all good thingshttp://cespenar.blog.co.uk/en-UKhourly82000-01-01T12:00+00:00all good thingshttp://cespenar.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/8f/601cded6a7a2df45d2f2ddb6cc4d65_160x200.jpgtitle-2979522http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/09/14/title~2979522/2007-09-14T14:55:25+02:00 <p>So I am back. I didn't mean to stay away this long. At first I had just planned to take a couple of weeks off to catch up on uni work. Of course once I had caught up on that other stuff would come along, so I would say to myself "Just a few more days of catching up and then you can go back". I have been flat-out with uni and work at the moment, it is ridiculous. How do they expect someone to get a solid 18 hours of sleep??<br> Nothing really great has happened to me lately, but on a good note, nothing terribly bad has happened either. It's been like an episode of Las Vegas; rather mundane and uninspired but the flashy lights and the occasional boob shot keeps you watching.<br> The only exciting thing to have happened is that my little brother is being shipped over to Afghanistan for 3 months. Honestly I thought we weren't bothering with Afghanistan ever since Bush told us that it was Iraq that causes global warming, forces kids to experiment with drugs, kicks puppies etc. I just can't keep up anymore (not that I really bothered to in the first place). I mean <em>who</em> is the enemy now?? Iraq?? North Korea?? Klaatu?? The way I see it, if you are going to wage a quasi-legal war under the guise of ridding the world of the highly subjective concept of 'evil' then you should really stick to one ethnic group.<br> Anyway my little brother is going to Afghanistan and frankly I am jealous. I would love to go there (or anywhere near there) and knowing my brother he will stuff it all up. He is a terrible traveller. When he travels he doesn't leave the hotel. The most exotic thing he will get up to (get your minds out of the gutter!!) is furrowing his brow while he tries to figure out which Arabic symbol means 'men’s bathroom'. He would not 'slum' with the natives, he would not eat a local dish and he definitely would not disobey his commanding officer by getting drunk and riding a camel naked. Such a waste.<br> So being the good brother that I am, I have compiled a list of things that he must get for me while he is over there. Not only will I benefit from having these things, he too will benefit by being exposed to the rich culture that can only be found in war torn countries, broadening his horizons and making him a better person. Here is the list (I know that most, if not all, of these things can't be found in Afghanistan but I figure that he will be close enough to the countries that they can be found in and really what harm can come of taking a quick trip into another country??)<br> 1. One Carpet, preferably magic.<br> 2. A slightly rubbed lamp.<br> 3. One Turban.<br> 4. One camel, named George if he can manage that.<br> 5. Ali Baba's autograph.<br> 6. The lost tribe of Israel.<br> 7. The Ark of the Covenant.<br> 8. An open sesame.<br> 9. An infidel.<br> 10. The Prodigal Son.<br> 11. The praise of Allah.<br> 12. Something 'Halal'<br> 13. A signed copy of the Koran.<br> 14. 3 of the 40 thieves.<br> 15. A bag of dates.<br> That about does it. I would be happy with any of these. To be honest, I would be even happier if he doesn't do anything stupid and comes back in one piece. All good things must come to an end.... including my little brothers 'axis of subjective evil'. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/09/14/title~2979522/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>So I am back. I didn't mean to stay away this long. At first I had just planned to take a couple of weeks off to catch up on uni work. Of course once I had caught up on that other stuff would come along, so I would say to myself "Just a few more days of catching up and then you can go back". I have been flat-out with uni and work at the moment, it is ridiculous. How do they expect someone to get a solid 18 hours of sleep??
Nothing really great has happened to me lately, but on a good note, nothing terribly bad has happened either. It's been like an episode of Las Vegas; rather mundane and uninspired but the flashy lights and the occasional boob shot keeps you watching.
The only exciting thing to have happened is that my little brother is being shipped over to Afghanistan for 3 months. Honestly I thought we weren't bothering with Afghanistan ever since Bush told us that it was Iraq that causes global warming, forces kids to experiment with drugs, kicks puppies etc. I just can't keep up anymore (not that I really bothered to in the first place). I mean who is the enemy now?? Iraq?? North Korea?? Klaatu?? The way I see it, if you are going to wage a quasi-legal war under the guise of ridding the world of the highly subjective concept of 'evil' then you should really stick to one ethnic group.
Anyway my little brother is going to Afghanistan and frankly I am jealous. I would love to go there (or anywhere near there) and knowing my brother he will stuff it all up. He is a terrible traveller. When he travels he doesn't leave the hotel. The most exotic thing he will get up to (get your minds out of the gutter!!) is furrowing his brow while he tries to figure out which Arabic symbol means 'men’s bathroom'. He would not 'slum' with the natives, he would not eat a local dish and he definitely would not disobey his commanding officer by getting drunk and riding a camel naked. Such a waste.
So being the good brother that I am, I have compiled a list of things that he must get for me while he is over there. Not only will I benefit from having these things, he too will benefit by being exposed to the rich culture that can only be found in war torn countries, broadening his horizons and making him a better person. Here is the list (I know that most, if not all, of these things can't be found in Afghanistan but I figure that he will be close enough to the countries that they can be found in and really what harm can come of taking a quick trip into another country??)
1. One Carpet, preferably magic.
2. A slightly rubbed lamp.
3. One Turban.
4. One camel, named George if he can manage that.
5. Ali Baba's autograph.
6. The lost tribe of Israel.
7. The Ark of the Covenant.
8. An open sesame.
9. An infidel.
10. The Prodigal Son.
11. The praise of Allah.
12. Something 'Halal'
13. A signed copy of the Koran.
14. 3 of the 40 thieves.
15. A bag of dates.
That about does it. I would be happy with any of these. To be honest, I would be even happier if he doesn't do anything stupid and comes back in one piece. All good things must come to an end.... including my little brothers 'axis of subjective evil'.

Comments

]]>I am not JUST a pizza boy.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/07/01/i_am_not_just_a_pizza_boy~2552252/2007-07-01T14:20:27+02:00 <p>I had a rather annoying delivery tonight. It started off well, it was to a street I knew, in a town that was close by and there were actual house numbers that were easily visible at night. The trouble started when the owner, an attractive middle-aged woman, answered the door while talking on the phone. I always hate it when customers are talking on the phone, they make you feel like you are rude git who dared interrupt them while they are having an extremely important conversation. This lady was no different, she glared at me, shoved $50 at me, and then continued talking to her friend about how great her boyfriend is. Sometime during our exchange of goods I must have made my presence noticed by the woman (I know it is wrong of me to assume that it was a woman, but honestly, only 2 women can successfully carry on a conversation about current boyfriends and penis lengths while one of them is distracted by a very inconsiderate delivery driver) on the other end of the phone. The reply made by the lady I was doing business with was “Don’t worry about that, it is <em>JUST</em> the pizza boy”. <em>Just</em> the pizza boy?? Now hang on a second, last time I checked you were the one who asked for me to come here, you were the one who was too lazy to get your own damn pizza, and you were the one too rude to put the phone down for 30 seconds and treat me like a human being. You have no right to think that you are better than I am.<br> <em>Just</em> a pizza boy, what a load of crock. For starters, I am not <em>just</em> a pizza boy, I am a damn good pizza boy. Secondly my whole life doesn’t revolve around delivering pizzas. These people must think that I jump out of bed each morning, eager to deliver pizzas, and sleep soundly each night secure in the thought that I had done a good job. The truth is, I stumble out of bed, take a good, hard look in the mirror and try to pinpoint exactly where my life sunk so low that I had to resort to being ridiculed and insulted for a measly wage, then I spend the rest of my time wondering exactly how much trouble I would get into if I bludgeoned someone to death with a pizza crust.<br> Look, I am not asking for much, all I want is for people to realise that just because I deliver pizzas for a living that it doesn’t mean that is all I want to do and all that I am. A person’s job is not their identity, I have hopes and dreams, I have a complex personality that has nothing to do with pizza, and I have a desire to spend the rest of my life doing something that has nothing to do with pizza. Simply put, saying that someone is <em>just</em> the pizza boy is like saying Albert Einstein <em>just</em> worked in a patent office, Nikolas Tesla was <em>just</em> a glorified electrician, and Michael Jackson is <em>just</em> a creepy man. It doesn’t begin to do them justice, it just shows what they are on the surface and doesn’t tap the deep (and in Michaels case, depraved) well that is their true nature.<br> <em>Just</em> a pizza boy. Ridiculous. New rule, whenever someone refers to me to a third person as ‘<em>just</em> the pizza boy’ they forfeit all rights to their change, after all it is <em>just</em> money.<br> All good things must come to an end…. they are <em>just</em> good things after all. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/07/01/i_am_not_just_a_pizza_boy~2552252/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I had a rather annoying delivery tonight. It started off well, it was to a street I knew, in a town that was close by and there were actual house numbers that were easily visible at night. The trouble started when the owner, an attractive middle-aged woman, answered the door while talking on the phone. I always hate it when customers are talking on the phone, they make you feel like you are rude git who dared interrupt them while they are having an extremely important conversation. This lady was no different, she glared at me, shoved $50 at me, and then continued talking to her friend about how great her boyfriend is. Sometime during our exchange of goods I must have made my presence noticed by the woman (I know it is wrong of me to assume that it was a woman, but honestly, only 2 women can successfully carry on a conversation about current boyfriends and penis lengths while one of them is distracted by a very inconsiderate delivery driver) on the other end of the phone. The reply made by the lady I was doing business with was “Don’t worry about that, it is JUST the pizza boy”. Just the pizza boy?? Now hang on a second, last time I checked you were the one who asked for me to come here, you were the one who was too lazy to get your own damn pizza, and you were the one too rude to put the phone down for 30 seconds and treat me like a human being. You have no right to think that you are better than I am.
Just a pizza boy, what a load of crock. For starters, I am not just a pizza boy, I am a damn good pizza boy. Secondly my whole life doesn’t revolve around delivering pizzas. These people must think that I jump out of bed each morning, eager to deliver pizzas, and sleep soundly each night secure in the thought that I had done a good job. The truth is, I stumble out of bed, take a good, hard look in the mirror and try to pinpoint exactly where my life sunk so low that I had to resort to being ridiculed and insulted for a measly wage, then I spend the rest of my time wondering exactly how much trouble I would get into if I bludgeoned someone to death with a pizza crust.
Look, I am not asking for much, all I want is for people to realise that just because I deliver pizzas for a living that it doesn’t mean that is all I want to do and all that I am. A person’s job is not their identity, I have hopes and dreams, I have a complex personality that has nothing to do with pizza, and I have a desire to spend the rest of my life doing something that has nothing to do with pizza. Simply put, saying that someone is just the pizza boy is like saying Albert Einstein just worked in a patent office, Nikolas Tesla was just a glorified electrician, and Michael Jackson is just a creepy man. It doesn’t begin to do them justice, it just shows what they are on the surface and doesn’t tap the deep (and in Michaels case, depraved) well that is their true nature.
Just a pizza boy. Ridiculous. New rule, whenever someone refers to me to a third person as ‘just the pizza boy’ they forfeit all rights to their change, after all it is just money.
All good things must come to an end…. they are just good things after all.

Comments

]]>Tolerate This.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/tolerate_this~2280434/2007-05-16T13:34:42+02:00 <p>For some reason there seems to be a re-emergence of the whole "we must accept homosexual people" regime going around. I am not sure why this has started up again. I honestly believed that we all came to an uneasy truce sometime in the 90s and everyone was happy, secure in knowing that gay people can come out of the closet without fear of prejudice (well, not as much prejudice) and straight people can safely walk the streets fearing not the secret agenda of the rainbow people. Now all of a sudden everyone is talking about intolerance towards homosexuals and I don't understand why. Even my gay friend is at a loss, he thought everything was going just fine. We tried to figure out what the hell is going on last night, but unfortunately the only news source we regularly check is Fark.com.</p> <p>Anyway some people at my uni have decided to jump on the band wagon with this as well. All over my uni are these posters saying "Stop the intolerance: Homophobic people should be beheaded" or something like that. I wonder if these people realise the irony about this. They propose to "stop the intolerance" by instigating intolerance towards a different group of people. The way I see it is that if you make the choice that there is nothing wrong with homosexuals then you are admitting that there is the opposite choice of not liking them. Just because you made the choice doesn't mean it is the right one, and it doesn't mean you made the wrong one. All it means is that you consciously weighed up the consequences of each choice and picked one that felt right to you. Saying that all homophobic people are evil is just as intolerant as saying all homosexuals are evil. The point is that everyone has the right to believe what they want and we should not go on some crusade to make everyone think the same way we do. However, after saying all this I should probably point out that I am a big hypocrite. I am very pro-gay; in fact, I am so in favour of gay rights that my gay friends go "damn, you are gayer than we are". But that is my choice and I am not going to instantly hate someone just because they think otherwise, and I would stand up for them if they were being beaten up by a bunch of drag-queens (not that it would be that difficult, we all know drag-queens punch like girls).<br> All good things must come to an end.... including intolerance over the rainbow. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/05/16/tolerate_this~2280434/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>For some reason there seems to be a re-emergence of the whole "we must accept homosexual people" regime going around. I am not sure why this has started up again. I honestly believed that we all came to an uneasy truce sometime in the 90s and everyone was happy, secure in knowing that gay people can come out of the closet without fear of prejudice (well, not as much prejudice) and straight people can safely walk the streets fearing not the secret agenda of the rainbow people. Now all of a sudden everyone is talking about intolerance towards homosexuals and I don't understand why. Even my gay friend is at a loss, he thought everything was going just fine. We tried to figure out what the hell is going on last night, but unfortunately the only news source we regularly check is Fark.com.

Anyway some people at my uni have decided to jump on the band wagon with this as well. All over my uni are these posters saying "Stop the intolerance: Homophobic people should be beheaded" or something like that. I wonder if these people realise the irony about this. They propose to "stop the intolerance" by instigating intolerance towards a different group of people. The way I see it is that if you make the choice that there is nothing wrong with homosexuals then you are admitting that there is the opposite choice of not liking them. Just because you made the choice doesn't mean it is the right one, and it doesn't mean you made the wrong one. All it means is that you consciously weighed up the consequences of each choice and picked one that felt right to you. Saying that all homophobic people are evil is just as intolerant as saying all homosexuals are evil. The point is that everyone has the right to believe what they want and we should not go on some crusade to make everyone think the same way we do. However, after saying all this I should probably point out that I am a big hypocrite. I am very pro-gay; in fact, I am so in favour of gay rights that my gay friends go "damn, you are gayer than we are". But that is my choice and I am not going to instantly hate someone just because they think otherwise, and I would stand up for them if they were being beaten up by a bunch of drag-queens (not that it would be that difficult, we all know drag-queens punch like girls).
All good things must come to an end.... including intolerance over the rainbow.

Comments

]]>The Truth Shall Make Ye Frethttp://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/04/18/the_truth_shall_make_ye_fret~2115138/2007-04-18T15:41:27+02:00 <p>Some unpleasant things have happened at work lately. Unfortunately I am not allowed to go into great detail about them at the moment because my employers are afraid that if it got out then lawyers, judges, paralegals, and the dreaded 'A Current Affair' will get involved, which will then make John Howard look bad (not that he looks any good now) and he will be forced to come up here and get all Jackie Chan on my bosses (and by "getting all Jackie Chan" I actually mean he will send them a threatening e-mail, written by his hired grunts, then wave his huge bushy eyebrows in a self-righteous manner). To be completely honest I am not worried about what’s going on. In the long run I will either be fired, or end up making more money, and since I have about as much company loyalty as a chicken has to KFC I really don't care. What has got me pissed about this whole thing is the fact that I have been lied to since I started working there. To be fair I must point out that this isn't my employers fault. They were kept in the dark as much as I was, and as soon as they found out they told me. It is the head office that kept their mouths shut and hoped it would all go away. Those lying bastards.</p> <p>So what I am getting at is I am completely sick and tired of being lied to. Honestly how hard is it for people to tell the truth?? I never lie (this isn't a moral choice or anything, I just can't lie to save my life) so I am easily duped by people who have even a mediocre ability in spinning the truth. I want this to stop. If I can't lie then no one else should be allowed to either, it just plain isn't fair. Unfortunately I get lied to a lot; usually by the people I trust the most. Like this one girl, who for like 6 months kept telling me she wasn't ready for a relationship blah blah blah, and then, with all the subtly of a slap to the face, she starts playing house with some mouth breathing moron. Because of that I was an emotional wreck for over a year, and I know have a complete hatred for all things woman, including, but not limited to: Ovaries, long hair, lipstick, eye-shadow, bikinis, panties, bras, boobs, hair removal products, the colour pink, the colour peach, Holden Barinas, Cosmopolitans, Tequila Sunrises, 1/2 of the 'Friends' group, handbags, high-heeled shoes, rings, Helen Hunt, Helen Keller, Helen of Troy, Shampoo, and field hockey. All of this could have been avoided if she had simply told the truth from the beginning. Nothing fancy, just a quick "you don't float my boat" and it would have been fine.</p> <p>But the real noodle-scratcher is why do people lie?? Is it to spare my feelings?? To absolve their guilt?? Make them look good?? Well, with this girl it was none of the above. According to an e-mail I got from her a couple of months ago it seems that if she told the truth from the start it would have saved both of us a lot of suffering. As for the looking good part, well that didn't work out too well either because she is now on my list of people who are worthy of my contempt (not as worthy as those lying bastards from work though, they are just faceless names, so they are easier to feel nothing for. As for the girl, we did have some good times, so that makes up for some of it). </p> <p>So I am now forced to disbelieve anything anyone tells me. I will consider everything someone tells me as a lie unless they can prove it with at least 3 independent sources. This might make me sound like a bitter cynical arsehole, but hey, it's not like I ain't that already. All good things must come to an end.... including all these damn lies. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/04/18/the_truth_shall_make_ye_fret~2115138/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Some unpleasant things have happened at work lately. Unfortunately I am not allowed to go into great detail about them at the moment because my employers are afraid that if it got out then lawyers, judges, paralegals, and the dreaded 'A Current Affair' will get involved, which will then make John Howard look bad (not that he looks any good now) and he will be forced to come up here and get all Jackie Chan on my bosses (and by "getting all Jackie Chan" I actually mean he will send them a threatening e-mail, written by his hired grunts, then wave his huge bushy eyebrows in a self-righteous manner). To be completely honest I am not worried about what’s going on. In the long run I will either be fired, or end up making more money, and since I have about as much company loyalty as a chicken has to KFC I really don't care. What has got me pissed about this whole thing is the fact that I have been lied to since I started working there. To be fair I must point out that this isn't my employers fault. They were kept in the dark as much as I was, and as soon as they found out they told me. It is the head office that kept their mouths shut and hoped it would all go away. Those lying bastards.

So what I am getting at is I am completely sick and tired of being lied to. Honestly how hard is it for people to tell the truth?? I never lie (this isn't a moral choice or anything, I just can't lie to save my life) so I am easily duped by people who have even a mediocre ability in spinning the truth. I want this to stop. If I can't lie then no one else should be allowed to either, it just plain isn't fair. Unfortunately I get lied to a lot; usually by the people I trust the most. Like this one girl, who for like 6 months kept telling me she wasn't ready for a relationship blah blah blah, and then, with all the subtly of a slap to the face, she starts playing house with some mouth breathing moron. Because of that I was an emotional wreck for over a year, and I know have a complete hatred for all things woman, including, but not limited to: Ovaries, long hair, lipstick, eye-shadow, bikinis, panties, bras, boobs, hair removal products, the colour pink, the colour peach, Holden Barinas, Cosmopolitans, Tequila Sunrises, 1/2 of the 'Friends' group, handbags, high-heeled shoes, rings, Helen Hunt, Helen Keller, Helen of Troy, Shampoo, and field hockey. All of this could have been avoided if she had simply told the truth from the beginning. Nothing fancy, just a quick "you don't float my boat" and it would have been fine.

But the real noodle-scratcher is why do people lie?? Is it to spare my feelings?? To absolve their guilt?? Make them look good?? Well, with this girl it was none of the above. According to an e-mail I got from her a couple of months ago it seems that if she told the truth from the start it would have saved both of us a lot of suffering. As for the looking good part, well that didn't work out too well either because she is now on my list of people who are worthy of my contempt (not as worthy as those lying bastards from work though, they are just faceless names, so they are easier to feel nothing for. As for the girl, we did have some good times, so that makes up for some of it).

So I am now forced to disbelieve anything anyone tells me. I will consider everything someone tells me as a lie unless they can prove it with at least 3 independent sources. This might make me sound like a bitter cynical arsehole, but hey, it's not like I ain't that already. All good things must come to an end.... including all these damn lies.

Comments

]]>Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/03/26/those_magnificent_men_in_their_flying_ma~1977980/2007-03-26T12:47:01+02:00 <p>Well my little brother has finally done it. Despite all of my efforts to persuade him otherwise, he has finally gone and become a jet pilot. Yes, my brother is now an officer in the Australian Air Force. He officially graduated last Friday and got his posting today. He is the newest Hornet pilot in Australia. Now, even though I do not particularly like the armed forces (because they are a bunch of mindless heteronomous individuals who blindly follow orders without questioning the ramifications of their incessant meddling in other peoples business, which will eventually become obsolete when everyone comes to their senses and just does what I tell them to do) I am still proud of the little guy. He is doing what he wants to do and I can't really fault him for that, and he has worked very hard to get there. The only problem with all of this is that Australia has all of about 3 jets to share with all their pilots, so I can't see him actually doing much flying. By the time we get more planes for them to fly, all the wars will be fought by robots. Then some idiot is going to insist that we adopt Isaac Asimov's 3 laws of robotics, so all these killing robots will continually whinge and moan about how their orders violate their programming, causing cascade failures in their positronic nets, inadequate functioning of their logic circuits and a general feeling of unease. And who do you think will have to listen to all of this?? Me, that’s who. I am not studying psychology so I can spend my days philosophising about software induced robot psychosis. No, I am studying psychology so I can help children, nurture them, encourage their development and guide them to what is right, then perhaps there will finally be a generation of people that don't piss me off. Anyway, I am proud of my little brother, not too impressed with the robots though. All good things must come to an end.... including everyone's insistent denial that I know what is best. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/03/26/those_magnificent_men_in_their_flying_ma~1977980/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Well my little brother has finally done it. Despite all of my efforts to persuade him otherwise, he has finally gone and become a jet pilot. Yes, my brother is now an officer in the Australian Air Force. He officially graduated last Friday and got his posting today. He is the newest Hornet pilot in Australia. Now, even though I do not particularly like the armed forces (because they are a bunch of mindless heteronomous individuals who blindly follow orders without questioning the ramifications of their incessant meddling in other peoples business, which will eventually become obsolete when everyone comes to their senses and just does what I tell them to do) I am still proud of the little guy. He is doing what he wants to do and I can't really fault him for that, and he has worked very hard to get there. The only problem with all of this is that Australia has all of about 3 jets to share with all their pilots, so I can't see him actually doing much flying. By the time we get more planes for them to fly, all the wars will be fought by robots. Then some idiot is going to insist that we adopt Isaac Asimov's 3 laws of robotics, so all these killing robots will continually whinge and moan about how their orders violate their programming, causing cascade failures in their positronic nets, inadequate functioning of their logic circuits and a general feeling of unease. And who do you think will have to listen to all of this?? Me, that’s who. I am not studying psychology so I can spend my days philosophising about software induced robot psychosis. No, I am studying psychology so I can help children, nurture them, encourage their development and guide them to what is right, then perhaps there will finally be a generation of people that don't piss me off. Anyway, I am proud of my little brother, not too impressed with the robots though. All good things must come to an end.... including everyone's insistent denial that I know what is best.

Comments

]]>My God People Are Stupid.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/03/07/my_god_people_are_stupid~1862836/2007-03-07T15:10:13+01:00 <p>I have been getting a lot of questions lately from friends and relatives asking why I spend a good 18 hours a day locked in my room. There are rumours and theories, ranging from severe depression to weird satanic cult worship. The truth is that I just don't want to socialise with anyone. My entire social and professional (if you can call it that) circles are filled with slack-jawed, mouth-breathing, dim-witted individuals. My greatest failing as a human being is my intolerance for stupidity. I can't stand it; it makes me want to slap people. I don't know why I am like this. I certainly ain't no shapr tool in that metal thingy outside that place where I sleep is, but still I cannot hold any respect for anyone who does something even slightly stupid. Now I am not perfect, and I, on occasion, do things that can be considered not very bright, and I hold myself up to the same standards. If I do something stupid then I get angry at myself. Luckily I manage to avoid most stupid things and I have been blessed with the ability to think before opening my mouth (something that should be taught in schools), so my loathing for self-induced stupidity is kept to a minimum. That cannot be said for everyone else. Every time I leave the house I am bombarded with inane, pointless questions, random acts of stupid behaviour, and generally annoying dumbness, sprouted from the vacant looking idiots who populate my social life. No wonder I lock myself in my room. Anyway here are some of the best stupid statements that I have been witness to in the last few weeks. Some of them make you wonder how we ever got out of the trees.</p> <p>1.<br> GIRL: "What does 'contempt' mean??"<br> ME: "It's the feeling I have towards you"<br> GIRL: "Oh... umm, I'm sorry, I think you're a great guy, but I don't feel the same way"<br> (I bet I am not the only one who has a passionate feeling of contempt for this girl).</p> <p>2.<br> COP WHO PULLED ME OVER: "Do you know why I pulled you over??"<br> ME WEARING MY WORK UNIFORM: "Yes, I ran a stop sign"<br> COP: "Why did you run the stop sign??"<br> ME: "Because you did it"<br> COP: "Ahh, right, well, if I drove off a cliff would you do that??"<br> ME: "Only if it got me back to work quicker"<br> COP: "Oh, you're working??"<br> ME: "I don't wear this uniform to pick up the chicks"<br> (I guess the thin blue line is a little thicker than we thought)</p> <p>3.<br> ME: "That will be $34.40 thank you"<br> WOMAN: "Here is $40, do you have change??"<br> ME: "Sure do, but if you have the forty cents I will be very happy"<br> WOMAN (searching through purse): "Sorry I don't have 40 cents... I have a 50 cent coin if that helps."<br> (If you really want to help me, don't order pizza)</p> <p>4.<br> BROTHER: "There is this girl I really think you would like, why don't I get you 2 together??"<br> ME: "Like a blind date?? Sorry not interested in getting involved with a woman at the moment"<br> BROTHER: "But she's different"<br> ME: "Does she have ovaries??"<br> BROTHER: "Yeah"<br> ME: "Does she have a uterus??"<br> BROTHER: "Yeah"<br> ME: "Can she carry a baby to full term??"<br> BROTHER: "Yeah I guess"<br> ME: "Than she is a woman and i am not interested at the moment"<br> BROTHER: "That’s just stereotyping"<br> (Blood truly is thicker than water)</p> <p>5.<br> ME (while unlocking my car door): "I very rarely do anything stupid, I always think before I act."<br> MUM: "Really"<br> ME: "Yup, I am like some uber-intelligent god that can never faulter... What the hell is wrong with this door??"<br> MUM: "Sorry to disturb you all powerful intelligent one, but that is not your car"<br> (See, as hard as it is to imagine, even I can do stupid things).</p> <p>That is just a small sample of stupid things that have occurred around me. I have plenty more, but right now I have to go to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow morning because some idiot has enrolled into an early morning class, at a university that is a 3 hour drive from my house... what a complete twat. All good things must come to an end.... including everyone’s obsession with pissing me off by being stupid.<br> (By the way I am well aware of any spelling and grammar mistakes, made up words, or outright inaccuracies that may be in this post. Having double standards is a terrible thing, except in this case.) </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/03/07/my_god_people_are_stupid~1862836/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I have been getting a lot of questions lately from friends and relatives asking why I spend a good 18 hours a day locked in my room. There are rumours and theories, ranging from severe depression to weird satanic cult worship. The truth is that I just don't want to socialise with anyone. My entire social and professional (if you can call it that) circles are filled with slack-jawed, mouth-breathing, dim-witted individuals. My greatest failing as a human being is my intolerance for stupidity. I can't stand it; it makes me want to slap people. I don't know why I am like this. I certainly ain't no shapr tool in that metal thingy outside that place where I sleep is, but still I cannot hold any respect for anyone who does something even slightly stupid. Now I am not perfect, and I, on occasion, do things that can be considered not very bright, and I hold myself up to the same standards. If I do something stupid then I get angry at myself. Luckily I manage to avoid most stupid things and I have been blessed with the ability to think before opening my mouth (something that should be taught in schools), so my loathing for self-induced stupidity is kept to a minimum. That cannot be said for everyone else. Every time I leave the house I am bombarded with inane, pointless questions, random acts of stupid behaviour, and generally annoying dumbness, sprouted from the vacant looking idiots who populate my social life. No wonder I lock myself in my room. Anyway here are some of the best stupid statements that I have been witness to in the last few weeks. Some of them make you wonder how we ever got out of the trees.

1.
GIRL: "What does 'contempt' mean??"
ME: "It's the feeling I have towards you"
GIRL: "Oh... umm, I'm sorry, I think you're a great guy, but I don't feel the same way"
(I bet I am not the only one who has a passionate feeling of contempt for this girl).

2.
COP WHO PULLED ME OVER: "Do you know why I pulled you over??"
ME WEARING MY WORK UNIFORM: "Yes, I ran a stop sign"
COP: "Why did you run the stop sign??"
ME: "Because you did it"
COP: "Ahh, right, well, if I drove off a cliff would you do that??"
ME: "Only if it got me back to work quicker"
COP: "Oh, you're working??"
ME: "I don't wear this uniform to pick up the chicks"
(I guess the thin blue line is a little thicker than we thought)

3.
ME: "That will be $34.40 thank you"
WOMAN: "Here is $40, do you have change??"
ME: "Sure do, but if you have the forty cents I will be very happy"
WOMAN (searching through purse): "Sorry I don't have 40 cents... I have a 50 cent coin if that helps."
(If you really want to help me, don't order pizza)

4.
BROTHER: "There is this girl I really think you would like, why don't I get you 2 together??"
ME: "Like a blind date?? Sorry not interested in getting involved with a woman at the moment"
BROTHER: "But she's different"
ME: "Does she have ovaries??"
BROTHER: "Yeah"
ME: "Does she have a uterus??"
BROTHER: "Yeah"
ME: "Can she carry a baby to full term??"
BROTHER: "Yeah I guess"
ME: "Than she is a woman and i am not interested at the moment"
BROTHER: "That’s just stereotyping"
(Blood truly is thicker than water)

5.
ME (while unlocking my car door): "I very rarely do anything stupid, I always think before I act."
MUM: "Really"
ME: "Yup, I am like some uber-intelligent god that can never faulter... What the hell is wrong with this door??"
MUM: "Sorry to disturb you all powerful intelligent one, but that is not your car"
(See, as hard as it is to imagine, even I can do stupid things).

That is just a small sample of stupid things that have occurred around me. I have plenty more, but right now I have to go to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow morning because some idiot has enrolled into an early morning class, at a university that is a 3 hour drive from my house... what a complete twat. All good things must come to an end.... including everyone’s obsession with pissing me off by being stupid.
(By the way I am well aware of any spelling and grammar mistakes, made up words, or outright inaccuracies that may be in this post. Having double standards is a terrible thing, except in this case.)

Comments

]]>I Climbed a Mountain.... Well, It Was a Hill With Delusions of Grandeurhttp://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/02/22/i_climbed_a_mountain_well_it_was_a_hill_~1785733/2007-02-22T15:08:20+01:00 <p>A friend talked me into climbing a mountain today, and I must admit i am not very impressed. Climbing mountains is too much like exercise for me to enjoy. I hate exercise, but at least his reason for wanting to climb said mountain was pretty cool. My friend wanted to climb the mountain so he could smoke a cigar at the top. Not the most noble reason for climbing, but one that my nicotine dependent system could easily relate to, besides I am sure that Sir Edmund Hillary and the likes would approve. So here are some extracts from the journal I kept on our climb. It was a battle of will, man versus nature, a tale of hope, despair, friendship and a 200 meter tall "mountain".</p> <p class="center">The Harrowing Adventure of Cespenar P. Finklebottom Esq. and Harold T. Farsythe III.</p> <p><em>11.03 am</em><br> We have finally arrived at the base camp. Spirits are high and we are all eager to begin what will be a truly great adventure. Harold expressed some concern over the Sherpa guides. Apparently they are afraid of the giant space god that inhabits the mountain, fortunately they were easily placated with shiny buttons. Now all we have to do is wait until the donkeys are fully loaded so we can begin. The only major setback so far is that in my haste to leave this morning I forgot to instruct Lady Finklebottom to pack the fine china teacups so we are now forced to drink tea from a mug, like savages.</p> <p><em>11.05 am</em><br> We have begun our quest. The path is easy to follow and morale is at a high. Perhaps this will not be as difficult as we had first thought.</p> <p><em>11.11 am</em><br> Disaster has struck! One of the Sherpa’s was attacked and bitten by an ant. His injuries were quite severe. The poor chap suffered slight swelling and mild local pain. But this was not the worst of it. Believing that is was a sign from the space god that inhabits the mountain, the other Sherpa’s have refused to travel any further, no matter how many shiny buttons we throw at them. Rather than abandoning our quest Harold and I decided to push on. To educated individuals such as we, the notion of a space god inhabiting the mountain is ridiculous.</p> <p><em>11.15 am</em><br> The path is becoming more difficult. Recent bad weather has made the ground muddy and slippery and many boulders have been swept onto our path. Harold and I briefly discussed the possibility of abandoning the path and heading into the wilderness, in hopes of finding a boulder free route to the summit. We decided against this approach, neither Harold or I knew the land very well and without our Sherpa guides we could very easily get lost. Although the boulders were a nuisance we thought it prudent to play it safe and step over them.</p> <p><em>11.27 am</em><br> I have not had the opportunity to write for a while. The path is becoming increasingly difficult to navigate. By the time we reach our rest stops I have barely enough strength to brew some tea, let alone write. At the moment Harold and I are perched on the side of the path, overlooking a steep cliff. The view is spectacular and I am quite content to sit here and just gaze at natures beauty. On a personal note I am beginning to fear for my mental state. On our last rest stop we were surprised to see a beautiful blonde girl quickly navigating the path behind us. Before we could ask ourselves if it was an illusion the girl quickly climbed past us and continued up the mountain. Surely it must have been a figment of my imagination, brought upon by the exertion to conquer this mountain. Both Harold and I are experienced climbers, conquering such vertical feats as the road leading to my parents house, and the steps in Brisbane's Myer center, and we were finding this mountain a challenge. Surely a less experienced climber would find it near impossible and the thought of a <em>woman</em> doing it is preposterous. Since Harold has not mentioned the woman I must assume that it was all in my mind.</p> <p><em>11.41 am</em><br> Our morale is low. Our supplies are low, we barely have enough water for 6 or 7 more cups of tea. I am quite sure the strain is affecting my judgement, for again did I glimpse the blonde girl, this time on her way down the mountain. I can only hope that the end is near.</p> <p><em>11.47 am</em><br> Does this mountain have no summit? Does it just continue ever upwards? There is an awful lot of upwards movement and not enough topness acquiring. Surely if this continues any longer I will be able to shake hands with Saint Peter himself.</p> <p><em>11.51</em><br> Finally as we rounded a corner we caught a glimpse of the summit. It appears to be only 10 meters above us. By Jove that means we have climbed almost 180 meters! With our goal in sight we have new vigour and enthusiasm. Surely my next entry will be on the summit of this beast.</p> <p><em>11.59 am</em><br> We have done it! By the grace of God almighty we have reached the summit. Now that we are here we can relax and enjoy the cigars. It is a good feeling to have completed a task that you have worked so hard for. As I look back on our quest I realise that it would have been utterly impossible without the support and friendship of Harold. He was a rock, a pillar of unwavering determination. No matter how hard it became he never once mentioned going home. And now that i am sitting here smoking my cigar i can only think of one more thing... in your face Sir Edmund Hillary! All good things must come to an end.... including our heroic efforts on the side of a mountain. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/02/22/i_climbed_a_mountain_well_it_was_a_hill_~1785733/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>A friend talked me into climbing a mountain today, and I must admit i am not very impressed. Climbing mountains is too much like exercise for me to enjoy. I hate exercise, but at least his reason for wanting to climb said mountain was pretty cool. My friend wanted to climb the mountain so he could smoke a cigar at the top. Not the most noble reason for climbing, but one that my nicotine dependent system could easily relate to, besides I am sure that Sir Edmund Hillary and the likes would approve. So here are some extracts from the journal I kept on our climb. It was a battle of will, man versus nature, a tale of hope, despair, friendship and a 200 meter tall "mountain".

The Harrowing Adventure of Cespenar P. Finklebottom Esq. and Harold T. Farsythe III.

11.03 am
We have finally arrived at the base camp. Spirits are high and we are all eager to begin what will be a truly great adventure. Harold expressed some concern over the Sherpa guides. Apparently they are afraid of the giant space god that inhabits the mountain, fortunately they were easily placated with shiny buttons. Now all we have to do is wait until the donkeys are fully loaded so we can begin. The only major setback so far is that in my haste to leave this morning I forgot to instruct Lady Finklebottom to pack the fine china teacups so we are now forced to drink tea from a mug, like savages.

11.05 am
We have begun our quest. The path is easy to follow and morale is at a high. Perhaps this will not be as difficult as we had first thought.

11.11 am
Disaster has struck! One of the Sherpa’s was attacked and bitten by an ant. His injuries were quite severe. The poor chap suffered slight swelling and mild local pain. But this was not the worst of it. Believing that is was a sign from the space god that inhabits the mountain, the other Sherpa’s have refused to travel any further, no matter how many shiny buttons we throw at them. Rather than abandoning our quest Harold and I decided to push on. To educated individuals such as we, the notion of a space god inhabiting the mountain is ridiculous.

11.15 am
The path is becoming more difficult. Recent bad weather has made the ground muddy and slippery and many boulders have been swept onto our path. Harold and I briefly discussed the possibility of abandoning the path and heading into the wilderness, in hopes of finding a boulder free route to the summit. We decided against this approach, neither Harold or I knew the land very well and without our Sherpa guides we could very easily get lost. Although the boulders were a nuisance we thought it prudent to play it safe and step over them.

11.27 am
I have not had the opportunity to write for a while. The path is becoming increasingly difficult to navigate. By the time we reach our rest stops I have barely enough strength to brew some tea, let alone write. At the moment Harold and I are perched on the side of the path, overlooking a steep cliff. The view is spectacular and I am quite content to sit here and just gaze at natures beauty. On a personal note I am beginning to fear for my mental state. On our last rest stop we were surprised to see a beautiful blonde girl quickly navigating the path behind us. Before we could ask ourselves if it was an illusion the girl quickly climbed past us and continued up the mountain. Surely it must have been a figment of my imagination, brought upon by the exertion to conquer this mountain. Both Harold and I are experienced climbers, conquering such vertical feats as the road leading to my parents house, and the steps in Brisbane's Myer center, and we were finding this mountain a challenge. Surely a less experienced climber would find it near impossible and the thought of a woman doing it is preposterous. Since Harold has not mentioned the woman I must assume that it was all in my mind.

11.41 am
Our morale is low. Our supplies are low, we barely have enough water for 6 or 7 more cups of tea. I am quite sure the strain is affecting my judgement, for again did I glimpse the blonde girl, this time on her way down the mountain. I can only hope that the end is near.

11.47 am
Does this mountain have no summit? Does it just continue ever upwards? There is an awful lot of upwards movement and not enough topness acquiring. Surely if this continues any longer I will be able to shake hands with Saint Peter himself.

11.51
Finally as we rounded a corner we caught a glimpse of the summit. It appears to be only 10 meters above us. By Jove that means we have climbed almost 180 meters! With our goal in sight we have new vigour and enthusiasm. Surely my next entry will be on the summit of this beast.

11.59 am
We have done it! By the grace of God almighty we have reached the summit. Now that we are here we can relax and enjoy the cigars. It is a good feeling to have completed a task that you have worked so hard for. As I look back on our quest I realise that it would have been utterly impossible without the support and friendship of Harold. He was a rock, a pillar of unwavering determination. No matter how hard it became he never once mentioned going home. And now that i am sitting here smoking my cigar i can only think of one more thing... in your face Sir Edmund Hillary! All good things must come to an end.... including our heroic efforts on the side of a mountain.

Comments

]]>St. Valintines Can Kiss my Hairy Loveless Butt.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/02/14/st_valintines_can_kiss_my_hairy_loveless~1739900/2007-02-14T15:28:42+01:00 <p>Its that time of year again. Valentines day!! (pause while everyone smiles fondly about their unrealistic romantic dreams). I hate this day, even more than Christmas. Honestly what is everyone thinking?? Just because its the internationally recognised day for love doesn't mean you get to walk around all starry eyed and spend $25 on a single rose. Love is a myth anyway. All women want is money and someone who looks good and all men want is sex, and most of the year we understand and accept this. Unfortunately everyone forgets these truths on Valentines day and they wilfully submit to the barrage of expensive chocolate, teddy bears and pink frilly things that are crammed down our throats by the "experts" in love Hallmark.</p> <p>So why am I so bitter and cynical?? Because I want to be. I am sick of everyone pretending that they are happy in their relationships. I have yet to meet a single couple who are completely devoted to each other. My parents constantly argue, my older brother is completely dominated by is witch.... umm wife, and my little brother is a womanizing pig. I have no positive role models with relationships, so I can do nothing but be cynical. Look, i am not saying that every relationship is a fraud destined to fail, just most of them. I just don't understand why people want to be in a relationship in the first place. Women are emotionally unstable weirdoes and men are egotistical pricks, it just cant work. I am not saying that i will never get into a relationship because like everyone else i am stupid and get the unrealistic idea that it will work out. I just wish that for once a woman would just tell the truth about how the relationship would work. They would come up to you and say "You are going to work hard and spend a lot of money on me while i constantly belittle you and tell all my friends you have a small penis, now take off your pants, bend over and think of queen and country because, boy, this is not going to be pleasant". Hell, if a girl came up and said that to me, i think I would fall in love... My god my parents have screwed me up.<br> All good things must come to an end.... including valentines day (officially it ended 20 minutes ago, but i am still pissed off about it). </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/02/14/st_valintines_can_kiss_my_hairy_loveless~1739900/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Its that time of year again. Valentines day!! (pause while everyone smiles fondly about their unrealistic romantic dreams). I hate this day, even more than Christmas. Honestly what is everyone thinking?? Just because its the internationally recognised day for love doesn't mean you get to walk around all starry eyed and spend $25 on a single rose. Love is a myth anyway. All women want is money and someone who looks good and all men want is sex, and most of the year we understand and accept this. Unfortunately everyone forgets these truths on Valentines day and they wilfully submit to the barrage of expensive chocolate, teddy bears and pink frilly things that are crammed down our throats by the "experts" in love Hallmark.

So why am I so bitter and cynical?? Because I want to be. I am sick of everyone pretending that they are happy in their relationships. I have yet to meet a single couple who are completely devoted to each other. My parents constantly argue, my older brother is completely dominated by is witch.... umm wife, and my little brother is a womanizing pig. I have no positive role models with relationships, so I can do nothing but be cynical. Look, i am not saying that every relationship is a fraud destined to fail, just most of them. I just don't understand why people want to be in a relationship in the first place. Women are emotionally unstable weirdoes and men are egotistical pricks, it just cant work. I am not saying that i will never get into a relationship because like everyone else i am stupid and get the unrealistic idea that it will work out. I just wish that for once a woman would just tell the truth about how the relationship would work. They would come up to you and say "You are going to work hard and spend a lot of money on me while i constantly belittle you and tell all my friends you have a small penis, now take off your pants, bend over and think of queen and country because, boy, this is not going to be pleasant". Hell, if a girl came up and said that to me, i think I would fall in love... My god my parents have screwed me up.
All good things must come to an end.... including valentines day (officially it ended 20 minutes ago, but i am still pissed off about it).

Comments

]]>Can You Feel my Seniority??http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/02/05/can_you_feel_my_seniority~1684932/2007-02-05T15:00:39+01:00 <p>I got promoted today. I am now "Senior delivery driver". Can you believe it?? I have been promoted to a made-up position that gives me about as much power and authority as a rusty nail. I don’t get more money, I don’t get more respect, and I definitely don't get more women, but i do get a hell of a lot more responsibility. I basically do a managers job on a grunts salary AND I DON'T HAVE A HOARDE OF COMELY LASSES BANGING DOWN MY DOOR TO GET A PIECE OF ME!!! I am pissed off.</p> <p>So how did i manage to acquire such an important position?? It was through the break down in the chain of command. Everyone knows that in any business there is a strict chain of command that means that if someone does something good then the person above them in the chain gets the credit, and if someone does something bad the person below them gets the blame. For example, in my company the chain of command goes:</p> <p>1. Store Owners.<br> 2. Managers.<br> 3. Kitchen Hands.<br> 4. Me.<br> 5. The guy who picks up the garbage.<br> 6. The dust bunny under the oven.</p> <p>Now I was promoted because i am so incredibly quick at delivering pizzas. In any normal company that follows the chain of command it would go like this: </p> <p>I would deliver the pizzas fast. Then the kitchen hands would get the credit for making the pizzas quickly so i can deliver them fast. Then the manager would get the credit for motivating the kitchen hands to make the pizzas quickly so i can deliver them fast. Then the store owners would get the credit for hiring the managers who motivated the kitchen hands to make the pizzas quickly so i can deliver them fast... in the house that Jack built.</p> <p>See, no where in the chain of command should i be getting any sort of credit for a job well done. But no, the owners have ignored the rules, risking the very fabric of society and congratulated me by giving me more responsibilities. Idiots. I don't want responsibility, the last time anyone gave me any sort of responsibility, i stuffed up and now she wont talk to me. I am not a leader, i am a follower. If this was ancient Egypt and I was Hebrew do you think i would be leading a pack of slaves across the desert?? Hell no, leave that shit to Moses, I would be the guy at the back of the line complaining about sore feet and not being allowed to eat bacon. I am used to being overlooked and underappreciated, average is who i am. I don’t have a problem with it at all. Remember, without mediocrity there cannot be greatness. All good things must come to an end.... including all the being appreciated for my hard work. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/02/05/can_you_feel_my_seniority~1684932/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I got promoted today. I am now "Senior delivery driver". Can you believe it?? I have been promoted to a made-up position that gives me about as much power and authority as a rusty nail. I don’t get more money, I don’t get more respect, and I definitely don't get more women, but i do get a hell of a lot more responsibility. I basically do a managers job on a grunts salary AND I DON'T HAVE A HOARDE OF COMELY LASSES BANGING DOWN MY DOOR TO GET A PIECE OF ME!!! I am pissed off.

So how did i manage to acquire such an important position?? It was through the break down in the chain of command. Everyone knows that in any business there is a strict chain of command that means that if someone does something good then the person above them in the chain gets the credit, and if someone does something bad the person below them gets the blame. For example, in my company the chain of command goes:

1. Store Owners.
2. Managers.
3. Kitchen Hands.
4. Me.
5. The guy who picks up the garbage.
6. The dust bunny under the oven.

Now I was promoted because i am so incredibly quick at delivering pizzas. In any normal company that follows the chain of command it would go like this:

I would deliver the pizzas fast. Then the kitchen hands would get the credit for making the pizzas quickly so i can deliver them fast. Then the manager would get the credit for motivating the kitchen hands to make the pizzas quickly so i can deliver them fast. Then the store owners would get the credit for hiring the managers who motivated the kitchen hands to make the pizzas quickly so i can deliver them fast... in the house that Jack built.

See, no where in the chain of command should i be getting any sort of credit for a job well done. But no, the owners have ignored the rules, risking the very fabric of society and congratulated me by giving me more responsibilities. Idiots. I don't want responsibility, the last time anyone gave me any sort of responsibility, i stuffed up and now she wont talk to me. I am not a leader, i am a follower. If this was ancient Egypt and I was Hebrew do you think i would be leading a pack of slaves across the desert?? Hell no, leave that shit to Moses, I would be the guy at the back of the line complaining about sore feet and not being allowed to eat bacon. I am used to being overlooked and underappreciated, average is who i am. I don’t have a problem with it at all. Remember, without mediocrity there cannot be greatness. All good things must come to an end.... including all the being appreciated for my hard work.

Comments

]]>Warning lables are there for YOUR safety.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/30/warning_lables_are_there_for_your_safety~1649924/2007-01-30T13:37:19+01:00 <p>I used to believe that warning labels were pointless. A collection of words, carefully arranged to portray a sense of caution that saps all the excitement out of life. The most famous warning labels are the 10 commandments, used to brainwash unsuspecting god fearers into sitting at home wrapped in cotton wool. To me warning labels are just suggestions. 'Don't run with scissors', 'Don't put metal in a microwave oven', 'Pet food only' are examples of useless warnings that are begging to be ignored. I have broken all of the above with no adverse reactions (except for the metal in the microwave thing, but that wasn't so much adverse as mildly entertaining, and dog food is tasteless).<br> Well, all my thoughts about the uselessness of warning labels came to an abrupt and painful end today. My friend and I went to Wet and Wild today (its like the largest and best water park in Australia, but its not very large and it aint so great) and we decided to go on one of the tandem water slides. There was this big sign at the front saying "Warning: The combined weight of the slidees (not the correct word they used) MUST NOT exceed 160 kilograms". This was a problem, I am close to 120 kilos (all muscle of course) and my mate is about 100 kilos (he's just a fat ass). As you can see our combined weight far exceeded the maximum allowed, but because it was a warning label we decided that it didn't matter what it said and went on the slide anyway. All was going fine until the very end of the slide where there is a narrow trough of water used to stop the slidees before they hit the wall. Unfortunately because our combined weight far exceeded the maximum allowed we were travelling a little faster than the average slidee, so we didn't sink gracefully into the trough of water, we skipped right over it, like a stone gently skipping across a placid lake after being thrown by a happy little boy on a picnic with his parents and the sun is shining and birds are singing and little woodchucks are frolicking in the background. Yeah, it was like that, but instead of sunshine and picnics and frolicking woodchucks there was a giant wooden wall.<br> So we crashed into the wall, I hurt my wrist and my friend got a cut on his forehead.... we also got kicked out of Wet and Wild. So kids, while it is fun to run with scissors, remember one day you will crash into a wall. All good things must come to an end.... including warning labels. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/30/warning_lables_are_there_for_your_safety~1649924/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I used to believe that warning labels were pointless. A collection of words, carefully arranged to portray a sense of caution that saps all the excitement out of life. The most famous warning labels are the 10 commandments, used to brainwash unsuspecting god fearers into sitting at home wrapped in cotton wool. To me warning labels are just suggestions. 'Don't run with scissors', 'Don't put metal in a microwave oven', 'Pet food only' are examples of useless warnings that are begging to be ignored. I have broken all of the above with no adverse reactions (except for the metal in the microwave thing, but that wasn't so much adverse as mildly entertaining, and dog food is tasteless).
Well, all my thoughts about the uselessness of warning labels came to an abrupt and painful end today. My friend and I went to Wet and Wild today (its like the largest and best water park in Australia, but its not very large and it aint so great) and we decided to go on one of the tandem water slides. There was this big sign at the front saying "Warning: The combined weight of the slidees (not the correct word they used) MUST NOT exceed 160 kilograms". This was a problem, I am close to 120 kilos (all muscle of course) and my mate is about 100 kilos (he's just a fat ass). As you can see our combined weight far exceeded the maximum allowed, but because it was a warning label we decided that it didn't matter what it said and went on the slide anyway. All was going fine until the very end of the slide where there is a narrow trough of water used to stop the slidees before they hit the wall. Unfortunately because our combined weight far exceeded the maximum allowed we were travelling a little faster than the average slidee, so we didn't sink gracefully into the trough of water, we skipped right over it, like a stone gently skipping across a placid lake after being thrown by a happy little boy on a picnic with his parents and the sun is shining and birds are singing and little woodchucks are frolicking in the background. Yeah, it was like that, but instead of sunshine and picnics and frolicking woodchucks there was a giant wooden wall.
So we crashed into the wall, I hurt my wrist and my friend got a cut on his forehead.... we also got kicked out of Wet and Wild. So kids, while it is fun to run with scissors, remember one day you will crash into a wall. All good things must come to an end.... including warning labels.

Comments

]]>I need new friends.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/25/i_need_new_friends~1619833/2007-01-25T15:05:13+01:00 <p>I have come to the conclusion that I am in desperate need of new friends. I reached this conclusion at 2.43 this afternoon when i was talking to an old friend of mine. I hadn't spoken to her for about a year and a half, we weren't close friends, but close enough to send Christmas cards to and stop in the street for a chat. We were chatting on MSN when she told me that she had been reading up on Scientology and she was interested in learning more, in fact she was considering joining their ranks as a layman (or whatever their lowest rank in their hierarchy is) and wanted to know what i thought about it.<br> "Surely thou does jest?" I asked.<br> "Jest I do not dear friend" she replied "I have pondered long on this subject, and as surely as the Autumn leaves must fall upon the earth's rich bosom, I too must fall upon the bosom of the great and true faith!"<br> "But it is impossible for thee to fall upon any part of that religion let alone said bosom, thou doest study psychology!"<br> "Fear not my friend, for as the copper and tin mingle to form the stronger bronze, so too shall my psychology mingle with faith, creating a stronger....uhh bronze like religion!"<br> "Bollocks!" I said.<br> Then she stopped talking to me, I guess I'm going to have to apologize to her.<br> The thing that has got me concerned about this is she doesn't have a clue about what she wants to do. She has questions about life and she is turning to religion for answers, but unfortunately she is turning to the wrong religion. Now I might not come across as it, but i am very tolerant of most religions. In fact I have a lot of respect for devoutly pious individuals who maintain their steadfast beliefs despite a constant barrage of ridicule from assholes like me who try to prove them wrong. If she came up to me and said "I want to be a Hindu" I would have given her my statue of Ghanesh, if she said "I want to be Catholic" I would have taken her to mass myself, and if she said "I want to be a Maori" I would have held her hand as they tattooed her face, but i just can't accept Scientology.<br> Sure there are good things about that religion like not having to pay doctors bill and that spiffy creation story with volcanoes and hydrogen bombs, but there are a lot of bad things about it to, like not being able to go to the doctor when you're dying, the huge amounts of money you have to "donate" to them, and Tom Cruise.</p> <p>I'm just afraid that she will throw away her dreams of becoming a psychologist to follow this ridiculous cult. I know it's her choice to make and I need to support her with it, no matter my personal feelings on the subject. All good things must come to an end.... including the rational thinking of my friend. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/25/i_need_new_friends~1619833/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I have come to the conclusion that I am in desperate need of new friends. I reached this conclusion at 2.43 this afternoon when i was talking to an old friend of mine. I hadn't spoken to her for about a year and a half, we weren't close friends, but close enough to send Christmas cards to and stop in the street for a chat. We were chatting on MSN when she told me that she had been reading up on Scientology and she was interested in learning more, in fact she was considering joining their ranks as a layman (or whatever their lowest rank in their hierarchy is) and wanted to know what i thought about it.
"Surely thou does jest?" I asked.
"Jest I do not dear friend" she replied "I have pondered long on this subject, and as surely as the Autumn leaves must fall upon the earth's rich bosom, I too must fall upon the bosom of the great and true faith!"
"But it is impossible for thee to fall upon any part of that religion let alone said bosom, thou doest study psychology!"
"Fear not my friend, for as the copper and tin mingle to form the stronger bronze, so too shall my psychology mingle with faith, creating a stronger....uhh bronze like religion!"
"Bollocks!" I said.
Then she stopped talking to me, I guess I'm going to have to apologize to her.
The thing that has got me concerned about this is she doesn't have a clue about what she wants to do. She has questions about life and she is turning to religion for answers, but unfortunately she is turning to the wrong religion. Now I might not come across as it, but i am very tolerant of most religions. In fact I have a lot of respect for devoutly pious individuals who maintain their steadfast beliefs despite a constant barrage of ridicule from assholes like me who try to prove them wrong. If she came up to me and said "I want to be a Hindu" I would have given her my statue of Ghanesh, if she said "I want to be Catholic" I would have taken her to mass myself, and if she said "I want to be a Maori" I would have held her hand as they tattooed her face, but i just can't accept Scientology.
Sure there are good things about that religion like not having to pay doctors bill and that spiffy creation story with volcanoes and hydrogen bombs, but there are a lot of bad things about it to, like not being able to go to the doctor when you're dying, the huge amounts of money you have to "donate" to them, and Tom Cruise.

I'm just afraid that she will throw away her dreams of becoming a psychologist to follow this ridiculous cult. I know it's her choice to make and I need to support her with it, no matter my personal feelings on the subject. All good things must come to an end.... including the rational thinking of my friend.

Comments

]]>I Hate my Managerhttp://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/23/i_hate_my_manager~1606629/2007-01-23T14:48:12+01:00 <p>I hate one of my managers. He is an immature, incompetent, incontinent, idiotic little boy who doesn't even know the fundamentals of pizza making. He continually stuffs up everything and then blames me for his mistakes and to top it off he is extremely rude. It all came to a head tonight when I was in the middle of cutting pizzas (it was very busy so they pulled me from my delivery duties to cut pizzas, those bastards) and he was standing right behind me, so close that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. He was just standing there staring at my neck, talking about how guys shouldn't go into the freezer, and waiting for me to make a mistake so he could yell at me. Anyway, I finished cutting the pizza, I picked up the board so I could carefully place said pizza into the box when I bumped into him. Hot pizza and tomato sauce (with just a hint of basil) went everywhere, including my pants, shoes, hand (I now have a huge burn there) and on the shop owners car. Well I just blew my lid, and in the middle of the store i yelled "If you want to do something useful go stand in the corner and keep your mouth shut!!" I was somewhat surprised when he actually did go and stand in the corner, for a little while at least, then he went and told one of the senior managers that I "wasn't showing the proper respect due to someone of his mangerialistic position". The senior manager hates him as well and told him to shut up and go back to work. I'm surprised that the senior manager was able to keep a straight face when he said "managerial position". Thankfully I only have to put up with him for one more week, then he gets fired because a) no one likes him, b) He is useless, and c) he broke the oven last week and it cost $2,000 to repair.<br> One good thing about tonight though was that when we closed up shop I was asked to explain what had happened and why I felt i needed to treat the fool like a 4 year old. Apart from saying it was because he was acting like a 4 year old I told them about the pizza incident and the dipshit manager was forced to apologise to me. Well that’s all i gots to say, I did have an idea about a post on how my taste in music is the correct one and everyone else is wrong, but I was too pissed off to write it. All good things must come to an end.... including that idiots "managerialistic position". </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/23/i_hate_my_manager~1606629/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I hate one of my managers. He is an immature, incompetent, incontinent, idiotic little boy who doesn't even know the fundamentals of pizza making. He continually stuffs up everything and then blames me for his mistakes and to top it off he is extremely rude. It all came to a head tonight when I was in the middle of cutting pizzas (it was very busy so they pulled me from my delivery duties to cut pizzas, those bastards) and he was standing right behind me, so close that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. He was just standing there staring at my neck, talking about how guys shouldn't go into the freezer, and waiting for me to make a mistake so he could yell at me. Anyway, I finished cutting the pizza, I picked up the board so I could carefully place said pizza into the box when I bumped into him. Hot pizza and tomato sauce (with just a hint of basil) went everywhere, including my pants, shoes, hand (I now have a huge burn there) and on the shop owners car. Well I just blew my lid, and in the middle of the store i yelled "If you want to do something useful go stand in the corner and keep your mouth shut!!" I was somewhat surprised when he actually did go and stand in the corner, for a little while at least, then he went and told one of the senior managers that I "wasn't showing the proper respect due to someone of his mangerialistic position". The senior manager hates him as well and told him to shut up and go back to work. I'm surprised that the senior manager was able to keep a straight face when he said "managerial position". Thankfully I only have to put up with him for one more week, then he gets fired because a) no one likes him, b) He is useless, and c) he broke the oven last week and it cost $2,000 to repair.
One good thing about tonight though was that when we closed up shop I was asked to explain what had happened and why I felt i needed to treat the fool like a 4 year old. Apart from saying it was because he was acting like a 4 year old I told them about the pizza incident and the dipshit manager was forced to apologise to me. Well that’s all i gots to say, I did have an idea about a post on how my taste in music is the correct one and everyone else is wrong, but I was too pissed off to write it. All good things must come to an end.... including that idiots "managerialistic position".

Comments

]]>title-1549398http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/13/title~1549398/2007-01-13T13:22:40+01:00 <p>Women are strange creatures at times.... well, most of the time. You give them one simple little complement and they either scream 'rape' and slap a restraining order onto you, or they become completely infatuated with you and won’t leave you alone. Either way is pretty hard to deal with. Thankfully I have never had a restraining order placed on me, but just recently I have had to deal with the completely infatuated, wont leave you alone even to go to the toilet type problem.</p> <p>In no way do I blame this girl for this little mess I am in, after all, I am irresistibly gorgeous, and in hindsight I probably shouldn't have told her that I thought she was the prettiest girl that works at my pizza joint. You see she was feeling all depressed because she thought she was fat and ugly (she isn't anywhere near fat, and she is actually very, very pretty) so I told her she wasn't fat and that I thought she was very pretty. Unfortunately she thought that I was hitting on her and she developed a crush on me, and it all came to a head tonight.</p> <p>Just before she knocked off for the evening she came up to me and told me that I was very cute and she asked me out on a date. Normally I would have jumped at this opportunity like Will Ferrell for a bad movie, but I am just not attracted to her. The reason I am not attracted to her is because she is 15 years old. I can’t be attracted to her even if I wanted to be... I am too pretty to go to jail.</p> <p>So then I had to explain to her that I thought she was very nice and if she was 5 years older I definitely would have loved to go out with her, but I am too old and she could find someone a hell of a lot better than me who is closer to her age. Anyway, she didn't take it too well and she started crying out the back. Then my boss came over and started yelling at me because I upset the girl (well, he yelled at me until I told him what happened and he now thinks I did the right thing), but all of this has left me feeling really bad. I didn't want to hurt her, all I wanted was to be nice and make her feel better about herself, but I ended up making it all worse... I am such a chump at times.</p> <p>All good things must come to an end.... including my ability to do irreversible harm while meaning to do good.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/13/title~1549398/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Women are strange creatures at times.... well, most of the time. You give them one simple little complement and they either scream 'rape' and slap a restraining order onto you, or they become completely infatuated with you and won’t leave you alone. Either way is pretty hard to deal with. Thankfully I have never had a restraining order placed on me, but just recently I have had to deal with the completely infatuated, wont leave you alone even to go to the toilet type problem.

In no way do I blame this girl for this little mess I am in, after all, I am irresistibly gorgeous, and in hindsight I probably shouldn't have told her that I thought she was the prettiest girl that works at my pizza joint. You see she was feeling all depressed because she thought she was fat and ugly (she isn't anywhere near fat, and she is actually very, very pretty) so I told her she wasn't fat and that I thought she was very pretty. Unfortunately she thought that I was hitting on her and she developed a crush on me, and it all came to a head tonight.

Just before she knocked off for the evening she came up to me and told me that I was very cute and she asked me out on a date. Normally I would have jumped at this opportunity like Will Ferrell for a bad movie, but I am just not attracted to her. The reason I am not attracted to her is because she is 15 years old. I can’t be attracted to her even if I wanted to be... I am too pretty to go to jail.

So then I had to explain to her that I thought she was very nice and if she was 5 years older I definitely would have loved to go out with her, but I am too old and she could find someone a hell of a lot better than me who is closer to her age. Anyway, she didn't take it too well and she started crying out the back. Then my boss came over and started yelling at me because I upset the girl (well, he yelled at me until I told him what happened and he now thinks I did the right thing), but all of this has left me feeling really bad. I didn't want to hurt her, all I wanted was to be nice and make her feel better about herself, but I ended up making it all worse... I am such a chump at times.

All good things must come to an end.... including my ability to do irreversible harm while meaning to do good.

Comments

]]>Sorry, but I am not that easy to get rid of.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/08/sorry_but_i_am_not_that_easy_to_get_rid_~1529341/2007-01-08T15:21:06+01:00 <p>So I'm back. Everyone can now stop holding their breath and give a delighted cheer that I have returned to fill your lives with my special brand of witty humour (who am I kidding, no one reads this dribble, not even I do). Anyway, the main reason why I have been away for so long is because my computer lost the will to live and slipped into a vegetative state. It was sad; all it could do was sit there with its little power light slowly blinking. After many hours of soul searching and quiet prayer, I decided that I didn't want to see my trusted friend suffer so I pulled the plug. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. My old computer will be missed, sure he was a cranky old bastard that constantly froze, or shut down for no good reason, but he was a friend, a writer of assignments, a player of games, and a holder of porn. The good thing is though it gave me an excuse to buy a new computer. My new computer is awesome, it’s all shiny and black and fast, it has cool speakers and a bitching mouse with one of those cool wheel things in the middle, and best of all IT HAS A MATCHING MOUSE PAD!! I couldn't believe my eyes when I opened up the box and found a nice shiny black mouse pad. I guess all those threatening e-mails I’ve sent to computer manufacturers about the lack of colour coordination with their mouse pads have finally paid off.</p> <p>So apart from my new computer everything has been pretty normal. I got a piano for my birthday which was sweet, until I realized how pathetically easy a piano is to play. I mean the whole instrument is colour coded, you press a white key to get the naturals and the black keys to get sharps and flats, it’s like paint by numbers, but without the paint.... or the numbers. Don't get me wrong, I love the piano, its cool, but I was hoping to spend my holidays learning an instrument. I guess I will have to find a new instrument to learn. I am thinking the violin, that looks pretty tricky.</p> <p>Now that I think about it I don’t really have the time to learn another instrument. Since I spent $1200 on a new computer I had to get a job. I am a pizza delivery boy... again. I actually kind of like the job, its easy, the people I work with are great (especially one of my managers, she is gorgeous and she rides a bike... NO, I must not have improper thoughts about my boss, that will lead to trouble). So the job is pretty good, and the best part is that if I am wearing my uniform and the coppers pull me over I can get out of a ticket, like tonight. We were pretty busy and I was running late because they had me driving all over the damn town and the cops pulled me over for speeding. When they asked me why I was going so fast I told him that we were really busy tonight and my boss said that if I wasn't back at the store in five minutes she would sodomise me with a pizza box. It worked and I got off with a warning, I swear, I could get away with murder in that uniform, I could imagine it now:<br> "Sir, why did you repeatedly run over that pedestrian??"<br> "Well officer, it is very busy at the store tonight and my manager told me that if I didn't return with a human heart to appease the great and powerful pizza god, she would beat me up with a tub of anchovies"<br> "I see... on your way then"<br> See, police men are willing to let a speeding ticket slide if you’re polite and willing to lie through your teeth... or maybe they just feel sorry for us because our uniforms are bright pink.</p> <p>Finally, the last thing of any interest to happen in the last few weeks is we got a puppy. She is a little Tibetan spaniel and she is adorable (I mean that in the manliest way possible). Even though she is a cute little thing she is kind of retarded looking. Imagine a weasel and that dragon from Never-Ending Story having sweet, alcohol fuelled sex, their offspring would be my puppy. She is part weasel, part luck dragon, and all gumpy. Anyway, we called her 'Kashmir'... well, mum called her that, I wanted to call her Albert.</p> <p>So that is it. I promise that I will try and write more often, but my hectic; 15 hour work week might prevent this. All good things must come to an end.... including the collective breath holding of all my devoted fans (both of you must be really out of breath by now).</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2007/01/08/sorry_but_i_am_not_that_easy_to_get_rid_~1529341/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>So I'm back. Everyone can now stop holding their breath and give a delighted cheer that I have returned to fill your lives with my special brand of witty humour (who am I kidding, no one reads this dribble, not even I do). Anyway, the main reason why I have been away for so long is because my computer lost the will to live and slipped into a vegetative state. It was sad; all it could do was sit there with its little power light slowly blinking. After many hours of soul searching and quiet prayer, I decided that I didn't want to see my trusted friend suffer so I pulled the plug. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. My old computer will be missed, sure he was a cranky old bastard that constantly froze, or shut down for no good reason, but he was a friend, a writer of assignments, a player of games, and a holder of porn. The good thing is though it gave me an excuse to buy a new computer. My new computer is awesome, it’s all shiny and black and fast, it has cool speakers and a bitching mouse with one of those cool wheel things in the middle, and best of all IT HAS A MATCHING MOUSE PAD!! I couldn't believe my eyes when I opened up the box and found a nice shiny black mouse pad. I guess all those threatening e-mails I’ve sent to computer manufacturers about the lack of colour coordination with their mouse pads have finally paid off.

So apart from my new computer everything has been pretty normal. I got a piano for my birthday which was sweet, until I realized how pathetically easy a piano is to play. I mean the whole instrument is colour coded, you press a white key to get the naturals and the black keys to get sharps and flats, it’s like paint by numbers, but without the paint.... or the numbers. Don't get me wrong, I love the piano, its cool, but I was hoping to spend my holidays learning an instrument. I guess I will have to find a new instrument to learn. I am thinking the violin, that looks pretty tricky.

Now that I think about it I don’t really have the time to learn another instrument. Since I spent $1200 on a new computer I had to get a job. I am a pizza delivery boy... again. I actually kind of like the job, its easy, the people I work with are great (especially one of my managers, she is gorgeous and she rides a bike... NO, I must not have improper thoughts about my boss, that will lead to trouble). So the job is pretty good, and the best part is that if I am wearing my uniform and the coppers pull me over I can get out of a ticket, like tonight. We were pretty busy and I was running late because they had me driving all over the damn town and the cops pulled me over for speeding. When they asked me why I was going so fast I told him that we were really busy tonight and my boss said that if I wasn't back at the store in five minutes she would sodomise me with a pizza box. It worked and I got off with a warning, I swear, I could get away with murder in that uniform, I could imagine it now:
"Sir, why did you repeatedly run over that pedestrian??"
"Well officer, it is very busy at the store tonight and my manager told me that if I didn't return with a human heart to appease the great and powerful pizza god, she would beat me up with a tub of anchovies"
"I see... on your way then"
See, police men are willing to let a speeding ticket slide if you’re polite and willing to lie through your teeth... or maybe they just feel sorry for us because our uniforms are bright pink.

Finally, the last thing of any interest to happen in the last few weeks is we got a puppy. She is a little Tibetan spaniel and she is adorable (I mean that in the manliest way possible). Even though she is a cute little thing she is kind of retarded looking. Imagine a weasel and that dragon from Never-Ending Story having sweet, alcohol fuelled sex, their offspring would be my puppy. She is part weasel, part luck dragon, and all gumpy. Anyway, we called her 'Kashmir'... well, mum called her that, I wanted to call her Albert.

So that is it. I promise that I will try and write more often, but my hectic; 15 hour work week might prevent this. All good things must come to an end.... including the collective breath holding of all my devoted fans (both of you must be really out of breath by now).

Comments

]]>This Post sas Inspired by God.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/10/22/this_post_sas_inspired_by_god~1248941/2006-10-22T14:18:05+02:00 <p>I was just reading something written by one of my favourite comedy writers. This man, who shall forever more be referred to as The Benevolent God of Comedy, John Hargrave, writes the funniest things I have ever had the privilege to read. This man takes wit, sarcasm and satire and rolls it into a pulsating ball of comedic ooze. Reading one of his articles is like tripping over and landing face first into a steaming pile of awesome. I would gladly give up my left testicle (and a good portion of my right) to have 1/10 of his talent. If you don't know who I am talking about you should check out his website, <a href="http://www.zug.com">www.zug.com</a>.<br> Anyway, I was reading one of his articles titled "The Fox and the Hound" and I realised that I have had a very similar experience which I will now write here (I wouldn't dream of posting it on The Benevolent God of Comedy, John Hargrave's site for fear that he will read it and consider it useless and boring, forcing me to break my fingers so I could never write again).<br> His story was about a girl who he new when he was at school, a girl who he liked and through the aid of a misspelt note, he came to question the fundamental truths about her feelings towards him. Surprise, surprise, my story is the same.</p> <p>Her name was Sarah Heath and she was gorgeous. She had seep blue eyes, a full hourglass figure and long blonde hair (which is a little surprising since I had never before, or since, been so enamoured with a blonde). She was part of the 'cool' group at school, but unlike her counterparts she didn't mind slumming with us lower class people, and always stopped to say hello with those whom were deemed less fortunate by high-school society. I remember the day she borrowed my pen (I made sure I gave her my best one) and when she returned it she gave me a sly little wink that sent my heart a flutter and an embarrassing inability to stand for 20 minutes. Sarah would talk to me, ask me how my day was going and I would always reply with a nonsensical mutter and curse myself for not being able to say something funny. This went on for months until one day when something wonderful and terrifying happened.<br> It was the start of lunch and I was making my way down to my usual hangout with the rest of the social outcasts when Louise (Sarah's best friend) came up to me.<br> "Guess what??" she said.<br> "What??" I asked, rather gruffly because I didn't particularly like Louise.<br> "Sarah likes you!!" and before I could say anything else she ran off. I was both excited and cautious. Could it be that Sarah actually liked me?? Or was Louise playing a cruel joke, one that she had already done to me before with a different girl. Should I hunt down Sarah and ask her if there was any truth to this statement, or do I follow the old maxim of 'once bit, twice shy'. I was confused and I decided to seek the counsel of my closest friend at the time, Tim. I explained to him the situation and he told me that it was just a cruel joke and it would be best if I ignored it. Well, you can't argue with that logic and so that’s what I did, nothing. Much later I discovered that Tim was also rather fond of Sarah and the only reason he told me not to do anything was because he was jealous and didn't want me to with her... bastard.<br> So I never found out if Sarah really liked me or not. She left my school at the end of the year and I have never seen her since. It's one of my regrets and I occasionally think back to that day and wondered what would have happened if Tim wasn't at school that day. I am certain nothing monumentally outstanding would have blossomed from a relationship with Sarah; we were too different to be a good couple. Besides, a teen romance has a half-life of about 3 days so the best I could have hoped for was first base.<br> So Sarah Heath, if you by chance read this, I wish you all the best, I hope you are well and remember I will never forget you.</p> <p>That is all I have to say at the moment. A big thank you to The Benevolent God of Comedy, John Hargrave for the inspiration for this post. Go to his website and read his stuff, you wont be disappointed. All good things must come to an end.... including Tim's manhood which I hope rots away with the guilt he feels for giving me bad advice.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/10/22/this_post_sas_inspired_by_god~1248941/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I was just reading something written by one of my favourite comedy writers. This man, who shall forever more be referred to as The Benevolent God of Comedy, John Hargrave, writes the funniest things I have ever had the privilege to read. This man takes wit, sarcasm and satire and rolls it into a pulsating ball of comedic ooze. Reading one of his articles is like tripping over and landing face first into a steaming pile of awesome. I would gladly give up my left testicle (and a good portion of my right) to have 1/10 of his talent. If you don't know who I am talking about you should check out his website, www.zug.com.
Anyway, I was reading one of his articles titled "The Fox and the Hound" and I realised that I have had a very similar experience which I will now write here (I wouldn't dream of posting it on The Benevolent God of Comedy, John Hargrave's site for fear that he will read it and consider it useless and boring, forcing me to break my fingers so I could never write again).
His story was about a girl who he new when he was at school, a girl who he liked and through the aid of a misspelt note, he came to question the fundamental truths about her feelings towards him. Surprise, surprise, my story is the same.

Her name was Sarah Heath and she was gorgeous. She had seep blue eyes, a full hourglass figure and long blonde hair (which is a little surprising since I had never before, or since, been so enamoured with a blonde). She was part of the 'cool' group at school, but unlike her counterparts she didn't mind slumming with us lower class people, and always stopped to say hello with those whom were deemed less fortunate by high-school society. I remember the day she borrowed my pen (I made sure I gave her my best one) and when she returned it she gave me a sly little wink that sent my heart a flutter and an embarrassing inability to stand for 20 minutes. Sarah would talk to me, ask me how my day was going and I would always reply with a nonsensical mutter and curse myself for not being able to say something funny. This went on for months until one day when something wonderful and terrifying happened.
It was the start of lunch and I was making my way down to my usual hangout with the rest of the social outcasts when Louise (Sarah's best friend) came up to me.
"Guess what??" she said.
"What??" I asked, rather gruffly because I didn't particularly like Louise.
"Sarah likes you!!" and before I could say anything else she ran off. I was both excited and cautious. Could it be that Sarah actually liked me?? Or was Louise playing a cruel joke, one that she had already done to me before with a different girl. Should I hunt down Sarah and ask her if there was any truth to this statement, or do I follow the old maxim of 'once bit, twice shy'. I was confused and I decided to seek the counsel of my closest friend at the time, Tim. I explained to him the situation and he told me that it was just a cruel joke and it would be best if I ignored it. Well, you can't argue with that logic and so that’s what I did, nothing. Much later I discovered that Tim was also rather fond of Sarah and the only reason he told me not to do anything was because he was jealous and didn't want me to with her... bastard.
So I never found out if Sarah really liked me or not. She left my school at the end of the year and I have never seen her since. It's one of my regrets and I occasionally think back to that day and wondered what would have happened if Tim wasn't at school that day. I am certain nothing monumentally outstanding would have blossomed from a relationship with Sarah; we were too different to be a good couple. Besides, a teen romance has a half-life of about 3 days so the best I could have hoped for was first base.
So Sarah Heath, if you by chance read this, I wish you all the best, I hope you are well and remember I will never forget you.

That is all I have to say at the moment. A big thank you to The Benevolent God of Comedy, John Hargrave for the inspiration for this post. Go to his website and read his stuff, you wont be disappointed. All good things must come to an end.... including Tim's manhood which I hope rots away with the guilt he feels for giving me bad advice.

Comments

]]>We need taller buildings!!http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/10/12/we_need_taller_buildings~1213633/2006-10-12T15:24:55+02:00 <p>I have noticed there is a complete lack of tall buildings at my uni. The tallest one is only 5 stories, which is about as impressive as a sack full of watermelon seeds. I noticed this lack of colossal buildings on Wednesday when I took the elevator up to the 4th floor of my psych building for a class. I was in the lift with one of the hottest girls in my class (for the life of me I cannot remember her name, I am pretty sure it is either Rachel, Rebecca or Ernie) and no one else. It was just the two of us. Now this girl and I are not exactly friends, but we are friendly with each other. This class we share only has 3 people in it on a good day, so it's a little difficult not to be friendly with each other. Because of the lack of other people we are forced to socialise and we know a surprising amount about each other (except for her name, but she probably doesn't know mine either) despite only spending about 15 minutes a week talking. For example, I know she wants to be a sports psychologist (god knows why), I know she hates one of our lecturers with a fiery passion, and I know she has an asshole boyfriend (she didn't exactly say he was an asshole, but you know, he is), and on her part she knows that I want to work with children, she knows I like to sleep 18 hours a day, and she knows not to ask me stupid questions. So we are more than just acquaintances, but less than friends, kind of like when Professor Xavier and Magneto were trapped in that weird dimension together and they had to put aside their differences to get out.<br> So we were in the lift together, somewhere between the second and third floor, when I noticed that this comely lass was checking me out. I know she was checking me out because when she saw that I saw, she blushed. At first I thought of screaming something about making me feel like a piece of meat, or some such, but then I thought that since I very rarely get looked at by the opposite sex I should just keep my mouth shut and enjoy it. It was a pleasant feeling, like when you beat your friend at thumb wrestling, but with a slim chance of getting sex afterwards. I tried very hard to think of something to say, something funny to show that I wasn't in the least bit offended at her wandering eyes, and I wanted something a little flirtatious, to show her that it would be very easy to undress me physically, instead of with her eyes. Alas, before I could think of anything, we reached the 4th floor, the doors opened and she bustled out, still glowing red.<br> This is why we need taller buildings. I am sure that if we had another 50 floors to travel in the lift I would have thought of something really good to say. Then she would have reached over, pressed the emergency stop button and screamed, "Take me now, you gorgeous piece of man!!” Oh well, but at least she was checking me out, which is a huge boost to my dwindling ego, and more importantly it seems to have pushed our relationship up a notch. After our class she deliberately waited around for me, so we could walk to our cars together (she has never done this before) and her goodbye wasn't her usual curt 'bye' with a vague hand movement, but a solid 'see ya later' with a genuine smile. And just before we got in our cars, our eyes met and I could see what she was thinking: "if only we had 50 more floors".<br> All good things must come to an end.... including small buildings that are ruining my sex life.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/10/12/we_need_taller_buildings~1213633/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I have noticed there is a complete lack of tall buildings at my uni. The tallest one is only 5 stories, which is about as impressive as a sack full of watermelon seeds. I noticed this lack of colossal buildings on Wednesday when I took the elevator up to the 4th floor of my psych building for a class. I was in the lift with one of the hottest girls in my class (for the life of me I cannot remember her name, I am pretty sure it is either Rachel, Rebecca or Ernie) and no one else. It was just the two of us. Now this girl and I are not exactly friends, but we are friendly with each other. This class we share only has 3 people in it on a good day, so it's a little difficult not to be friendly with each other. Because of the lack of other people we are forced to socialise and we know a surprising amount about each other (except for her name, but she probably doesn't know mine either) despite only spending about 15 minutes a week talking. For example, I know she wants to be a sports psychologist (god knows why), I know she hates one of our lecturers with a fiery passion, and I know she has an asshole boyfriend (she didn't exactly say he was an asshole, but you know, he is), and on her part she knows that I want to work with children, she knows I like to sleep 18 hours a day, and she knows not to ask me stupid questions. So we are more than just acquaintances, but less than friends, kind of like when Professor Xavier and Magneto were trapped in that weird dimension together and they had to put aside their differences to get out.
So we were in the lift together, somewhere between the second and third floor, when I noticed that this comely lass was checking me out. I know she was checking me out because when she saw that I saw, she blushed. At first I thought of screaming something about making me feel like a piece of meat, or some such, but then I thought that since I very rarely get looked at by the opposite sex I should just keep my mouth shut and enjoy it. It was a pleasant feeling, like when you beat your friend at thumb wrestling, but with a slim chance of getting sex afterwards. I tried very hard to think of something to say, something funny to show that I wasn't in the least bit offended at her wandering eyes, and I wanted something a little flirtatious, to show her that it would be very easy to undress me physically, instead of with her eyes. Alas, before I could think of anything, we reached the 4th floor, the doors opened and she bustled out, still glowing red.
This is why we need taller buildings. I am sure that if we had another 50 floors to travel in the lift I would have thought of something really good to say. Then she would have reached over, pressed the emergency stop button and screamed, "Take me now, you gorgeous piece of man!!” Oh well, but at least she was checking me out, which is a huge boost to my dwindling ego, and more importantly it seems to have pushed our relationship up a notch. After our class she deliberately waited around for me, so we could walk to our cars together (she has never done this before) and her goodbye wasn't her usual curt 'bye' with a vague hand movement, but a solid 'see ya later' with a genuine smile. And just before we got in our cars, our eyes met and I could see what she was thinking: "if only we had 50 more floors".
All good things must come to an end.... including small buildings that are ruining my sex life.

Comments

]]>I got a hair cut!!http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/10/06/i_got_a_hair_cut~1193597/2006-10-06T13:03:07+02:00 <p>Well I am back after some time of not writing anything. I wish I had some good, valid reason for not posting anything, something like I was defending a small Central African tribe from rabid gorillas, but the truth is I have had nothing to write about. Sure this sounds like a cop-out and its not fair that all my devout readers have missed out on my witty posts just because I couldn't think of anything to write, so I am here to apologise to the both of you, I'm very sorry I haven't written anything... who am I kidding?? I have no devout readers. Anyway this still doesn't solve the problem that I have nothing to write about. I can almost hear everyone saying "what a load of crap, of course there are things he can write about, he is just not trying hard enough". Well, it is not an exaggeration; I have no life, and with no life comes no interesting things to discuss. My life consists of waking up, going to uni, watching T.V. then going to bed (for past 2 weeks I have been on holidays so I have cut out the uni part). In fact the most exciting thing that has happened to me was that I got a hair cut today, and since I really hate getting my hair cut it wasn't so much exciting as annoying.</p> <p>I really, really hate getting my haircut. After Emenem and a prostate exam, getting my hair cut is my most hated thing (wait, I think I prefer the prostate exam, because when its finished at least you have the satisfaction of knowing you don't have cancer, come on men, you know what I am talking about, there is no better sound in the world then when your doctor tells you that your prostate is fine). I think the worst part about getting a hair cut is all the small talk. I have been going to the same hairdresser for 20 years and she still cant remember that (a) I don’t like RnB music, and (b) No I'm serious, I really don’t like RnB music. Every damn time I go in there she always ask me if I’ve heard the new song by 25 cents (there is no way that man is worth half a dollar) or someone and every time I say 'no, I don’t really like *insert mundane "musicians" name here*' and every time she says 'You must be joking, everyone loves *insert said "musician"*' and then every time I have to shove her damn comb up her nose to get my point across. Here is a transcript of how my ideal haircutting experience would be like:<br> "Hello, what would you like today??"<br> "Short back and sides, little length at the front, and if I smell anything with fruit in it you will be in trouble"<br> "Of course"<br> *silence for 10 minutes*<br> "There you go, all finished, have a great day".<br> See it’s so simple, they get my business, and I get a haircut without all the nonsense.<br> Now the small talk is not the only problem I have with getting a hair cut. I also hate the feeling you have afterwards, the feeling that you look like an ass. Sure you tell yourself that no one cares about you, but as you are walking down the street you know everyone is looking at you and saying, "Look at that terrible haircut". It's a truly embarrassing experience; hairdressers should supply paper bags to cover your head so you can walk out of their shops with dignity. I should open my own hairdressing salon, with no small talk and free paper bags, and while I’m at it I will open a shoe store where they don't make you do that stupid little walk down to test the shoes.<br> All good things must come to an end... including my very bad haircut.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/10/06/i_got_a_hair_cut~1193597/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Well I am back after some time of not writing anything. I wish I had some good, valid reason for not posting anything, something like I was defending a small Central African tribe from rabid gorillas, but the truth is I have had nothing to write about. Sure this sounds like a cop-out and its not fair that all my devout readers have missed out on my witty posts just because I couldn't think of anything to write, so I am here to apologise to the both of you, I'm very sorry I haven't written anything... who am I kidding?? I have no devout readers. Anyway this still doesn't solve the problem that I have nothing to write about. I can almost hear everyone saying "what a load of crap, of course there are things he can write about, he is just not trying hard enough". Well, it is not an exaggeration; I have no life, and with no life comes no interesting things to discuss. My life consists of waking up, going to uni, watching T.V. then going to bed (for past 2 weeks I have been on holidays so I have cut out the uni part). In fact the most exciting thing that has happened to me was that I got a hair cut today, and since I really hate getting my hair cut it wasn't so much exciting as annoying.

I really, really hate getting my haircut. After Emenem and a prostate exam, getting my hair cut is my most hated thing (wait, I think I prefer the prostate exam, because when its finished at least you have the satisfaction of knowing you don't have cancer, come on men, you know what I am talking about, there is no better sound in the world then when your doctor tells you that your prostate is fine). I think the worst part about getting a hair cut is all the small talk. I have been going to the same hairdresser for 20 years and she still cant remember that (a) I don’t like RnB music, and (b) No I'm serious, I really don’t like RnB music. Every damn time I go in there she always ask me if I’ve heard the new song by 25 cents (there is no way that man is worth half a dollar) or someone and every time I say 'no, I don’t really like *insert mundane "musicians" name here*' and every time she says 'You must be joking, everyone loves *insert said "musician"*' and then every time I have to shove her damn comb up her nose to get my point across. Here is a transcript of how my ideal haircutting experience would be like:
"Hello, what would you like today??"
"Short back and sides, little length at the front, and if I smell anything with fruit in it you will be in trouble"
"Of course"
*silence for 10 minutes*
"There you go, all finished, have a great day".
See it’s so simple, they get my business, and I get a haircut without all the nonsense.
Now the small talk is not the only problem I have with getting a hair cut. I also hate the feeling you have afterwards, the feeling that you look like an ass. Sure you tell yourself that no one cares about you, but as you are walking down the street you know everyone is looking at you and saying, "Look at that terrible haircut". It's a truly embarrassing experience; hairdressers should supply paper bags to cover your head so you can walk out of their shops with dignity. I should open my own hairdressing salon, with no small talk and free paper bags, and while I’m at it I will open a shoe store where they don't make you do that stupid little walk down to test the shoes.
All good things must come to an end... including my very bad haircut.

Comments

]]>title-1110699http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/09/09/title~1110699/2006-09-09T14:00:03+02:00 <p>I had a panic attack today; at least I think it was a panic attack. I have never had one before so I have nothing to compare it to. One of the witnesses to this little embarrassment of mine said it was a panic attack, and strangers are always the most reliable source of accurate information, so I guess it was one. Now a panic attack really isn't a big deal, provided that they happen in the privacy of your own home, but like all the greatest embarrassing events of this world, they tend to happen in full public and at the most inconvenient time, like, I don't know, when one is voting for the future leader for their state. That’s right, I went completely loony in front of a dozen or so voters. I don’t actually remember much, just me lying on the ground, clutching the ever-important ballot paper in my sweaty hand, gasping for breath. Luckily my old 6th grade teacher was there and saw what was happening and managed to drag me off to a back room, but the damage was already done. We live in a small community, so everyone knows everyone else, and before the new premier is sworn in, everyone will know about my little episode. That’s not so bad though, we aren't very popular with the neighbours anyway, it just means my family will no longer be known as "Those weird people with the cats" but instead "Those weird people with the cats and the crazy son".<br> So what caused this panic attack?? Well its just the same old stuff, low self-esteem, depression and a good dose of loneliness. So why don’t I just go out and meet new people?? Surely meeting people will get rid of my loneliness, and having a social life will help with the depression. As for the low self-esteem, I guess I could meet really ugly people to make me feel better about myself. That would work wouldn't it?? Yeah I guess it would make me feel better, but if it were really that simple would I be the mess I am today?? I have a very strict way of meeting people, it’s far from perfect, but it’s all I know how to do.<br> 1. I do not, under any circumstances, go up to a stranger and introduce myself. They must approach me first.<br> 2. For the first 3 hours of talking, I will not say anything more than 'yes' 'no' and the occasional grunt. I will NOT state my opinion about anything, I will NOT change the subject, and I will NOT ask any questions. If an awkward pause occurs I will stare at the ceiling until someone says something.<br> 3. After 3 hours I will try to say something with more than 1 syllable provided that a) its not too long and b) it is guaranteed to make the person laugh. If I fail at this I go back to step 2.<br> 4. After several days I might say a complete sentence to the person as long as a) there is no one else within earshot who I don't know, and b) it will make them laugh.<br> These are my rules for meeting new people. They are fucked, I know, and I would give anything to change them, but no matter how hard I try I cannot. So I am stuck being lonely and there is nothing I can do about it.<br> To make this all worse it feels like I have no one to talk to about it. No one takes me seriously, they don’t realise that I am in serious trouble. My parents don’t want to know about it, and they wouldn't believe it. I could be in front of them, crying my eyes out and cutting my wrists and they would think I was pulling some practical joke. My older brother isn't allowed to talk to me unless we are supervised, lest my personality somehow infects him, which he will then pass on to my nephew like some sort of super-flu (sister-in-laws are fun) and my little brother only cares about my little brother. My friends aren't that much better either. Gene is of the belief that men don’t have feelings and Ryan's answer is always "it's so much easier being gay". The only one left is Rogue. She is a godsend and I know I can talk to her, and she will believe me, but I am reluctant to do so. Its difficult to explain why I am reluctant to talk to her, the reasons are many and stupid, very stupid, I wish I could ignore them.<br> I guess the whole point is that I am in trouble and I need help before I do something stupid. I am sick of being like this but I don’t know what to do about it. Anyway, to lighten up all this I have a joke. Personally I think it is very funny (not really, but it is chuckle worthy). I told it to Ryan, who is dyslexic, today, but he wasn't too impressed with it... oh well, here it is: A dyslexic man walked into a bra. See, I told you it was reasonably entertaining... sort of. All good things must come to an end.... including having panic attacks when you are voting (I voted for the greens in case you were wondering). </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/09/09/title~1110699/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I had a panic attack today; at least I think it was a panic attack. I have never had one before so I have nothing to compare it to. One of the witnesses to this little embarrassment of mine said it was a panic attack, and strangers are always the most reliable source of accurate information, so I guess it was one. Now a panic attack really isn't a big deal, provided that they happen in the privacy of your own home, but like all the greatest embarrassing events of this world, they tend to happen in full public and at the most inconvenient time, like, I don't know, when one is voting for the future leader for their state. That’s right, I went completely loony in front of a dozen or so voters. I don’t actually remember much, just me lying on the ground, clutching the ever-important ballot paper in my sweaty hand, gasping for breath. Luckily my old 6th grade teacher was there and saw what was happening and managed to drag me off to a back room, but the damage was already done. We live in a small community, so everyone knows everyone else, and before the new premier is sworn in, everyone will know about my little episode. That’s not so bad though, we aren't very popular with the neighbours anyway, it just means my family will no longer be known as "Those weird people with the cats" but instead "Those weird people with the cats and the crazy son".
So what caused this panic attack?? Well its just the same old stuff, low self-esteem, depression and a good dose of loneliness. So why don’t I just go out and meet new people?? Surely meeting people will get rid of my loneliness, and having a social life will help with the depression. As for the low self-esteem, I guess I could meet really ugly people to make me feel better about myself. That would work wouldn't it?? Yeah I guess it would make me feel better, but if it were really that simple would I be the mess I am today?? I have a very strict way of meeting people, it’s far from perfect, but it’s all I know how to do.
1. I do not, under any circumstances, go up to a stranger and introduce myself. They must approach me first.
2. For the first 3 hours of talking, I will not say anything more than 'yes' 'no' and the occasional grunt. I will NOT state my opinion about anything, I will NOT change the subject, and I will NOT ask any questions. If an awkward pause occurs I will stare at the ceiling until someone says something.
3. After 3 hours I will try to say something with more than 1 syllable provided that a) its not too long and b) it is guaranteed to make the person laugh. If I fail at this I go back to step 2.
4. After several days I might say a complete sentence to the person as long as a) there is no one else within earshot who I don't know, and b) it will make them laugh.
These are my rules for meeting new people. They are fucked, I know, and I would give anything to change them, but no matter how hard I try I cannot. So I am stuck being lonely and there is nothing I can do about it.
To make this all worse it feels like I have no one to talk to about it. No one takes me seriously, they don’t realise that I am in serious trouble. My parents don’t want to know about it, and they wouldn't believe it. I could be in front of them, crying my eyes out and cutting my wrists and they would think I was pulling some practical joke. My older brother isn't allowed to talk to me unless we are supervised, lest my personality somehow infects him, which he will then pass on to my nephew like some sort of super-flu (sister-in-laws are fun) and my little brother only cares about my little brother. My friends aren't that much better either. Gene is of the belief that men don’t have feelings and Ryan's answer is always "it's so much easier being gay". The only one left is Rogue. She is a godsend and I know I can talk to her, and she will believe me, but I am reluctant to do so. Its difficult to explain why I am reluctant to talk to her, the reasons are many and stupid, very stupid, I wish I could ignore them.
I guess the whole point is that I am in trouble and I need help before I do something stupid. I am sick of being like this but I don’t know what to do about it. Anyway, to lighten up all this I have a joke. Personally I think it is very funny (not really, but it is chuckle worthy). I told it to Ryan, who is dyslexic, today, but he wasn't too impressed with it... oh well, here it is: A dyslexic man walked into a bra. See, I told you it was reasonably entertaining... sort of. All good things must come to an end.... including having panic attacks when you are voting (I voted for the greens in case you were wondering).

Comments

]]>title-1068328http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/08/25/title~1068328/2006-08-25T13:25:50+02:00 <p>I volunteered to help out at my uni's open day last Sunday... well, I was told it would be in everyone's best interest if I volunteered to help... o.k. They said I would have a lot of trouble passing the course if I didn't volunteer. I'm sure they meant it as a joke, but you can never be sure. Anyway I dragged myself out of my nice warm bed at 6.00am Sunday morning so I could get there on time (curse my parents for living so far away from my uni!!). Now I don’t mind waking up early, or having my entire schedule thrown off kilter, provided that I am actually needed. I got there and no one seemed to know what to do with me. I asked around and all I got was blank stares and mutters of "go ask that guy". It was annoying, I felt as useful as a man's purse. Finally someone took pity on me and handed me a 'student volunteer' badge and told me to answer any questions people might have. This would have been fine IF people asked me questions that I could answer such as "How many pillows do you need to have a truly restful nights sleep??" (3, unless you are a mincing wuss, then it is 2) and "Do you know Einstein’s theory of relativity??" (Yes, then you quickly change the subject before they ask you to explain it), but the only question I got was "What is the general enrolment pattern for someone interested in studying psychology??". How can I answer that?? I am a student for god's sake; I know less about university enrolments than an average 8 year old does, so I just gave the girl a blank stare and muttered "go ask that guy".</p> <p>The day wasn't a complete loss though, there were 2 things that happened that made me feel a little better about myself. Firstly I discovered that I have the reflexes of a greased mongoose (or another equally lubricated furry animal). There was this 'test your reflexes' competition going on and at the end of the day I was the fastest, by a whole 1/100th of a second. Out of 400 odd competitors I was the only one who could move my right hand from one place to another in 24 /100th of a second... I guess all those lonely nights by myself really paid off. I also won a hat and scarf, but that is nothing compared to knowing that I can quickly push buttons. Anyway after getting this super-human score I relentlessly guarded my reign as champion by hanging around the competition and offered "helpful" pointers on how to beat my score. There was this one kid who came close, so I broke his fingers. He was crying a lot, and his mother wasn’t very happy, but he didn't beat me... I guess some people don't understand friendly competition.</p> <p>The second thing that happened was thanks to this band... I cant remember who they were... they're the band that plays that annoying song for that stupid show in California... you know that show with all the spoilt rich kids running around and moaning because some hot girl wants to get with them but they cant because they are dating this other really hot girl (man, I can really relate to that show). Anyway they were playing at the uni. This isn't the good thing though, because I don’t like the band or they’re music, in fact the only reason I knew they were playing was because I was sent down to get some paper and I was assaulted by a bunch of teenage girls screaming "I love you *insert name her*". Anyway the funny thing that happened was about 10 minutes later when I had returned. There was this group of girls, mean age 13, yakking away about the band. "They are like sooo cool" said one.<br> "Like totally" replied another.<br> "Like they are so totally like hot!!" Chimed a third. A fourth girl appeared to join their incoherent conversation; this is when the comedy really started.<br> "I so like got they’re like autograph on like my boot like totally!!" yelled the newcomer.<br> "GET OUT LOL" responded the others (I'm pretty sure they didn't actually say 'LOL' but by the way they laughed, you know its what they meant.<br> "Like you are so totally like lucky,” said one.<br> "I’m totally jealous LOL" said another.<br> "Bitch" said the third and stormed off.<br> It was great, I was giggling for hours after that. How can people get so stupid?? Honestly, I aint the brightest star in the sky but at least I can put together a coherent sentence without using "like" whenever I get stuck for words. All good things must come to an end... including like totally like that band that like totally make like all of us like talk totally like this LOL.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/08/25/title~1068328/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I volunteered to help out at my uni's open day last Sunday... well, I was told it would be in everyone's best interest if I volunteered to help... o.k. They said I would have a lot of trouble passing the course if I didn't volunteer. I'm sure they meant it as a joke, but you can never be sure. Anyway I dragged myself out of my nice warm bed at 6.00am Sunday morning so I could get there on time (curse my parents for living so far away from my uni!!). Now I don’t mind waking up early, or having my entire schedule thrown off kilter, provided that I am actually needed. I got there and no one seemed to know what to do with me. I asked around and all I got was blank stares and mutters of "go ask that guy". It was annoying, I felt as useful as a man's purse. Finally someone took pity on me and handed me a 'student volunteer' badge and told me to answer any questions people might have. This would have been fine IF people asked me questions that I could answer such as "How many pillows do you need to have a truly restful nights sleep??" (3, unless you are a mincing wuss, then it is 2) and "Do you know Einstein’s theory of relativity??" (Yes, then you quickly change the subject before they ask you to explain it), but the only question I got was "What is the general enrolment pattern for someone interested in studying psychology??". How can I answer that?? I am a student for god's sake; I know less about university enrolments than an average 8 year old does, so I just gave the girl a blank stare and muttered "go ask that guy".

The day wasn't a complete loss though, there were 2 things that happened that made me feel a little better about myself. Firstly I discovered that I have the reflexes of a greased mongoose (or another equally lubricated furry animal). There was this 'test your reflexes' competition going on and at the end of the day I was the fastest, by a whole 1/100th of a second. Out of 400 odd competitors I was the only one who could move my right hand from one place to another in 24 /100th of a second... I guess all those lonely nights by myself really paid off. I also won a hat and scarf, but that is nothing compared to knowing that I can quickly push buttons. Anyway after getting this super-human score I relentlessly guarded my reign as champion by hanging around the competition and offered "helpful" pointers on how to beat my score. There was this one kid who came close, so I broke his fingers. He was crying a lot, and his mother wasn’t very happy, but he didn't beat me... I guess some people don't understand friendly competition.

The second thing that happened was thanks to this band... I cant remember who they were... they're the band that plays that annoying song for that stupid show in California... you know that show with all the spoilt rich kids running around and moaning because some hot girl wants to get with them but they cant because they are dating this other really hot girl (man, I can really relate to that show). Anyway they were playing at the uni. This isn't the good thing though, because I don’t like the band or they’re music, in fact the only reason I knew they were playing was because I was sent down to get some paper and I was assaulted by a bunch of teenage girls screaming "I love you *insert name her*". Anyway the funny thing that happened was about 10 minutes later when I had returned. There was this group of girls, mean age 13, yakking away about the band. "They are like sooo cool" said one.
"Like totally" replied another.
"Like they are so totally like hot!!" Chimed a third. A fourth girl appeared to join their incoherent conversation; this is when the comedy really started.
"I so like got they’re like autograph on like my boot like totally!!" yelled the newcomer.
"GET OUT LOL" responded the others (I'm pretty sure they didn't actually say 'LOL' but by the way they laughed, you know its what they meant.
"Like you are so totally like lucky,” said one.
"I’m totally jealous LOL" said another.
"Bitch" said the third and stormed off.
It was great, I was giggling for hours after that. How can people get so stupid?? Honestly, I aint the brightest star in the sky but at least I can put together a coherent sentence without using "like" whenever I get stuck for words. All good things must come to an end... including like totally like that band that like totally make like all of us like talk totally like this LOL.

Comments

]]>Cespenar the Defeater of Infinite Doom; or How I Saved The Worldhttp://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/08/04/cespenar_the_defeater_of_infinite_doom_o~1013329/2006-08-04T13:34:45+02:00 <p>I was minding my own business today, catching up on some studying (truthfully I was watching the new series of Stargate, which isn't nearly as good as the old ones. Sure that Farscape guy is pretty cool, but he aint got nothing on MacGyver) when all of a sudden I heard an awful screeching noise coming from the garden. Peering out the window, getting ready to yell at whatever it was that had so rudely interrupted my Sci-Fi fix, I was somewhat surprised to find my cat being attacked by a colossal snake. When I say 'colossal' I don’t mean 'yeah, I suppose it is pretty big', I mean, 'my god, that thing is big'. This snake was like the earthly manifestation of some Amazonian snake-god, where helpless Amazonian tribe people sacrifice comely virgins to it, in hopes it won’t raze their village. So, as you can see, this was a somewhat unusual situation. It is not everyday one finds the Rainbow Serpent trying to devour their cat in their front yard. <em>This will not do</em> I thought <em>that is my cat, if anyone is allowed to eat her, it should be me</em>. So I flung open the front door and in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression I said "Hey serpent, why don't you pick on someone your own size??" This momentarily confused the snake as it looked around for an African elephant. I took the opportunity and threw myself upon the beast, but it was quick and we were soon thrust into a battle of strength, agility and eye gouging. I knew that only one of us would come out alive and if the snake prevailed there would have been no way to guess how many helpless cats would be eaten. The fight was a bloody affair, I punched at its liver, it head butted my kidney, so I chewed off its eyebrow and it shattered my pelvis, I pulled out its knee cap and it gnawed on my hypothalamus. The battle raged for hours, trees were uprooted; houses crashed down and little Japanese people fled in terror. Finally, with my strength ebbing and a dull ache where my pelvis used to be the behemoth reptile gave up and died. I was a hero, the houses were rebuilt, the little Japanese people returned to their homes and the Amazonian tribe people erected a golden statue of me to commemorate the day I defeated their evil snake-god.</p> <p>O.K. that was a load of crap. There was a snake (but it was a completely harmless tree snake), it was pretty big (for a tree snake), and it was attacking my cat (probably because my cat attacked it first), however all the rest was a lie. What I actually did was grab my other cat (who has an uncanny ability to catching snakes), threw him at the legless creature and went to find a shovel. By the time I got back Sooty (the snake catchin cat) had already went to town on the hapless reptile and it had had enough of getting its shit ruined so slithered up a tree to lick its wounds. Although that version is more true, it is less exciting and doesn't make me look like a hero, so I will stick with the first story, and if anyone says I am lying, I will just show them the scar where I had to have a robotic pelvis put in to replace my shattered original.... although I will have to get a scar first. All good things must come to an end... including my new robotic pelvis.</p> <p>NOTE: the title for this post was supplied by Sugar Burn, who I am sure, has lost many a pelvis to snake related injuries.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/08/04/cespenar_the_defeater_of_infinite_doom_o~1013329/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I was minding my own business today, catching up on some studying (truthfully I was watching the new series of Stargate, which isn't nearly as good as the old ones. Sure that Farscape guy is pretty cool, but he aint got nothing on MacGyver) when all of a sudden I heard an awful screeching noise coming from the garden. Peering out the window, getting ready to yell at whatever it was that had so rudely interrupted my Sci-Fi fix, I was somewhat surprised to find my cat being attacked by a colossal snake. When I say 'colossal' I don’t mean 'yeah, I suppose it is pretty big', I mean, 'my god, that thing is big'. This snake was like the earthly manifestation of some Amazonian snake-god, where helpless Amazonian tribe people sacrifice comely virgins to it, in hopes it won’t raze their village. So, as you can see, this was a somewhat unusual situation. It is not everyday one finds the Rainbow Serpent trying to devour their cat in their front yard. This will not do I thought that is my cat, if anyone is allowed to eat her, it should be me. So I flung open the front door and in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression I said "Hey serpent, why don't you pick on someone your own size??" This momentarily confused the snake as it looked around for an African elephant. I took the opportunity and threw myself upon the beast, but it was quick and we were soon thrust into a battle of strength, agility and eye gouging. I knew that only one of us would come out alive and if the snake prevailed there would have been no way to guess how many helpless cats would be eaten. The fight was a bloody affair, I punched at its liver, it head butted my kidney, so I chewed off its eyebrow and it shattered my pelvis, I pulled out its knee cap and it gnawed on my hypothalamus. The battle raged for hours, trees were uprooted; houses crashed down and little Japanese people fled in terror. Finally, with my strength ebbing and a dull ache where my pelvis used to be the behemoth reptile gave up and died. I was a hero, the houses were rebuilt, the little Japanese people returned to their homes and the Amazonian tribe people erected a golden statue of me to commemorate the day I defeated their evil snake-god.

O.K. that was a load of crap. There was a snake (but it was a completely harmless tree snake), it was pretty big (for a tree snake), and it was attacking my cat (probably because my cat attacked it first), however all the rest was a lie. What I actually did was grab my other cat (who has an uncanny ability to catching snakes), threw him at the legless creature and went to find a shovel. By the time I got back Sooty (the snake catchin cat) had already went to town on the hapless reptile and it had had enough of getting its shit ruined so slithered up a tree to lick its wounds. Although that version is more true, it is less exciting and doesn't make me look like a hero, so I will stick with the first story, and if anyone says I am lying, I will just show them the scar where I had to have a robotic pelvis put in to replace my shattered original.... although I will have to get a scar first. All good things must come to an end... including my new robotic pelvis.

NOTE: the title for this post was supplied by Sugar Burn, who I am sure, has lost many a pelvis to snake related injuries.

Comments

]]>title-995569http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/28/title~995569/2006-07-28T12:53:50+02:00 <p>Well I am back at uni again. My first week back has been pretty good, I like my classes this semester and because I have moved house, I no longer have to put up with that annoying roommate anymore. That’s not to say my new place is any good, or my new roommates are any better, but at least with this new place I have my own private exit so I can escape the house without having to deal with that bald guy. To be fair he wouldn't be such an annoying person if he manages to keep his mouth shut and realise that most people don’t care about his opinions on EVERYTHING. The man thinks he is right about everything and doesn't understand that other people might have a different view, but he is easily avoided, so it’s not so bad.</p> <p>Most of my waking time has been devoted to daydreaming about a certain bookshop worker. I must admit that I am rather infatuated with this girl... well to be honest I am completely smitten. She makes me all nervous and inarticulate whenever she talks to me. This is a real pain in the ass because all I want to do is talk to her. Rogue believes that she likes me too and I really, really hope that’s true, but a little voice (that can do an uncanny impression of Myra) tells me otherwise. I don’t know, I really do hope Rogue is right but all she can go on is what I tell her. Perhaps I want her to like me so much that I put a more positive slant on our interactions, so what I tell Rogue is more favourable than what it really is. I don’t know, I guess the only way to truly find out is to grow a pair and ask the cute bookshop girl out. What’s the worse that could happen?? She says no and then I have to find a new place to buy books.... hopefully a cheaper place to buy books.</p> <p>Talking about Rogue, I made a huge boo-boo on Monday. I said an inappropriate joke that upset her. I still feel bad about it. I am so sorry Rogue; it was an immature, tasteless joke and remember I respect you more than anyone else.</p> <p>Well that’s about it, not a bad week, it certainly could have been worse. All good things must come to an end.... including my inability to talk to the cute bookstore girl.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/28/title~995569/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Well I am back at uni again. My first week back has been pretty good, I like my classes this semester and because I have moved house, I no longer have to put up with that annoying roommate anymore. That’s not to say my new place is any good, or my new roommates are any better, but at least with this new place I have my own private exit so I can escape the house without having to deal with that bald guy. To be fair he wouldn't be such an annoying person if he manages to keep his mouth shut and realise that most people don’t care about his opinions on EVERYTHING. The man thinks he is right about everything and doesn't understand that other people might have a different view, but he is easily avoided, so it’s not so bad.

Most of my waking time has been devoted to daydreaming about a certain bookshop worker. I must admit that I am rather infatuated with this girl... well to be honest I am completely smitten. She makes me all nervous and inarticulate whenever she talks to me. This is a real pain in the ass because all I want to do is talk to her. Rogue believes that she likes me too and I really, really hope that’s true, but a little voice (that can do an uncanny impression of Myra) tells me otherwise. I don’t know, I really do hope Rogue is right but all she can go on is what I tell her. Perhaps I want her to like me so much that I put a more positive slant on our interactions, so what I tell Rogue is more favourable than what it really is. I don’t know, I guess the only way to truly find out is to grow a pair and ask the cute bookshop girl out. What’s the worse that could happen?? She says no and then I have to find a new place to buy books.... hopefully a cheaper place to buy books.

Talking about Rogue, I made a huge boo-boo on Monday. I said an inappropriate joke that upset her. I still feel bad about it. I am so sorry Rogue; it was an immature, tasteless joke and remember I respect you more than anyone else.

Well that’s about it, not a bad week, it certainly could have been worse. All good things must come to an end.... including my inability to talk to the cute bookstore girl.

Comments

]]>I'm Sorryhttp://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/16/i_m_sorry~963356/2006-07-16T13:53:15+02:00 <p>I feel i must apologise for my post yesterday. It was childish and pathetic. I dont know what put me in such a foul mood yesterday and i really hope it doesn't happen again, perhaps it was that weird dream i had on friday night. All i can remember was a tiny bald man in my room, but it was disturbing for some reason. Or maybe it was all the stress i've been under about my damn liver. I got some good news about it on Friday (mum made me go to her doctor and he said it's not as bad as what my first doctor was saying. She had me believing i was in danger of chronic liver explosion or something) and perhaps on saturday I realised that i had a bit of a scare and i acted out in an angry manner to deal with it. Who knows, but the important thing is that i dont really feel like that, sure i get my depressed moments, but who doesnt?? I am at a happy place at the moment, my friends are happy, my parents are happy and i am happy. In a weeks time i will be back at uni which is good because it is second semester. The second semester is always better than the first (although it is going to have to be pretty damn righteous to make up for last semester). All in all things are pretty good, and i really dont have anything to complain about, I have Rogue who cares about me more than i deserve, Nathon who is a funny, funny bastard and never fails to make me laugh, Ryan who tolerates my slandering of his man-loving ways, and parents who love and support me. So once again things are actually pretty good for me and i am so very sorry for my outburst yesterday. All good things must come to an end..... including all that nonsense i wrote yesterday. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/16/i_m_sorry~963356/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I feel i must apologise for my post yesterday. It was childish and pathetic. I dont know what put me in such a foul mood yesterday and i really hope it doesn't happen again, perhaps it was that weird dream i had on friday night. All i can remember was a tiny bald man in my room, but it was disturbing for some reason. Or maybe it was all the stress i've been under about my damn liver. I got some good news about it on Friday (mum made me go to her doctor and he said it's not as bad as what my first doctor was saying. She had me believing i was in danger of chronic liver explosion or something) and perhaps on saturday I realised that i had a bit of a scare and i acted out in an angry manner to deal with it. Who knows, but the important thing is that i dont really feel like that, sure i get my depressed moments, but who doesnt?? I am at a happy place at the moment, my friends are happy, my parents are happy and i am happy. In a weeks time i will be back at uni which is good because it is second semester. The second semester is always better than the first (although it is going to have to be pretty damn righteous to make up for last semester). All in all things are pretty good, and i really dont have anything to complain about, I have Rogue who cares about me more than i deserve, Nathon who is a funny, funny bastard and never fails to make me laugh, Ryan who tolerates my slandering of his man-loving ways, and parents who love and support me. So once again things are actually pretty good for me and i am so very sorry for my outburst yesterday. All good things must come to an end..... including all that nonsense i wrote yesterday.

Comments

]]>title-961497http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/15/title~961497/2006-07-15T14:48:43+02:00 <p>I hate myself. I hate everything about me. I'm fat, useless, ugly and boring. I hate my ears, i hate my feet and i hate my hairy stomach. Most of all i hate these damn mood swings i am having. As you have guessed i am in a very bad mood today. I wish their was a reason for this, but there isn't, i just woke up this way. Yesterday i was happy, i was smiling and laughing and was cheerful. But in the 8 hours between going to sleep and waking up i got grumpy. I talked to Ryan about this when he called me today. Although he only gives advice from what he heard on Dr. Phil he is usually helpful. He said that i am having these mood swings because i dont vent my feelings appropriately. I dont know about this, I'm not a venter, I'm only allowed to be happy when i am around other people, and venting by yourself leads to stupid behaviours. There are times when all i want to do is get angry and yell, but i can't, its not in me. Besides I doubt being able to yell and scream throw tantrums will make me happy. I want to be happy, but its not going to happen. Its karma, i've done bad stuff and now karma is making me miserable. People keep saying that it takes time to become happy, blah, blah, blah. I've had 22 years and i'm still not happy. The only thing that has changed is that i've gone from loathing myself, to merely hating myself... big improvement there. Im just sick and tired of being me. Im sick of always being made the butt of every joke, an object of pity, being left out, left behind, left alone and left winged (or maybe Im right winged, i dont really know... thats another thing i hate, people constantly talking about politics and the whole "are you pro-John Howard or con-John Howard". Why dont they ever give me the option of being pro-don't give a shit either way??). Im going to bed now. All good things must come to an end.... including something to do with this post. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/15/title~961497/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I hate myself. I hate everything about me. I'm fat, useless, ugly and boring. I hate my ears, i hate my feet and i hate my hairy stomach. Most of all i hate these damn mood swings i am having. As you have guessed i am in a very bad mood today. I wish their was a reason for this, but there isn't, i just woke up this way. Yesterday i was happy, i was smiling and laughing and was cheerful. But in the 8 hours between going to sleep and waking up i got grumpy. I talked to Ryan about this when he called me today. Although he only gives advice from what he heard on Dr. Phil he is usually helpful. He said that i am having these mood swings because i dont vent my feelings appropriately. I dont know about this, I'm not a venter, I'm only allowed to be happy when i am around other people, and venting by yourself leads to stupid behaviours. There are times when all i want to do is get angry and yell, but i can't, its not in me. Besides I doubt being able to yell and scream throw tantrums will make me happy. I want to be happy, but its not going to happen. Its karma, i've done bad stuff and now karma is making me miserable. People keep saying that it takes time to become happy, blah, blah, blah. I've had 22 years and i'm still not happy. The only thing that has changed is that i've gone from loathing myself, to merely hating myself... big improvement there. Im just sick and tired of being me. Im sick of always being made the butt of every joke, an object of pity, being left out, left behind, left alone and left winged (or maybe Im right winged, i dont really know... thats another thing i hate, people constantly talking about politics and the whole "are you pro-John Howard or con-John Howard". Why dont they ever give me the option of being pro-don't give a shit either way??). Im going to bed now. All good things must come to an end.... including something to do with this post.

Comments

]]>Of rune stones and ye olde horse poop.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/08/of_rune_stones_and_ye_olde_horse_poop~943476/2006-07-08T14:22:13+02:00 <p>Mum and I went to a medieval fair today. It was cool. I like the whole medieval thing and this fair had it all, jousting, ale, and people fighting with sharp pointy things. All in all, I had a lot of fun and I am seriously considering joining one of the medieval recreation groups. The only problem I have with these established groups is that they all have kind of pansy names, like "The Company of the Radiant Heart" or "The Knights of the Lions Courage" etc. Maybe I should start my own group, and then I can call it something cool like "The Order of the Surly Griffon" or "The Warriors of the Half-Mad Cyclops" or something. Maybe I should look into establishing one of these groups, I have no idea how to do it, but a man can dream cant he?? Also the jousting looked like a lot of fun.... to bad I have an irrational fear of horses, maybe they could let me do it on a donkey. Sure a donkey wouldn't look too impressive, but if anyone said "hey, why are you doing it on a inferior donkey??" I could say "This isn't some ordinary donkey, this is Horace, the mighty donkey of benevolence!!" and then they would get all embarrassed because they made fun of the mighty donkey of benevolence.</p> <p>Anyway, while I was there mum talked me into having a rune stone reading. I went along with it because I thought it would be a bit of fun. Pay some money, get told that you will soon meet the love of your life and come into a vast fortune so you can retire and you and Horace can live in the Bahamas drinking Pina Coladas out of a coconut. Well it was just my luck that out of all the palm readers, tarot card users, vision quest guiders and mediums, I could have chosen from, I had to pick the only one that has a shred of talent. I am not completely opposed to the concept of psychics, hell I have had a few psychic episodes myself, but most of these sideshow alley psychics are just greedy con artists who would say anything to get a few dollars. This rune psychic lady I went to however didn't tell me I was going to be rich, or I was going to fall in love, she threw the runes on the table, took one look and said "you're going through a very stressful period at the moment aren’t you??". This caught me by surprise because I am going through a somewhat unpleasant time, and she didn't stop there. For the next 15 minutes she just kept saying things that made sense, like how everything happens at once, and all my problems keep repeating themselves and a few other things that I don’t particularly want to mention here. The only thing she got wrong was that she was pretty insistent that I had children, or was about to have children. The thing that made her sound even more credible was when I told her I didn’t have children, and wasn't planning to have children for a very long time, she didn't try to make up some lie like "oh, I didn’t mean children, I meant your inner child" or something to hide the fact she was wrong. All she did was say, "Hmm, must be wrong, this doesn't work all the time". I am not saying that this woman was a genuine psychic lady, she could have been really good at picking up on my non-verbal cues, but it was still a little unnerving. I am annoyed though that she didn't warn me about the large pile of fresh horse poo I stepped in later that day, I mean, its one thing to make people happy by saying you’re going to be rich, but if these psychics really want to help they should warn us about the little things as well. All good things must come to an end.... including the sloppy horse poo that is still stuck on the sole of my boot. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/08/of_rune_stones_and_ye_olde_horse_poop~943476/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Mum and I went to a medieval fair today. It was cool. I like the whole medieval thing and this fair had it all, jousting, ale, and people fighting with sharp pointy things. All in all, I had a lot of fun and I am seriously considering joining one of the medieval recreation groups. The only problem I have with these established groups is that they all have kind of pansy names, like "The Company of the Radiant Heart" or "The Knights of the Lions Courage" etc. Maybe I should start my own group, and then I can call it something cool like "The Order of the Surly Griffon" or "The Warriors of the Half-Mad Cyclops" or something. Maybe I should look into establishing one of these groups, I have no idea how to do it, but a man can dream cant he?? Also the jousting looked like a lot of fun.... to bad I have an irrational fear of horses, maybe they could let me do it on a donkey. Sure a donkey wouldn't look too impressive, but if anyone said "hey, why are you doing it on a inferior donkey??" I could say "This isn't some ordinary donkey, this is Horace, the mighty donkey of benevolence!!" and then they would get all embarrassed because they made fun of the mighty donkey of benevolence.

Anyway, while I was there mum talked me into having a rune stone reading. I went along with it because I thought it would be a bit of fun. Pay some money, get told that you will soon meet the love of your life and come into a vast fortune so you can retire and you and Horace can live in the Bahamas drinking Pina Coladas out of a coconut. Well it was just my luck that out of all the palm readers, tarot card users, vision quest guiders and mediums, I could have chosen from, I had to pick the only one that has a shred of talent. I am not completely opposed to the concept of psychics, hell I have had a few psychic episodes myself, but most of these sideshow alley psychics are just greedy con artists who would say anything to get a few dollars. This rune psychic lady I went to however didn't tell me I was going to be rich, or I was going to fall in love, she threw the runes on the table, took one look and said "you're going through a very stressful period at the moment aren’t you??". This caught me by surprise because I am going through a somewhat unpleasant time, and she didn't stop there. For the next 15 minutes she just kept saying things that made sense, like how everything happens at once, and all my problems keep repeating themselves and a few other things that I don’t particularly want to mention here. The only thing she got wrong was that she was pretty insistent that I had children, or was about to have children. The thing that made her sound even more credible was when I told her I didn’t have children, and wasn't planning to have children for a very long time, she didn't try to make up some lie like "oh, I didn’t mean children, I meant your inner child" or something to hide the fact she was wrong. All she did was say, "Hmm, must be wrong, this doesn't work all the time". I am not saying that this woman was a genuine psychic lady, she could have been really good at picking up on my non-verbal cues, but it was still a little unnerving. I am annoyed though that she didn't warn me about the large pile of fresh horse poo I stepped in later that day, I mean, its one thing to make people happy by saying you’re going to be rich, but if these psychics really want to help they should warn us about the little things as well. All good things must come to an end.... including the sloppy horse poo that is still stuck on the sole of my boot.

Comments

]]>I have a buggered liver.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/06/i_have_a_buggered_liver~938214/2006-07-06T14:59:18+02:00 <p> <span>I went to see a doctor last week. For a while now I have been feeling kind of sick, like how you feel when you first wake up in the morning, sort of nauseous and tired and grumpy. I wasn't planning on going to the doctors, you know what guys are like, but Rogue threatened me with bodily harm and all but dragged me in there by the ear (and I thank her for caring so much). Anyway, my doctor had me tested for everything, from swimmers ear, right up to cancer. She wasn't messing around, and was determined to find the cause of my ills. To cut a long story short, I had 8 blood tests and a promise that everything will be sorted out by early this week. On Tuesday I called the doctors office to get my results. To be honest I was kind of scared, I kept imagining the worst, like a non-operable brain tumour or something.... at the very least I was expecting diabetes. However, all my fears were for naught because the lady told me that according to my results, I was the pin-up model for perfect health. What she didn't tell me was that there was one more test that still hadn't arrived yet, but who needs to know about such trivial details as that?? Anyway, I went about my life somewhat relieved, secure in the thought that I wasn't going to die from microscopic parasites in my spinal chord. So everything was fine until this morning. At 8.15 my doctor called me in a panic:<br> "I need you to come in a soon as possible to talk about your test results" she screamed at me.<br> "Mmruphshlerabob" I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.<br> "Yes, your test results, can you come in today??" she replied, ignoring my incoherent gurgling.<br> "Today?? Test?? What??"<br> "Your liver function test, there are some.... abnormalities, I need to talk to you about it." I should point out that I am a uni student on holidays... I don&rsquo;t even know I have a liver at 8 in the morning, let alone that it wasn&rsquo;t working properly.<br> "But I got the results on Tuesday, and everything was fine"<br> "We only got the results for this test back today, and I need to speak to you!!"<br> "I.... well, ok, but I cant come in today" I said.<br> "O.K." she said, "I'm not here tomorrow, so you'll have to come on Monday"<br> "That'll work. *yawn* So my liver eh??"<br> "Yes, I'll see you on Monday" then she hung up. Then I went back to sleep. It wasn't a very good sleep, I had a dream that Rogue, me and Nathon were sitting in my little brothers room, and they didn't believe me when I said my liver was inside out.... it was very disturbing. Apart from the dream I am not too concerned about all this though. I thought that people with life threatening liver problems turned bright yellow, while I am still a very manly shade of pink. And this whole thing has an up side, it means I get to visit Rogue, and I might even stop by the book store.... to see if that new Stephen King novel is out.... yes that excuse will work.</p> <p> Even though I was told I have a disobedient liver, I am still having a pretty good week. I decided that my rat was lonely so I got her some company. I was only planning on getting one other rat, but there were only 2 left in the pet store, and I felt really bad about leaving one of them by itself, so I got them both. This pet store was much better than the one I got Bruce from, mainly because the lady didn't ask if I wanted her to kill the rats. She did ask if I wanted dead rats, but when I said they were for pets, she got all happy and spent 20 minutes telling me how much she loves rats. Anyway, keeping with the tradition of naming my female rats with pansy guy names, I have named the 2 rats Julian and Dorian. There have been a few fights, especially between Bruce and Julian, and Bruce sulked a lot, but things have settled down now.... I even caught Bruce sleeping curled up next to Julian. Sure she acts all tough, but she's a big softy. All good things must come to an end.... including my liver's misbehaving.</span> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/06/i_have_a_buggered_liver~938214/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p> I went to see a doctor last week. For a while now I have been feeling kind of sick, like how you feel when you first wake up in the morning, sort of nauseous and tired and grumpy. I wasn't planning on going to the doctors, you know what guys are like, but Rogue threatened me with bodily harm and all but dragged me in there by the ear (and I thank her for caring so much). Anyway, my doctor had me tested for everything, from swimmers ear, right up to cancer. She wasn't messing around, and was determined to find the cause of my ills. To cut a long story short, I had 8 blood tests and a promise that everything will be sorted out by early this week. On Tuesday I called the doctors office to get my results. To be honest I was kind of scared, I kept imagining the worst, like a non-operable brain tumour or something.... at the very least I was expecting diabetes. However, all my fears were for naught because the lady told me that according to my results, I was the pin-up model for perfect health. What she didn't tell me was that there was one more test that still hadn't arrived yet, but who needs to know about such trivial details as that?? Anyway, I went about my life somewhat relieved, secure in the thought that I wasn't going to die from microscopic parasites in my spinal chord. So everything was fine until this morning. At 8.15 my doctor called me in a panic:
"I need you to come in a soon as possible to talk about your test results" she screamed at me.
"Mmruphshlerabob" I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
"Yes, your test results, can you come in today??" she replied, ignoring my incoherent gurgling.
"Today?? Test?? What??"
"Your liver function test, there are some.... abnormalities, I need to talk to you about it." I should point out that I am a uni student on holidays... I don’t even know I have a liver at 8 in the morning, let alone that it wasn’t working properly.
"But I got the results on Tuesday, and everything was fine"
"We only got the results for this test back today, and I need to speak to you!!"
"I.... well, ok, but I cant come in today" I said.
"O.K." she said, "I'm not here tomorrow, so you'll have to come on Monday"
"That'll work. *yawn* So my liver eh??"
"Yes, I'll see you on Monday" then she hung up. Then I went back to sleep. It wasn't a very good sleep, I had a dream that Rogue, me and Nathon were sitting in my little brothers room, and they didn't believe me when I said my liver was inside out.... it was very disturbing. Apart from the dream I am not too concerned about all this though. I thought that people with life threatening liver problems turned bright yellow, while I am still a very manly shade of pink. And this whole thing has an up side, it means I get to visit Rogue, and I might even stop by the book store.... to see if that new Stephen King novel is out.... yes that excuse will work.

Even though I was told I have a disobedient liver, I am still having a pretty good week. I decided that my rat was lonely so I got her some company. I was only planning on getting one other rat, but there were only 2 left in the pet store, and I felt really bad about leaving one of them by itself, so I got them both. This pet store was much better than the one I got Bruce from, mainly because the lady didn't ask if I wanted her to kill the rats. She did ask if I wanted dead rats, but when I said they were for pets, she got all happy and spent 20 minutes telling me how much she loves rats. Anyway, keeping with the tradition of naming my female rats with pansy guy names, I have named the 2 rats Julian and Dorian. There have been a few fights, especially between Bruce and Julian, and Bruce sulked a lot, but things have settled down now.... I even caught Bruce sleeping curled up next to Julian. Sure she acts all tough, but she's a big softy. All good things must come to an end.... including my liver's misbehaving.

Comments

]]>Thank Allah, Buddha and Jesus, I am on holidays!!http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/03/thank_allah_buddha_and_jesus_i_am_on_hol~929164/2006-07-03T13:28:36+02:00 <p>I am on holidays!! I have 20 days of sleeping in; watching daytime soap operas and forgetting everything I have learnt. Normally I don’t really like holidays, but last semester was so incredibly NOT cool. It sucked in every way possible (well there are some good things, but not many, and they don't directly involve myself, just good things that happen to friends and they have been kind enough to let me bask in their reflected happiness). It started with a bout of depression and mind-numbing loneliness, and ended with being tested for cancer. Oh what fun. Anyway, here are some of the "highlights" of this past semester.</p> <p>1. Classes sucked. They were boring and tedious. I seriously contemplated throwing in the towel at one point. I knew that a psychology course wasn’t going to be all laughs and making fun of psychologically disturbed individuals, but these classes were just plain dull. </p> <p>2. My roommate. He was a rude, lazy, pig. He stayed up till 3 in the morning watching T.V. loudly, and complained when I was in my room, quietly playing my guitar at 6 pm. He disappeared when we had to clean the house, leaving me the task of mopping, vacuuming, and scrubbing the toilet. He hoarded the fridge, monopolised the television, and sodomised a grapefruit. He was not a nice person.</p> <p>3. Friends. Well, just one friend, Gene. He moved up to Hamilton Island and now he is too good to talk to me anymore. He came down to Brisbane for a holiday and didn’t even tell me. He's like "I live on a tropical island, I am better than you lowly mountain folk, and I look down my nose at you". Bah, living on a tropical island doesn't make you better, it just makes you tanned. I could live on a tropical island if I really wanted to; all I need is a pile of sand and a heat lamp.</p> <p>4. That cute girl who works at the bookstore. I don’t have a problem with her, she is great, and she has a really pretty smile. I am annoyed at myself. I have been going in there for weeks, buying books I don’t want or need, just so I can talk to her, but every time I do, it sounds like I am missing a chromosome. I am such a coward. It has taken me two months to work up the courage just to ask her what her name is (it is Allison by the way). The rate I am going I might be brave enough to ask her out this time next year. I am pathetic.</p> <p>5. My car. For several weeks my car was playing up, not starting when it should and making weird noises. I finally found 2 things that fixed the problem though... oil and water. Who'd have guessed??</p> <p>6. My sister in law. This woman has decided I am a bad influence and has forbidden me to be alone with my nephew. She is terrified that he will grow up to be like me. Sure I aint great, but seriously there has to be worse things to be than me. Besides, its not like my personality is contagious.... unless those die-hard nurture people are right, and a person's personality is only shaped by the environment, but even then I think she should be more worried about her alcoholic, ex-con, brother than me.</p> <p>So that’s probably it, some of the things that has made this a great semester. But as I said before there are a couple of good things, like Rogue getting engaged. Her fiancé is a good bloke and I am happy for both of them, besides, there the ones who let me bask in their reflected happiness. All good things must come to an end.... Including this god-awful semester.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/07/03/thank_allah_buddha_and_jesus_i_am_on_hol~929164/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I am on holidays!! I have 20 days of sleeping in; watching daytime soap operas and forgetting everything I have learnt. Normally I don’t really like holidays, but last semester was so incredibly NOT cool. It sucked in every way possible (well there are some good things, but not many, and they don't directly involve myself, just good things that happen to friends and they have been kind enough to let me bask in their reflected happiness). It started with a bout of depression and mind-numbing loneliness, and ended with being tested for cancer. Oh what fun. Anyway, here are some of the "highlights" of this past semester.

1. Classes sucked. They were boring and tedious. I seriously contemplated throwing in the towel at one point. I knew that a psychology course wasn’t going to be all laughs and making fun of psychologically disturbed individuals, but these classes were just plain dull.

2. My roommate. He was a rude, lazy, pig. He stayed up till 3 in the morning watching T.V. loudly, and complained when I was in my room, quietly playing my guitar at 6 pm. He disappeared when we had to clean the house, leaving me the task of mopping, vacuuming, and scrubbing the toilet. He hoarded the fridge, monopolised the television, and sodomised a grapefruit. He was not a nice person.

3. Friends. Well, just one friend, Gene. He moved up to Hamilton Island and now he is too good to talk to me anymore. He came down to Brisbane for a holiday and didn’t even tell me. He's like "I live on a tropical island, I am better than you lowly mountain folk, and I look down my nose at you". Bah, living on a tropical island doesn't make you better, it just makes you tanned. I could live on a tropical island if I really wanted to; all I need is a pile of sand and a heat lamp.

4. That cute girl who works at the bookstore. I don’t have a problem with her, she is great, and she has a really pretty smile. I am annoyed at myself. I have been going in there for weeks, buying books I don’t want or need, just so I can talk to her, but every time I do, it sounds like I am missing a chromosome. I am such a coward. It has taken me two months to work up the courage just to ask her what her name is (it is Allison by the way). The rate I am going I might be brave enough to ask her out this time next year. I am pathetic.

5. My car. For several weeks my car was playing up, not starting when it should and making weird noises. I finally found 2 things that fixed the problem though... oil and water. Who'd have guessed??

6. My sister in law. This woman has decided I am a bad influence and has forbidden me to be alone with my nephew. She is terrified that he will grow up to be like me. Sure I aint great, but seriously there has to be worse things to be than me. Besides, its not like my personality is contagious.... unless those die-hard nurture people are right, and a person's personality is only shaped by the environment, but even then I think she should be more worried about her alcoholic, ex-con, brother than me.

So that’s probably it, some of the things that has made this a great semester. But as I said before there are a couple of good things, like Rogue getting engaged. Her fiancé is a good bloke and I am happy for both of them, besides, there the ones who let me bask in their reflected happiness. All good things must come to an end.... Including this god-awful semester.

Comments

]]>Being crazy aint that bad.... unless you get caught.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/06/24/being_crazy_aint_that_bad_unless_you_get~907764/2006-06-24T14:42:39+02:00 <p>My mum thinks I have gone insane. She came down to my room to borrow my copy of 'The War of the Worlds' because her copy was old and busted, while mine was new and suave (the only reason I have a new copy of this book was because I wanted to talk to the cute bookstore girl) and she caught me sitting on the floor. To put it mildly she was surprised to find me huddled on the ground between my telescope and decrepit red bookcase; the look on her face was a mixture of surprise and worry that her middle child had flown over the cuckoo's nest.<br> "Uhh... Hello" she said.<br> "Hi mummy" I replied (yes I still call my mother 'mummy') "how are you??"<br> "Umm... I'm good... erh.... why are you sitting on the floor??"<br> "Cause the bed is too comfortable" I explained.<br> "O.K.... Isn't that better??" she asked.<br> "Well, being comfortable is good" I said "but it can be dangerous. If you are comfortable then you don’t want to move. You don't want to roll over, or stretch, or change positions. If you stayed in your original, comfortable position then you might miss out on finding an even more comfortable one, a position that you will be happy with for a long time. So being comfortable doesn't lead to positive changes."<br> "I see,” she said, "But why don't you sit in your chair??"<br> "Because that too is surprisingly comfortable." I said.<br> "O.K.... Can I borrow your book??"<br> "Sure".<br> With that she went back up to the house... probably to call a few psych hospitals. The truth is I was on the floor playing with my rat, but that is not nearly as interesting.</p> <p>Anyway, while I was down on that cold, hard, concrete floor (which is actually not that uncomfortable) I got to thinking about how much I hate the word "assume". I hate this word mainly because of that annoying phrase "when you assume you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'". That is a dirty, lying phrase. The only person that is made an ass of when they assume is me (or you, depending on who did the assuming in the first place). Like when I assume that a girl likes me, and then she gives me the "you wish" look and I am left feeling like a worthless dolt, or that time when I was six and I assumed that jumping from a tree wouldn't hurt that much, boy-howdy was my face red that day. So the only person that is made an ass is me and I really think we should change the word to reflect this. We should drop the 'u' and make it 'assme'. Its simple, it gets the point across, and we no longer need to put up with that annoying phrase about asses, 'u' and me. It would also save a lot of time, for example I would think "I assme that girl likes me... wait... assme... ass, me... of course, I'm a stupid ass!!". See, no time wasted in getting rejected. It would also work with the whole six year olds wanting to jump from trees thing; "I assme that jumping from a tree won't hurt much.... wait... assme.... ass, me.... hahaha I just said 'ass'" then they would forget all about jumping from trees. All good things must come to an end.... including the misleading 'u' in 'assume'.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/06/24/being_crazy_aint_that_bad_unless_you_get~907764/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>My mum thinks I have gone insane. She came down to my room to borrow my copy of 'The War of the Worlds' because her copy was old and busted, while mine was new and suave (the only reason I have a new copy of this book was because I wanted to talk to the cute bookstore girl) and she caught me sitting on the floor. To put it mildly she was surprised to find me huddled on the ground between my telescope and decrepit red bookcase; the look on her face was a mixture of surprise and worry that her middle child had flown over the cuckoo's nest.
"Uhh... Hello" she said.
"Hi mummy" I replied (yes I still call my mother 'mummy') "how are you??"
"Umm... I'm good... erh.... why are you sitting on the floor??"
"Cause the bed is too comfortable" I explained.
"O.K.... Isn't that better??" she asked.
"Well, being comfortable is good" I said "but it can be dangerous. If you are comfortable then you don’t want to move. You don't want to roll over, or stretch, or change positions. If you stayed in your original, comfortable position then you might miss out on finding an even more comfortable one, a position that you will be happy with for a long time. So being comfortable doesn't lead to positive changes."
"I see,” she said, "But why don't you sit in your chair??"
"Because that too is surprisingly comfortable." I said.
"O.K.... Can I borrow your book??"
"Sure".
With that she went back up to the house... probably to call a few psych hospitals. The truth is I was on the floor playing with my rat, but that is not nearly as interesting.

Anyway, while I was down on that cold, hard, concrete floor (which is actually not that uncomfortable) I got to thinking about how much I hate the word "assume". I hate this word mainly because of that annoying phrase "when you assume you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'". That is a dirty, lying phrase. The only person that is made an ass of when they assume is me (or you, depending on who did the assuming in the first place). Like when I assume that a girl likes me, and then she gives me the "you wish" look and I am left feeling like a worthless dolt, or that time when I was six and I assumed that jumping from a tree wouldn't hurt that much, boy-howdy was my face red that day. So the only person that is made an ass is me and I really think we should change the word to reflect this. We should drop the 'u' and make it 'assme'. Its simple, it gets the point across, and we no longer need to put up with that annoying phrase about asses, 'u' and me. It would also save a lot of time, for example I would think "I assme that girl likes me... wait... assme... ass, me... of course, I'm a stupid ass!!". See, no time wasted in getting rejected. It would also work with the whole six year olds wanting to jump from trees thing; "I assme that jumping from a tree won't hurt much.... wait... assme.... ass, me.... hahaha I just said 'ass'" then they would forget all about jumping from trees. All good things must come to an end.... including the misleading 'u' in 'assume'.

Comments

]]>Its all about the size of your club.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/06/02/its_all_about_the_size_of_your_club~848740/2006-06-02T13:25:30+02:00 <p>It is hard being 22. Well, not so much hard as it is annoying, and it’s not really the act of being 22 that is annoying, it’s that most women in this age group are annoying. You see, older women are cool; they are more interested in the non-physical qualities in us men. They value a sense of humour, wit, kindness and the ability to count to 20 while wearing shoes. They are less concerned with finding media-created 'perfect' man, and they are definitely not so shallow as to date a violent mouth-breather just because he has a nice ass. Also young girls aren’t interested in looks because they think all boys are 'icky' regardless of washboard abs, tight firm buttocks and the absence of back hair (not that I have back hair or anything). However it seems to me that from the age of about 16 to about 25 the only thing women are interested in are looks. It is almost like they have temporarily de-evolved, back to a time when the worth of a man was evaluated by a single, arbitrary thing.</p> <p>Lets look at the case of our distant relative, Caveman Urg (I am well aware that they are technically not 'cavemen'. I toyed with the idea of saying 'Neanderthal', but I was worried that someone would point out that the Neanderthals weren't really a distant relative to us humans. I suppose I could have said Homo Habilis or Homo Erectus, but that would have opened up the whole debate about multiregional or out-of-Africa models for human evolution, besides "Homo Habilis Urg" doesn't have the same ring to it). Anyway, Caveman Urg was invited to a party at his friends cave. Caveman Urg was excited because his friend always had the best parties, and he was sure that, if the calendar had been invented then, they would party like it was 1,999,999...er, B.C. Oh yes, Caveman Urg couldn't wait, he could already taste his friends legendary Brontosaurus burgers (I would like to point out that I am well aware that dinosaurs were wiped out roughly 64 million years before any type of walking monkey graced our fair lands, if I wanted to be a smart ass I could also point out that there was never actually a dinosaur called "Brontosaurus" it was just some schmuck who accidentally put a Diplodocus's head on an Apatasaurus's body, but that’s only if I want to be a smart ass). So Caveman Urg went to his friends party, he was having a good time, talking with old friends, eating plenty of sweet, tender dinosaur flesh, and trying to decide if he and his friends should invest in that new wheel company. All of a sudden Caveman Urg spotted the most beautiful cavelady he has ever seen. She has a thick, bushy mono-brow, jagged yellow teeth, and that sexy sloping forehead that drives him crazy. So what does Caveman Urg do?? Does he do what every modern man does?? Will he go up to the sexy cavelady, buy her a few drinks, charm her with his sense of humour and intelligence?? Then whisper seductively in her hear "Me Caveman Urg, you pretty Cavelady Urgette, let's go back to Urg Cave and make many Urglings?? Hell no!! He wallops her on the back of the head with a giant club and drags her away for sweet, unconscious, caveman love. So back in those days caveladies were shallow, they only went home with the cavemen who had the biggest clubs. Sure it was against their will, but if a caveman tried to render a cavelady unconscious with a tiny little club, the cavelady would probably turn around and chew out his thyroid gland. So a caveman’s success with a cavelady was determined by their club size. The bigger your club, the more caveladies you got. So modern ladies aged between 16 and 25 are like ancient caveladies, they will only date a guy who has the right type of club. The only difference is that the club has changed from a literal piece of wood used for clubbing, to good looks.... and we get into a lot of trouble if we render a lady unconscious.</p> <p>A lot of people might say that looks are not important. I couldn't agree more. Looks are not important, what is the point of being good looking if no one likes you because you are a vain, shallow, selfish idiot?? But a lot of younger women are focused solely on how good a man looks. I wish it was different for men, but unfortunately most of us are fixated on good looks too. Us men (usually aged between 16 and 25) are constantly looking for the sexy, one eye browed, sloping fore headed cavelady. Its a shame because there are many guys out there that would make excellent boyfriends, but don't get the chance. We always tell them to keep trying because once the ladies see how great your personality is they will like you. This is so true, but what’s the point of trying?? Why should we waste our time being funny, charming, intelligent and artick... articu.... good with words, when the girls wont even looks at us because they are only interested in the size of our clubs?? All good things must come to an end.... including my small club size (hmm, that could be taken the wrong way so just so you don’t get the wrong idea I am VERY well "endowed"... alright I am average sized.... fine I am small, leave me the hell alone).</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/06/02/its_all_about_the_size_of_your_club~848740/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>It is hard being 22. Well, not so much hard as it is annoying, and it’s not really the act of being 22 that is annoying, it’s that most women in this age group are annoying. You see, older women are cool; they are more interested in the non-physical qualities in us men. They value a sense of humour, wit, kindness and the ability to count to 20 while wearing shoes. They are less concerned with finding media-created 'perfect' man, and they are definitely not so shallow as to date a violent mouth-breather just because he has a nice ass. Also young girls aren’t interested in looks because they think all boys are 'icky' regardless of washboard abs, tight firm buttocks and the absence of back hair (not that I have back hair or anything). However it seems to me that from the age of about 16 to about 25 the only thing women are interested in are looks. It is almost like they have temporarily de-evolved, back to a time when the worth of a man was evaluated by a single, arbitrary thing.

Lets look at the case of our distant relative, Caveman Urg (I am well aware that they are technically not 'cavemen'. I toyed with the idea of saying 'Neanderthal', but I was worried that someone would point out that the Neanderthals weren't really a distant relative to us humans. I suppose I could have said Homo Habilis or Homo Erectus, but that would have opened up the whole debate about multiregional or out-of-Africa models for human evolution, besides "Homo Habilis Urg" doesn't have the same ring to it). Anyway, Caveman Urg was invited to a party at his friends cave. Caveman Urg was excited because his friend always had the best parties, and he was sure that, if the calendar had been invented then, they would party like it was 1,999,999...er, B.C. Oh yes, Caveman Urg couldn't wait, he could already taste his friends legendary Brontosaurus burgers (I would like to point out that I am well aware that dinosaurs were wiped out roughly 64 million years before any type of walking monkey graced our fair lands, if I wanted to be a smart ass I could also point out that there was never actually a dinosaur called "Brontosaurus" it was just some schmuck who accidentally put a Diplodocus's head on an Apatasaurus's body, but that’s only if I want to be a smart ass). So Caveman Urg went to his friends party, he was having a good time, talking with old friends, eating plenty of sweet, tender dinosaur flesh, and trying to decide if he and his friends should invest in that new wheel company. All of a sudden Caveman Urg spotted the most beautiful cavelady he has ever seen. She has a thick, bushy mono-brow, jagged yellow teeth, and that sexy sloping forehead that drives him crazy. So what does Caveman Urg do?? Does he do what every modern man does?? Will he go up to the sexy cavelady, buy her a few drinks, charm her with his sense of humour and intelligence?? Then whisper seductively in her hear "Me Caveman Urg, you pretty Cavelady Urgette, let's go back to Urg Cave and make many Urglings?? Hell no!! He wallops her on the back of the head with a giant club and drags her away for sweet, unconscious, caveman love. So back in those days caveladies were shallow, they only went home with the cavemen who had the biggest clubs. Sure it was against their will, but if a caveman tried to render a cavelady unconscious with a tiny little club, the cavelady would probably turn around and chew out his thyroid gland. So a caveman’s success with a cavelady was determined by their club size. The bigger your club, the more caveladies you got. So modern ladies aged between 16 and 25 are like ancient caveladies, they will only date a guy who has the right type of club. The only difference is that the club has changed from a literal piece of wood used for clubbing, to good looks.... and we get into a lot of trouble if we render a lady unconscious.

A lot of people might say that looks are not important. I couldn't agree more. Looks are not important, what is the point of being good looking if no one likes you because you are a vain, shallow, selfish idiot?? But a lot of younger women are focused solely on how good a man looks. I wish it was different for men, but unfortunately most of us are fixated on good looks too. Us men (usually aged between 16 and 25) are constantly looking for the sexy, one eye browed, sloping fore headed cavelady. Its a shame because there are many guys out there that would make excellent boyfriends, but don't get the chance. We always tell them to keep trying because once the ladies see how great your personality is they will like you. This is so true, but what’s the point of trying?? Why should we waste our time being funny, charming, intelligent and artick... articu.... good with words, when the girls wont even looks at us because they are only interested in the size of our clubs?? All good things must come to an end.... including my small club size (hmm, that could be taken the wrong way so just so you don’t get the wrong idea I am VERY well "endowed"... alright I am average sized.... fine I am small, leave me the hell alone).

Comments

]]>The heavy weights shall inherit the earth.http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/05/28/the_heavy_weights_shall_inherit_the_eart~835220/2006-05-28T14:09:54+02:00 <p>I hate my local supermarket. Today i was insulted and embarrassed by some 14 year old shallow school girl and all i did was try to by a bottle of cream. The store that i went to is always busy on a Sunday (mainly because it's the only one open on the most holy of days.... those heathens!!) and i was dreading the inevitable 20 minutes of waiting in the checkout line. So i was pleasantly surprised to find that while every other checkout had the usual throng of milling shoppers there was one that was completely empty. I should have guessed right then that there was something wrong with the checkout operator, but i was nieve and wanted to get out of there. So i ambled up to the checkout, gloating that everyone except for me is stupid because they missed this little slice of supermarket paradise, and placed my bottle of cream on the counter. Thats where my happiness ended, the checkout girl (who looked like a piece of leather wrapped around a broom stick) took one look at the cream, one look at me and said "low-fat yogurt can be used instead of cream". Boy, i just felt like grabbing hold of her and snapping her like a twig.... thats if there was something of her to grab hold of. Seriously, i have seen sheets of paper that were fatter than this girl. Now i am used to being called fat, i've been called fat my entire life (even during the time when i had lost like half my body weight and i was so thin you could see my ribs sticking out through several layers of clothing), but it has always been from friends or relatives or mortal enemies. This was the first time a complete stranger has suggested that maybe i should lose a bit of weight. It hurt a lot, more than i thought it would and now i am feeling like a fat worthless piece of crap. GOD DAMN THOSE SKINNY, SHALLOW PEOPLE WHO THINK A PERSONS WORTH IS MEASURED BY HOW THEY LOOK!! I dont know really who to blame for this, should i blame the media for creating this mould for how everyone should look?? Perhaps i should blame the government for their continuos stream of "get thin, or get lost" adds on T.V. Or maybe i should blame all those pompous thin scientists who sit around telling everyone that "there are too many fat people, its an epidemic!!" I think i will blame the scientists, mainly because i hate being called a part of an epidemic, it makes it sound like i have the plague or something. Man i hate those scientist, they sit around telling us that we should weigh less than half of what we would weigh if we were weighed on the moon... or a small asteroid, and then they get all confused and scratch their heads trying to figure out why there has been a sudden increase in Bulemia and Anorexia. They can all go and SHOVE IT UP THEIR THIN, BONY, NON-DEFINED ASSES!! I for one am getting sick and tired of being judged by my looks. Just because i am fat doesn't mean i am worthless, lazy, stupid or unfit for human consumption, it means that i am NORMAL. Does the fat lion get persecuted and thrown out of his pride?? HELL NO. The fat lion becomes the dominant one, the one that gets sweet, sweet lion love 20 times a day... i wish i was a lion. But why can't our society be like that?? Why must we weigh less than a dust bunny to be accepted?? It's not right. So my fellow chubs dont starve yourself trying to fit this "perfect image", eat what you want because when it comes down to it, the only person you have to please is yourself. Don't listen to the critisisms of those scrawny shallow people, you WILL always be better than them. I would prefer to have one happy, caring overweight friend then a thousand shallow scrawny ones. So eat a peice of fried chicken, and if the leather bound broom stick that serves you suggests that skinless chicken is less fattening, use her for a toothpick. All good things must come to an end.... including annoying thin scientists who don't have asses. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/05/28/the_heavy_weights_shall_inherit_the_eart~835220/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I hate my local supermarket. Today i was insulted and embarrassed by some 14 year old shallow school girl and all i did was try to by a bottle of cream. The store that i went to is always busy on a Sunday (mainly because it's the only one open on the most holy of days.... those heathens!!) and i was dreading the inevitable 20 minutes of waiting in the checkout line. So i was pleasantly surprised to find that while every other checkout had the usual throng of milling shoppers there was one that was completely empty. I should have guessed right then that there was something wrong with the checkout operator, but i was nieve and wanted to get out of there. So i ambled up to the checkout, gloating that everyone except for me is stupid because they missed this little slice of supermarket paradise, and placed my bottle of cream on the counter. Thats where my happiness ended, the checkout girl (who looked like a piece of leather wrapped around a broom stick) took one look at the cream, one look at me and said "low-fat yogurt can be used instead of cream". Boy, i just felt like grabbing hold of her and snapping her like a twig.... thats if there was something of her to grab hold of. Seriously, i have seen sheets of paper that were fatter than this girl. Now i am used to being called fat, i've been called fat my entire life (even during the time when i had lost like half my body weight and i was so thin you could see my ribs sticking out through several layers of clothing), but it has always been from friends or relatives or mortal enemies. This was the first time a complete stranger has suggested that maybe i should lose a bit of weight. It hurt a lot, more than i thought it would and now i am feeling like a fat worthless piece of crap. GOD DAMN THOSE SKINNY, SHALLOW PEOPLE WHO THINK A PERSONS WORTH IS MEASURED BY HOW THEY LOOK!! I dont know really who to blame for this, should i blame the media for creating this mould for how everyone should look?? Perhaps i should blame the government for their continuos stream of "get thin, or get lost" adds on T.V. Or maybe i should blame all those pompous thin scientists who sit around telling everyone that "there are too many fat people, its an epidemic!!" I think i will blame the scientists, mainly because i hate being called a part of an epidemic, it makes it sound like i have the plague or something. Man i hate those scientist, they sit around telling us that we should weigh less than half of what we would weigh if we were weighed on the moon... or a small asteroid, and then they get all confused and scratch their heads trying to figure out why there has been a sudden increase in Bulemia and Anorexia. They can all go and SHOVE IT UP THEIR THIN, BONY, NON-DEFINED ASSES!! I for one am getting sick and tired of being judged by my looks. Just because i am fat doesn't mean i am worthless, lazy, stupid or unfit for human consumption, it means that i am NORMAL. Does the fat lion get persecuted and thrown out of his pride?? HELL NO. The fat lion becomes the dominant one, the one that gets sweet, sweet lion love 20 times a day... i wish i was a lion. But why can't our society be like that?? Why must we weigh less than a dust bunny to be accepted?? It's not right. So my fellow chubs dont starve yourself trying to fit this "perfect image", eat what you want because when it comes down to it, the only person you have to please is yourself. Don't listen to the critisisms of those scrawny shallow people, you WILL always be better than them. I would prefer to have one happy, caring overweight friend then a thousand shallow scrawny ones. So eat a peice of fried chicken, and if the leather bound broom stick that serves you suggests that skinless chicken is less fattening, use her for a toothpick. All good things must come to an end.... including annoying thin scientists who don't have asses.

Comments

]]>I'm failinghttp://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/05/21/i_m_failing~817088/2006-05-21T14:35:28+02:00 <p>I am failing a subject. I am a little worried about it, I haven't failed anything for several years... o.k. I am actually pulling my hair out at the moment. I am feeling guilty and stupid because I can't get my head around it, I don’t know why. Everyone else is doing fine with it, I am the only one who is banging my head against a wall trying to figure it out, but I suppose it is better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick. I decided that I would get some parental advice today, so I went to my mother.<br> "Mother" I said, "Lend me your ear."<br> "Of course darling" she replied. I don’t know why she just lent me her ear so readily; she knows I would just chew her ear off anyway.<br> "Mother, I am failing a subject,” I said, turning away from her in guilt. I could feel her eyes boring into my skull, digging through my hippocampus, tearing at my pineal gland and finally coming to rest on my reticular formation.<br> "That’s nonsense, you always do so well with studying, you will do fine, you will get good grades, get a good job and find a nice woman who will give you her hand in marriage."<br> "Marriage" I muttered, briefly wondering what it would be like to have an extra hand around the house, "that would cost me an arm and a leg."<br> "That's true" she replied "but you will have someone's hand." You can't deny such logic, so I thanked mum, returned her ear and left. Her eyes followed me out the door, down the yard and into my room, where I proceeded to poke them with blunt sticks to see if it was as bad as everyone keeps saying it is. So I am failing a subject and my only comfort is writing annoying stories that don’t make sense. I am stopping now; after all, I don't have the stomach for these kinds of things. All good things must come to an end.... including this annoying subject that is making me fail.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://cespenar.blog.co.uk/2006/05/21/i_m_failing~817088/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I am failing a subject. I am a little worried about it, I haven't failed anything for several years... o.k. I am actually pulling my hair out at the moment. I am feeling guilty and stupid because I can't get my head around it, I don’t know why. Everyone else is doing fine with it, I am the only one who is banging my head against a wall trying to figure it out, but I suppose it is better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick. I decided that I would get some parental advice today, so I went to my mother.
"Mother" I said, "Lend me your ear."
"Of course darling" she replied. I don’t know why she just lent me her ear so readily; she knows I would just chew her ear off anyway.
"Mother, I am failing a subject,” I said, turning away from her in guilt. I could feel her eyes boring into my skull, digging through my hippocampus, tearing at my pineal gland and finally coming to rest on my reticular formation.
"That’s nonsense, you always do so well with studying, you will do fine, you will get good grades, get a good job and find a nice woman who will give you her hand in marriage."
"Marriage" I muttered, briefly wondering what it would be like to have an extra hand around the house, "that would cost me an arm and a leg."
"That's true" she replied "but you will have someone's hand." You can't deny such logic, so I thanked mum, returned her ear and left. Her eyes followed me out the door, down the yard and into my room, where I proceeded to poke them with blunt sticks to see if it was as bad as everyone keeps saying it is. So I am failing a subject and my only comfort is writing annoying stories that don’t make sense. I am stopping now; after all, I don't have the stomach for these kinds of things. All good things must come to an end.... including this annoying subject that is making me fail.

Comments

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