Cheat much?

Happy New Year!So, I promised myself to deliver a post every day this month….I seem to have achieved it with this very post.   Now, I don’t think that making a post about making posts is necessarily cheating….

It was bloody hard, totally lacking in quality and did I say hard?   I stepped over to a blog the other day that had over 50 posts a month….without guest posters.   Ok, some of them were only a couple of lines long, but still…. OVER 50 a month….

I don’t think I could come up with that amount of posts, unless I live (more than I do already) at my keyboard and post every thought I have (which isn’t many, I *am* a bloke after all).

See thats the thing, as a bloke, there are many many times where I am genuinely not thinking about anything.   That doesn’t mean anything in particular, which suggests I am thinking about unimportant things, it literally means nothing is going through my mind.

It’s an almost zen like state, and completely incomprehensible  to women.

Ladies (in my limited experience) tend to be thinking about something at all times.   This view is therefore transferred to the simpler of the species (ie  men), which is where it goes wrong.   The question “What are you thinking?” when responded to with “Nothing” tends to create the “So what’s wrong?” comeback.   This is presumably due to the fact that nothing must be something, which must be something we don’t want to talk to you about, therefore we are hiding something from you and there really is something big.   When you work it the other way round, it works though.   If I ask a woman “What are you thinking?”, the response “nothing” always means something…..something that they don’t want to get into right now, but will do so…..as I fall asleep.

I’m with Ed Byrne on this one, women seem to store up information throughout the day, just to use it in the designated speaking area that they see the bed to be.

Anyway, now I have alienated half of my (very limited) readers, I am off to continue my celebration of managing to post at least 1 piece of meaningless page vomit per day for an entire month.   I will probably take a 3 month haiatus to allow me to find something to write about…

Cheers

Airsoft? SOFT?!?!?!

I was sorting my photos out on the PC the other night, when I stumbled across these 2:

They reminded me of many moons ago, when I was into Paintball in a big way.   The pictures you see were from Airsoft, a different kind of game, but more of that later.

I played paintball regularly and had a great time….sometimes painful….but always great.   I do remember the first time I ever went though.   I was going with a group of regulars that had finally persuaded me to go, when one of the lads dropped out.   This meant I was able to save the ?20 equipment hire and spend more on paint and gas cannisters.   Back then the guns were pistol type affairs with individual gas cannisters that you changed and could hold a tube of 10 paint pellets.   I think they called them Splat guns, much better than the bent scaffolding tubes with a toilet cistern on top.   Anyhoo, enough with the older is better malarky….

So I borrow my friends camouflage gear and facemask.   I didn’t really see any issue in borrowing a mask from a regular…who played in a team…whos team were recognisable by the way their facemask was painted…..no issue at all.

So after I donned my equipment, and went to the instruction area to get…well instruction really, I noticed that a number of people were looking in my general direction and motioning toward me.   I thought nothing of it until I realised that everyone was basically going to take me out first, firmly believing that I was a team member of a very successful team.   Damnit.

My lasting memory of my first ever paintball excursion though, was being chased through the woods, paint pellets whizzing past my ears and spotting an overturned tressle table.   I dived over the table to get to cover, only to land…knee first…onto a rock that nature had chosen to hone into a knee destroying pyramid affair.   The reason that this is so memorable is my reaction.   Instead of screaming (like I was in my head) in pain, I was more focussed on changing the gas cannister and reloading the paint.   Paint!   ffs, you would have thought I was pinned down under heavy fire in ‘nam or something.   I am an idiot.

So, back to the photographs.   No, they aren’t from some sort of terrorist training camp and that is not Colonel Gadaffi on the right.   On the left we have my good self, attempting a menacing look but failing whilst looking at Lee, hidden under a mountain of camo gear and full face mask.   On the right, we have Ross and this was the day I went to Airsoft for the first time.

Now Airsoft (or Softair as it is occasionally known), differs from paintball in a number of ways, firstly – there is no paint, secondly – the guns are replicas of real weapons and thirdly – the name is a LIE.   Whilst paintball is basically shooting balls of paint at each other, airsoft is most definately not shooting soft air at one another.   What you are shooting in air soft are 6mm 0.20g plastic pellets.   You also shoot these in rapid succession as your average airsoft rifle will hold 250 of these things in a single magazine.   A high capacity magazine will hold 500+.

In short, pain.

Imagine the joy of my teammate, when, in a pressure situation I didn’t recognise him…and proceeded to shoot about 200 of these things at the top of his head.   Another joyous moment came when myself and another guy were making our way over to two guys that had reached cover.   They were refusing to admit that we had hit them, which made us apretty annoyed to tell the truth.   So we decided to get closer.   I must explain at this point that their is a rule that says that if you get too close to someone, they will surrender and you shouldn’t open fire.   We definitely got the drop on these two guys, and in fact were the other side of their cover.   So we jump up and start screaming for them to surrender, which makes them panic and the guy holding a shotgun shit himself and pulled the trigger.   Right into the face of my mate…who had chosen that game to go with shooting goggles instead of a full face mask.   I saw the three holes in his cheek start oozing with blood and we both opened fire on this guy.

My fave moment from this day out though, has to be “Defend the base”. The “base” in this sense was a garden shed.   The rules were simple, team A would attack the shed and team B would defend it.   The game was over if all of team A were “dead” or if team A managed to get inside the “base”.   We defended first.

It was decided that I would have the dubious pleasure of being the last line of defence…I would be “In the Shed”.   Lee decided, in a show of solidarity I guess, to put himself on top of the shed…and build what can only be described as a nest up there.   The shed opened away from the attackers and the door was open.   I spent most of my time watching my defense standing up and yelling “hit” and walking away.   It started to get quite lonely in there.   I then noticed a small hole had been cut out of the wall facing the attackers, so decided to poke the barrel through and take some pot shots.   This basically served to highlight where Lee was hiding, and shortly afterwards he was climbing off the roof.

I could see that I was rapidly running out of teammates, and decided to stop wasting ammunition, when I heard a small thud above me.   I look at the hole in the wall, and see a BB grenade teetering and almost entering the shed….WITH ME IN IT!!.   These things contain around 500 pellets and explode with quite a bit of force.   Fortunately for me (and my underpants) the BB grenade fell on the outside of the shed just as it exploded.   It did not, however, place me in a calm state of being.   The shout went up from the marshalls that there was a minute to go.   After they then shouted “30 seconds!” I heard them…the unmistakeable sound of someone charging towards me in my garden shed of fear and doom.   The guy slipped and fell down just in front of the open door….as he was falling, I unloaded a full 500 pellets into his chest.   I seem to recall it took him around 5 minutes to get up again…we had won!

So then it was our turn to attack and lets just say that we started pretty badly.   By the time we had even advanced a short distance…we were already pinned down.   It did not look good.   We countered these tactical bastards by singing…always look on the bright side of life…if I recall.   All of a sudden, Lee decides that he can take some of them out and allow us to move forward, he will run from tree to tree and we will lay down covering fire to allow this to happen.   Good plan.   Lee prepares himself and then runs full tilt at the first tree, skids to a halt and recovers himself.   We lay down suppressing fire and he charges to the next tree…only he actually charges AT the next tree and basically runs full steam into it.   After he picked himself up off the ground, he realised that he had left his guns at the first tree.

At this point it was over for us…none of us could see the opposition because of the tears streaming down our faces.   Still thinking it was a good idea, he now sprints back to the first tree and slams into that one too.

That lad is an accidental comedic god.

So to finish this ramble, we head back to Ross (he of the Colonel Gadaffi pic above).   He has the dubious pleasure of appearing in this blog due to his very own moment of accidental comedic genius.  

Now, I have mentioned that Airsoft guns are essentially replicas of real guns and they look pretty damned realistic….especially to the untrained eye.   Say for example…the untrained eye of a neighbour.  

So Ross and friends are cleaning their various airsoft guns and decide to pose for some photographs.   To do this, they get dressed in all their gear and head into the garden.   Around 20 minutes later it happened.   The back gate was kicked down, the front door smashed open, SO19 (Britains SWAT) swarmed the place.   Ross told me that they were screaming for him to drop the weapon and he froze completely, he couldn’t speak…he certainly couldn’t put the weapon down.  

It was soon put down as a misunderstanding, it would appear that a neighbour had looked out of their bedroom window and saw terrorists in camo gear with a crapload of weapons in the garden.   I think I would have called the police too tbh…. I may call them now Smile

The weather

T-storm warningHere we go, a perfectly British thing to talk about.   We Brits love nothing more than discussing the finer points of the weather.   This isn’t indicative of age, no longer is discussing the weather a purely old-age pastime.   As proven last Saturday night.

4 guys, all British, out drinking (a lot), subject moves onto the differences between British and German weather.   The general concensus being that Germany is like Britain…but extreme.  

This seems to be ingrained in our psychy as British people.   A lull in conversation…where that desperate need to fill the void of silence causes us Brits to go with the most basic of conversation continuation devices…the weather.

We will talk about how hot it is,  which  could be a good thing or a bad thing.   To quote Peter Kay: “I like it warm, but I don’t like it this warm”.   We will mention how cold it is, how windy, damp, humid, muggy etc etc, and when this all fails us we can revert to how hot/cold/humid/windy/damp/muggy it WAS or that it WILL BE.

We have approximately 72 different types of rain to describe, although we can never agree on which one is the worst. 19 types of snow (none of them equate to the lovely powder on European ski slopes).   Practically every ailment that afflicts the British public is attributable to the weather in some way.   If your knee is aching, it is always the cold/rainy/sunny weather that caused it.   This actually extrapolates out to some sort of injury based Met. Office.   People believe they can predict the oncoming weather based on their aches and pains.   Ignoring the bloody obvious that the black sky and thunder suggests rain is coming…no no no, it is their dodgy hip that is the real indicator.

Basically I can only surmise that, being an island nation, there isn’t much to talk about.   Particularly as our island is essentially a dreary drizzly place at the best of times.   Let’s face it, anyone who has ever visited a British beach will instinctively pack sowesters and umbrellas in the boot, hoping amongst hope that they won’t be needed, but preparing for the inevitable downpour.   Your garden is a bit dry?   This can be cured by planning a barbequeue, washing the car or hanging out 2 loads of washing on the line.

Weather is the cause of our crappy public transportation system too.   We have had trains delayed due to:

The wrong kind of snow
Slippery rain
Dew on the tracks (a morning train)
Excessive heat on the tracks
Leaves on the track (in Autumn…go figure)

I can only guess from this lot that our train tracks are made of some form of paper chocolate…although I struggle to understand what the right kind of snow would be….probably the non-slippy,  not too warm, leaf resistent kind…

 

 

Argue much?

Calm down, calm downIs it bad when your boss starts sending emails that end with things like “Ask them to change it, but try and be nice”?

Sure, I can argue and I can do it pretty well.   At work I can get quite aggressive, which is in direct contrast to what a soft cuddly teddy bear I am outside of work…no honestly.

But my boss has recently started adding lines much like that one to emails…and more recently in direct conversation.   I wouldn’t mind, but he regularly drags me into meetings I have neither the desire nor inclination to attend, specifically so that he can utilise me as some form of verbal weapon in the war against more work heading to our section.

Initially I thought it was as a result of my general knowledge and skills, however, I now realise it is simply because I am an opinionated and obstinate bastard.   Not that I am complaining, it is nice to have members of senior management in fear of me.

My rants are fairly well known in the office and I think that most people just humour me until I inevitably fall back from the ceiling.

The thing is, generally I am not argumentative outside of work.   I can have debates or disagreements, but rarely do I get as vein bulgingly irate as I do at work.   I am not sure why this is, maybe the fear of personal injury is somewhat enhanced outside of work.

I have a philosophy, based entirely on my opinion of myself as reasonably intelligent (read: Not stupid), which centers around the fact that I am right…until you prove me wrong.   I am willing to be proven wrong (sometimes) and in fact openly tell people that if they want to beat me in an argument they just have to be able to backup their facts.   I will then admit defeat and add the knowledge to the future argument munitions dump.

I like winning arguments.   I win a lot of arguments.   I especially like winning unwinnable arguments.   Back in my college days, we had a class entitled “Communications”.   Quite a vague name for a class, but I enjoyed it.   Basically, I discovered really early on that I could start an argument amongst the class, sit back and wait for the lesson to end.   It was here that I found my joy at going for unwinnable arguments.   I am not sure how or why, but some of the guys in the class were talking about cars, one of the guys mentioned how getting anything and driving it above 60mph was pointless due to fuel consumption.   I argued that you may use more fuel, but you get there quicker, so it all evens out.

To qualify the statement, I entered into the ridiculous.   I posited that if a car (for arguments sake) travels 100 miles at 50mph arrives in 2 hours and uses half a tank of fuel, the same car travelling at 100mph will use twice the fuel but arrive in half the time,  therefore still only using half a tank of fuel.

It is quite possibly my most favourite argument as it is utter, utter bollocks.

I won, and had 25 other classmates convinced that it was true.

In the same class I argued that the British Armed Forces should pay Poll Tax (The old Council Tax) when away on Aircraft Carriers.   My statement was centered around the fact that another country stepping foot on a British Aircraft Carrier without permission could constitute an act of war.   Therefore, a British Aircraft Carrier is considered to be British soil.   The same argument works for British Embassy buildings and their grounds.   The best part about that argument (which I won btw) is that I disagree with my own argument entirely.

I do this a lot, I argued recently with a Linux fan, from a stance where I really know very little about Linux.   I got the guy so flustered that he couldn’t argue his point.

I could be a politician, but I enjoy telling the truth too much….to tell the truth

In true form, I have no idea where this is heading so let me try and drag it to a succinct and informative close

I am an obstinate bastard

Nuff said

I must stop coughing, it's making me smoke!

My name is Dave, and I am a nicotineoholic.   It has been 5 minutes since my last cigarette and it is difficult.

Ok, so it isn’t quite that bad, yet, but I have my moments.   Anyone that has smoked will more than likely know that when you drink alcohol, you smoke more.   Oh, and when I say “Anyone” that excludes occasional smokers….I don’t know how you do it, well those of you that inhale anyway.

So most smokers will have, on occasion, woken up to the feeling that someone has parked a small articulated lorry on their chest.   We resolve this by “kickstarting the lungs” with a cigarette.     Genius eh?   Normally intelligent folks performing random acts of moronity.

Now, before you shun me as the social outcast you now know me to be…I understand my problem.   Yes cigarettes are addictive, but that isn’t it.   They also do have some side benefits.   They are an appetite Sch??ner rauchen
suppressant, trust me, if they weren’t I would probably be indistinguishable from any other large building that waddles down your street.

You see, I gave up smoking for almost 5 years, unfortunately when I started the process I was quite slim.   Fast forward to when I started smoking again and I am roughly the size of an up and coming sumo star.   Face it, I had to start again before I ballooned further.   It was self preservation really.   Stop the weight gain or have to be removed from my house by a crane.

Just recently though, Germany adopted the smoking ban…and currently it is not an issue.   The weather is fantastic and the beer garden is king.   However, all of the non-smokers,   previously more happy than vegetarians when the BSE scandal hit the UK, are now following us smokers outside for the fresh air and sunshine.   The issue, smokers are now upsetting non-smokers outside too.   I actually read a rant from a smoker actually complaining about all of the people smoking outside.   WE GAVE YOU THE BAR DAMMNIT!!

At least out here drinking outside is normal, and the bar staff take your order and deliver the beer to you.   In the UK it would kill me….quite literally with regards the extra strain placed upon my weak heart and lungs.   In a lot of pubs they don’t allow you to take your beer outside, and the chances of being served outside are even slimmer.

I was looking for an image to drop on here and discovered this:

Smokes info

Now I can’t deny any of this, and frankly I wouldn’t want to.   But the information that is always missing from this kind of information is that the extra years are the bad ones at the end…you know, the years in the nursing home covered in your own crap and not remembering your name without some sort of tag.   The doddering, frail, zimmerframe years.

I like the fact that the warning on cigarettes now takes up half the packet.   That will sort out that guy buying smokes that has been living under a rock for the last 20 years… Who is that for though, seriously?   Let’s face it, they could market cigarettes in a black packet with a picture of a skull and crossbones on and call them “Death Sticks” with the slogan “Guaranteed melanoma with every inhalation” and there would be a queue halfway down the street to buy them… Why?

Because smoking is cool…..

Cool or what?

Right?

I think I may start a cult…

Speaker of the House Podium

Lets face it, jobs are a pain in the hole. I mean, you turn up and do a good job and then what happens, they expect you to repeat this amazing feat the following day. So the following day you turn up and you don’t do such a good job…then the trouble really starts…..or worse, you do just as good a job as before and now the precedent is set.

I am pretty sure that cults are the way to go. If you pick them carefully, you can hole up somewhere and all of your followers will provide you with money. Get enough followers and try not to upset the authorities and you can register as a religion, where the tax benefits are huge.

So what should my cult be centered around? Creationism? Naah, that has been done by at least 3 American Presidents. Something modern perhaps? What about the “Hedonistic Brothers of the Blogosphere”? Too obvious and probably quite difficult to convince the powers that be of religious intent.

I remember a few years ago in the UK, there was an attempt to get Jedi entered as a valid religion during the national census survey that happens from time to time. Apparently there is a rule that states, if a certain number (check out MY researching skills!) of people specify something on the census as their religion, British Government are obligated to recognise it as an official religion.

I could probably tap into the existing Star Wars fanbase, and I am fairly sure that the census is a matter of public record.   Lets face it, 2 or 3 years from now and I could have my own TV show accepting pledges somewhere in the Bible Belt of America…..Tom Cruise would be my spokesman and would bring with him one of his 18 wives (all perfectly acceptable under the Jedi religion…yes I know it goes against the films ideals).

I would of course look to avoid mass suicides and Waco style sieges….look to avoid says I….like I am really going to start something like that.   I just want the money and tax breaks…killing my followers would seem to be counter intuitive to the whole process….unless I can persuade them all to write a will.

Hmm – the thot plickens

Nah – I have to say that I don’t think Jedi will work, not least of all as I am competing with too many geeks.   I will have to think of something else.

Something that would allow my budding evil genius disposition to prosper.   I have followers already, my messenger list comprises of 182 people.   A large proportion of which require me for technical services.   I could run a seminar…that’s it….run a seminar on how to sort your own damn computer out, and intersperse it with subliminal messages about how to sort your own damn soul out by sending me large and regular sums of money.

It could work

Send me all of your money

Maybe

Send me all of your money

You never know

Getting old…

Ok…so 35 is round the corner.   i know this as I have recently referred to myself as 34 and 11 12ths.   When did this happen.   I don’t feel 35, christ I don’t feel 34.

One of the key identifiers (of which there are numerous) is that I seem to be falling apart.   I groan when I get up out of a chair and click almost as much as a…well a very clicky thing indeed.   I am also taking much much longer to recover from drinking sessions.   I am trying to convince myself that this is due to the drinking sessions lasting much longer thanks to being out in Germany, but I cannot keep fooling myself for too much longer.   Eventually I will be passing a mirror and simply laugh and point at myself in a Nelson Munce stylee.

I almost instinctively hate music that hasn’t been performed using actual instruments that require more than a skill in computer programming.   I am now officially unable to accurately guess other peoples ages and more horrifying is that when I give advice, it tends to be based on actual experience, not opinion.

Oh dear god I have the experience of age.   *sob*

I think that the worst thing is that a lot of my favourite films and TV shows are so old that I actually know people that haven’t seen them.   This has to change.   There are actually people that haven’t watched Red Dwarf, Men Behaving Badly, Drop the Dead Donkey, Father Ted and loads of the other stuff I watch.   Christ, half of them haven’t heard of the Fast Show…what is the world coming to?  

Whats worse is that I honestly feel like the shows aired a couple of years ago.   They are so familiar to me and they are still damnably funny to this day.   Red Dwarf started in 1988….20 frickin years ago. 20!!!

Thats older than some of the people I was drinking with on Saturday night.   Still, I managed to outlast most of them….admittedly I was running on fumes when I headed back up to the apartment, but still….

Fortunately I live in Germany where people stay in college until they are 84 it seems, so I have yet to suffer the ignomy of being treated by a Doctor who is younger than I am….it won’t be long now though.   As I already mentioned, my mind is going.   My body is falling apart in new and interesting ways…oh, and my mind is going.

My eldest child is almost 12 years old.   Almost a teenager….when did this happen, I don’t recall the warning letters…it most definitely did not mention this in the brochure.

I think the clue is in the terminology used to describe age:

You become 21
You turn 30
You are pushing 40
You reach 50
You make it to 60
You hit 70

After that you are on bonus time really.

Now, where did I put that Zimmer?

Damnit

 

Social Networking?

I don’t know why I haven’t written about this before, especially as it was such a big part of my life for a long time. Now, I have to warn you, some of this post will be deeply geeky. So to that end (and for our American friends):

Those of you with a “jock” disposition, should probably close down your browser……hang on, they wouldn’t be reading anyway, surely. *meh*

I used to run LAN parties many moons ago. I like to think that the emphasis was on party and that the LAN side of it was a means to an end. In fact, we probably had less stereo-typed geeks than most other LANs could lay claim to. For those of you that don’t know, a LAN party is essentially a get-together of people that like playing computer games against each other, people bring their computers to a central venue and spend a weekend shooting people. The main game at my LANs seemed to be centered around drinking as much as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, not many business want to give over a large venue with enough power for say 70 computers, so I moved around a number of different venues. One of which had an ornamental pond outside and was a no smoking building. The pond was on 3 levels like a set of steps, starting at the top with a huge pond, then one level lower that had a slightly smaller pond, ending at the bottom with a small pond. One guy gave us a moment of drunken comedic genius by falling into the top pond, where he panicked and scrambled out of it….. into the next pond down, where he panicked and scrambled out of it….. into the next pond down, where he panicked and scrambled out of it onto the grass. A lot of people took a very long time to recover from that. I managed to pull myself together for long enough to stop him heading into the room with all of the very expensive computers….

At the same LAN, a guy got so drunk that he started stripping down to his boxer shorts and mumbling incoherently. When he finally passed out, we very kindly….stacked beer cans and alcohol bottles around his inert form and balanced them on his head. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

At some point we decided to run a LAN in Blackpool which, up until this blog post, was known as the LAN that shall never be named. The main reason for this was that I was completely stitched up by the hotel owner. I visited him and was given assurances that he could meet the power requirements of some 60-70 computers and all associated paraphenalia. He also told me that, as it was out of season, we would have the entire hotel available. When I arrived, he was checking in a stag do, which meant I couldn’t have the entire downstairs…there weren’t enough tables and chairs so friends from the area had to scrounge them from other hotels, there was no parking that he said we could have and then to top it all off…..no power. He expected us to run everything from 2 or 3 plug sockets. In the end we had to string power extentions into the hotel next door. The stag do were a bunch of arseholes and none of the guys were happy leaving their equipment out. I basically spent the whole LAN trying to calm people down and not have to give them all their money back.

In the end we overcame the shite and had a great time. There was Evs destroying everyone in the UT competition. He was so good that I stopped monitoring the match to sit and watch this guy play. Couple that with the fact that he was just having a laugh and getting pissed, just made it all the more impressive. We also had operation car breakout. A military style operation where Preachys motor was extricated from its clamp hell with an angle grinder and about 20 fairly sizeable guys telling the clampers to fuck off.

After Blackpool, we headed back to our previous venue – Also known as the “Sex” LAN, which basically seemed to revolve around me fighting with the “caretaker” of the building when his power tripped and he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, and people being randomly “sexed”. For those of you not in the know, sexing involves taking a photograph of a sleeping member of the LAN, whilst having a photo of you gyrating your hips above their head. It was quite the sport across that one. This was also the LAN where Exo chose to drink almost every left over beer and glass of..whatever the hell was left. When we got him back to mine, he thought that Sarah was his missus and tried to get her in bed with him…fell over and cracked his head on a shelf. We checked he was ok, but he didn’t wake up for quite some time….mad Irish Goat pr0n loving bastard. This was the first LAN where we had a rare breed…the female gamer. Finally Lee decided to try his hand at topless modelling….oh and eyballing various alcoholic beverages. It was quite an eventful weekend that’s for sure.

Yes, that does look like we got Pierre Luigi Collina pissed and posing.   In fact, when we went to Anfield a load of lads took their photo with Lee as he could pass for PLC Grin

I also started running private LAN parties.   This started with the guys and gals from Loony Asylum.   If we thought that the WolfLAN mob were drunken party machines, these boys were pros.   If I were to post all of their exploits in party form it would take all month to read this post instead of just all day.   Let me bulletpoint some of my fave memories:

  1. Actually naming Man Love Central
  2. Shooting airsoft weaponry at each other…in the room
  3. Someone getting rammed on Jack Daniels and throwing up after losing control…but maintaining enough control to find a plastic bag
  4. Bringing an entire professional Karaoke setup
  5. Porn displayed on 30 PCs and also 15 feet high on the projector
  6. An asian lad being more offended at being called Jackie Chan by some dickhead.   Asking to at least be called Chow Yun Fat
  7. A few local lads kicking off in the venue thinking that Loony were a bunch of computer geeks.   The same lads being very surprised when 40 fairly un-geeky guys wandered downstairs in some sort of “The Warriors” stand-off
  8. Sharing so much porn across the network that it couldn’t actually handle it
  9. Conning a barman to leave the bar unattended for slightly too long…

There were many many more things, but my absolute fave has to be a lad called Geordie.

Now let me just explain, we had a venue above a pub in Edwinstowe.   It was run by Andy and Andy, a gay couple and a superb laugh.   You know how cats will always jump on the lap of the only person in a room that is allergic?   Well, Little Andy had much the same knack, only his particular talent was finding people that were slightly uncomfortable with homosexuality.   Well, Geordie fell into this category.   He wasn’t homophobic or anything like that, he was just a little uncomfortable.   So the drinks are flowing, the bar has been closed and has turned into a lock-in for the Loonys.   Little Andy decides to have some fun at Geordies expense, by flirting with him…you know, stroking his head, leaning a little too close when he was talking…all the classics.

Geordie, for his part, took it all in reasonable spirits.   That said, it was fair to say that he was drinking slightly faster than perhaps he would have normally done.   This ended up with him being comatosed in the bar.   The lads took it upon themselves to make him pay for this lapse of judgement and write on him, spray shaving foam etc etc.   One lad went a little far though, and got some Veet hair remover and sprayed it on his head.   Anyway, Little Andy finds him and decides to wake him up and help the poor guy.   So he took him to his shower, stripped him and showered him.     Being the kind and generous soul he is, he recorded the event for posterity.

I don’t think I have ever seen a man so completely broken as Geordie was the next day.

You know what, I think I may have to post more about WolfLAN at a later time….

Great times..

On reflection…

My Dome Freshly Shorn / Day 19
So the summer is kind of almost officially close to being nearby.   Or at least that’s how I view it with the ever changing Frankfurt weather.

As pointed out by a friend, one of the best things about summer is how the women over here have a penchant for the G-String and white trousers combo.   There is little better than viewing women as nature intended…well, provided the old stories are wrong and it isn’t so much Mother Nature as Father.

Which brings me onto my issue.   I am a cold weather person, if reincarnation is possible I will probably come back as a reptile.   Let’s see:

Things I am:
A plus size guy
Balding
Unfit
A human radiator (according to Sarah anyway)
Oh..and quite possibly the worlds whitest man.

Honestly, I burn at the thought of sunlight and heat makes everywhere seem like a sauna.   Honestly, temperatures got up to 31 degrees last week and all I needed was some coals in the corner of my apartment and a bucket of water.   It’s due to get hotter than that today.   If only you could lose weight through sweat…I would be a rake by now.

Being the whitest man alive, you would think that I would be out semi-naked and covered in factor 250 suncream in a vain effort to gain some kind of colour.   However, I live quite near the river Main here in Frankfurt and, being as white as I am, I tend to reflect.   Christ, if I bend forward, the glint of my balding pate could cause some poor boat captain to lose control and careen out of control.   I don’t want that on my conscience….do you?

That said, I could easily rent myself out to top sports teams….

Tennis players:   Getting fed up of being aced out all the time?
Football teams:   Heading towards a penalty shoot-out?

If you are in trouble, and noone else can help.   Maybe you can call…. Rent a Glare

I think I may have stumbled onto a winning formula there.   Think about it, I buy a shitload of Mr Sheen and polish cloths…shine ‘er up and head to the stadium.   A cunning neck movement and *bang*…the opposition is blind.   Night games wouldn’t cause any issues, those spotlights cast loads of light, and any accusations of impropriety and a search for mirrors would be in vain.   I could just don a jaunty hat and walk away to collect my â??100,000 per match fee.

If only my printer wasn’t out of ink, I would already be drawing up the flyers.

“Look on the brightside….I have the head for it”

Steal the thunder…

Kevin Smith

Writer, director and occasional Silent Bob actor Kevin Smith said it best during his “An evening with Kevin Smith” DVD.   He refers to using “Steal the thunder” humour, where he will put himself down about his weight etc, which leaves nothing for people to hit you with.

I have followed the same mantra for many years now and it works.   I think a lot of people would assume it would be depressing, but honestly it isn’t.   It is pretty bloody funny to watch people flounder for a comedy put down when you have just used the best material available on yourself.

You may have noticed this particular style elsewhere in this blog, it’s something I personally find funny, especially watching people flounder.   You can also steal the thunder following an insult.   Now just to explain, I am pretty good in an argument and have been known to fire off some snappy comebacks in my time.   Usually when you catch people off-guard with a comeback, they result to the most base defence….the personal insult.

Being of the larger persuasion (I didn’t take much persuading though, truth be told), it is no surprise where their poorly developed intellect takes these morons in the search for a retort to the snappy comeback:

Me: Some snappy quip
Idiot: Shut the fuck up you fat bastard

See…classy huh, right up there with the best of them really…

Me: Oh dear god, the fat comeback.   Shit, I didn’t see that coming, I hadn’t prepared….it could only really get worse if you spot the cleverly concealed fact about my hair loss..and my tendency to look like the bastard love child of Uncle Fester and a shaved panda.   Oh no, not the panda comment.   You sir have cut me to my very quip, I am mortally wounded, my intellect bows and scrapes at the feet of a master of witty repartee, a mind the speed of a whippet and the generally aquired wiseness of the longest living owl.   I apologise and beg you, please do not waste your god given talents of intellectual prowess on me, a mere imbecile who is not worthy to walk past you, let alone enter into discourse with you.
Idiot: …..

See?   Fun isn’t it.   I wouldn’t mind, but that actually happened.   Same as when someone called a friend of mine (who has alopecia and is therefore completely hairless) bald.   I think I replied with something along the lines of “3 cheers for Captain Obvious, don’t tell me, for your next feat of put down prowess you will call me fat?   Am I right?   Do I win a prize?”

How I don’t end up in more fights is beyond me…really…I can’t stop it.   I guess it isn’t so bad over here, if a German insults me, I probably have no idea how to respond.

Must learn more German

I think I am losing my edge.   I have to say though, my favourite two comebacks are directly attributable to Marc (He of Hop Pole Fame).

#2 – We were in a nightclub when an absolute stunner walked past me.   I couldn’t help myself, I just kind of…well gawked really.   She turned to me and said “What are you fucking looking at?” (no kidding, she was a classy one…).   Without batting an eyelid, Marc leant in and said sweetly “Don’t worry love, he thought you were attractive, but he was quite obviously mistaken..”

#1 – We were at Anfield, watching our beloved Liverpool play Aston Villa, and the Villa fans were chanting over and over that one of our recent signings was inclined to entertain Mrs Palm and her 5 lovely daughters on occasion.   If I recall it went something like “Heskey is a wanker, Heskey is a wanker…na naaa na na”, or something equally well thought out and intimidating.   When there was a break in play, the Villa fans had just finished with their eloquent prose and the ground was particularly quiet.   Marc stands up, in the middle of the stand we were sat in and replied….at the top of his lungs, “He’d rather be a wanker than a bruuuuuummy”.   Marc is now revered as an Anfield legend.

Sometimes you just have to fight fire with fire…