Life can be incredibly shit sometimes, as I may have mentioned sometime before. This year alone has been completely horrendous – which I have also mentioned – what with the death of Alan Rickman and my birthday falling on a Monday, and I’ve been dealt yet another crushing blow this November from none other than Pottermore. Continue reading “dealing with the crushing blow of finding out my patronus”
I’ve been trying to avoid expelling my angst against you online because noone likes an online bully, but I think it’s time we addressed a few issues.
First and foremost: what the fuck?
That’s not even a rhetorical question, I would genuinely like to know what’s going through your twisted little mind. I remember way back when I was complaining about 2015 (shock) and demanding a better year this year, who knew I would be sitting here at the wrong end of my 20s a year later wishing for the safe haven of 2015? 2015 when Obama was still in the White House, Alan Rickman was safe and the whole world wasn’t a complete embarrassing shit-show…
I’d like to take a moment to ask: how dare you take Alan Rickman from us? And who knew you couldn’t take compassionate leave from work following the death of your one true icon? It was ruthless having Severus Snape cruelly snatched from our clutches without 2016 coming along and taking the real deal for good measure.
How do you explain Prince, 2016? And Bowie? How could you do that to my poor dear mum? Let’s hope we can keep David Attenborough safe until 2017 dawns or I’m likely to check out of this planet.
And we have to talk about The Donald too. In fact, let’s talk about America’s newest Vice President – and all-round fuckwit – Mike Pence, who’s been seemingly overshadowed by the big orange spectre of intolerance that is Donald Trump. Did you know that Mike Pence advocated the funding of conversion therapy? That he actively opposes abortion rights, marriage equality and fair pay for women and minorities? Amongst a whole host of other fucking disgusting political leanings, this guy defied a bill aimed at combatting rape in prisons. I actually don’t even have the words; this is the Vice President of the United States. There’s more that I literally can’t list without combusting into flames of frustration but you can check that out here if you want.
So yeah, beyond Pence the megaprick we’ve now found ourselves with Donald Trump as a world fucking leader. Again, 2016, what the fucking fuck? In a year where Orlando saw the deadliest shooting its country has ever experienced – directed by discriminatory hatred – they chose to elect Trump – a bigoted, intolerant buffoon of a human being – to guide them through the next four years of their country’s existence. Happy fucking days. Let’s not even mention Brexit.
2016 has been a year of police brutality, of children washing up on shores, of terror atrocities that stretch from east to west, of division and hatred and the triumph of fear.
Nice one 2016, you’ve been a true pleasure.
Looking good and shoving it in other people’s faces is great, and it’s made increasingly greater (and easier) by every Millennial’s favourite app: Instagram. Pretending you’re someone else online is an art form, and one that I’ve discussed as recently as last week on my blog. Seen as though I am unoriginal as fuck and unable to come up with anything interesting to talk about, I’ve decided to take this nastiness and direct it at Instagram’s finest, having embraced the fact I hate everything.
Getting any amount of attention on Instagram is somewhat difficult for anyone who isn’t the size of a Bowtruckle with a “glam squad” on the payroll. Convincing other people that your life is worthy of a double-tap can be hard; I am nearing 450 followers (groundbreaking, I know) and am yet to surpass the 15 likes mark on most of my pictures which is of course preposterous. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know the secret to a successful life on the ‘gram. Continue reading “how to be the best Instagrammer you can be”
We all have an online persona. To tell you the truth I’m actually a balding middle aged Moroccan guy with a penchant for glitter and an unhealthy obsession with Bill Oddy. But how would you actually know if I wasn’t? I guess seen as the only people who read my blog are my mum and Karen from down the road I can be pretty sure my entire readership know who I really am (although I do also love glitter). Continue reading “people on the internet vs. people in real life”
We need to talk about public transport in the UK. Whether it be overground, underground, sideways, airborne, on a road or on a track, all forms of public transport in Britain have one characteristic in common: they’re a shower of shite.
As a self-proclaimed angsty “bus wanker” – and someone who has to take a bus, underground tube and overground train to get to fucking work and back – I am pretty much a connoisseur of public transport. I must clarify here that I’m absolutely not admitting that proudly; it’s defo shameful and beyond to have to do battle with not one but three modes of UK transport on a daily basis. So I think what I’m getting at here is that I’m not a posh twat complaining about mixing with the peasantry on the bus, and that I do have a valid insight into just how shit transport in the UK really is. Continue reading “public transport is shit”
While there may be several blog posts out there dedicated to getting you through your exams, transforming you into a “morning person” (surely a mythical creature) and making you into an all-round better human being, they are probably all boring as shit. Concentrating on serious stuff like philosophy revision and the paper you have to submit in 48 hours is certainly kind of important if you want to live a long and prosperous life – or so they say, and we all know what DJ Khaled has to say about “they” – but getting to the end of a good Netflix series gives you infinite more satisfaction and wisdom. Continue reading “5 great ways to procrastinate”
If you have plans with me currently, and have known me for some time, you probably expect me to announce at the last moment that I’ve fucked up my life and have quadruple-booked the day, arranging to spend it in four different corners of the country with seven different people. I am actually really sorry to all the pals that I have had to cancel on last minute, it’s a really shitty trait to have. If I do manage to stick to plans I am a serial latecomer, and most of my friends – and my workplace – have learned to expect me at least half an hour after the agreed time. Continue reading “the struggles of being a disorganised bastard”