Notes on the deserved end of the world.

Hope

2008-10-29T07:10:00.001-07:00

Its the only choice this election. (stolen blatantly from www.warrenellis.com)

The Al Jazeera interview

2008-09-06T06:36:00.000-07:00

Recently I had the pleasure of doing an interview with the nobility of middle-eastern news-reporting, Al-Jazeera. Due to the fact it had to be removed from circulation thanks to repeated jihads and death-threats to me and my family, I have had to transcribe the interview here. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed, erm doing it.

Al-Jazeera: Good Day Mr Downie and thank you for talking with us today.
Seb: Wattup man, are you here for the wasching-machine? The things been giving me no end of troubles since I tried to wash a whole hooker in the fucker.
AJ: No Mr Downie, I am Achmed Muhadjine from Al-Jazeera and we agreed with you earlier this week that we would do an expose on you and your life for our news-channel.
Seb: In that case I better sober up and put on some pants. Want a whiskey?
AJ: No thank you, I don't drink alcohol.
Seb: Oh thats right, a beer it is, hold on.

Seb: Right where were we? Something about weed?
AJ: No, the interview. Please Mr Downie..
Seb: Seb.
AJ: Seb, excuse me. Please cover yourself up. We cannot conduct this interview with you nude.
Seb: Oh right, sorry. My bad. Hold on, there, I'll put the beast back in its cave. Raaarrr
AJ: Thank you. Now, may we begin?
Seb: Shoot. Hahaha, sorry I mean, please, go ahead. I was not implying you were a terrorist or anything.
AJ: Quite. Now lets start at the beginning. You were once heralded as a bright up and coming star in the world of bareback mud-wrestling before a horrific injury ended your career. Would you mind telling us in your own words what happened on that fateful night back in 2004.
Seb: That was a tough night. Maddison Square Gardens, Fight Night. Top billing over Jack Nicholsen vs Ru Paul in a Industrial Deep Fat Fryer. I was scheduled to fight Linda McCartneys corpse, which was cleverly strung up with a system of ropes and pulleys being operated by a screaming skeleton. It was going to be epic. But just as I made my way to the ring, I tripped on a empty bottle of cider and did the splits in the most gruesome fashion. The tearing noise echoed through the stadium and the crowd hushed with a gasp. I knew that moment that my career was over and what it felt like to be a chinese gymnast.
AJ: Some say foul play was involved in the incident. Some conspiracy theorists even pointed fingers at the white house, blaming President Cheesehead for sabotaging the fight.
Seb: You know, we had some "words"about that after the event and when I say "words", I mean we made out on the White House lawn in the moonlight. No, old Cheesehead is no danger to me. Only to himself and world peace. No the fact is, I should have not been drinking martinis all day,
and only have myself to blame. Myself and the fucking immigrants. Dirty fuckers.

AJ: Ah yes, that takes us to our next point. Your misplaced, rampant and much publicised racism and bigotry. You made headlines last month after calling footballing legend Pele a "stupid jew sandwich lover". Which to most people simply does not make any sense.
Seb: What are you saying to me here? You want some of this you jap bastard? I'll Throw you down like a pastrami sandwich if I have to!
AJ: Please Mr Downie, I am just trying to understand.
Seb: I am sorry, it is a disease. A kind of tourettes that manifests itself in nonsensical racism. I get it some times when I've been smoking meth in the morning. You dirty irish anvil.
AJ: Okay... Lets move on then. The gossip magazines have reported seeing you with a string of ugly women by your side in recent months. Are you going to make any of these women an honest woman any time soon?
Seb: Honest? These animals? I would have a better chance trying to teach my dog to play the trombone than make any of these mufters "honest". I do not discuss my private life otherwise, I will only talk in excruciating detail about my sexual liasons. Would you like me to tell you about the time I rimmed a midget at a school play?
AJ: No thank you, I don't think our viewers would be interested in that.
Seb: Well the police sure as fuck were. I can't go back to Vietnam for 25 years!

AJ: Moving on. Where do you see yourself in 5 years time?
Seb: I would like to go into politics. Or pimping. Or maybe find a way to combine the two. Or I might have died in some dull way. I have asked my people, in the instance of my death, to ensure that I am stripped, bar some pantyhose, have a dildo inserted in my ass, electrified nipple-clamps attached and a rubber ball put in my mouth. I would not want to embaress my parents for having to bury a dull corpse now would we? That or I'll do a spot of fishing in Andorra.
AJ: Okay, to end this interview, we would like to do a game of word-association with you. Are you ready?
Seb: Velocity
AJ: What?
Seb: Where?
AJ: Oh you have already started.
Seb: Hookers
AJ: Let me start you off now:
Seb: Tight jeans
AJ: No Mr Downie, please start with the word 'Bono'.
Seb: Wanker
AJ: Career
Seb: Beer
AJ: Love
Seb: Beer
AJ: Butterfly:
Seb: Beer
AJ: Erm.. Beer
Seb: An accordion filled with eyeballs.
AJ: Ok, I think that should be enough for today, thank you for the interview and we wish you the best.
Seb: Titties.
AJ: Thank you Mr Downie for this insightful interview.
Seb: Oh right yeah, fuck you too. Wanna get kinky?
AJ: Sure why not.

Well folks, I hope you learnt something about life, love and the holocaust, Take care.

Christopher Walken's Three Little Pigs - classic

2008-06-06T01:19:00.001-07:00

Thanks for finding this gem Chickyog.

No comment

2008-06-03T03:35:00.000-07:00

Someone is not going to see their next birthday if this is going to pan out like I think it will.

Eurovision time is upon us once again

2008-05-22T06:08:00.000-07:00

A time during which homosexual men and fuck-wits from the four corners of Europe (and frigging Azerbaijan) gather to pay homage to the worst manufactured pop music around.
It is a despicable event, that is so tacky it makes your teeth rot and fall out of your mouth and into your strawberry daiquiri.

But fret not my brotherly men. Eurovision need not exclude those of us who do not enjoy nieche baltic folk music involving drums made of sheep-testicals while a transvestite screams about her long lost flock of goats. Salvation is at hand!!

Seb Dangerfield Enterprises presents:

The Masculine Eurovision Song Contest Drinking Game TM

You will no longer need to cringe and masturbate yourself into a crying frenzy with this great new game devised by yours truly. Simply follow these simple steps to ensure that every Eurovision event will be even less memorable than ever before!

Step 1. Buy a ton of booze. Or anything else to get you close to killing yourself.

Step 2. Invite some friends (optional)

Step 3. Put on Eurovision song contest on the TV (BBC television is recommended)

Step 4. Follow these rules to ensure your evening is a flaming success!:

The Hosts

-Take a drink whenever either of the co-hosts changes clothes.

-Take a drink whenever either of the co-hosts makes a terribly offensive joke about a rival nation

-Take a drink whenever either of the co-hosts praises its own dictatorship/goes on about how "pretty our hills are compared to their fucking hills"

-Take a drink whenever either of the co-hosts talks about a countries woman-folk and winks.

-Take 2 drinks whenever either of the co-hosts accidentally shows off their genitals to the audience.

-Turn up the volume and take a drink whenever either of the co-hosts accidentally stabs the other with a trident.

by this point you should be on your third bottle of maker's Mark. Stay strong

The "Talent"

-Take a drink when a Scandinavian death metal band appear and sacrifices a goat/virgin/co-host/balkan drummer.

-Take a drink for every big-titted balkan beauty banging a drum.

-Take a drink for every jail-bait russian nymph to be mercilessly dragged onto stage to flash their hairless under-developed bodies while miming to some horrid techno music.

-Take a drink whenever a country has decided to fuck with the whole event by sending what has to be their idea of a joke to the tournament. Usual favourites include Germany, Spain and the UK.

-Take a drink whenever a band sounds like an irish pub-band despite being from the other end of the continent.

The Scoring

-Take a drink whenever a country awards ten points to a neighboring country.

-Take a drink for each resulting sarcastic drunken comment from Terry Wogan.

-Take a drink when Terry decides he's had enough and starts ranting on about how much the entire event is "a joke" and "a set-up".

-Take a drink for every point the UK scores. (least likely)

Pass out.

Wake up remembering nothing of the entire event other than fighting some police-men before being maced.

Any more to add?

No comment

2008-05-20T08:10:00.001-07:00

"Callum Ainsworth, 18, of Kilwinning England, will go on trial in August
for, er, pretending to have sex with a car. He has denied a charge of public
indecency. According to the Irvine Times, "he is accused of running along a
street naked, bending over the vehicle and simulating sexual intercourse." Link (via Fortean Times)"

No comment

2008-04-23T03:35:00.000-07:00

A man posing as Darth Vader attacked a Star Wars fan who had founded a Jedi
Church, a court has heard.
Arwel Wynne Hughes, 27, from Holyhead, Anglesey, admitted assaulting Barney Jones and cousin Michael with a metal crutch.
They suffered minor injuries.
Hughes, who was drunk and dressed in a black bin bag, shouted "Darth Vader!"

Look for the woman

2008-04-16T08:14:00.001-07:00

A mid-week delight. Enjoy possums.

No comment

2008-04-09T04:41:00.000-07:00

Found on Ectoplasmosis.

The late, great, godfather of Soul ladies and Gentlemen. James Brown!

2008-04-07T05:10:00.000-07:00

Thank you Hecklerspray. taken from here: http://www.hecklerspray.com/james-brown-cummed-himself-to-death/200813404.php#more-13404

"One night in the summer of 2001, after he’d slathered her in Vaseline (“He liked you all greased up,” she says. “Like a porkchop”) and wore her out trying to come, he gave up and left the room, and Gloria dozed off. When she woke up, Mr. Brown was standing at the foot of the bed in a full-length mink coat over his bare chest, a black cowboy hat, and silk pajama pants with one leg tucked into a cowboy boot and the other hanging out. He had a shotgun over his shoulder and a white stripe of Noxzema under each eye. “I’m an Indian tonight, baby,” he announced. “C’mon, let’s let ’em have it.” Then he dumped a pickle jar of change on the floor, told her to get a machete, and went out to the garage. He took the Rolls, drove ten miles to Augusta, weaving all over the road, clipping mailboxes, smoking more dope, and screaming about being an Indian."

Talk about making an exit. james Brown, I salut you!

The secret picture that make me a terrorist from the fiery pits of mars

2008-03-14T09:03:00.000-07:00

I was on a business trip to London yesterday. Fly in meetings, fly out. I usually like taking my camera with me to these things and take pics of things that take my fancy. Gatwick, despite it being a big mean monster, also has some cool geometry in places and thinking it was nothing unusal, snapped a couple of pics on the way to the trainstation.

Well that was until this one, after exiting the passport control, I noticed some interesting angles in the ceiling structure and whapped out my camera to take a wee pic of it. Its nothing special, but its the kind of thing I like.

Cue some ladies in red uniforms marching up to me:

Lady 1: Sir, you realize you are in an airport and are not allowed under anti-terrorism laws to take pictures of the building.
Me: Oh sorry, didn't realize. *smile stick away the camera again*
Lady 1: You are currently on camera and we take such matters quite seriously.
Lady 2: Since the whole 9-11 thing we have gotten very paranoid. We are like the americans now!
Me: Again, sorry, I didn't realize. This kind of thing isn't a problem in Amsterdam, we are all a bit more relaxed over there I guess.

And we continue chatting a little longer about the whole thing and I get the sneaking suspicion that they pressed some red panic button somewhere and a SWAT team is inbound. I just hope my collegue gets his tickets soon.

Lady 2: Yeah we are all very paranoid and worried about security here nowadays. I am going to Amsterdam next week though, how it is there?
Me: Erm, well the weather is quite nice right now I guess.

some awkward silences...

I did not really feel like making idle chit chat and was expecting them to just fuck off after giving me my little "security treatment". My collegue arrives and the ladies start talking to him.

Lady 2: Can I see your tickets please. Oh I think that you could have gotten a group ticket cheaper, do you want me to see if I can get it changed and whatnot?

She is clinging on to the tickets while we say something about No thanks, have to go blah blah.
Thankfully we finally get to catch our train and make our way to London.

I just found the whole experience just a little unnerving. I had the distinct feeling that someone in a control room somewhere was running our faces through a check, making sure my name was not Mohammed or that I had any outstanding warrents or something equally silly. The whole event just felt like it all took a little longer than neccessary for everyone involved.

Which brings me nicely back to paranoia. Is it still paranoia if you call it by its name when expressing your fears? A person who is paranoid surely thinks that their fear is not irrational and very real, but to the outsider it may seem like paranoia. So is this just a matter of not accepting the actual term "fear" and replacing it with something a little less serious?

Either way, fuck you for making me all paranoid! here's the other two.

"Sentinel II - "Sarah Conner?"

I am so going on the terrorist watch-list now.

Eengurrrland!

2008-03-04T11:00:00.001-08:00

I have been traveling to the UK fairly often so far this year and I am starting to see a seedy, nasty underbelly that I don't like at all. Maybe it is just that I've been living amongst fit, happy tall Dutch people for so long, but I get the distinct impression that the UK is full of half-wit hooligans bent on consuming, drinking, fucking and fighting living in a shallow and scared society covered in a very thin coat of glossy paint that was applied after the labor-market collapsed and was replaced by the tepid office culture we see now.

There I said it. Everywhere you roam in a modern British city all you see is the same chain restaurants and pubs filled with the same cheap furniture, rancid beer and same looking wankers bent on self-mutilation.

Bar some regional accents and the occasional landmark it is fairly difficult to tell Glasgow from Liverpool anymore.

What has happened to trying to make a city something to be proud of, something to make it stand out from the crowd? Is this what capitalism in its late stages looks like? Topshop, H&M, Yates, McDonalds, repeat. I am sure the same can be said of the US where this whole phenomynon must come from. Sears, Wallmart, McDonalds, Starbucks, rinse repeat.

Up to what point can this be pushed? Will we all be living in identical houses, fucking the same looking women, dressed in the same shit clothes with the same boring children, consuming the same soilent green? Oh god dammit, the answer is yes.

Fuck it Seb, your rebellious individualistic days are behind you. Grab a fucking helmet and grow up.

You know there is something wrong with the internet when...

2008-02-21T04:45:00.000-08:00

People do this shit:

My parents would be proud if they had internet in their one-room log cabin in Norway.

War on Scientology - Battleground Amsterdam Technorati Profile

2008-02-11T03:33:00.000-08:00

This weekend I saw the online war against Scientology shift over to the real world in Amsterdam, which was quite exciting. Its all good and fun seeing Anonymous taking up the war against the cultists online, but it is still a very hidden jab from the dark at a lumbering beast. Much like a mosquito taking nips at a sleeping drunk tourist it is unlikely to get more of a reaction than him pulling the sheets his head.

Well as I said, I saw it in action this weekend on my way into town:

"Scientology says: you are full of murdered space-aliens." Its funny cause its true...

The slightly sad fact is, despite the V for Vendetta masks, they all still looked quite un-intimidating.

I guess they mean well, but I doubt any great change is on the cards, even if the protests are spilling over into the real-world.

The war online is interesting and succesful, but only in the way that one side, your side, is aware of it. I would be highly surprised if anyone a few rungs up the Scientologist ladder was even aware of the statement of intent launched online over the past couple of weeks.

Now that it has culminated in a real-world effort it should make a few more people aware, but I still doubt it is noticed beyond the people who are in the churches, worries about the freaks with masks outside, shouting about Xenu. I am sure these people are just scared, rather than convinced by anything.

Its all a good start in getting rid of this cult and with the public embaressment that Tom Cruise has recently faced and with growing inquiries into the practices of the church, maybe this is a good time to strike, but I feel it will require something bigger and badder to really get the main-stream press involved. (Johnestown masacre anyone?)

Anywho, good luck brave soldiers, All Hail Xenu!

The Moment of Truth - Oh please we need a solar flare now

2008-01-24T02:59:00.001-08:00

This bundle of joy is a new TV show that well... watch it.

Seen enough? Think humanity needs to go the way of the Dodo? Think that it is about time for the 4 riders of the apocalypse to get on their frigging horses?

Goddammit people.

The Writers Strike Generation

2008-01-22T01:08:00.000-08:00

As you are probably fully aware of, there is a writer's strike happening in the US at the moment. This is still in full swing and does not look like it will be solved any time soon. This has already put a stop to a lot of prime-time TV and talk shows and is now also starting to affect productions of movies.

Inevitably this will cause a black hole of entertainment for the masses at some point and the longer this strike goes on without a compromise, the bigger this hole will become. Eventually we will find ourselves in a dark age of shitty talk-shows, sloshy European art-house movies and no bloody Law and Order on our TVs. *shudders*

We can only imagine the implications of this in the long term. I don't for one second think this will suddenly spark a new golden age of science and arts where the first for knowledge and self-betterment replaces that of light entertainment. The majority of us are much too lazy for that.

No, by my reasoning the masses will switch off their TVs and start humping a lot more. In fact this humping will be on such a scale that we will suffer a baby-boom the likes of has not been seen in decades. We will suddenly have a whole generation of children that are a direct cause of this writer's strike and as things inevitably do, the strike is going to end and we are going find ourselves cradling our little bundles of joy when suddenly season 4 of Lost or some shit comes back and suddenly we are aware of our priorities again.

This generation will grow up so despondent and neglected that chances are they will turn us into soylent green and the world will turn into a bizarre Orwellian version of Mad Max Thunderdome, only slightly more emo. Yes folks, I predict this writer's strike is not just a little blip on the radar, I think it is in fact putting into motion the wheels of our destruction. This writer's strike has to stop NOW. Jack Bauer is the only one who can save us now.

So I consider this an open letter to Hollywood and the writers. Stop this madness now, come to a compromise. Or we are all doomed. DOOOMED I SAY!!!

Olbermann - Chertoff's Gut

2008-01-16T07:19:00.001-08:00

Update: Thankfully Olbermann has taken that silly fear-mongering sod and given him a quick clip around the ears and told him to calm down.

Oh Olbermann, you truely rock.

Send in the troops!

2008-01-16T03:24:00.000-08:00

"US Fears Europe based terrorism. He said militant attacks and plots in Europe over recent years had made the US aware of the "real risk that Europe will become a platform for terrorists".

Oh sweet mother of god. They've pointed their big red finger of chaos and destruction in our direction.

"Who have we not carpet bombed in a while?"
"Europe Sir, it's been about 60 years since we opened up a can of whoop ass on those cheese eating motherfuckers"
"Excellent. I bet they are harbouring some towel-heads. Give 'em hell! Texas style!"
"Yes Sir. WHOOOOOOOOO! Git er done"

and so on and so on, just throw in some watery beer and pick-up trucks and we've got ourselves a good old hootenanny or whatever those inbred fucks call it.

"We have deployed almost twice as many border patrols as we had five or six years ago. We've put up literally hundreds of miles of fencing and barriers. "

The Barbarians are at the gates! Lock up your daughters before some french-speaking suicide bomber fingers her! Lets just close the bloody door, stick our fingers in our ears and loudly proclaim: "LALALALALALALA there are no bad people outside, but we're safe in here. LLALALALA" until the fucking apocalypse.

Don't worry folks, Jesus will come back from Venus or wherever he's vacationing and will sort out all the brown people for us soon enough, until then nuke anything that moves.
In the mean time we'll watch with trepidation as you pick another warmongering mentalist to run the country and set us all back another 15 years.

So watch out my fellow Europeans. We're next to find out what a occupation of enemy forces feels like. I hope they bring cigarettes and nylons.

There is only one person that can save us from certain disaster: http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=313746787

Adios folks.

Oh happy days!

2008-01-14T07:30:00.000-08:00

From the slightly smelly ashes of the most under-appreciated band of all time, the mighty McClusky, comes Future of the Left making Seb a really happy happy camper. I only just found out about them, so sorry if I am late to this little party.

http://www.futureoftheleft.com/

*sniff* it makes me so happy... lets see if anything can trump this past 30 minutes of listening to their album this year.

Oops I have just realized that I am listening to an illegal copy of it, but be assured that I have now put in my order for it. Phew.

In other news, I've also just come back from 2 weeks in Venezuela. I saw snakes and spiders and jungles and Indians and all sorts of silly things like that and blah blah blah, who gives a fuck. FUTURE OF THE LEFT!!

One word to explain it all

2008-01-11T07:54:00.000-08:00

http://www.heraldnet.com/article/20071229/NEWS02/290431530

"When police asked the man what caused the accident, his one-word answer was
"pterodactyl," Smith said. A pterodactyl was a giant winged reptile that
lived more than 65 million years ago. "

I don't think I would be able to argue with this whatsoever. In fact I think that one word could get you out of just about any kind of trouble. Be it murder, tax evasion or simply being caught kissing another girl. "Pterodactyl" will confuse people long enough for you to make you escape.

A wintery wonderland of wank

2007-12-21T07:04:00.000-08:00

Well, more like a slippery freezing cold death-trap, but winter has officially come to Amsterdam this morning. Oh isn't it lovely!

Oh sure its all pretty, picturesque and such now, but just wait till the dogs start peeing on everything and the whole lot turns into sludge. Yeah that's right! it'll be shit!

Anyway, fuck this, I am off to a warm beach to drink cold drinks.

The disallowed blog - The Waterhole

2007-12-18T03:40:00.000-08:00

Names and places have been changed to protect the innocent. This blog was never meant to be seen by you, but I have gone against my overlords and brought it to you here now. The truth had to be known. - Seb

-The Waterhole-

People often live under the misconception that the best ideas come from sticking a bunch of people in a room together and letting them brainstorm a solution to a problem, a name for a product or a new game mechanic. To an extent they are right, some good things can come out of a meeting, but as any seasoned games developer knows, the best ideas usually come at 1AM after having drunk 4 liters of beer and a healthy amount of vodka and/or bourbon.

And with us this is no different. In fact, we make a point of drinking heavily and discussing ideas while countless evenings wear away. It is foolproof scheme where only the very best ideas are actually remembered and the rest discarded in the mental recycling bin that a sozzled mind becomes after taking in a large quantity of lager. Couple this with a heightened honesty and sometimes a downright ability to sound like a complete moron when not thinking before talking this can lead to some interesting results.

Alas I am not here to talk about the kinds of ideas we come up with as those might be frightening to some of you and illegal in a number of countries, but I am here to talk about our premier post-office establishment: The Waterhole.

It is located on the Leidseplein, a mostly tourist orientated area in Amsterdam and features not simply a place to drink beer but also a pool table and a classic arcade machine. It has a happy hour from 6PM till 9PM where large frosty pints become half price. Despite a recent hike of 50 cents on the pint you can still find some of us there any given night of the week, arguing about what was the best Resident Evil or the size of Angelina Jolie’s lips, but mostly we talk about work. So with this blog entry I want to thank the fine people at The Waterhole for purveying us with frosty pints and unhealthy doses of vodka which have allowed us to be the best we can possibly be.

We couldn’t do it without you. Thank you Waterhole and the Amsterdam Hell’s Angels chapter for security.

OLBERMANN

2007-12-17T06:35:00.001-08:00

He's going for gold this week. I hope this guy should seriously consider running for office. Or become a masked crime-fighter in some gothic comic-book city.

Infamy is not all its cracked up to be

2007-12-11T07:42:00.000-08:00

It is quite frightening when you get a google alert for your name sometimes. Ouch.

"Please lord, help me keep my big mouth shut when I am talking out of my arse".

And again

2007-12-04T06:40:00.000-08:00

Every week some bizzare, sick or simply deranged thing pops up on the internet and somehow lands in my lap that makes me think: "Seb, why have you looked at this? You can't un-look this. It is forever engrained in your mind, slowly erroding your soul and making you that tiny bit more bitter and sad." before forwarding it on to Eric so he can die a little bit inside too.

Today was no different. http://www.paetau.com/downloads/TransRatFashion/TransRatFashion.html
(NOT SAFE FOR WORK!)

To those of you not willing to click, I'll give you a brief synopsis.

It is a collection of photographs from a low budget fashion shoot. The models are brazilian and on further investigation, trans-sexuals. I.e. chicks with dicks. They are wearing a unique type of underwear, done with the skin and heads of dead rats. Some of them show off their erect man-hood. *starts sobbing* I'm sorry, I can't go on. Someone shut it down. ALL OF IT! I don't want to play internet anymore.

Get me outa this place.

2007-11-28T06:33:00.000-08:00

Today I went to the travel agent. I had a few set dates and a large pile of cash and a very open remit for a destination. Those two combined factors gave me confidence that in under a months time I would be able to completely ignore the Christmas joy and spend it burning on a beach somewhere, drinking some mad rum-based beverage.

A fact someone failed to mention is that the rest of western society wants to get away themselves. They do not want to spend it running around in over-crowded shopping centres looking for presents for their spoiled children. They don't want to eat fucking turkey, nor do they care much for the new years festivities. Like me they want to go to some deserted strip of beach anywhere on this planet where Father Christmas is as well known as cottaging is in Iran.
I sat with the young travel agent lady for a good 45 minutes, going through roughly 40 different countries around the planet, looking for a hit.

"Paraguay? Yeah fuck it, sounds exciting. Oh all gone"
"You have Tajikistan in there, wow. No you don't need to check, thanks."
"C'moooooon Cuba! - *snake-eyes*"
"So how is Tajikistan this time of year?"

In the end, the most viable offer from anywhere remotely warm in the december months was Trinidad and Tobago and that was without a guaranteed hotel room. Nowcall me whacky, but I was not going to put three grand on the table to go to some island in the middle of frigging nowhere to learn how to play cricket for a fortnight, or whatever they do over there. But I did take a brochure and decided to have a quick google.

First stop, The CIA! (how exciting).

Now there is a lot of hard facts, but it does not tell me how good the nightlife is, or if I can get a decent steak over there, but i can work out how big my army would have to be if I wanted to invade the island for their oil-deposits. Answer: Not too bloody many at all. Would be done in a week and still have time to do some fishing at the weekend.

Trinidad-Tobago.net. :

"There is a rumshop in central Trinidad with a sign on its wall: “No obscene
language, no bareback, no smoking of marijuana.” It is not a sign you will see
in a pub."

Well how else would a man of my ilk spend his Monday evening if not having unprotected sex with a nameless and faceless collection of black men, joint in mouth, calling him "Daddy's little fucking slut".

Either way, not too esxciting if you ask me. So folks, any suggestions? Where can I go? And don't say "fuck yourself" as it is neither a place, nor funny or polite. I need to get away from the cold, hard winters Holland has to offer. If anyone out there on the southern hemisphere wants to do a house-swap for a couple of weeks and learn what it is to have a european christmas, email.

Notes on drinking with the publisher

2007-11-22T01:52:00.000-08:00

Folks, here is a wee tip for you.

Do not go drinking with the people who you rely on a job for.

The people who decide how your money is spent.

The people who are basically in control of your very existance at the job you are at.

Do not go drinking with your publisher.

Inevitably you will find yourself in a club. On a weeknight. Drinking Jack Daniels from a old leather boot and dancing to 80s goth techno with them.

You may also find yourself talking about work with them. This is where the danger bells should be ringing, but NO! You have a point to make. You need to tell them what the underlying faults are and how you yourself can resolve any problem in the universe at any given time.

You are drunk. You are an oracle of truth, justice and the wrongs of man. You are the greatest ever game developer created. You could single handedly make the fucker, ship it on time and it would rock harder than Van Halen playing on top of a burning Zeppelin.

You are full of shit and don't even know where your goddamn pants are. Shut up before you get yourself fired or lose any friends you might have at the company. We could go as far as never being allowed to "work in this town again you bum!".

You may find yourself staggering home at 0330 in the morning, stumbling into bed and passing out in a heap. You may actually make it into work on time, but you might be resembling a pirate in both appearence and behaviour. Slurring and yarring your words, hobbling around.

You may go for a big nasty beefburger at lunch to sober up before people realize you are in no fit state to sit at a desk. Let alone try and be a useful and productive member of a team. You suddenly have turned into the problem. You suddenly realize that the wrongs of man fit neatly on your forhead and that the solution is pretty simple and that you did not need 7 hours of heavy drinking to resolve the issues. In fact it is the 7 hours of heavy drinking that got you into the conundrum you are in.

Don't drink on weeknights you muffinhead! Do it Sunday mornings like a real man.

Quick roundup

2007-11-19T02:46:00.000-08:00

Lets just have a quick round-up on the state of the world that we live in.

Bear-back riding

http://www.shakethatbear.com/
(Not Safe For Work) Do not click this unless you want to see some really fucked up stuff or if you have a flaky disposition about animals being killed. Or people who killed them having sex on the dead animal before letting some dogs rip that animal apart.

This video begs a number of questions.

How did it escalate to this? Did they start with a fur rig and work their way up to a bear? Were they in bed one night and Cletus here asked his slag girlfriend: "Honey, this normal sex thing just doesn't do it for me anymore. I want to watch you shoot a bear and then doggy-style you on it. "

Either way, I hope PETA sends out some vengeful ninjas to take these people out in their sleep. And then the ninjas have sex on their corpses and a balance is once again struck in the world.
That and we would see some ninjas having sex. That would be so fucking hot.

PS: When googling "cute bear" be careful to have your adult filters functioning properly. Urrgh.

Bastards

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elz-HWuAZzg

No seriously. Fuckers. Motherfuckers. Motherfucking fuckers. I am much too angry, even 50 hours later to properly articulate my anger at what happened on that pitch on Saturday. ARRGGHH.

A masonic conspiracy by UEFA and the top clubs to make sure little Scotland does not make it to the finals at the expense of the World Cup winners? Was the ref bought by the mafia? Are the Italians a bunch of cheating arseholes? If the answer to any of those questions is 'yes' then we should march to Switzerland and fucking burn the place down. Show them who is boss.

I'm sorry, what?

2007-11-15T05:16:00.000-08:00

http://www.viceland.com/int/v14n10/htdocs/yo1.php?country=us

"Pony is an orangutan from a prostitute village in Borneo. We found her chained to a wall, lying on a mattress. She had been shaved all over her body. If a man walked near her, she would turn herself around, present herself, and start gyrating and going through the motions. She was being used as a sex slave. She was probably about six or seven years old when we rescued her, but she had been held captive by a madam for a long time. The madam refused to give up the animal because everyone loved Pony and she was a big part of their income. "

There is just so much wrong with that, I don't know where to start. All I know is, please point me to the big red button that says: "End world here now." I could make some obvious jokes about having slept with a lot worse for more money, but I don't think that would be befitting this quite sad situation, so lets consult Urban dictionary:

"a sexual practice involving shaving all body hair below neck, lubing up the whole body, and screwing on a waterbed without sheets.
we were having shaved monkey sex last night when he bed sprung a leak."

Ah, that makes more sense now. Thanks a lot.

We've all been there. The agony of manhood

2007-11-15T04:29:00.000-08:00

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/7091904.stm

"Frustrated by the one remaining nut which refused to budge, he resorted to
fire power in an effort to shift it."

We have. Every man with a correct amount of testosterone in his body can relate to this guy. We have all stood before a broken valve, a computer mouse that would not work properly or some other infernal object that would not yield to our wishes and thought to ourselves:

"I am going to fuck you up if you don't do as I fucking tell you right now." Before punching the inanimate object and hurting your hand, causing more anger and violence to the object, possibly destroying it completely. That moment of helplessness and anger is often more focused and white-hot than the anger towards say, a lying politician, a passing paedophile or walking in on Hugh Grant fingering your girlfriend.

What the moral of this story does tell us is that allowing any kind or number of weaponry into your household is possibly even more dangerous. I often have wished for a shotgun whilst trying to get the chain back onto a bike when Outlook decides to take a nap on me while I am trying to send a mail, but would a high-powered weapon really be appropriate at that time. In fact, should not all sharp, blunt or explosive objects be removed from the general vicinity of the angry man to avoid further chaos? A shotgun cannot be seen as a solution, unless your name happens to be K Cobain. (Boom tscchhh)

There is nothing quite as pathetic nor as unpredictable as a man who has had enough, who is no longer willing to put up with this shit. Especially if the 'shit' in question, happens to be their own fault.

So men of the world. If something is turning you to such insane levels of hysteria and you recklessly danger yourself and those around you by trying to "fix" something by beating the living crap out of it, take a deep breath. Count to 10. Hum a bit if you have to. Take a walk if you still don't feel calmer and come back to the problem at hand with some sense, restraint and a clear head. Failing that, buy a bigger gun or take a fucking mallet to the pricking washing machine.

The acceptance of the objectionable

2007-11-08T05:48:00.000-08:00

As with most vices, dirty habits or outrageous fads, most become accepted over the course of time. Elvis was the Devil's own music, corrupting the youth with his swaying hips a mere 50 years ago. In most countries it is now OK to now believe in whatever deity you want without someone cracking open your skull and women can now own a cat and have red hair without being drowned in the village well.

Some would call this an advancement in morals, enlightenment and a larger awareness of humanity. The opening of minds. Some would tell you that societies acceptance of things like rock music, tattoos, open discussion about sex and the acceptance of homosexuality are degrading the the very moral ground we stand on and we are doomed to rot in hell for all our sins as we ride that flaming chariot of depravity further into the abyss.

I consider myself pretty liberal and open minded to new fads and forms of entertainment. I don't even think everything needs to have a real point or value in society to be fun or a form of entertainment. Not all arts or practices are meant to stand the test of time, but are merely a reflection of our lives at that given instance, washed away as soon as the next craze comes along, seldom leaving any evidence of its existence.

And then we make a tv show about mind-fucking poor little 6 year old girls and parading them around in front of a crowd of salivating paedophiles as they rub their sweaty crotches.

"Who We Will Meet:
Joanna, 6 years old - The Reigning Champ
Aleena, 6 years old - The Flirt
Kynnedy, 6 years old - The Diva"

Sweet god. Do we really need to objectify six-year olds in this way? Why not cut out the middle man and just throw them into a pit of old hairy men with hard-ones and Polaroid cameras?

"This documentary reveals the humor and love behind an American tradition;
the always colorful characters on the pageant circuit; and the "sparkle" it
takes to win a crown. "

I feel a little ill. Spray on tan, false teeth, enough make-up to paint a horse. Look at those damn eyes! There is no youth, no joy, no anima behind those glass veneers. When I was six, I could barely pet a dog, I was so thick. Eating mud and playing with lego was the height of my daily enjoyment and these poor little things go strutting about in eveningware for the judges and sick kiddy-fiddlers at home. Some life.

Why are the people that organize these things not strung up by their nuts in Guantanamo Bay, having electrodes inserted up their urethras? How the hell did the TV execs at VH1 think "Hey, this is a great idea!" and no one pushed them into a busy street?

Strange days folks.

Diana in 'she was once alive' shocker.

2007-11-07T04:22:00.000-08:00

Thanks Eric, for spotting this. It just gets worse and worse the more you read it. I give up, seriously....

Its all been downhill since the renaissance ...

2007-11-07T03:42:00.000-08:00

Sweet god...

"But the concept of comparing negative numbers proved too difficult for some
Camelot received dozens of complaints on the first day from players who could
not understand how, for example, -5 is higher than -6."

Oh dear oh dear people. Are things really getting this rough? I too was a stubborn little so and so when it came to Pythagoras and multiplying square roots proclaiming vehemently: "I'll never need to know this shit when I am a Race-car driver! VROOOOOM!!!", but this is going a bit far.

"I phoned Camelot and they fobbed me off with some story that -6 is higher - not
lower - than -8 but I'm not having it. "

He then went on to talk of giant sea serpents at the edge of the world and how gravity was just god's way of punishing the wicked.

Ladies and gentlemen, are we seriously advancing as a species? The thing about knowledge is that it is not permanent. Each new generation is not intrinsically smarter, more adaptive or wiser than the previous due to simply 'coming later'. Knowledge has to be passed on first hand and be taught or else it is lost. Knowledge is not a evolutionary step, it is a gift that has to be learnt and if current generations are missing out on basic maths, languages and sciences and instead rely more and more on theological teachings or no teachings at all, I'm afraid to say it, - we are fucked folks.

I do worry about the state of the current generation and how we will teach further generations. Will we steep further down the spiral staircase towards dis-enlightenment, or will there eventually be a resurgence of the thirst for knowledge as has been seen so many times in history? Are we right now just simply doomed to spend out time consuming, fucking and shitting in front of our TV's, watching arsehole B celebrities falling on their arses?

Then again, scratch-cards eh? Made for fuckwits anyway. Its not called idiot-tax for no reason.

then again ... maybe things are looking up.

Guest Blog - Eric's Top Tips that you need to know before you move in with Seb

2007-10-29T06:31:00.000-07:00

01. Seb WILL eat all of your cheese; Seb does not care if its yours or that you planned to eat it that night. All your cheese are belong to Seb.

02. Seb likes to scream himself awake. You do NOT need to run into his room and save him. Even if he is naked. Cause he will be.

03. Seb, on occasion, likes to get drunk at before noon. No, that is not a glass of milk he is drinking, don't be silly, it's Seb we're talking about.

04. Seb will out-drink you every time; 30 months of Seb's Drinking-for-Men Training scheme will make you a better drinker but you CANNOT out drink a Scottish/German bearded mutant. Ever.

05. If you go on holiday, lock your fucking door. Seb will invite half his family and an entire rock band (!!!) to your place and he will tell them its okay for them to sleep in your bed.

06. Do NOT let Seb de-frost your fridge. For the love of Allah, do not let him do it!!

07. Oh and to add to that; do NOT let him near your hoover either. Including the new one you bought to replace previous one he wrecked.

08. Contrary to popular believe, Seb DOES clean the house when asked nicely. Alcoholic beverages as a reward are a requirement of course. Should not be asked more than once every three months. Seb thrives best in filth.

09. Do NOT, under any circumstances, tell Seb the religion/race/political-views/home-town/country-of-origin or anything similar of that hot date you are bringing home. If you do I can assure you there will not be a second date. Better yet, just don't bring dates home when Seb is there.

10. And finally, whatever you do, do NOT give Seb drugs when he's in a bad mood. He will take the bottle of Jack Daniels, have a weird look in his eyes and tell you that he's off to "fight some demons" in his room.

Scene it? - Games marketing at its very worst

2007-10-26T02:47:00.000-07:00

May I point your attention to this shaved rat of a games ad:

http://www.gametrailers.com/player/27032.html

I'll allow for a minute of reflection and let you wipe that little bit of vomit from your chin.

Better?

This truly is a monster. It is marketing at it very ugliest and frightening. I am going to try and look at it from a scientific stand-point and not as a critic, or else I might puke out my own spine.

Opening shot. Camera briefly shows the scene. We are obviously not in a real apartment, but on a sound stage somewhere in LA. The window looks out towards, what may be the New York skyline, pre- 9/11 if my eyes don't fail me.

There appears to be a lot of wicker-furniture. Sick fuckers.

The X360 is placed prominently in the room, but facing away form the camera.

There are 7 people in the room. 2 of African decent. 3 of them are milling in the open-planned kitchen, preparing non-alcoholic cocktails and probably snorting some charlie.

3 are sitting in the "lounge-area", chatting and eating snacks. Snacks may or not be fake, or made of baby-skin.

Now for the clincher, there is a prick, sitting on a stool, with an acoustic guitar on his knee, smiling like a fucking retard. We'll get back to him.

Onwards.

We get a close-up of each "actor" in the room to see who we are dealing with. The consensus says: Arsehole liberal yuppies with more cash than sense. But by the love of god, they are happy. I guess the E's are just kicking in.

People making silly moves, "people making music" = 1 prick with a guitar. I hate him. I hope he dies of cancer in the next minute. Close-up of the front of the 360, brand-recognition, the fucking thing is not showing a red ring of death surprisingly enough and it has not melted, setting the apartment on fire, killing all these lovely, likable 25-30 year old young professionals. "Sorry chief, all we found was their shiny white teeth and a lingering smell of burnt bacon".

"And then we get competitive". Billy plucks Porsche's right eye out with a tiger-claw ninja punch.
"Everyone likes movie trivia, right?" . Some people like hookers to put electrodes on their nuts, but that does not make it a good thing.

We then see some clips of the actual game on what appears to be a fake TV with the manufacturers logo crudely erased. This is meant to keep the viewer thinking he is in that apartment, with these lucky people, and Porsche might let him fuck her eye-socket later.

We see a clip from "Black Sheep". One of the worst movies ever created and we are also reminded that Chris Farley is dead. Thank Microsoft for reminding us of our own mortality. Fuckers.

The bitch answering gets the question wrong, promptly proving to everyone involved that she is not just a complete whore, but more stupid than the fucking wicker chair she is crouched upon.

Some close-ups of the product, to show how light, small and simple they are. Well done. More happy shining people. Porsche touches Aisha. Do you think they might have a thing? What would Brad think?

Another girl wonders into the scene. We'll call her Tracay. She looks dead behind those eyes. She has been mainlining heroin in the bathroom and just woke up. She has no idea what is going on. She takes a seat next to Brad who is smiling like a serpent-like demon. Tracay may throw herself off the balcony. Thank god we are on a sound-stage.

Everybody smiles and points and looks confused, yet interested. There are some shots of our token black people. We realize there are no Asians in the room. This is to drive home the fact that Microsoft hates Asians and they are only good for making broken 360s. Also, Nothing is trivial to the Asians.

The cock with the guitar has the controller thrown to him. This is to signify the ergo dynamic engineering of the controller and the fact that even if dick-wad over there dropped it with his monkey-hands, it would not matter as it is durable and well constructed.

We get to Charlie Sheen. Of course it is Charlie Sheen you fuck-wits. Anyone can see that. I hope Charlie never agreed to this and sues the fuck out of them. MS pay up 20 Million USD. Charlie runs for presidency with the cash. Wins. All is good in the world again.

I noticed the points. 4 players. Each are hovering around the 30,000 mark. (29,580, 27,155 ...). Those are some high value if the decimal point goes down to 1. 1. It shows that everyone is fairly equal in this game and that it is well-balanced and that even the blacks can play it, and we are dealing with some crazy points. They have been playing for 15 hours straight. Amphetamines and shitty alcohol-free cocktails keeping them going.

"And some of us like to celebrate a little." Porsche and Ashanti, or whatever her fucking name is do the Joey dance. We all love Joey. Don't you. FUCKING DON'T YOU!?!?! Fuck you!

Everyone hugs, dances points and laughs. Show the product. "BUY ME you gimp!"

"If you buy me you too can be young, hip, trendy, rich and have black friends."

Or I could just play Buzz!, drink some White Russians and smoke 20 cigarettes and hour before throwing up against a wall.

Ban this sick filth.

Learning Dutch - A means to an end, or a means to a sandwich?

2007-10-25T01:18:00.000-07:00

At the ripe age of 27 and after almost 4 years of living in the Netherlands, I am finally embarking on a serious attempt at learning Dutch. Up to this point I have relied on a mixture of sign-language:

"I require a hamburger of about this size."

"You are a frigging loser. Get off the bike path before you get killed."

"I have got your nose!" or

"I squish your puny little head."

or by simply flailing my arms, shouting loudly in English and occasionally throwing in a "LEKKER!". Lekker basically means 'tasty', but it can also mean good, or sexy, or anything with a positive slant on it. Here are some examples:

"Dit is een lekker brootje!" - "This is a tasty sandwich." Easy, simple, makes sense.

"Wij gaan lekker neuken!" - "We are off to have tasty sex!" Hmmm.. a bit bizare, but hey, maybe it is a colloquial thing.

"Ik ga nu lekker fietsen met mij sus!" - "I am off to go tasty biking with my sister!" You fucking freaks.

"Lekkere negerinnen wachten op jou! Bel nu!" - well.

And so on and so on. Everything and anything can and usually is LEKKER.

But lets get back to the fact at hand. I am learning to do more than the simple ordering of beer, "TWEE FROSTY PINTS NU JE GROTE KLOOTZAK!"

or a simple morning greeting between colleagues.
"Kop dicht Kanker-lul"

So hopefully my 12 week, 1.5 hours twice a week course will help me finally speak more fluently, rather than simply insulting everyone around me and making small girls cry. Hopefully I too, can become an integrated and positive member of Dutch society and not just some over-blown tourist with drunken tourettes.

So wish me luck, dear readers. Wish me god-speed that I too kan lekker nederlands praaten!

<- Lekker

Seb (lekker)

PS: Apologies to Invader Stu, in case I stole any ideas, jokes or stepped on his toes regarding this whole Dutch silliness. I know it is your territory.

Seb's blaarrgghh

2007-10-24T02:53:00.000-07:00

Blaarrgghh (bläärggghhgarglespit) Pronunciation Key n. A weblog done under the influence of alcohol and narcotics. intr.v. blogged, blog·ging, fucked in the head, brain-farts, opinionated arseholes moaning about the world from the comfort of their armchairs without actually doing anything about it, blogs To write entries in, add material to, or maintain a weblog. [(we)blog.] blog·ger n. cu·nt. waste·of·space.

So now we have that over and done with and we all know where we stand, we can finally get the ball rolling on this motherfucker.

So... here we go. Right... now.

...

That Kid Rock, eh? What a cunt.

<--- CUNT

Phew... thank god that went ok. Join me again tomorrow for another outrageous and insightful look into the inner workings of the most prolific blogger this side of digital divide. Topics will include:

Ageism. A cultural divide brought by fast paced technological advancements alienating today's young culture with the aging blue-collar generation or the white stuff that comes out of a old man's cock?
"I am here to show you my erection".

Sport. The continuing resurgence of Scottish football on the world stage or "How we pump the cheese-eating surrender monkeys on a weekly basis without breaking a fucking sweat".

<- King Bazza.

And finally: The games industry. A creative and technologically advanced industry providing digital entertainment to the masses or a bunch of ADD ridden virgins cranking out murder simulators at inflated prices to our dear sweet children.

<- Fucking fire haired demon from Satan's scrotum.

Till then, good night and godspeed my fellow christian warriors. The fight with the heathen fucks is upon us.

Sebbyx

Relaxing gun laws is our only hope of survival

2007-10-18T02:59:00.000-07:00

I was just sitting here thinking about Resident Evil and a disturbing thought crossed my mind. Where the fuck do I get a shotgun from if the dead arise from their graves to eat my succulent flesh?

I honestly can't think of anyone I know who has a gun. If we were in the USA I would have 2 Uzis in my sockdraw, a shotgun in the shower and a magnum next to my keyboard cocked and ready to blow away any filthy zombies.

I'd make sure I'd have a gun with just silver bullets and a shotgun with a crucifix attached to the front cause you never know what fucking thing is going to have a crack at trying to kill you.

But no, here in Europe the gunlaws are such that noone but the police, some drugdealers and the army have firearms. Over in the middle east they'd all be fine and dandy judging by the footage in the news. They've all got an AK47 from the age of twelve and any Zombie uprising would be dealt with swiftly and without remorse.

Here in liberal, pacifist west Europe we'd be royally screwed. We'd have to resort to braining (excuse the pun) these bastards with goldclubs or chairlegs. In the USA you'd be able to find a decent aluminium baseball bat suited to you to go and crack some undead skulls. I'm seriously worried about this. Like any other red-blooded male I can't wait till we have a decent Zombie uprising on this boring planet, but I'd like to be prepared if possible.

I hope that when (not if) the time comes for a good old battle with the undead that the European Parliament will have relaxed gun laws allowing every citizen an automatic rifle and some explosives but I'm not going to let some liberal peacenik commie bastard try and tell me that owning guns for protection against zombies is a crime. I'll eat all their goddamn flesh laughing when the time comes. If I'm a zombie or not.

Lets get us some motherfucking hardware.

Eric's Sex life - A young man's journey through uncertainty

2007-10-18T02:50:00.000-07:00

As I've been told that I have a certain penchant for storytelling I felt that I could use it for forces of good and invent something of value for you lucky people. I decided to invent my good friend Eric a full filling and varied sexlife.I'm sure he'll appreciate my efforts.
Eric's sexual awakening came early for a dutch male of his age. He had barely reached the tender age of nine when his loins awoke with a primal roar.

Eventhough he still had a good three years before he left for the hormone throbbing world of high school he was maturing physically and sexually at an astounding pace. He rose in height above all his contemporaries and drew questioning and worried glances in the school locker rooms.
His physique might have drawn attention but girls his age were much too young and nervous of the opposite sex at that age so his first sexual conquest proved to be the neighbours wife. She was a fat but buxom lady in her mid twenties and her husband was often out of town on business. (He was a coke runner for the Colombian drugs cartel).

It happened on a sunny May afternoon whilst she was out tanning and reading in her garden. Eric had matured physically but not yet mentally and was busy torturing his sisters cat with a pair of hair curlers. As per usual he was running around naked apart from a cycling helmet the doctors had prescribed him as he was often losing his balance due to his sudden physical growth and a pair of Transformers briefs. He would often trip over chairs, fences or his own feet and had taken enough cranial damage to worry Muhammed Ali.
The neighbours wife glanced up from her trashy novel noticed Eric having his way with the unfortunate feline. She quickly also noticed that young Eric was also getting a little more excited than simply on a sadomasochistic level.
I will not disgust you with the details but young Eric's cherry was popped in his mothers weedplants at the back of the garden behind his father's shed. What he lacked in subtle skills he made up with dogged determination and passion.

The next day Eric told his teachers quite proudly of his endeavors and as it was a very small and provincial town the news spread quickly of the woman peadophillic escapades and she was promptly hung in the town square as is still custom in many parts of the Netherlands.
None of this mattered to young Eric as it was simply his first notch of many on his bunk bed. He had also gotten a new BMX bike and made to promise not to touch any more neighbours.
It was red. And could go really really fast.A few years went by and Eric was pretty much shunned by the opposite sex as the threat of the gallows was more severe than the need to enjoy this young man.

But nonetheless he started high school with a reputation many boys would give their right testicle to have at that age. He was now 12 and by this point could give Tom Jones a run for his money in the chest hair department. Which he did in the 1998 international chest hair championships and won by a margin of 5. He held this title till David Hassellhoff cheated int he 2000 finals using a dead skunk as extra cover, but the rules were not as established as we know them today and won by a whisker.
High school passed very eventfully for him as the girls around him were starting to react to his testosterone fulled musk like mosquito's to Africans.He laid an estimated total of 28 girls during his fruit full time at high-school but his grand total could have been much larger if his time had not been cut short due to an unfortunate series of events when the World Health Organisation was called in to investigate the emergence of chlamydia, syphilis and new strain of botulism never before seen outside of the brothels of deepest Bangkok.

He was soon expelled when the WHO found the cause of this outbreak and quarantined for 2 months. But this outbreak did allow researchers to discover a new cure for these diseases and now the hookers in Thailand can once again sell their wares without the fear of a painful and unnecessary death. (Open up any scientific journal and you will find Eric's face next to a number of venereal diseases).

Eric's college years were a little less successful as the women around him had now outgrown him in maturity and were not as susceptible as the young teenage girls of his schooltime and his conquests lay mostly in the young and impressionable foreign students. With a mere 30 further notches on his now scarred bunkbed things were looking grim for our hero. Things got worse due to a groin injury sustained during a particularly hefty session with a pair of Albanian twins on an exchange course on the back of a speeding pick-up truck. Disaster was only averted when the police made the truck veer off into a roadside ditch away from the oncoming traffic and Eric was thrown clear of the wreckage. More than simply his pride, he was physically devastated when he hit the fence post at 80 km/h and caught it squarely with his scrotum.
It took months of rehabilitation and mediation for Eric to reach his prime once again, but by this point his studies were in tatters, much like his scrotum had been after the accident. What could a man with little education and only a knowledge of the females sexual reproductive organs and BMX bikes possibly achieve in our hard and unfair world.

That's right, he became a games designer. And he hasn't been laid since.The End.All the events and persons involved are fictual and names and places changed to protect the innocent. Many events are based on real occurrences but may not represent Eric's actual sex life. Apart from the last bit.

Kara-fucking-oke and what does 'Exanimate' mean?

2007-10-18T02:41:00.000-07:00

After my new favorite blog writer 'Billynantucketsezushouldfuckit' decided to attack the ancient and beautiful art form of Kara-fucking-Oke as she so eloquently put, I thought I'd tell my own little Kara-fucking-oke related story (I'm not writing that every time).

It was the winter of 2002 and Seb Dangerfield had just awoken in a strange and unfamiliar room. He couldn't figure out by the drawn blinds whether it was day or nighttime. As he stumbles out of bed he noticed that he had somehow managed to throw up in his own bed and that the sheets were lying in a corner of the room.

This is where he noticed the screaming headache kick in as if a million goblins had started screaming in his head. He stumbled into the small bathroom and flicked the fluorescent light over the mirror into life. As his eyes adapted to the bright light he first notices the bloodshot eyes sitting above some big black bags, then he noticed the small gash on his lower which had a small speck of blood caked on it.
As quickly as he had inspected the wound, the memories of the previous night began flashing in his mind.He was in Tokyo working on Dino Crisis 3 for Capcom. A shit game, but an easy project that allowed him enough freedom to continue his debauched lifestyle unabated.It had been the end of the first week of testing and our handler in Japan, Niko had taken us out for a meal the evening before.

The evening had started very pleasantly with a few beers, and a tantalizing grill dinner where a large amount of pigs intestines where fried and eaten.Myself and my compatriot on this adventure Alan had been heavily drinking all week and were very happy to finally having an evening paid for by the client as the prices where nothing short of astronomical for a Jack Daniels.With Dinner over our lovely host decided to take us to Japan's ichi ban past time Kara-fucking-Oke (ok I will then). We entered a large shopping centre that night with a few large beers and a stomach full of meat. Near the entrance to the karaoke centre hundreds of hip kids, business men and couple were mingling, some leaving some waiting for a room to become vacant. After a short wait we were led to an elevator which took us 8 floors up to a very long hallway comparable to a hotel with doors on all sides. From each room the distant muffle of music and singing could be heard. We were led along the corridor past scuffling waitresses to our room for the evening.

We found a small room with a dinner style booth around the far end with a table in the middle, a large TV set at the other end with a number of microphones coming out of it like tentacles from some Hentei porno movie.Our gracious host informed us that we had the room for 2 hours, but we could increase that if so so wished. As well as that the cost of renting the room included the price of beer. Free beer. For X amount of hours. We flicked on the dubious looking machine in the corner of the room and started scanning the books on the table to see what western music could be found among the hundreds on unintelligible Japanese "classics". A little sheepishly I got the ball rolling. My subconscious is protecting me to an extent from the evenings events as the nature of the first song escapes me, but needless to say I butchered it. Slowly we all took turns doing songs and for a long while it remained fairly civilised (for European standards, the Japanese girl seemed a little worried).

After the first hour myself and Alan had made half a dozen or so beer orders over the phone on the wall and our host was looking a little weary. As our minds slowly glazed over with the cheap watered down Bieru our choices in songs would get a little more courageous. We took on classics like 'Smoke on the water', 'Foxy Lady' and many others. We even managed to butcher a duet of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' which would have Freddie Mercury spinning his dead AIDS infested body at such a speed that the high-pitched whine would drive dogs in a 5 mile radius wild. During the 4 hours in the now beer-soaked room that we had butchered enough classics so it was time for some Metal.

I made Jonathan Davies sound good by doing a rendition of 'Blind' by Korn and as 'Walk' by Pantera came on I drunkenly managed to smack the microphone into my mouth busting open my bottom lip. Bleeding lightly I finished the song. Phil Anselmo would be proud. Needless to say at this point I had been standing on top of the table with our host trying to sleep and Alan frantically flicking through the song list to find his next hit. For the rest of the evening we butchered some The Clash together. Finally we became aware of our hosts condition and decided we'd had enough fun singing. We stumbled blindly back to the elevator and down to the booth to pay. I believe myself and Alan each paid roughly 75 pound sterling for the adventure as we insisted on treating our host after having destroyed any joy she could ever find in Kara-fucking-oke for her ever more.

What happened next is little more than a blur of images and flashes of madness, but I'm sure it involves us throwing money at scared looking Japanese bar women in exchange for bourbon.As Seb stood at the mirror recounting these memories he felt no guilt, he felt no embarrassment. He felt nothing but the pounding in his head. A quick shower and a handful of painkillers later he left the hotel to explore the sprawling city before him.

Note: That day Joe Strummer formerly of The Clash died. To this day myself and Alan believe that our singing contributed to his heart giving up. We killed Joe. We have to live with that till the day we die. I have not picked up a microphone since. I can't bear opening up the scars of what we did to punk music. Who knows who we might kill next time?

I'm on blogger. Oh fuck, kill me now

2007-10-17T01:10:00.000-07:00

Hey folks,

with the obvious death of myspace due to being swamped by lousy foreigners and poor people, I felt it was time to leave it to be ravaged like LA during a race riot and find some new digs where I can write down my drunken musings on life, melting cheese and drinking copious amounts of beer before having sex with a lamp-post.

I will be posting some of my favourite old blogs on here too to save them from my myspace account deletion so future generations will be able to enjoy and learn from my many mistakes... yeah right. They are going to kiss fat girls, snort talcum powder and fall on their faces in rough biker bars like the rest of us.

So lets see how this image adding works...

Ah excellent. Seems to be working just fine. TAKE THAT MYSPACE SHITTY SHIT BLOG POO!

Anyway, not much going on yet, I just wanted to get this set up for when I stumble into work drunk next time without an inkling to do any actual work.

See you kids when the lights go out.

Seb