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?

Shit that I think is SUPER bollocks - Home and Away

Home and Away is without a doubt, the worst show I have ever seen.
There are many things I never want to see again - One guy, one Jar. A naked fat girl. Blue waffle. The list goes on really, but it does take a lot to get on my list of "Fuck that, this makes me want to shit myself with anger." Most of it is NSFL horrible things, so Home and Away might stick out somewhat on the list, but I would rather be made to watch all of the internet video nasties over and over again while my mortal enemies took turns to trim their wiry pubes into my outstretched eyelids, than to watch more than one episode of this "Show" in a row.

Is it the whiny Aussie accents? Is it the terrible acting? Is it the fact that the entire cast of the sleepover club grew a little bit older and ended up in the show? IS IT BECAUSE AS A YOUNG BOY I WATCHED THE SLEEPOVER CLUB? Nobody truly knows why I hate this show so much, including me. I can't handle it though. Often, I find myself in the company of females who watch this show. That half an hour is no communication with me time. Dead to the world, for the first few moments, I complain constantly. Then, I sit silently, sulking to myself with my arms and legs crossed and then I pace around the room smoking before giving up and just staring at the ceiling while the girls quarrel over which flesh-waste is the best looking.

The end is nigh.

Shit that I think is bollocks - Everything that I do

I sit here typing these words, excited like a little child who has just been told that dinner for the week is sherbet dip dabs and magic rainbow fucksticks, basted in red bull. I type feverently, hitting the wrong keys just to get everything written as fast as possible. If I stop for even half an hour, I will come back and re-read the post, only to realize that I am a talentless fuckwit and delete everything.

I always thought I'd like to write a book, but unless it was a very small book that wasn't very good, it would never get past about five chapters. No matter how excited or confident I am about something I write or create, it becomes part of the cesspit of "Shit that I think is bollocks" within a few short minutes.

I like to draw pictures and write, don't get me wrong. Its like a handjob off a liquid-wristed girl, but for your brain. The slimy love custard is words rather my unborn children though. And much like a wank or a handjob, you feel brilliant for five minutes after before sinking back into despair and begin to claw the semen from your bellybutton. 

Being as broke as a kettle from Argos, I tend to draw pictures for my lovely girlfriend rather than buy her extravagant gifts. I try to buy her pretty things when I have money, but poems or pictures will suffice in the meantime. I draw these big pictures of anything and everything from the dark recesses of my imagination and feel accomplished as I place them in my bag. Upon gifting them to her, she looks at them and smiles and tells me how lovely they are. I gaze upon them (this is usually the second time I have ever looked at them) and see a horrible pile of scribbles. If you gave ten retarded people glitter, highlighters and those blue bic pens that don't ever work, and told them to draw World War 2 in one picture, it would look similar to what I see.

Thus, I will never accomplish anything of any artistic merit ever. Back to the quagmire, you horrible fish beast.