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Seemed oddly appropriate.

The University of Blogging

Presents to

An Honorary
Bachelor of
Psychotic Ranting

Majoring in
Dr. GoQuiz.com


Blogging Degree
From Go-Quiz.com

May the Force be with you......

how jedi are you?
:: by lawrie malen

Done had mah brain tested, hurk....

StupidTester.com says I'm 1% Stupid! How stupid are you? Click Here!

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» Blood

A little off topic, but there is blood involved
I'm incredibly accident prone, do retardedly foolish things and have a sense of immortality in my approach to certain dangerous activities.

As an example, let me tell you of my last week, to give you some idea of how foolish I can be.

Sunday - smash big toe, causing bleeding and complications (ingrown toenail) this continues for the week, finally getting better on Wednesday

Monday - slice open index finger with a very sharp surgical knife, cut is incredibly deep

Tuesday - slice same finger as before, this time with a rusty old craft knife, cut not as deep, but still quite bad (blunt knifes tear more than cut, lots of surface damage)

Wednesday - nothing happens, spend the evening in fear of divine bolts from on high (it's rare that nothing happens, but usually it's just because whatever divine force has it in for me is storing it up for something big later on)

Thursday - the dam breaks and..... hit by a car while riding my bike back from work, that was a mess for sure, I got off fairly light - mostly just cuts and grazes with some bruising on my right side (where I impacted the road) but nothing life threatening

Friday - despite most of this day being spent in recovery from the previous day, still manage to smash my big toe again causing it to flare up again and then burn myself on the oven

Saturday - spent curled up in the foetal position for fear of angering anything that may wish me harm - get stung by a wasp when I venture outside to fix my bike

For the record - getting hit by a car hurts like you wouldn't believe - and not just the initial blow, it hurts for days afterwards.

Click 'I Like This' if you think I should start sacrificing small children to appease the gods and ensure safe transit through my everyday life.
(Mon 11th Aug 2008, 11:36, More)

» I Quit!

While at Uni
I had to take a part-time job as a stockroom worker for Currys, not great but my needs for funding were such that I could overlook the mind-numbing work.

The work was shite, made me come in and cover shifts for fucking silly reasons, had me helping customers take fridges that weighed twice me halfway across the car park (it was a big commercial park) and generally making me do really shitty tasks. Fuckers even made me work Christmas time and New Year - for no extra money.

I lasted about a year of this, not one to be defeated so easily, but Christmas was fast approaching again and I was not going to be doing that again (I enjoy visiting family in the holiday periods, despite the fact that they are as dysfunctional as a box of mad frogs on LSD).

I gave my notice and set about levelling the field of injustices (I'm incredibly petty about these things).

Final day, Saturday, working from opening to closing (12h shift, not uncommon) set about doing the usual routine at start up, but instead of arming all the security systems - I yanked them out, being the only one in for the first hour had it's advantages (and being that me and the security guard were as thick as thieves helped immensely s he helped me dispose of the cabling I had removed when he arrived 10 minutes before opening).

Next stop was the central dvd machine - for those who know, this is the bad boy that is connected to all the display tellies out on the floor that show the usual crap advertising that all Currys seem hell bent on pumping out on their shop floors. One hardcore porno and a bottle of super glue later time for my last stop.

Managers office, specifically managers computer which had all the video tape recordings on it; and I had the password (silly bint gave it to me when I asked for access to customer records to sort a delivery out - wtf?).

Logged in, still had 15 minutes before any of the staff showed up, had a good ol' browse - deleting any evidence of my tampering, and downloading a folder called 'Evidence'. Turns out that she had been taking recordings of some of the sale staff doing *cough* favours for each other (top people for sale scum). Delete.

Waited for everyone to show up, a smile and a wink for some of the staff in the vids (well I had to watch, it would have been insulting not too......what?!?), manager shows up, 15 minutes of spouted crap and buzzwords, then break to start the day.

And out I walked, never to come back again.

At my leavings drink that night, the sales staff came in to find me propping up the bar already (having been there since I walked out of work) and cheering me for my 'interesting' sabotage. Spent the rest of the evening having trays of shots that tasted like gummi bears bought for me.

Turns out no-one was tech savvy enough (or willing as it may have turned out) to unplug the dvd player, or change the channel on the display TV's, so instead they were all turned off. Made for interesting sales pitches when customers wanted to see one working, or when the little bastard kid kept coming in and turning them on at random (incidentally, the porno I chose may have involved a woman being pleasured quite vocally by a horse, you can buy anything on the internet these days).

Length? A horse's wang on a 52" plasma is very sizeable I'm told.......what?!?

After note - This place was horrible to work at, truly awful and only the fact that it was paying for my beers to bleach my mind of the experience kept me there. I went on to do some minor IT support for a school later on which was much better, not to mention more money, and access to 6th form Girls who wanted to know all about what uni was really like.... ;)
(Thu 22nd May 2008, 14:27, More)

» Kids

My Childhood Stories
Having no children of my own (be grateful, the world is a better place without my demonspawn running amok) I may as well regale you with three lovely tales from my childhood.

Cigarettes are bad, m'kay

As a young'un (old enough to walk, not old enough to know any better) I was capable of eating most anything that wasn't nailed down, and if I could pry it up it wasn't nailed down well enough; I also could fit anything smaller than a two seater sofa in my mouth (slight exageration, but not far from the truth). I was at my grandparents house for a visit and my young eyes were transfixed by a glass dish on a side table, normally filled with candy. Today however the glass dish was filled with small pale tootsie rolls (candy from the states, very nice) and thus I consumed the whole lot.

Turns out that they weren't candy at all, was rushed to hospital and spent several days being monitored for nicotine poisoning - yes, I'd eaten an ashtray of cigarette butts. Got my grandma to quit smoking though.

Smell of a Man

Not long after my brush with death at my grandparents, I am once again clibming my way through the obstacle course called home getting into all sorts of small-child hi-jinks; left with a babysitter for the evening, and therefore to my own devices, it wasn't long before we had a situation on our hands. Parents return from a night out enjoying each others company sans the human garbage disposal (me if you're curious) to find the babysitter asleep in the lounge and Jr. nowhere to be found.

Then came the giggling......

Upstairs they came to find the source of the childish laughter, in their room they found young UncleChuckles parked on top of their dresser - a full 4 feet from the ground with no obvious means of clambering up - giggling like a loon. Why was he giggling, they did ask themselves and as my father approached he had his answer. The smell was horrific, my breath was like some tangy nosehair melting weapon of mass distarction. Why was my breath so bad?

Amazing what drinking an entire bottle of (expensive) aftershave will do. Yes the reason for my mirth and my breath of death was that I was drunk as a lord from drinking an entire bottle of aftershave - delicious.

Babies and electricity don't mix

I have for all my life been fascinated with electricity, a love that started when I was still in diapers. Longingly would I gaze at power outlets and be amazed at the life giving power that they delivered to devices all around the house; my curiousity was peaked, and if you haven't already guessed, this is a very dangerous thing. While my parents were out doing the weekend shop, I was left under the watchful eye (they would have been were he not asleep) of my uncle and my chance was upon me. I crawled to the kitchen - I had yet to master walking without the aid of a parent holding me up - and made my way for the cutlery drawer. A fork was my goal.

Having procured my fork - an almighty task in itself seeing as it was in the top drawer some three feet up (I swear that as a child I had spidey-ninja climbing skills) I returned to the dining room to exlore the magic portal of an electrical socket.

My uncle awoke to all the circuits clacking out and the smell of smoke and pork. I was later found in the entrance room (across the house from the dining room) with all my hair on end, singed around the edges and with the almightiest grin of delight on my face. The scary thing is I still get the grin whenever I'm in close proximity to lethal amounts of electricty today (I'm an electrical engineer).

Click I Like This if you think it's best that I never pass on my obviously corrupt seed.

Length? About 20ft across the house, smelling of pork....
(Tue 22nd Apr 2008, 9:38, More)

» When Animals Attack

When animals attack, attack right back
Back when I was 8 and still living in the states we lived next door to a family that kept as a pet a huge (at the time anyway, i was only little) German Alsation. This thing was massive, loud and really scary - terrifying actually, and the neighbour used to let it out when me and my brother were out back playing in our yard knowing full well that it would scare us both back inside (bastard).

My little brother was great friends with the neighbours youngest at the time so would often go over to spend time out in the back of their yard playing whatever took the imagination of 6 year olds at the time (twatting each-other with sticks if i remember), while I was in our own yard playing on the swing set launching myself off and seeing how far i could go.

As the afternoon drew on, the neighbour decided it was time to let the dog out for his afternoon recreational without checking to see if anyone was in the back yard (the thing was kept locked in it's own room in that house because it had a habit of trying to eat their children if given any chance). Out it went, straight for my brother, where it promtly sank it's teeth into his wrist and wouldn't let go.

The noise was terrible, like a shrill little girl, only higher.

Seeing this, I did what any big brother would do; I jumped the fence and ran at the dog, intent on making it let go (so I wasn't very bright). I ran up and pushed it, it growled at me, so i kicked it (FYI I don't condone this sort of behaviour against animals, but this thing was a monster and a hellion so I still don't feel bad about what I did). It yelped from the kick and released my brother, only to turn and grab hold of me by the arm (left one, right at the elbow, still have the scar).

Now there I was pinned under a great big German Alsation (it was bigger than me and heavier) being used as a chew toy. I couldn't kick it as my legs wouldn't reach. I couldn't punch it as I had (and still do) almost no upper body strength to speak of. Only one course was left open to me.

I bit the f*cker, hard, and didn't let go even after it had released me.

By this time both the neighbours and my parents were rushing out to try and get hold of the situation, but even when the adults came I wouldn't let go, I had this thing yelping like a puppy and trying to get loose and I just bit harder. Eventually we are seperated and the dog bolts inside to the safety of it's own room, where it promptly wets itself. From that day on that dog never once held any fear for me, and would refuse to go out in the yard if it heard my voice outside.

I always wondered if I left any lasting physical marks on the dog, like the scar he gave me..... hard to tell under all that fur.

Length? About 5 minutes of screaming and yelping and blood and tears..... I do aim to please.
(Thu 24th Apr 2008, 15:58, More)

» Public Transport Trauma

Here goes....
I used to live in Dundee (was going to uni at the time) and as a result had to get a train down the country to visit home. This was one of these GNER dealies that ran from Aberdeen to London.

I'm sat in first class (I learned long ago that it was by and far the best way to do this trip, and it's cheap if you book far enough in advance) so was blissfully separated from the usual pissed up cunts that populate the other carriages.

Everything is going smoothly, it looks like I'll be back home with enough time to hit the pub with my brother for a couple of pints when I get in. Then the gods of public transport decide that my satisfaction constituted blasphemy and set about ruining my journey.

The carriage goes dark red, followed by a sudden screeching of the brakes and the train comes to a stop. WTF?

Turns out some entrepreneurial soul decided that the best way to be remembered was to jump out in front of a speeding train and redecorate the first three compartments in 'hint of fucktard'.

It's amazing just how much of a person can be spread across a surface.

The train pulled in to a service depot a little way down the line (didn't want to pull into a station sporting the new paint scheme), a second train was called in to pick up all the passengers and carry on the journey down south. Four hour delay, and not just for us but every train on that line was delayed as well.

Managed to arrive at my destination five hours late (due to the disruptions caused by effectively 'losing' one of the trains), get picked up by my brother, relate my tale on the way home, brother slams on his brakes and stares at me like I've just killed a puppy with my bare hands.

Why the look, I hear you all ask?

The fact that instead of being traumatised by the sudden and (in retrospect) up-close and personal encounter with a suicide victim, I was pissed off.

No shame in it whatsoever, not even as I type this.

This guy wanted everyone to remember that he was unhappy with his life and so he decided to inconvenience myself and a great many other people (was around Christmas time so there were a lot of students returning along this line) by throwing himself in front of a speeding train. He delayed my journey, and the journeys of a few thousand people, simply because he had issues.

Fuck off I should care.

*breathes before the vein on the side of my head pops*

So there you have it, my trauma came when I realised that I had been present at the death of another human being, had even seen the results spray up across the window I was looking out of, and only being able to feel a sense of complete anger at them for inconveniencing me. I never even bothered to learn the cunts name, I felt that he would have won some sort of victory if I were to commit his name to my memory.

Length? He was spread along a decent amount of track like a human jam sandwich.

Postscript: I have issues with death as is anyway, feel a total disconnection to it in any shape or form, from total strangers to lovers to friends and family there is no difference in my attitude to loss (people always think it is because I'm 'being strong', truth is I just can't seem to feel anything and don't know what to do but stand around), so this may have affected my attitude to this persons demise somewhat. Still a cunt for doing what he did.
(Thu 29th May 2008, 16:24, More)
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