Dear, Dear blog of mine

Its 16:43 and im still at college. ive been here since half 8 this morning. thats a total of nearly 9 hours in this fucking place. i have not eaten nor drank anything today and i can safely say that i dont feel so fucking good. now i have to mission it in the rain to get back to eastleigh to get the train to fareham to be picked up by meg to be taken to sainsburys to be taken back and home and then to take my pulpy husk of a body to bed. most thrilling thursday of my life? yeah. anyway if i dont make it home alive then im sorry i never wrote more or told you any dirty secrets, im not quite the blogger you hoped for. so long, farewell, i hate to say good bye.
adieu... adieu... to you and you and youu *fades into the distance*

I think my ass cheeks are going flat from the amount of time I spend sitting down.

a few questions for you guys;

1; why is it that brushing my teeth seems like such a treacherous business nowa days? has my self standards slipped so low that i am in the slow yet inevitable progress of having my teeth digress to sugar puff like formations?

2; why have i taken to sitting like a 22 stone bald middle aged white man taking a shit? legs apart, feet perched on the balls- or what are soon to be bunions- with heels pressed against the chair, resulting in a slightly increased gradient of knee, perfect for balancing my scaly chicken skinned elbows on.

3; why does my head keep producing dandruff when i dont scratch my head for fear i may get my hands and fingers swamped and incarcerated in layers of what id like to call "hair" but im gunna run with my hair being more reminiscent  of an abundance of A LOAD OF FUCKING DISOBEDIENT PUBES.

4;  why is it that my eyelashes never fucking grow? is there some out of body determination to make me look like a hard boiled egg that karma is throwing at me? is it developing alopecia ? is it the fact i stand infront of the mirror for atleast 3 minutes a day tugging the crust of the tips of me oh so belittled lashes and resort to simply plucking them from their gummy bedding on my eyelid? all of the above and more. perhaps im being affected by nuclear fallout and slowly decomposing.

5; why am i writing this pathetic excuse of a blog instead of sleeping? the answer is, i dont know. i really dont. 

daaaance to the booogie, get down

in a mother fucking nut shell, i'd like to say to you guys that the reason i have not been writing blogs lately is because i've been so dang busy, but that'd be a bare face lie. truth is guys, i've officially turned into the mythical Solanum tuberosum couchus, more commonly known as the coach potato, the slob, the sluggard,  the layabout, the laggard, and my personal favourite title, the bum. I managed to get all my coursework in though, which was fine. still pottering along with ass holes at college, its a place that i despise with every blood cell in my body and every moment im there my list of "people id like to kill with a blunt implement" grows. anyway, my life out of college has been pretty eventful, this weekend was a smash hit as far as im concerned, and the last few weekends have been lovely. my half term has just ended and i was supposed to go back to college this morning, but after the dramatic incidents of my little cousin finding her guinea pig dead in her cage (r.i.p little one), i decided college was a pretty weak idea and that my one lesson of english literature can wait because a greater force named death is trying to achieve insubordination within the household. this was witnessed twice this morning, once with the poor little guinea pig, and again with a chicken that me and meg were trying to nurse back to health, but unfortunately she had a fit whilst throwing up and died in my hands. many things were strange about the experience. a) since when do chickens ever throw up? how does that happen. plus it made the whole process of prizing her beak open to try put bread and water down her throat obsolete. b) chickens dont have fits? surely. after having a dying animal twitching in your hands it makes you feel oh so humbled towards life. c) i got a real weird tingly feeling in my hands the moment she died. im putting it down to the fact that her life source itself past through my body, which potentially means i have chicken spirit. in which case, awesome. anyway, apart today being "black monday", the last few weeks have been pretty good. me and ant have been up to no good as per usual, and by up to no good i simply mean napping for excessive amounts of time, playing video games until our eyes sting, going on road trips and ending up no where but a land of muddy puddles and eating really unhealthy food. apart from that, ive been doing fuck all but drinking copious amounts of tea and attempting to do work. life is swish, apart from the amount of pure anus's that impede my ability to have fun. but i must not let my own social inability to forgive and forget bellends stop the good times rolling. id rather be a hermit and smell of chicken than have rims in my life, fo' realz. anyway ive exhausted myself. peace out

den of zoom zoom

ohhh mummah has it been a long time since i've blogged, but be it as it may, i am going to write a trivial blog about the  inconsequential happenings and observations of my last few weeks. for one, due to my cassio watch being 4 minutes ahead of real time, i am constantly on time if not slightly early for every event or happening within my meagre bleeding existence. i have noticed things of late that before have not occurred to me as novelty or pleasing in any way, shape or form, such as the faces people pull when they're reading a book on the train. i try and envision my own plot and characters in reaction to what i read from the face of the commuting literature enthusiast. the main theme to all the novels that i imagine is confusion, strongly coupled with the motif of frowning. there is always something slightly magical about train travel. the whole experience is endearing if anything, though for some its a perilous journey across expansive pastures to the unknown, though for me its just the 50 minutes a day i spent listening to my stolen conked-out ipod with its blown headphones which make farting sounds in response to bass, and watching people who are unaware they're being monitored by a dirty haired, round faced 17 year old art student. how demoralizing. the way one composes their body language and juxtaposition of the 'self" is key to being an essential character in train travel. you dont want to be that quiet person in the carriage who sits with hands folded in lap, legs tucked under seat and eyes glazed over looking out intently for the ticket-man, with ticket twitching between forefinger and thumb. what you want to be that bad ass who gets told several times to take their feet off the seats, sprawled across a 6 seater complex with half a can of red bull in one hand and am empty packet of quavers discarded at your feet, listening to your ear-bleedingly heavy music unnecessarily loud. so loud that its uncomfortable but heck, you dont care because you're just a rebel without a cause and with one sole purpose; to piss off everyone. i wish i could say i played that role on the train, but unfortunately i am nothing but a mere 4 seat hog who listens to mild folk and progressive on the train to exaggerate the beauty and atmosphere of the local country side whilst counting sheepies and making note of potential dogging spots. the worst thing about trains is the reflective glass panel that runs parallel above each rows of chairs, allowing you to look up and watch people 6 seats in front of you in this upside down birds-eye view. this is all well and good until you look up and notice some gormless gimp staring back in your general direction and that sinking feeling in your stomach kicks in when you realize they've been watching you pick your nose for the last few minutes. not like thats ever happened to me anyway...