Spam Wank

I hadn’t even considered the idea that I would get annoying spam here; I’d never really paid that much attention to it, and just deleted it and got on with my day. But, for shits and giggles, I thought it would be a good idea to have a look at what some of them say.

And my my, was I disappointed.

It’s like spammers aren’t even TRYING any more. In the past, you could get a spam email or something that actually looked legit. Now? Full of grammatical and spelling errors, clear idiocy and the inability to speak English showing through as clearly as a skidmark on tighty-whiteys.

And some of them came from such websites as “sexline” and other similar places.

Gooby pls.

For a start, if I want porn, I know damn well where to go. For another thing, advertising prostitution (I made an educated guess about one of the spammers) was illegal the last time I looked.

Look, if you’re going to spam me, at least make it a bit more personal. I’m clearly a student with a thing for pirates and complaining about life. My blog is certainly not intended to be educational, I consider the information shared in these pages to be of a standard.

So I’m bigheadded and vain too. Your standardised messages are boring and cliche. Do it properly.

Christ, it feels like I’m talking to an ex…

Yarrrr I Can’t Be Thinkin’ Of A Title…

It’s getting to that stage again where I am forgetting to blog.

I have loads lined up, more complaints mostly, but I never seem to get around to sorting them out.

So today.

I was supposed to be in work, and after getting all psyched up for it, I find out that I’m working from home today. It took all of my self control not to fall back to sleep. I’m still technically working after all.

But tomorrow, it’s back to the office, back on those god forsaken busses costing me stupid amounts of money because I hate driving and won’t put myslef through it and back to learning more about stuff.

This keyboard annoys me.

I can hear mother and “sister” talking through the wall. I don’t wanna fucking hear, I’ve got to go to sleep soon if I’m to have any chance of getting up on time tomorrow. But nope, miss 17-and-pregnant is going to be up all night talking to mum and keeping her awake, even though she’s got work in the morning too. Baby this and baby-fucking-that… Drives me up the motherfucking wall.

I can’t be fucked to go on a rant about why I hate some of the people in my family right now

 

Strangely though.

 

You know how parents are supposed to be those innocent people who are shocked by sex and stuff?

Mum just came in and offered me a cock-shaped mint.

I don’t know whether I feel awkward because it’s my mum, or the fact that I ate one.

Ship WRECKED

So I went out to Birmingham this weekend, for once able to leave all my toubles behind and enjoy my birthday.

I had drinks bought for me, people listening to what I had to say, and virtually no drama, aside from a couple of foolish people who had their own private little drama after they both said it wouldn’t happen. Welp, it’s not my problem any more.

Oh, and one twat who I didn’t want to see turned up uninvited, but he seemed to get the message pretty quickly and fucked off, but not before following me around, oblivious to the fact I was deliberately trying to avoid him. Seriously, this thick cunt has had some fantasy about he and I for months, no matter how often I told him I was simply not interested and wanted nothing to do with him. He’s lucky he got lost when he did, I’d had enough to drink to be more than happy to be violent towards people I really dislike.

Anyway.

Other than that, it was a lovely weekend and I got to leave my worries behind for a bit, I got to meet some new people and have fun with old friends.

I’m not watching the 100 scariest moments 2003 on Youtube, trying to decide if any of these films will scare me if I haven’t seen them before.

Lol no.

Happy Birthday To Me…

So I hit 21 today.
I spent most of the day working.
On my own.
Kinda sucked.
But hey, I’m older now.
And I get to have a wicked party with my mates soon.
And I’m watching Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat with Donny Osmond.
So it’s not all that bad.

Things That Annoy Me: Emofags

I am sick

And I am tired

Of emofags constantly whingeing about how hard life is.

You know the ones.

The ones that sit there with steampunk hair and holes in their face, with ripped jeans and holes in their jumpers to put their thumbs through, the ones who always listen to whiney emo songs about how sad their life is, about death, about taking drugs to “make the pain go away”. The ones that always say “Why is this so hard? Why can’t life be easier? OMG I want to dieeeee… Gonna carve a heart where mine used to be…”

Oh fuck, now I think my brain’s melting.

It really, really, pisses me the fuck off. Because it’s never about something in life that’s actually hard, like a close relative dying, or anything really sad like that, no, it’s more often than not them crying over a relationshp that lasted a month finishing.

I know someone who used to go to my school who is exactly like this. She sees a guy, he smiles at her, she becomes obsessed with him, pesters him to go out with her, and within two days of the relationship starting, she’s going through his phone, his emails, and getting really fucked off if he’s flirted with a girl four weeks before he’d even met this emofag. Then, understandably, he gets annoyed and does what all men do, tey retreat for a while to sort out what’s going on in their mind, to figure out the best course of action and to chill out a bit.

But what does miss emofag do? Follows him. Clings. Won’t leave him alone. Pesters. Crys because he “doesn’t understand her” “Why don’t you love meeeeeeee?” Um, we’ve been dating a week…

So they break up. Then, for about a month, my facebook is filled with whiney emofag statuses about how hard life is, how she can’t go on, how she wants to forget but it’s so hard to let go and other similarly worded bollocks.

You know what?

Get the fuck over it.

Yeah, we’ve all been there where we’ve had a partner who we loved and it didn’t work out, and we were sad, but the majority of people with a brain who are not attention whores didn’t cry about it for months on end for the world to see, we had our sad few days, picked ourselves up, and tried to get on with our lives and remember that we don’t need a partner to be happy.

If you get the fuck over the fact that you rushed into a relationship, smothered this guy with affection, gave him absolutely everything and expected it in return, even though you barely know each other, then it turns out he’s not the unflawed mr. perfect you envisioned, he’s actually a normal guy who got spoiled by you and came to expect it (as all humans do when they’re spoiled) and actually can’t read your mind, so he doesn’t know you want a hug when you sit huffily in a corner, you end up fighting because you’re immature and niaeve, then you break up.

When you grow up and realise life isn’t a fairytale, and that there are no such things as knights in shining armour, and no such things as princesses of golden hearts, then maybe you’ll be able to have a normal relationship, and you’ll be happy.

The sad thing is, it’s understandable when 13 year old girls do this, they’ve not had a relationship and son;t know what to expect. But this girl, and all the others I know, and so many more out there in the world are in their late teens, early twenties, and are still behaving like kids.

Fucking emofags man.

Expensive Tastes

You know what I like, nay, love? Expensive shit. But, not to the point where I’m an airhead bimbo who marries a sugar daddy to get it. That’s just dumb.

Naturally, my lack of money (an occupational hazard of being a student) has prevented me from enjoying such wonders as lobster, crab, fillet steak etc on a regular basis, and my expanding waistline means I’ve had to cut down on the booze and fancy chocolates rather dramatically. But, after losing the best part of a stone, I said “fuck it” and decided to put a bit back on, because my jeans were too big and I couldn’t be bothered to buy any more.

Anyway.

There’s something about me which causes me, no matter the establishment I’m in, to find, and immediately want, the most expensive item in the whole place without looking at the pricetag, only to suffer a crushing disappointment when I can’t have it.

A perfect example. At this crappy restaurant I was at the other day (which I complained about) There was lobster, crab, steak, lemon sole, and other delicious sounding things on the menu, all of which were astranomically priced.

Okay, £22.00 for a steak is way over the top, but it’s kind of expected with lobster.

Another example, at Loch Fyne, a lovely restaurant I would highly recommend, I immediately wanted lobster again, but, remembering I only had so much money, went for scallops.

Again, pricey, but absolutely fucking delicious. I could have had a burger, but to hell with that, I like real food.

A non food related example would be that I was wandering around TKmax, partly out of boredom, partly because Mother was there, and partly because I wanted a new leather jacket, (something I wasn’t to get until two days ago, and this happened a few years ago).

Anyway, wandering about, I suddenly homed in on a stunning purple leather dealio, whose fabric felt like silk, it fitted like a dream, it was warm and breatheable, the colour matched my hair pefectly, and it made me look awesome if I do say so myself.

After preening and posing in the mirror and chatting to myself out loud, drawing the attention of the drab little beetles doing their shopping, I took a peek at the pricetag, wondering if I could beg Mother for an early Christmas present.

It was three

Thousand

Pounds.

Reduced to five hundred, but still.

I dropped it on the floor and got the fuck out. I’m not paying that for a jacket.