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Profile for Falstaff's Spiritual Successor:
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This is me. I used to study all sorts of Arts Faculty shit - language, philosfy, etc - but now I have graduated become a zombie (an unemployed one to boot) - and will eat your brains.

You'll notice (from what little you can see of me) that I don't appear to be fat, loud, drunk, flatulent (hard to tell from a photo of course) or the centre of attention, and thus my name seems rather irrelevant. It actually started off as a bastardisation of my real name, and then continued to the point where if you can guess what I'm called, you already know who I am.

Recent front page messages:


Best answers to questions:

» The B3TA Confessional

The Seven Sins of QOTW
"First lol! Story to follow..."

"I totally banged a chick and also another chick probly, funny name for her cunt, she was well up for it, amusing made up term for spunking, minor reference to something tangential because everyone knows that near-irrelevant details make a story more convincing."

"Click if you think me telling you to click will get you to click me!"

"After eating or drinking something, I did a poo or possibly a sick. It was a colossal behemoth of a euphemism euphemism adjective adjective euphemism humorous noun, which euphemismed its way out of my adjective euphemism humorous noun like a wordswordswordswordswordsWORDS."

"I hate being on QOTW so much that I'm posting there, but it's different cause it's only to slag off both the pathetic, feeble and unworthy subject - which has been done before already by the way - and the maggots who sully themselves by replying to it."

"So basically your story is...?"

"Falstaff's Spiritual Successor calls shenanigans, regardless of the situation, Day XX Month 20XX, XX:XX"

If you are guilty of any of these sins, or know someone who is, please report to the nearest Robo-Pope Processing and Confession centre (internet section) for rehabilitation. I'll see you there.

Edit: Unfortunately, despite hours of diligent research, I was unable to find any reference to 'leading your readers down the garden path to a teeth-crackingly bad pun' as a canonical Mortal Sin.
(Sun 29th Aug 2010, 15:39, More)

» Complaining

Ah! Spleen's post below reminded me of a story of complaints and flats.
My old close had two doors on each landing, opposite each other. For a long time we didn't know who lived opposite us, due to keeping wildly different hours to the guy.

The one thing we did know was that he didn't like when we left our rubbish on the landing before taking it down. Not because he ever told us, or even left a note - that was apparently beyond his talents. He was apparently quite inventive in areas other than verbal communication though, because on various occasions we found that bin bags outside our door had been:

-moved around and rearranged to no apparent effect except being *slightly* closer to the wall.
-soaked in bleach (that melted the bag and made it near impossible to clean up. Also, the place stank of melty rubbish and chlorine gases for a week).
-pissed on? Or maybe another, less effective, probably extremely cheap cleaning product? We were never sure.
-taped to the door handle, even though I'd just stuck it outside while getting my stuff before taking it out and heading into town.

This last one prompted me to nip back inside and write the foulest piece of sarcasm I have ever committed to paper. I can remember it pretty much exactly, or at least the main points. I drew a diagram that looked a bit like this:


and on the other side of the paper I wrote:

"Hi! :)

Your neighbours from 2/1 here. We're really sorry about the inconvenience we're clearly causing you by leaving our rubbish outside for whole minutes at a time. It must be a terrible drain on you to think up new ways of pointing this out without actually confronting us, and I'd like to offer to repay you for the financial costs incurred in your use of tape and bleach.

It did occur to me that maybe the reason you've never said anything is that you have trouble working out where we live, so I've included a map showing the relative locations of our flat and your flat.

Armed with this information, perhaps next time you have a problem you could actually try talking to us like a fucking adult and mentioning there's a problem, rather than sneaking around and engaging in such pathetic passive aggressive* behaviour.

You fucking twat :)"

I posted it through his letterbox and departed about my business, which included going home to Embra for the weekend. On the bus along the M8, I got a phonecall from my flatmate.

He'd found our door alright.

He'd found it. He'd spent the past hour banging on it and screaming insane threats at the top of his voice. He'd flung the rubbish from the bags at it**, and down the stairs, and around most of the general area. He'd banged and screamed and threatened and screeched some more, and eventually one of the other residents had called the police and he'd been given a caution.
It turned out after the dust had settled, that the guy was well into his fifties and the reason we'd never seen him was that his job as a barrister took up most of him time. That's as in 'respectable lawyer', not 'coffee dispenser'. And it was beyond him to make a sensible complaint to his neighbours.
I suppose given his profession, we're - okay, I'm - lucky we didn't get anything legal thrown at us.
Then again, given his personality, we're lucky we didn't get human faeces thrown at us.

*I am fully aware of the staggering irony of writing this in a sarcastic note. My justifications are that I was on my way out the door in a rush, I was colossally angry at his behaviour, and at least I was actually communicating. Slim moral high ground indeed. Mostly, though, I was in a hurry and determined to make him as angry as possible.

**I was so pissed off I'd neglected to actually remove them in the end.
(Thu 2nd Sep 2010, 16:30, More)

» Beautiful Moments, Part Two

Ten years ago:
A young man sits at the edge of the playground, watching everyone else have fun. In fact, he sits at the edge of everything; he doesn't understand how to talk to people, boys think he's weak and girls think he's creepy. They're probably right. So he hides where nobody can see him during the mercifully short breaktimes, and goes to chess or art club during lunch so he doesn't have to be near most of the other people, and he spends a whole lot of time trying not to cry or show how lonely and bored he is.

Last night:
A young man sits at the edge of the dance floor, watching everyone else have fun. He sips the drink from the round he bought and suddenly remembers the other young man from a decade ago, whose position was so similar and yet so very different to his now. Right now, he's sitting this one out because he's tired, he's been up all day organising the social events of the weekend, he was drinking the night before too, and his mate wants to try to cop off uninterrupted.

He remembers the other young man.

He realises that right now he has chosen to exclude himself.

And the knowledge that I have that choice now makes me smile wider and laugh harder than I have in a long, long time.
(Mon 9th Aug 2010, 11:15, More)

» Best and worst TV ads

Metalfish ate my hamster stole my opening line.
EDIT: this is longer and rantier than I anticipated. Exercise I mean READ IT AND OPEN YOUR MINDS SHEEPLE.

I hate pretty much every advert ever too. Of course there are some adverts I like - witty, intelligent, or otherwise fascinating ones such as midnight text-n-flirt exchanges with REAL GIRLS the classic Guinness ads, Honda's output or even the irritatingly catchy '118, Magical Trevor'. Unfortunately, these are very much the exceptions that proof the rule. It's like being hounded by beggars, chavs and scroungers all down the street and discovering that one in every ninety is literate, friendly, and actually gives good chat, in which case you might actually be tempted to give him some money.

And make no mistake, adverts are fucking beggars. They will do or say anything to get you to give them your money, because, surprise surprise, that's what they're there for. The occasional gem doesn't change the fact that the intervals between television programmes are torrential cascades of bullshit that regularly leave me shouting at my television.
Bill Hicks had it right, yeah, we all know that - well, maybe not the bit about advocating mass suicide, but seriously, advertising is deeply, deeply insulting on every level. And his prediction about the Coke advert they really wished they could make has pretty much come true. See for example that toothpaste advert where they just pan up a naked woman to reveal she has a tooth missing. Ad Exec, this is my friend Subtlety. I don't believe you've met.

And it's getting worse. Another notable William, Mr Bryson. once commented on the difference between American and British advertising. Something along the lines of "In England, an advert for cold medicine shows the man after taking it, still in a dressing gown and a bit sniffly, but at least he's smiling. He feels a bit better. In America, the ad for the same medicine shows the man leaping out of bed with glowing lines round his body and running off to play squash." This was in the 90's. We no longer have that distinction.

In fact, as far as I can tell, every single ad fits into one of these categories, each of them insulting in different and exciting ways. Lots of exclamation marks to emphasise the breathlessly desperate nature of advertising.

1)"Look, ordinary person! Proles like you buy this product!"
We've even filmed them looking slightly off-camera in a casual seeming setting so you know they're an ordinary person like you! And the voice-over is in a regional accent - just like yours, you adorable little demographic!
Offenders - Iceland, Morrisons, Homebase/B&Q, the sodding Volvic cunting 'challenge'.

2)"Look, ordinary person! Faaamoous peeooplle buy this product!"
Don't you want to be like them? Don't you? You worship them, don't you? What better way to be like them than doing and buying what they do and buy?
Offenders - also Iceland ironically, when they had Katona anyway, makeup and beauty products, anything with a sleb in it.

3)"There is literally nothing this product won't cure!"
It's an instant fix that will have you up and about in no time! Look! Your friend even has some in her handbag!
Offenders - all medicines or vaguely medicinal products.

4)"There is literally nothing this product won't cure, including your sad little life!"
Buy this and you will be a better person! Look at how much implied sex/respect/attention/implied sex the actor is getting from other actors!
Offenders - makeup ads again, deodorants, even Lynx (don't tell me about irony. Advertisers don't know the meaning of the word.), car adverts, etc.

4a)"This product will get you LAID!"
It's everywhere. They really, really use sex for everything. Home loans, ambulance chasers, toothpaste, lawnmowers.
Offenders - any advert that shows a bit of tit or flirtatious smile.

5)"This product will FLATTEN YOUR BALLS*"
Offenders - let's just say that that is not what chewing 5 gum feels like.

6)"Buy us! Buy us! Buy us! Buy us! Buy us!"
Simple yet effective - the equivalent of a toddler shouting for attention till you give in and do what they want. No clever punchline, no showing you the supposed benefits of their product, these ads just pound their product into your brain until you can't think of anything else.
Offenders - Go Compare, WePurchaseAutomobilesIndiscrimately, CompareTheMarket and so bloody forth.

You don't really need a scientific education to be aware of the constant waves of utter crap coming at you (although I have studied logic. And of course watched lots of Bill Hicks). You just need a fragment of common sense, especially when a lot of adverts are now required to openly (if not explicitly) state 'what we are showing you on screen is a lie' most of the time. One day I will be rich enough to buy a large handgun and a lot of bulk rate tellies. Maybe old cathode ray ones. And when that day comes, I will be able to cheerfully shoot the television whenever something insults my intelligence. I will probably shoot the television a lot.**

* Use of the term 'Flatten your balls' in reference to awesomeness is (C) 1952 - present.

** I already have a nerf gun for this purpose. It's just not the same though.
(Sat 17th Apr 2010, 14:40, More)

» Caught!

I wouldn't say I was 'caught' exactly. I brought it on myself. But it's the only time I've been punished for doing something wrong, so here you are.
My father is an appallingly strict man. He is always right, about everything, and as far as he's concerned his word is law. If you faintly disagree with anything he says, he will beat the shit out of you or worse. If you actually do something wrong, he is the most terrifying man you can imagine. Of course, like all bastards he claims itís for our own good, that he loves and cares about his family.

I was kicked out the house years ago, in the biggest argument weíve ever had. This was a massive blow, knocked me down lower than most people ever go, and while I've managed (and it's been a fucking struggle let me tell you) to achieve some degree of independence, found a job and my own place to live and so forth - far, far away from the rest of the family, I might add - I'm still scared shitless of the day when he finally tracks me down and takes it out on me. I donít think he even knows how to forgive.
I don't know what the fuck happened to make him such a violent, abusive bastard. He never talks about himself, about how he was raised, where he came from or how he ended up like that. I don't care anymore. I'm just glad to be out. So what did I do to piss him off so badly?

Although we had a large family, my brothers and sisters and I never knew our mother. It was just us and Dad. Iím sure you can imagine what our home life was like with a man like that. As the oldest, he looked more kindly on me than most. I was his favourite son. Unfortunately, all this really boiled down to was that instead of getting the punishments myself, I had to help him deal them out to the others. Not fun, but I was only a kid and he was my father. What could I do?

I was about 17 when he told us that he was starting a new family, that heíd already got two children on the way, and that he had decided these brats, unlike us, would be given the chance to live their own lives.
Did we get the same privilege? Did we hell. Just the new kids. We still had to do whatever we were told to do.
When he hinted heavily that our duties were also going to include looking after his latest spawn, I snapped like I would never have believed possible. I refused to accept this from him, I told him to go fuck himself. And after heíd picked me up from the floor, and physically flung me out the door, he told me I was never coming back.
Since then, Iíve moved, like I say, as far away from him as I can get Ė leaving the country isnít an option though, so Iíve ended up in the south. He lives way up in the north, though Iím fairly sure heís not Scottish himself. A couple of my siblings have followed in my footsteps, and Iíve been there to take them in and look after them Ė itís the least I can do, even though I wouldnít say weíre properly free of him. Apparently his new family had no more luck than we did in the years since Iíve seen him. The two kids were caught stealing food one day, and by all accounts he flung these children clean over the garden fence, then barred the door. It's not the most violent thing he's ever done, believe me. There are also rumours of him fucking someone else's wife and fathering yet another son, but I canít imagine heíll treat this kid any better than the rest of us.

I apologise if this all seems a little impersonally written; Iím doing it deliberately. I canít help but try and distance myself from all this, because itís just so painful. The thing is, no matter how badly heís treated me, even though Iím convinced Iím in the right, I canít help but admire and look up to him, and that conflict just creates such a mess in my head. You must know this feeling, even if you donít have it as bad as I do. Itís the way I was raised, and itís family, and thereís not much you can do about the way you feel about family. I love my father. I just wish he loved me back like he says he does.
(Mon 7th Jun 2010, 13:56, More)
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