I'm not really that much of a burning bollocks head.

Although this blog was primarily set up for me to destroy people and things that I don't like, I'm not all hate. Ninety percent of my insides are boiled with rage at the most insignificant things. At the best of times I feel like a really old veteran being insulted by a youth with his trousers down too low. That kind of rage that makes it difficult to form sentences. When all you can do is just clench your fists and scream on the inside. Acid pumps around my body instead of blood, similar to a xenomorph, but hella less cool.

There are in fact, things that I think are absolutely incredible and mindblowing. Music, David Attenborough, walking, dinosaurs, animals, flowers, books, poems, blowjobs, steak, lasagne, chips, silly haircuts, things that come from the sea, coffee, drinking copious amounts of cheap booze. The list goes on and on. No one really wants to hear about the good stuff though? People don't want to hear about your nice date to the botanic gardens, they want to hear about how one of your balls burst while you were on fire as a result of spontaneous combustion on the bus. There is something thrilling/hilarious about the misfortune of others.

I guess over the past year, the things I have found I love the most are books, Blade Runner, Mad Max 2 and bacon double cheeseburgers. Everything kind of revolves around my love of these four basic things. Other good things I see, or other fantastic things that occur are only bonuses.


I am a kind of half scrooge?