Apr. 3, 2010 @ 7:15 AM _
No? Well shut up, I do.
Apr. 2, 2010 @ 7:58 AM _
FAT SUIT MAN! One day as a result of a shipping error on a superman costume FAT SUIT MAN was born! With the incredible ability to have a neck on a suit so tight the it chokes you, forcing you to become froglike in every photo!
BUNNY-SLUT-NURSE MAN! With the incredible ability to CHALLENGE YOUR SEXUALITY.
SHARK BOY! He has no powers, just A RADIOACTIVE MINIATURE SHARK ATTATCHED TO HIS HEAD.
Apr. 1, 2010 @ 4:54 AM _
Yes, that haunted look on my face means I’m about ready to get my hair cut. Oh no!
So yes, I’ve discovered the ultimate drink.
This:
Plus this:
Equals this (warning NSFW):
http://i73.photobucket.com/albums/i238/robbsin/NSFW.png
So yes, at the moment my sleeping patterns are so screwed up that I’m trying to fix them and it isn’t working. Luckily I have a new weapon at my side. Now there is an unwritten rule of studenting that I’m about to write down.
ALCOHOL PUSHES YOUR BODY CLOCK BACK
ENERGY DRINK PUSHES YOUR BODY CLOCK FORWARD
And now I have a large supply of these things:
Looking a bullet from hell and feeling like one when you drink it, this thing packs a punch and a half. Brandishing a worrying “DO NOT TAKE MORE THAN TWO A DAY” warning, it makes it feel as though the surgeon general is lurking behind you, ready to pounce if you DARE drink more than two.
I have had 5 of the original “24-hour Energy Shots” which these have spawned from in one sitting. I stayed awake for FOURTY-EIGHT HOURS before shaking and collapsing on the floor, writhing in what I hope was my own bodily fluids that had propelled themselves from my body as a consequence of the sheer IMPACT this drink had on my body.
No, not really. But I did stay awake for a good while with no shaking or unpleasantness.
Oh, and tea. I’m british you know.
In fact I’m so british I shit the TARDIS.
Feb. 12, 2010 @ 1:03 AM _
That is all.
Feb. 11, 2010 @ 11:19 PM _
Fantastic!
So on 2nd March I’m helping to run a talent competition for MedEquip4Kids for my course. There’s one catch, I have to be funny. This is quite hard to believe, but I can attempt to make people laugh and at least 36.7% of the time I’ll get a giggle. So if you’re gonna be there expect creepy stalker jokes. Oh yes. I’m going there.
There’s also going to be Baldyman:
He’ll be performing throughout the night also. We also have a range of singers. It’ll all be recorded up and put on youtube for your viewing pleasure.
Mini update yo.
Peace Out
(PS. Got MC Frontalot’s stage glasses in the mail today)
Feb. 1, 2010 @ 12:55 AM _
So here it is, number two in the trilogy (or as I like to call it: two good films and a remake).
Here’s the cover:
This one is all about the drugs, and when I say drugs I mean medicine. This is the next one, we see Ginger is now a ghost of some sort and B has found a cure! The film opens with Brigette cutting herself and taking some wolvesbayne. This fits in with where the last film left off, with Brigette infecting herself to motivate her sister.
Unfortunately there’s no mention of her mother, who was absolutely hiliarious.
Brigette tries to off herself right at the start, but the trusty librarian turns up to save her! So it’s off to rehab for her, but she’s changing now at a more and more rapid pace without her wolvebayne to save her.
This film is very good yet very cringworthy, especially if you’ve seen the first one and will understand what is going to happen. The ending is unexpected, so much so that I won’t say what it is. Go watch it. Now. I’ll wait for you.
Fuck that the film is long.
If you liked the first one you will love this one. I’ll leave you with this picture of Brigette with pointy ears stood next to one of the creepist kids ever:
PEACE OUT Y’ALL
Jan. 28, 2010 @ 1:35 PM _
I recently remembered that one of my favourite movies was Ginger Snaps: The Beginning, so I looked into the series. Apparently there are three of them, the aforementioned one being the 3rd.
So I went out and rented the set.
IMPULSE BUYING FTW.
Right, so this is a review for the first one, which to my surprise was simply called Ginger Snaps. There is kindof a theme going on currently where people are rebooting series and then not doing anything with them. Ginger Snaps: The Beginning being set in an old timey forest and the first one being set in the suburbs of America. Why is this a trilogy is the last one is set just under a thousand years before the first one? Who knows. Pisses me right off. Okay. Rant over. This is what the cover looks like:
As you can see, this is the “Sharpest” horror film, so be careful when you’re handling the disk. Seriously, I’m missing the top of my finger.
The film is basically about the two girls on the cover; Ginger (left) and Brigitte (right). Oh, and a drug dealer. Because every movie has to have one. Personally I like this photo of them better:
So you might be thinking “they’re hot” whilst you’re watching the film. But in reality they’re as trappy and jailbait gets. If you have sex with either of them, you won’t just be arrested, you’ll be arrested and then turn into a werewolf. Which you know, isn’t cool. Mostly because the werewolves look like this and can’t change back into humans:
So if you want to look like a cross between a bat, a dog and your grandmothers handbag, be my guest, get your dick wet.
Now I’ll explain the title, it turns out this whole film is about women on their period. No, I’m not being sexist, it really is. These two girls are 16 and 15 (respectively) and not had a period yet, their mum is a bit freaked out. They decide to kill the neighbours dog (yes, they just decide to, they’re frikkin wierd) and Ginger starts to bleed heavily. She starts to tell her sister that she has “the curse” and to kill her if she starts complaining about PMS. And then she gets attacked, another curse. Turns out all the signs of turning into a werewolf are the same as puberty. She bleeds heavily, she grows hair, she starts doing drugs, having unprotected sex etc. You know, everything a normal 16 year old girl in America does.
What really freaked me out was the opening. Apart from a small child playing with bodyparts of a dead dog, it starts up with this slideshow (DISCLAIMER: contains scenes of suicide, and girls having fun doing it):
Now there’s something disturbing, almost as disturbing as staring at this:
Whilst listening to this:
I’ve talked enough.
This film is great.
Rob’s score out of sponge: 8
Part two to come soon where we’ll be seeing some ‘drug’ abuse and horny werewolves!
Jan. 21, 2010 @ 5:37 PM _
Right, so for an assignment I had to write a short story, here it is. It had to have perfume in it, don’t ask why.
I’ll let it speak for itself.
The last one
It was a dimly lit room where Mord lay, the red glow of his alarm clock flashing an ominous 3am in his direction. He stared at the time. Time had been his greatest enemy and his greatest hurdle a long time ago, now it seemed to simply slip through his fingers. He stood up, looked in the mirror and surveyed the spectacle that ogled back at him.
Mord looked, to the uneducated eye, like a man in his twenties with short hair and a pretty face. He tried to look after himself over the many years of his existence. It had paid off, he was fit and healthy, though all that didn’t matter now. He made eye contact briefly with the man in the mirror and looked above his head. There was an inscription that read “Mordechai Jones, 1860 - ____”. He remembered buying it in the mid 30s; the man who sold it to him asked if it was a horribly morbid tribute to his father or grandfather. It was covered in tally marks, once for every anniversary of his curse.
He looked over at the accursed list, wondering what possessed him to create it, to piss off that old hag so much. He remembered that he had made the list so he wouldn’t die with unfinished business, and now he never will. Not till his business is over. He looked over the list again, he read the title that he’d read so many times before; “101 things to do before I die”.
All the list was ticked, bar one, the one that Mord rues the day he had written.
#45 Smell every beautiful scent of perfume ever made
He looked over at his recent attempt to free himself from the curse, a bottle of Roma, by Laura Biagiotti. “Damn the perfume industry, damn them all” thought Mord. He’d grown so sick of the smell of perfume, his sense of smell had twisted what had seemed so sweet to him into a bitter mix of unrequited longing. He longed and dreamed for the day that his bones would be dust and he would simply blow away in the wind. The hag had long since died, every day he wished he had begged for her forgiveness.
Today he was going to try and end it all again.
Mord took the knife, looked himself in the eyes and plunged it deep into his neck. He brought it round, trying to sever his oesophagus, but all he could feel was a searing hot and pain, and watch as the wound healed behind the knife, and struggle fruitlessly against the knife being pushed out of his neck.
Mord took the knife away from his neck, and scratched another tally mark in his mirror. He found his clothes, put them on, and left the room into another day of monotony.
