So, It's 0:24...
It's relatively warm and my Logitech Wireless Desktop has lost all it's settings.
It's been awhile again, so I've returned with fireworks* and screaming**, with my bowl of ice-cream to tell you about recent happenings in the Realm. Revived, may I add.
Perhaps you thought I was dead?
Ah, young fool-san, you are yet to learn nothing can defeat my amazingness, (Apart from a very short list of fears and disorders***) especially something an unimportant as GCSE's.
You're probably wondering how badly they went, seeing as my revising ethos, involved setting fire to my materials. Well, it wasn't too bad, so the people who worked their arses off for the past two or three years will get the grade they deserve, while I, who did NO work, will get the one underneath, or fail, either way, it's only English Literature. What possible job would REALLY require that?
Well, your job application seems perfect...I spent most of the exam staring at the ceiling fans and wondering how the hell people could write so much over such little questions. I used about four pages in all, the booklet is twelve pages. My favourite question, beyond doubt was the "unseen poem" question - also known as the "SURPRISE! AHHHHHHH!" question - entitled "Shopkeeper".
Oh, wait. Wait a moment...
You FAILED English Literature? I'm sorry, you cannot become a games programmer now that we have found that you do not understand the relationship between Lennie and George in 'Of Mice and Men', a book which has absolutely no relevance to the gaming industry...
What the fuck?(And there go the innocent readers.)
I had half an hour to answer that question. Let me give a break down of how I went about that.
10mins - Hitting my head on the desk, repeating obscenities and promising to kill whoever chose this poem.
10mins - Staring at the ceiling, wondering what the subtext could possibly be. It's about a man and his shop, WHAT THE HELL ELSE CAN IT MEAN?
10mins - Blagging about how the poem is a call to those who live in the city to contrast their own lives with that of one in the country.
I'm not even going to continue, I'll end up tangling myself in loose anger about WJEC.
--------
So, I found myself at Joe's (Also known as Joe The Pleb or Fatty-Chan) again this weekend.
I spent my time; sleeping until absurd times of day, eating stacks of toast, playing the Wii, watching Bleach, screaming, destroying the curtain rail and keeping a lookout for babes walking on the prominade, unfortuantely all I spotted was a questionable and soul-scaring, old, bearded man.
As many of you may know, I have a history for creating destruction at my couzin's house.
Such as when I fed a large tin of pringles into his fan, spreading thousands upon thousands of 'pringle particles' across the room.
Or when I co-stuffed a fan with caramel and completely stopped it's function.
Or when I began firing jaffa cakes out the third story window, one, succesfully landing in a convertable.
But, well. I have exceeded all possible previous feats, after burying Joe under a pile stuff I found in his room, or, to be more precise, pretty much everything he owned. Including his chair. He did fail to make an emergency call with the phone I threw at him, but don't worry, everything was A-Ok:
There he is there, Fatty-Chan, looking slighly dead. But don't worry, as far as I know, this didn't kill him.
See, everything is fine, thumbs up there. Everything is A-Ok...
...
I'm still here. I'm just waiting to see when the AutoSave function will save again, apparenltly it's after I've stopped typing. So I'm typing, waiting for the button to turn grey. Now. Magic. Now I can sleep easy.
I spent my time; sleeping until absurd times of day, eating stacks of toast, playing the Wii, watching Bleach, screaming, destroying the curtain rail and keeping a lookout for babes walking on the prominade, unfortuantely all I spotted was a questionable and soul-scaring, old, bearded man.
As many of you may know, I have a history for creating destruction at my couzin's house.
Such as when I fed a large tin of pringles into his fan, spreading thousands upon thousands of 'pringle particles' across the room.
Or when I co-stuffed a fan with caramel and completely stopped it's function.
Or when I began firing jaffa cakes out the third story window, one, succesfully landing in a convertable.
But, well. I have exceeded all possible previous feats, after burying Joe under a pile stuff I found in his room, or, to be more precise, pretty much everything he owned. Including his chair. He did fail to make an emergency call with the phone I threw at him, but don't worry, everything was A-Ok:
There he is there, Fatty-Chan, looking slighly dead. But don't worry, as far as I know, this didn't kill him.
See, everything is fine, thumbs up there. Everything is A-Ok......
I'm still here. I'm just waiting to see when the AutoSave function will save again, apparenltly it's after I've stopped typing. So I'm typing, waiting for the button to turn grey. Now. Magic. Now I can sleep easy.
Sam.
Mood of the Day: Tired
Listening To: A Door Closing, The Early Morning Remix
Current Theory: Big Brother will kill off contestants this year.
Quote of the Moment: "The second most popular drink is Gravel"
*Aimed at me, for some bizarre reason.
**And running alot of running, it's as if people don't like reading this blog?
***Edition 7 - Now Includes DisneyLand! -- Availible from all good book shops.
1 comment:
Sam you didnt mention the death :(
Maybe that deserves a blog entry of its own.
RIP
Scone with Jam and Butter
Lived five minutes
We'll miss you
:'(
Bye bye
*whispers*Gay-Sama*giggles quietly*
Post a Comment