Alone in the dark for the 360
got it last week after waiting for a feckin decade.
The control system is the worst i have ever seen.....ever

Dont buy it whatever you do
(Gorbotronic 01100111 01101111 01110010 01100010 01101111 00001, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:46, 5 replies)

No matter how positive I feel about life at the moment.
I have a premonition that my biggest disappointment has yet to come.
( girlinthehole, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:42, 3 replies)

As a
somewhat gawky, awkward teenager (although how many of my dear sweet B3tan cohorts could also say that?) I never really got any, for want of a better word, action. Although in my teenage mind this was probably pronounced 'akkshun', in a desperate attempt to sex up the depressingly normal round of onanistic chafing.

Going to an all boys school, surrounded by testosterone fuelled young men (most of whom were interested in the opposite sex) didn't help. I had the normal level of male desire to bump uglies with a girl whose figure would prohibit her from standing upright, but lacked the skill, tact, or confidence to pull off the coup de grace.

*wavy lines, calender pages flipping, spinning newspaper headlines*

Cut forward to me aged 20... still with cherry unpopped, now with a raging desire to do *it*. Luckily for my mental health I had put myself under massive pressure to conform and was now slightly losing it (but that is another story).

Anyway, on to the disappointment part. In my first year of undergrad I fell head over heels in love with a girl whom I shall call Jane*. Jane was (and still probably is) 5'2", a leftwing activist, dreadlocked, and with a fantastic personality (and to be honest a damned good body too).

I fell for her, heavily, painfully. I dreamt of her, I tried talking to her and, weirdly, she seemed to respond. Things went slowly until one night after a party, we ended up in my room, with a bottle of stolen wine, a toaster, marmite and bread.

This was something of an unprecedented situation for me. I'd never even taken a woman's bra off before, and now it appeared that the holy grail was going to give itself up to me. With a girl who drove me crazy.

Things heated up, we kissed, ate toast, kissed again, then she slowly slid her top off and, with my mind screaming at me, it finally seemed to be happening.

She insisted we use a condom, so I reached into the draw and got one out. Clumsily, being drunk, I put it on, and then turned to my love... and this is where it went wrong.

I don't remember exactly what happened, I think the shock has blurred it out but, one minuted I'm on top of the most attractive girl who had thus far taken interest in me, the next minute I'm clamping a t-shirt to my groin as blood spurted from a gash in my little friend.

The whole experience disappointed me massively... I'd patently failed to win over the girl I liked, I'd failed to lose my virginity, and to top it all off I appeared to have mangled my undercarriage somehow.

Sensibly (or so it seemed so at the time), I decided to avoid women for a while and spent the next 3 years drunk. Jane barely spoke to me again, and the next girl I went out with slept with three strangers in the back of a car on a night out.

So thats it, my first attempt at sex was massively disappointing. Not that subsequent attempts have been anything but stunningly mediocre.

Length, depth, blood pumping pressure etc.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:40, 7 replies)

Walkabout
My parents refused to let me watch the film 'Walkabout' until I was 12, because, and I quote 'There's a rape in it'.

I finally got to watch it. No there isn't. There's an (implied) scene of possible consensual sex.

Can't say I was dissapointed, but still.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:36, 3 replies)

My mysterious rash
.
Many moons ago, when I was but a tiny witchlet, I developed an itchy rash on my back. Mum covered me in enough Calamine lotion to soothe an elephant, to no avail. On the third day, a trip to the doctor's was arranged.

The doctor examined my back and asked the usual questions. New washing powder (not unless they've invented a cheaper one), new clothes (it was neither Christmas or my birthday, so fat chance), new food (are you joking??)? Faced with negative answers, he confessed himself baffled. He mentioned a referral to the hospital for the "experts" to have a look.

My drama-queen tendencies leapt to the fore and I had a lovely vision of sitting in state in a neatly-made hospital bed as eminent professors scratched their heads. Experts would be called in from abroad and I would be the centre of attention.

Alas no. Picking up my sweatshirt to put it the right way out, Mum noticed some fibres falling out of it. Further examination showed rather a lot of fibres adhering to the fleecy inside of the sweatshirt. Then I remembered.

A couple of days before, Dad was putting down loft insulation. In the loft. Where better? The fibre-glass type. My ever-loving brother had grabbed a handful and stuffed it down my back. I'd shaken my sweatshirt to get it out and forgotten about it. Every time I put the sweatshirt on, I'd rubbed more of the stuff onto my back. Oops.

Mum unceremoniously stuffed me back into the sweatshirt and frog-marched me to the car, clutching a prescription for more Calamine lotion. In the car, she stripped the sweatshirt off me again, shook it outside and made me sit there, half naked, all the way home. She also made me walk into the house in a state of undress. In her defence, I was only about six.

She then tore a strip off my brother for stuffing it down my back, and off me for not telling her at the time. I was scrubbed down in the bath, the sweatshirt went in the washing machine on its own and the rash went away shortly afterwards.

My time as a medical mystery came to an end rather abruptly - I'd reckon less than five minutes. I was sorely disappointed. And itchy.

On a side note, anyone else who's mother cured every childhood ailment with either Calamine lotion or Milk of Magnesia?
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Mon 30 Jun 2008, 15:20, 12 replies)

I was very disappointed at the age of 23
to discover that I didn't have Asperger's, nor any other ASD.

As I ploughed throught the medical literature, I became more and more convinced that my lack of social skills, dismal inability to interact with the opposite sex, lack of friends, obsession with statistics and useless facts, sporadic bouts of depression and inability to read body language would all be solved, or at least excused, by this magic label called "Aspergers".

Turns out I was just a geek who needed to make some fucking effort and sort my life out.

So I did. At 23, following a severe depressive episode, it struck me that I could either kill myself or sort out all the various things in my life that made me so depressed. I launched 'Operation Axeman Jim', aiming, within 12 months to:
*Lose my virginity
*Lose three stone
*Get a job
*Move out of my parents' house.

And I did.

I still don't have a lot of friends, but the ones I do have are the closest and best mates someone could have. I don't move in the usual social circles, but seeing as those circles are full of twunts I'm not losing anything much. I came to realise that the reason I wasn't picking up on the rules of conventional social interaction was not that I was an 'Aspie', but because I thought those rules were bullshit and I was ignoring them (they are bullshit, incidentally). If someone wants me to follow some merry dance to be accepted into their shitty clique, then they're not worth my time.

About two years ago, my mum showed me a report written about me by a child psychologist when I was about 9. Basically, it said "Jim is one of the most intelligent children we have ever seen, but, as is common with gifted children, some aspects of his development, particularly emotional and social skills, are severely delayed. Jim will find it difficult to form social bonds with other children, and will most likely suffer from emotional problems, including depression. His emotional and social development may not catch up to his intellectual development until his mid-twenties."

Everything in that report turned out to be almost spookily accurate. I just wish I'd seen it when I was 15. It would have made my life easier to have some understanding of what was going on and why everyone hated me so much.

So, what lessons can be learned?

1 - Unless diagnosed by a competent medical professional, your "Aspergers" may just be residual (if severe) teenage awkwardness, especially if you are of above-average intelligence. I have worked alongside three genuine "Aspies" (including my boss) and there is a lot more to the condition than just being crap with women.

2 - Even if you do have Aspergers, depression, bi-polar or anything else, it's just like a physical disability - you can let it dominate your life, or you can accept it and pursue your goals in life. Regardless of any condition you may have (and I still have bouts of depression), you are still responsible for your own actions. If you want to have a label take the blame for all your bad decisions or lack of motivation, you won't get anywhere. This comes not just from my own experience, but from my ex-girlfriend, who enjoyed being "Bi-Polar" as it got her attention and sympathy, and so refused to seek any treatment, and deliberately wrecked her life (quitting jobs, selling her stuff for next to nothing) so that she'd have something to get really depressed about and get more sympathy.

3 - My three autistic friends are a Policeman, a Sysadmin and a millionaire entrepreneur. All I'm saying is that you won't find them calling the waaahmbulance on the internet.

I have nothing but sympathy for those who genuinely have ASD, as I know the suffering it can inflict. But equally I have nothing but contempt for those that sit in front of their computers all day, whining that they don't have a life or any social skills. Which are you? I'm no psychologist, and I'm certainly not going to be so presumptuous as to offer any opinions on those who have posted in this qotw on the subject. But I suspect that if you take a good, long, look at yourself, you may be able to answer that question on your own.
(Axeman Jim, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 14:56, 24 replies)

This is not the QOTW I wanted
on the day I have a job interview...
Leaving work shortly, hopefully I won't be posting a story here about how it goes :(
( TY&GN, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 14:47, 4 replies)

being born in the mid 80's
when i was a child the hero turtles were my all.
I got some toys for christmas. On the packaging it mentioned their indestructability. That night the turtles met their newest nemesis, Mr. Brick. Along with the plastic all my childhood illusions were shattered.
( arrangedletters, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 14:43, 1 reply)

London.
I was told the streets were paved with gold but whenever I have been they were covered with tramps piss.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 14:40, 1 reply)

My "dream job"
I worked in the games industry for 11 years.

I started out as a tester for a “great in the Amiga days” publisher and slowly worked my way up to being a producer (project manager), taking in one hardware manufacturer, two small developers, one publisher / developer, one mid-sized and one massive publisher along the way (not in that order).

I thought the games industry would be a hot-bed of creativity and freedom, that people would actually listen to new ideas and maybe even give them a go. I was very, very disappointed.

My 11 years of the industry can be summed up in one question: “What’s it like?” This was the question the licensing manager of the mid-sized publisher would use 30 times a week. He would dump a game on the QA department (which I ran) so we could give an opinion of it and he could decide whether the company should offer to publish it or not. He would then ignore whatever we wrote about it and say “what’s it like?”, not meaning “is it good or is it bad” but meaning “is it like Command and Conquer, Half Life, Tekken, Virtua Tennis etc.” if that type of game was selling at that time, he would try to sign it, otherwise it’d be rejected. The company in question could have published Guilty Gear XX in Europe, but “it’s 2D, it’s shit”

Even when I worked as a designer, the producer would over-rule every new idea the design team came up with because it might eat into the time he’d allocated for getting the artwork just the way he wanted. The game looked pretty, but there was fuck all actual game there. He used to be an artist, you see.

I once did a game treatment (like a smaller version of a design document) for a team-based shooter, where you picked your (real-world) weapons at the start, had specific missions, would die from a single, well-placed shot and would be out of the round once you died – basically Counter Strike about a year before Counter Strike took over the internet. The head of design for a now-defunct, Sheffield-based publisher read it and just said “I like Quake, this isn’t Quake”

The thing that made all this worse was the slow realisation that this is the way that 95% of the game-buying public thinks as well. If it’s not FIFA / Burnout / GTA / The Amazing Flogged Horse Franchise, it’s not worth buying.

When I got made redundant for the third time in six years, I decided to get a “real” job. At the time, I couldn’t imagine having to wear a shirt and tie every day and do a 9-5 for some massive organisation. How things change. I now couldn’t imagine showing up to work in jeans and a t-shirt (on casual Fridays, I don’t wear a tie! Woo!) and working all the hours god sends for little reward, with the constant threat of redundancy hanging over my head. I can’t even imagine leaving the NHS.

I still get recruiters trying to get me to go for interviews for jobs that I could get with my eyes closed and would pay up to 50% more than I’m getting at the mo, but I won’t go back for a all the tea in China.

The games industry - shit it!
(ScousersPet, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 14:39, 1 reply)

Cake-based disappointment
I'm just back at my desk from grabbing some lunch in town.
I had a delicious BLT, on lovely brown bread.
I thought I'd treat myself to an exciting Monday-commiserating cake.
I got a fantastic-looking piece of chocolate-caramel-shortbread.

I just took it out of the bag, and the sodding shortbread was squidgy, moist paste.
Fuckers.
*frowns*
( Cawl, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 14:11, 25 replies)

Yesterday....
I took Mrs Samurai to a wildife park, she'd been moaning on that we needed to do something together instead of spending our weekends either in the pub or nursing a hangover.

Anyways, I took her to a small "Wildlife Park" a few junctions up the M1, the website said that one of the main attractions was their Primates.

Now I don't know about you, but when someone mentions primates, I think of Monkeys, Chimps, Gorillas or Orangutans.

Now being a fan of our tree-dwelling cousins, this made up my mind that this is where we were going to go.

We parked the car up and I eagerly ran to the entrance to the centre, hoping to catch a glimpse of a monkey doing something amusing. I grabbed a map, sprinted around to the "Primate" enclosure and what did I see?

A fucking Lemur

Gutted

What a waste of £6.99 entry fee, in my eyes it's its a poor mans primate, it doesn't even do anything!

I hoped that it would do something interesting, I wasn't expecting a rendition of "I like to move it" a la "Madagascar", but the furry little bastard didn't do anything at all, just sat there silently mocking me.

The little bastard. That's the last time I go there I tell you!

Length? I stood there a good 15 minutes waiting for the twat to do something amusing.
(Cow_Tipping_Samurai, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 14:01, 3 replies)

Monday Mornings
After spending a whole two days doing what I want to do(well mostly.) I find that getting up at 'Stupid o'clock' in the morning to go to work on Mondays is a real disappointment!
(Herr Doktor Lemminge Is bored, so cheer me up!, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 13:59, Reply)

Valentines Day '06
Ok, so I hate all this Hallmark Holiday bullshit, but I was determined to make an effort this year as my then-girlfriend, the lovely Anastasia and I were going through a rough patch and I could feel the best thing that had ever happened to me slipping through my fingers.

I ventured out, armed with debit card and purchased a massive Vettriano print, a 3 CD Nina Simone anthology, a huge bunch of roses, wine, chocolates and massive card, soppier than a Hull basement.

Pleased with myself, and bouyed with sweet images of reconciliation and mind-blowing sex, I presented them to my beloved with a flourish, accompanied by words of undying love and adoration. She accepted with shamen-like beatification, and deposited a small parcel into my trembling, sweaty paw.

I unwrapped this treasured gift in feverish anticipation. What had the object of my worship deigned to bestow upon my unworthy self?

A block. Of cheese.

Now, in all fairness, I wasn't really expecting anything, and it was stilton, with cranberries, encased in red wax in the shape of a love heart. However, it was still. A. Block. Of. Fucking. Cheese.

How my heart imploded. Did I catch a glimpse of malevolent glee in one almond eye?
Did an imperceptible exhalation of sadistic mirth pass from her divine lips?

Needless to say, the relationship finished its turbulent course a month later.
I'm over it now though. *sobs*
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 13:27, 13 replies)

Greene King, Destroyer of Souls
I like pubs, me.

Whether I'm happily cycling through the countryside, or tootling along on our narrowboat, or going for a stroll along some picturesque paths with squirrels darting underfoot and bluebells delicately adorning the way - any of these wonderfully English cliches - then my spirits are instantly lifted by the first glimpse of a pub sign round the corner.

They then sink into the squirrel-shit infested depths when I notice that the charming rustic illustration has just two words underneath it: "Greene King".

Yes, yet another fine pub has fallen prey to the evilest bunch of conniving bar stewards ever to serve up an overpriced pint of mass-produced "real ale" ditchwater, flat diluted Coke, or never-seen-an-apple-not-even-an-Irish-one chemical cider. My hopes of a nice PIE AND PINT are replaced by a realisation that all i will get is some greasy lasagne, a glass of Strongbow (Strongbow FFS! - even in Hereford, where they make the bloody stuff, everyone drinks Westons), and ankle bites from a bunch of misbehaving brats whose parents were lured in by the rebranding of the pub as a "Fun Factory".

The nice, local handpainted blackboards aren't really nice or local at all: they're done by some gimboid in Bury St Edmunds who sends out the exact same ones to every single sodding GK pub. The "guest ales" aren't either, they're the remnants of some poor brewery in Nether Snodbury which sold out to GK, and whose brew names now remain as merely badge engineering exercises on some unholy amalgam of Greene King's own two alleged "beers", Abbot and IPA.

They don't even bother with proper pub signs any more. They have a generic Greene King logo in the same spot. At least this means my disappointment now only lasts a few seconds as I can now recognise a GK pub from a very long way away. Of course, the FOUL STENCH OF DEATH is a giveaway, too.

Given the quality of the piss on offer, "frothing tards" (minted not five posts ago in this very thread) seems perhaps the best epithet I can hurl at these numpties of corporate hegemony. Curse you, Greene King, you have disappointed me time after time. May your intestines rot away in a soup of donkeypiss - "it's made for drinking", remember.
(ChaRleyTroniC is invincible with his chips and cheese, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 13:16, 6 replies)

Imagination vs reality
So.

First year and a half at university spent chasing a "flame-haired temptress", who clearly had absolutely no interest in me. This being like petrol on a bonfire, so by the end of this period she was, in my mind, THE ULTIMATE FEMALE.

Then much to everyone's surprise (including mine, and, I think, hers) she suddenly asked me out.

Length? I dumped her after 2 months for failing to live up to the version of her in my head.

Numpty.

Oh, and whilst hardly original, remember:
There's nothing so over-rated as bad sex,
nothing so under-rated as a good dump.
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 12:59, 2 replies)

As a Scot
feeling consistently underwhelmed is a national past-time. If we're not failing yet again to qualify for some international sporting tournament or other, we're dealing with political infighting and shitty weather. We're a nation of complaining individuals under the burden of constant disappointment.

But i'll still detail my biggest disappointment for your amusement.

Scottish women.

I've yet to meet a women in this country who has managed to be both attractive and intellectually engaging. There is a rule applicable here: "Attractive, mentally sound, single - pick two".

Because if they are, they're not single. My greatest disappointment is that i always get there too late - they've been snapped up by some lucky sonofabitch.

Gah.

*has an emo moment*
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Mon 30 Jun 2008, 12:43, 30 replies)

Start the fans please!
One Sunday every summer (during my childhood) the local Working Mens Club arranged its annual trip to Blackpool. The whole idea of getting up at the crack of dawn and eating a shitload of crisps and sweets on route would probably send many protective parents into a fit these days but at the time it was just the norm. This was also in a time before Blackpool became infested with stag and hen do's and shitty pubs (Actually they may have been infested with pubs but I was too young to notice or care back then.)

One of my favourite parts about visiting Blackpool was that I lived in hope of getting a chance to visit the Sandcastle, a gaudy coloured indoor swimming pool and activity centre on the sea front (Even Blackpool council realised that noone would want to go near the sea to swim). The reason for this is that one of the other available forms of entertaiment in this building was a replica of the Crystal Maze. I had no idea what happened in the Crystal Maze attraction itself (other than it was based on the Crystal maze) so I had visions of me attemptting to get a crystal in the Aztec zone as Richard O Brien pissed around with his mouth organ outside.

Sometime in the early 90's my luck was in (The date escapes me at the moment but I believe it may have been 1991). We arrived in Blackpool and it was absolutley pissing it down, my parents were feeling rather generous and offered to take us to the Sandcastle for either a swim or a chance to go on the crystal maze attraction. Great! I had the chance to go into the maze itself I thought, only for me to walk up to the eyesore of a building to see an advertisement out front for.....Coronation Street. The place had changed its attraction from the Crystal Maze to a replica of Coro-fucking-nation Street. I was pissed off, whoever thought that walking down a fake street most members of the public see on TV every week is a hell of a lot more interesting than trying to pick up golden papers in a giant wind tunnel needs a good slap.

So......Blackpool from 1991 (ish) onwards, major fucking disappointment
(mon bison powered by magnets, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 12:15, 8 replies)

Kinder Surprise!
Horrible chocolate, nasty little toy.

A double whammy of disillusionment.
(ThomsonsPier consumes, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 12:14, 10 replies)

Electric Brae
I was raised on stories about Electric Brae in Ayrshire being a place where there was an optical illusion such that it looked as though water ran uphill.

Chancing to be driving through it with a large bottle of water in the car a couple of years ago, I stopped and poured it over the surface of the road.

I squinted; I changed my position; I looked from between my legs; I turned my back and suddenly looked to surprise it. Whatever I did, the water was definitely running downhill.

DAMN YOU, GRAVITY!
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 12:10, 4 replies)

John O'Groats
Not like I had a huge level of anticipation to go, being that I live about 15 miles away and all.

But upon arrival to the shanty town that is John O'Groats you're greeted by drab hotels, abandoned dirty old shops, a giant car-park and of course put up with the 10 or so American tourists perpetually in the area.

You have to PAY to get your photo taken next to the "Lands End 874 miles" Sign. Theres some kind of cringeworthy gift shop with fucking Loch Ness monsters and postcards. Eurgh


It's not even the most Northern point of mainland Britain FFS!!!

Dunnet head by contrast is largely untouched by tacky commercialism and has stunning views.
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 11:51, 1 reply)

This is a truly profound one.
I come back from holiday, having been absent from the b3tan enclaves for nearly two weeks, see the new QOTW topic, and rub my hands with glee, thinking "aha! I will have many tales of hilarity and sadness with which to regale my comrades. I will be able to entertain them for a few precious minutes, making my life all the more bearable." Or something like that.

Except that since I've just come back from a lovely holiday, I'm really happy and relaxed (bar the 150-odd new emails to deal with), and when I try to think of a relevent answer to this week's topic, I come up with bugger all.

Seriously. I mean, I've suffered some crushing blows in the past (realising that David Bowie isn't really a Goblin King, and won't really transport me to a magical fairy land, or the time when I met a real life General, and cried because he didn't look like General Tapioca from Tintin), but when I try to think of really profound ones, that had an affect on the course of my life, I can't think of any. My mind is blank.

So that's my greatest disappointment: not being able to remember anything significant to tell you all.

Arse.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 11:36, 20 replies)

Right this time I'm not shitting about
My biggest dissapointment is my disability to get dissapointed.

Yeah, mindfuck bitch!
(TMAce needs to enter another image challenge sometime, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 11:31, 6 replies)

My biggest disappointment:
Adult life.

My parents always told me it would turn out like this:

- I'd have a good job that I enjoyed
- Days would be long and warm and life would be easy
- I would actually meet intelligent people when I went out
- Sex, drugs and rock'n'roll would happen regularly
- I'd get to travel
- I'd be rich by the time I was 20.

In reality:

- I dislike my job. It's OK - it pays well, I like the people I work with, etc, but it's DULL. Software is not the career I thought it would be.
- It rains all the time and everything costs too much
- Most of the people I bump into every day are dribbling retards
- I never get laid
- Nothing exciting ever happens
- The only time I've ever been abroad is to the South of France, which is lovely, but I'd like to go further afield.
- I live in a shit dusty apartment with a straggly cat, no car and a knackered old motorbike. I barely earn enough to buy food.

They're fuckers for lying, aren't they?
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 11:23, 3 replies)

Hope
Monday’s are always a disappointment but reading Shegetz’s thoughts below regarding humanity was a particular low point – what’s even more disappointing is so many here supported his position. I’d like to reply if I may…

The reason we don’t get 'eaten by snakes' is not simply down to having knives, it is because we have the brains to outwit them, learn from our experience and crucially, the ability inform others that snakes might be dangerous.

The size of our brain has been the greatest asset for humans it has also been responsible for some of out worst traits - greed, jealousy, bigotry, racism. Granted a troupe of chimps will display similar characteristics but they don’t posses the big bulbous noggin required to wage their bad boy attitude worldwide. These are also traits that infants are free of, but they quickly learn by mimicking what they see around them.

The good news is that even miserable cynics like Shegetz realise that the desire to live in peace is something that is at least in theory a possibility; it would seem however our supposedly superior brains simply haven't evolved sufficiently to allow us to do so.

But there is hope. It will not be wars or bullets that destroy mankind, it will be the effects of continuing to shit in our own nest. It will be this that eventually brings about a catastrophic global cull of humans, which in all reality is our only hope of survival.

Hopefully the few that remain will have the brains to realise how close we became to making ourselves extinct, learn adapt and evolve from there.

But the late Bill Hicks put it far more eloquently than I…

“I had a vision of a way we could have no enemies ever again, if you’re interested in this. Anybody interested in hearing this? It’s kind of an interesting theory, and all we have to do is one decisive act and we can rid the world of all our enemies at once. Here’s what we do. You know all that money we spend on nuclear weapons and defence every year, trillions of dollars? Instead, if we spent that money feeding and clothing the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one being excluded, not one, we could as one race explore outer space together in peace, for ever.”
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 10:56, 22 replies)

I was rather crestfallen this morning
when I realised I didn't have my mp3 player with me.
Tube journeys are much slower without it.
( wanderlust, Mon 30 Jun 2008, 10:45, 2 replies)