Fear and Loathing In My Underwear - Part 1: The Clubbening

"We've all been there", I say to myself, as I clear the history off my browser and make an attempt to clean up, trying to not notice the obvious parallels my sex life has with the real. The only ray of light beaming through the overhanging clouds of shame, being the federal agent (monitoring me for downloading the anarchists cook book, all those years back) being dragged through the treacherous path that I have taken. Somewhere in America, deep underground, a man is crying onto an erection. 

HOW THE FUCK DID I GET BACK HERE? Going from being on the verge of a possible long term, loving relationship, to searching YouPorn for the most sordid wank-filth and filling a sock with more potential people than there are on this planet.

"I guess it's time to get back into the game", I tell myself, while cringing at the inherent patheticism of that phrase. I shave the weeks of depression off my face and douse myself in enough eau de toilette to destroy the ol' factory senses of everyone in a 20ft radius. For tonight, I'm going clubbing.

To quote Nietzsche, "Without music, life would be a mistake." Well Nietzsche never had to face the prospect of going to a club filled with wide-eyed freshers and middle aged men, with there backs to the bar, beer in hand, like vultures, perching on a mound of young peoples souls and innocence, waiting for the rohypnol to finally kick in. While the intense sense of nostalgia induced by 'The Fresh Prince of Bel Air' theme tune, causes a mass outbreak of "shuffling", leaving me slightly shifting my weight from one foot to the other, looking like "some cunt with a motor neurone disease". 
Dancing doesn't come naturally to me, the only way I can engage in the strange social spectacle is by getting so utterly wankered, that making an arse of myself seems to have some benefit. Yet even then my dance moves can only be (politely) described as, Interpretative.
"Fuck it, I'll just hang around in the smoking area and try to talk women into my arms". I stand there for hours on end, chain smoking, trying to work up the courage to say "Hi".

Why is this so hard? I've never really tried to initiate any type of intimate/sexual relationship. Depressed or/and down on their luck women have just generally gravitated towards me. Then used me like a short term course of anti-depressants, in which they can dispose of once they feel slightly better about themselves. Don't get me wrong, it does have it's benefits. I get to be with someone who is way out of my league and get to put another W in my win column (ignoring the dramatic loss of that person not being in my life and of course self esteem).

However for now I don't want a short-term relationship, I just want to fornicate. And where better to find someone who's on enough drugs to have sex with me, than the dank, dirty, arsehole-ridden London club, known as EGG.



Next time on Fear and Loathing In My Underwear:

"See her, I'm going to disappoint the shit out of her"

"I am not ashamed to say that I have tried internet dating (by which I mean I am entirely ashamed and am very doubtful that this paragraph will make it past the final edit)."


Thanks for reading guys, I implore you to add me on twitter (if you like tweets about masturbation or bad puns) @georgeANDpack.
https://twitter.com/georgeANDpack

The Miracle Weight Loss Supplement

Hey guys I'm back and I'm very excited as this will be the first time I have blogged on 2 consecutive days. I have taken time out of my busy schedule of masturbating and watching distasteful poorly made horror films (not simultaneously), to give you the highlights of one of the many strange pondering sessions I have had today. Enjoy.

I have been suffering from a severe lack of motivation in pretty much everything I have been doing recently (by the way I know I'm mentioning myself alot, but it's a blog and frankly I can be as self-indulgent as I want. Also I use words that I don't bother to look up). To combat this I have tried the whole dieting and exercise thing, as I guess if I lost a bit of weight I would obtain a greater sense of self worth and would strive towards bigger and better things. But I have been finding it very difficult to motivate myself to go to the gym or eat healthy, not because these are overly difficult, but because there is an obvious miracle weight loss supplement that for some reason has been overlooked by the health and diet industry. This is a weight loss supplement that will see pounds drop off you, without having to put in any of that horrible effort. I am of course talking about Heroin. Because lets face it, you never see a tubby junkie. Why should I run on the spot and pick up heavy things and at times have to worry about accidentally staring at a mans penis. When I could be at home, syringe in arm, staring at the ceiling, until my sense of self worth is as high as my state of conciousness.

This could also propel me to temporary international fame, as the man who created The Heroin Fitness Craze. I could be the one to bring Heroin to the masses. I could do adverts with B-List celebrities, who say things like: - "I've lost 10 stone thanks to the Heroin Diet."
- "With the new Heroin diet I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, but I don't want to. Thank you Heroin Diet"
- "Thanks to the Heroin diet I've lost my baby weight........ and my baby." (To social services, it didn't die in the womb, don't be so sensitive)  

Then Heroin classes will take over Zumba. Tens of millions of mothers would go to community centres after dropping their children off at school and shoot up, lay on yoga mats and stare at the ceiling. Granted children will be left abandoned in school playgrounds and overtime become feral. But people will be thin and isn't that all that really matters?

You will start seeing before and after photos that look like this.

 

Then every celebrity will bring out their own Heroin workout DVDs for Christmas, where you can shoot up with the stars and stare at them, staring at you. I will personally be looking forward to Carol Vordermans 'Can I have a Constenant and emergent medical treatment: The Fitness DVD'. (I should of come up with a better name, but it's 1 in the morning, I'm sorry, I'm doing my best)

In conclusion, I guess what I'm trying to say is, Fuck gyms, Fuck diets, Fuck Zumba.
Thats about as good a conclusion as I can muster.

Add me on Twitter @georgeApack.

Come back tomorrow for more Pack in Wonderland.

Tweets of The Dead

Sorry for yet another wait, I really have to stop procrastinating. I am going to try and start posting my daily musings, before judgement day cometh. Which leads pleasantly onto todays topic of pointless rambling.

The Mayans, various conspiracy theorists and generally mentally unstable people, would have us believe that we have less than a month left to live. Now, don't get me wrong, in my short time being on this delicate planet I have become quite content, you know with the whole living thing. But there are some irrefutable (Well actually probably refutable, but if you argue against my points, I will probably just ignore you) upsides to a global apocalypse.

For example, lets say the internet doesn't go down for about a week (I don't know how long it will take to go down, as I am an idiot). Imagine how interesting social networking will become, imagine the tweets. Because frankly I don't give a fuck about what concert you are currently clearly not enjoying enough, to get off your fucking phone or how long you've been at work, but you tweet about how you had to axe your sister in the face because she was infected with a zombie virus, then I will personally give you a favourite and a retweet. Also for the first time since its creation someone may upload an interesting photo on Instagram, such as a deadly home made weapon they have been working on or a severed head, instead of the usual cunty posing in the mirror myspace throwback pics or what they have had for breakfast. Then again I can imagine someone posting a photo on Instagram of a tin of spaghetti, with the description: #rations.
But no matter what happens, I can guarantee that I will be on this here blog, lieing about how many zombies I've decapitated, how many asteroids I've dodged or how many aliens I've disintegrated.

I guess what I am trying to say is, follow me on twitter (https://twitter.com/georgeApack) and if shit really does hit the fan, then you may just get that retweet.
Also while you're at it follow Daron Cruickshank (https://twitter.com/Cruickshank155), because anyone with a kind of proficiency in anything who would to do an interview for this blog is pretty awesome.

Thats me done for today, come back tomorrow for more Pack in Wonderland.

I Love Cab Drivers

Hey people of the internet, it's been awhile since I posted on this here blog.

You know things aren't going well when 90% of your social interactions are with cab drivers.

I've been felling rather down recently, so I have been combating my depression by taking cabs to nowhere in particular. I am not ashamed to say that I have been taking cabs from my home, to London, just to get a cab back to my house. It has become somewhat of an addiction, to lie about my life to unknowing polite cabbies. It has overtaken movies as a way of escapism, from my mundane life. In the space of a few hours I could go from being an aspiring lawyer with a troublesome four year old child, to a former Ping Pong Olympics hopeful, before a terrible car crash on an icy Christmas day, ended my 2012 dreams. I guess you could consider this as lieing. I prefer to think of it as giving the cabbie a certain level of conversation that they lack from other passengers.

Here's a few of my favourite life stories that I have thrusted upon unsuspecting cabbies.

I am a cameraman for hardcore pornography, I am not proud of what I do, but I have mouths to feed. I always wanted to direct screenplays.
I used to be a part of a gang of petty criminals before spending a year in a youth detention centre. ow I run a charity to help find outlets for teenage inner city youths.
And on a rather long cab ride to Hatfield, I managed to convince the cab driver that I lived through a slightly changed version of Forrest Gump.

 Anyways that is how I have spent my last few weeks, hope you haven't been doing the same.
Much love and I will be posting again soon.

Interview of the Dead with Daron Cruickshank

Through the magic of twitter, I have been able to get an interview with 'The International Superstar'.

UFC fighter, TUF 15 competitor, Taekwondo Black Belt, Zombie survival expert and allround badass, Daron Cruickshank.

Daron is currently in the process of creating a zombie survival guide web series. Checkout http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtmQGI9A29w

Q. Which Martial style do you think would apply best in a zombie apocalypse?

A. I would have to say that the Jeet Kune Do way of fighting is the best, because it uses what works at the time. Be like water, flow. 

Q.  Best household items to use when fighting off the zombie hordes (and why?) 

A. Anything that is handy works as long as you can hit them with enough power to smash their head into pieces. I am a big fan of the frying pan if I'm in the kitchen. If I'm in the yard I'll just pick up a brick from the walkway path, or a hammer from the barn. The key is to make whatever you can get your hands on work for you. You're the tool, that makes it work. 

Q. Have you got any preparations planned in case of a Zombie apocalypse? 

A. I keep lots of coffee and energy drinks in the house. I also have an escape plan out of my house and my Bronco is filled with everything I need to take out Zombies and stay alive.

Q. What is your favourite Zombie film?

A. That's easy Zombieland, I like the concept of the rules and how they show them.

Q.  If you could recruit 4 MMA fighters to join your Zombie apocalypse survivalist group, who would they be? 
A. Dan Severn, because he is a Michigan man and has seen it all.
      Randy Couture has also seen it all and is a military guy.

Mendes (left) Faber (right)

     Chad Mendes because he is a hunter, when that guy is not training, he is out in the woods hunting.
     Randy Couture has also seen it all and is a military guy.
     I'd also take Urijah Faber, because he has a great positive attitude, when it comes to life.

Q. Best Martial Arts Technique to use against a Zombie?
A. I'm a big fan of the jump spin hook kick, it has so much force that it could take a head clean off.

Q. How do you believe a Zombie outbreak would begin?
A. I think it would start by Mad Cow turning into Mad Pig and everyone loves bacon, then there will be Mad Humans = Zombies.

Q. On another note. You was scheduled to fight Henry Martinez at UFC 151, what are your feelings on the scrapping of the card?
A. It Sucks, but I am still thankful to be in the UFC and to have a job doing something that I love. Fights change all the time, it's part of the sport. As a fighter you have to be Mentally flexible.


Q. Where and when, can we see your Zombie survival guide?
A. Keep a look out on Twitter @Cruickshank155 (https://twitter.com/Cruickshank155), I will post it soon, still testing ideas.

The Duck < Bread Debate

Who decided that ducks eat bread?

As I'm sure you're all aware, bread is not indigenous to ponds. There is not one recorded bread hunt where a bunch of ducks stalk a loaf of Hovis. There is not one natural history documentary, in which David Attenborough perches on an island in the middle of a duck pond while dressed as shrubbery, speaking on bread breeding patterns. With analysis of how "the common White Bread male is able to detach some of its body parts, known as slices, in order to confuse the feathered beast that is preying upon them.

I believe that thirty odd years ago, parks and ponds became a hotspot for teenage mating rituals. Teenagers would bring a variety of picnic foods to the duck pond, throw some cheese and pickle sandwiches to the ducks, before creeping into the bushes to fornicate. Then some kind of recession took place, where the teenagers would have to all chip in to buy one loaf of bread. The teenagers would get lectured by their parents, "I don't get kids these days and their "Duck Feeding", in my day we let the ducks fend for themselves". Unknowing to them 'Duck Feeding' would soon become a popular past time, that these teenagers passed on to their children. The phrases "Let's go feed the ducks" and "Do you want to go feed the ducks?", became prevalent in British culture. All along the British isles people came out in droves to go 'Duck Feeding'.

Until 'Duck Feeding' became outlawed. Councils began cracking down on 'Duck Feeders', putting up signs telling 'Duck Feeders' to stop 'Duck Feeding' and issuing small fines. This put the 'Duck Feeding' community in disarray and soon the DFA (Duck Feeding Association) disbanded. However small pockets of underground 'Duck Feeders' still exist today and have been known to 'Duck Feed' under the cover of darkness.

Disclaimer - This is just my theory. I could probably just google the original roots of 'Duck Feeding', but I'm sure it wouldn't be as intriguing as the story that I just made up. 

The Shocking Truth

Feeding ducks bread can actually harm them. A carbohydrate heavy diet can cause excessive weight gain and malnutrition in both ducks and their ducklings, thus making it difficult for them to fly and evade predators. Also leftover mouldy bread can cause something called 'Aspergillosis', a fatal lung infection that can kill entire duck flocks. It is also a little known fact that ducks are very territorial and will set up their territory where there is an abundant food source. Duck gangs have been known to literally fight to the death to obtain or retain their territory.

Should 'Duck Feeding' be allowed as a form of entertainment?
Should the Police crackdown on these underground 'Duck Feeders'?
Does anyone care?

 In Memory Of

Timothy Darlington

08/02/08 - 15/09/12

Shot dead by police, while defending his right to engage in 'Duck Feeding'

The Whole Apple Pie Story

I guess it all started about three years ago. If I remember correctly, which I may not, I was sitting in my oldest mate Jess Greens (shout out to Jess green, hit him up on facebook or twitter @Megatherion1991) bedroom (no homo). It was me, Jess, my ex-girlfriend and Jacob Lee (no shout outs for Jay, you probably know him already). We all had a few drinks, so I decided to tell a story.


And it went a little something like this:


"One day I was relaxing in my room, just playing some x-box. When my mum, whom had just got home from her adventures outside, knocked on my bedroom door, which stood for are you wanking?" "No" I yelled, so she opened the door, walked in and left a McDonald's bag on the foot of the bed and walked out. The opened the bag and stuck my face inside, the beautiful scent of chip fat and gherkin wafted up and teased my nostrils. Confined inside the bag was a pack of beautiful golden chips, a Big Mac, with glistening sesame seeds sprinkled over the tasty bun like angel ashes, an apple pie and by the side of the bag, was a large sprite, which could quench the thirst of a thousand giants. I thought to myself, I could eat these chips of a beautiful golden nature, I could also eat this heaven sent Big Mac, I could then drink this hydrating large sprite, and the finally enjoy the baked goodness of the apple pie. Or I could FUCK THE APPLE PIE! I chose the latter. So I bit off the end, opened it up and stuck my dick inside. Now I said I fucked the apple pie, it was more of a wank, with an apple pie on my penis.
Five seconds in, it felt wonderful.
Ten seconds in, it started feeling uncomfortable.
Fifth-teen seconds in and my penis was burning.
Now, I don't know if you have seen the warning sign on McDonald's apple pies of "Caution:Very Hot". But I like to think they are there to stop people like me from burning their knobs. I spent the next five minutes pacing up and down my room in excruciating pain. Before deciding to eat my Big Mac, my chips and my crumbling terrified tearful apple pie. I then ran out of my house and got the 84 bus to Barnet AandE, to have my penis checked out. The doctor asked what had happened, I came out with the excuse, that I was home alone, therefore not needing to wear clothing, and spilled some boiling water on my penis, while in the process of  making a cup of tea. Then they ironically gave me a cream for it."

I hope you savoured every last morsel of that story as it will be the last time you get it out of me.

I received an unrivalled rush the first time I told this story, I looked at the gleeful expressions on my friends faces, as they burst into fits of laughter. Then for the first time in my life it dawned on me, with this story I could somewhat control when people laughed at me.

I would then "accidentally" mention this story and would be "forced" to tell the "infamous" apple pie story, to every new person I met. I soon started becoming friends with people directly from this story. I went from a depressive, socially awkward, self hating weird, into someone I could market myself as, to form relationships with people. Knowing fully well that I was playing an outlandish character, who has never really resembled me in anyway.

The truth is, there was never any apple pie. I was put on the spot three years ago in Jess' room and I made it up. I never thought it would have done this much in the way of changing my life. As corny as it sounds, it has gave me a confidence that I have never had before.

As a result of the story I have met so many new people, have been given a slightly inappropriate pet name and have managed to cause a girl in a different country to go mental. It's been a fun few years, but I think its time to go back to the shitty horror film connoisseur, George of old.

I guess what I am trying to say is you get more friends by fucking apple pies, than you do with honey.