Tuesday, 29 December 2009

ben's irrational hate list #97

That jerk from the T-Mobile adverts.

Apparently his name is Josh. Here he is with noises coming out of his terrible flapping mouth.

The latest advert poses some question like "What would you do with an unlimited text SIM card?"

I've given it some thought, and I reckon I would sharpen the edge of it to a keen blade, and use it to slash at Josh's eyes.

In summary, Ben has had a wonderful Christmas and is now feeling unaccountably antisocial.

Friday, 18 December 2009

you're a pie chart

The last few weeks have been pretty busy as far as schoolwork is concerned. So naturally, I've been doing a lot of procrastinating.

I have been aided in this by the discovery of the visualizer in iTunes.

Lookit! Lookit swirlin'!

Best of all, with Windows' new dual screen snap function thingumy, I can now procrastinate whilst I work. Which either doubles my efficiency, or halves it; I haven't worked out which yet.

It's beautiful................

Monday, 7 December 2009

I... want... to... fit... in

Having successfully destroyed Skynet last week, our fearsome Luncheon Club had to dedicate itself to the destruction of something else on Sunday. But I wasn't there for any of that.

I went to the Big Gay Department Store Christmas party instead.

In hindsight, it's hard to see how I could have possibly thought that an evening trapped in a Bristol nightclub with people that I barely know/can tolerate would be a good idea. All I want from a nightclub is cheap booze, good music, and door staff that will refuse you entry if it looks like your clothes cost more than thirty quid.

Oceana offers none of these things. What it has is a whole bunch of different themed rooms, so that once you've been in one room long enough to completely lose your will to live, you can go to another room with differently terrible music and lose your will to live there.

I think the first room was called something like the Reykjavic Garish Ice House of Fail, and this is where the karaoke happened.

The air was thick with the stench of stale beer and utter fucking despair. Which incidentally is what I stank of when I woke up on the sofa at 3am, having passed out and spilt beer over myself. Again.

Moving further upstairs I found a new definition of pain and suffering in the New York Disco.

And then there was the buffet, which was best described as being full of beige things that you could fit in your mouth.

It eventually became apparent that it would be impossible for me to get drunk enough to adequately mask my contempt for the fucking shower of failed humanity I work with, so I left (and was picked up on my meandering stumble home by the heroic Dom) and made a mental note to never bother with this kind of shit again.

Tuesday, 1 December 2009


Went to see Crippled Black Phoenix at the Croft last week.

Support came from The Short Life Of Gracie, who played relatively inoffensive and uninspiring folk rock; and Quints Tale, who sounded like a British band covering a DC band playing desert rock. Without bothering to tune up first. Could still be worth keeping an eye on, though...

Crippled Black Phoenix, however, were almost unbelievably good. The mournful prog-folk-doom of their first record is still there, but there's now an air of futile defiance. The new songs are louder and harder, and even older songs were given more of an edge; The Whistler, which on record is a nine minute prog haunting of creepy organ and echoey guitar, started as normal but built up into a thunderous apocalypse of distorted, chaotic noise. Absolutely fantastic.

In the meantime, schoolwork continues to keep me busy; and any time not spent doing that (or at the very least procrastinating over it) seems to be spent slaving away at the Big Gay Department Store. Last week I found myself working on the toy department. On a good day, I'll have to assemble Indiana Jones Lego, or transform Ironhide back into truck mode so he'll fit back in his box.

On a bad day, I get to see lots of these.

It's not just me that finds Sylvanian Families horrifyingly creepy is it? I know they're supposed to be all cute 'n' shit, but to me they look like families of little woodland serial killers.

I think it's their eyes. Their cold, dead eyes.

Boring into the yawning pit of my soul.

We are all




And in other news, our luncheon club finally managed to destroy Skynet.