking. I reached for my shirt and appologised that I was in such a state and dragged my ass out of bed. I stuble across my room as my friends leave to make themselves a breakfast while I turn over the calander, "WOW, it's the fifth and the seven dwarves may or may not all have beards. Why is it the fifth?" I pull on my jeans and drag my ass down stairs to make some bacon breaded loveliness, still pondering why it is the fifth. Of course, by this point I know why it is the fifth, because of the calander and the romans and the passage and social experience of time; that is not what I mean by the question, and by now, two bites into fried slice of pig on bread, I've managed to reform the question into "why am I bothered that it is the fifth?" But the sustenance has allowed me to shorten that into the purer mantra of, "why am I bothered?" and so I begin my day. About an hour after my friends have departed, I receive a text from one of them informing me she has made it home and thanking me for letting them crash. I reply to her text and then send another couple of texts to try and maintain the thin social network which I inhabit. One of these was to a close friend who I had fallen out with on thursday, I was a brief appology to try and patch things up. She sent a reply which made me wish I had dwelt on this mornings questionings. Her reply was "we're fine, don't dwell on it, I'm having a great birthday, speak soon," I read it, and then I re-read it, and then I looked at my calander, and then I re-read it and somewhere in the back of my mind all of this was pieced together, while the front of my mind screamed at the top of it's voice, "WOW, You're really a self indulgent shit head, aren't you John?" The 5th is Her Birthday! that's what was so sodding important that I just ignored it! So, hot damn, I screwed up. She went out of her way, far above the call of duty to show she gave a crap on my birthday, and I don't even have the common courtesy to remember hers! She'll forgive me, if she even realises I have forgotten, but that doesn't change that I screwed up. So, moral of this little tale; if you want a friend who cares about you, don't choose me :D.

Right, I've just spend a nice sized passage retelling that so I think I'll call it a day for this post. I may become a bit more frequent, particularly if I'm pulling a podcast out my ass, if you are interested in reading more of my craziness. Stay funky.