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.

 

My Birth part 2: The Wreckoning

I spent the next hour gloating over my defeat of the snake demon. Blissfully unaware of the horrors that were about to face me.

I heard faint noises from outside of the confines of my warm moist home, tapping, knocking and muttered conversation. "What are they planning?" I thought to myself. I closed my eyes for a brief moment to gather my thoughts. I opened them to be faced by the tip of a gigantic steel blade, which tore through the ceiling of my home.

My eyes were burnt by beams of fiery death, which shot through into my brain causing some momentary pain. This was later described to me as light. My eyes managed to to focus, just in time to see not one, but two snake demons descend on me. I tried to defend myself. I hurled body parts, some of which I didn't know I had, at the beasts. I tried biting one of them, but my gums were no match for its thick oily blue skin. I screamed for help from a higher power, knowing fully well that I would get no answer. The demons grabbed me by my mid-section and brought me face to face, with the Devil with a cloth on his face.

I stared into his dark angry blood shot eyes, as a mixture of blood and sweat trickled down from his brow and he said in a muffled voice "I got him".

I guess what I'm trying to say is, regarding to my mother trying to get me to move out the house, "FUCK YOU! I'M NOT LEAVING! NOT AGAIN! AND IF YOU DO HIRE A SURGEON TO COME GET ME, AS GOD BE MY WITNESS, HE WILL NOT TAKE ME ALIVE".

My Birth (part 1)

It was the 26th of January 1992, 1.28pm. Those were simple times, I would just spend all my days and nights relaxing in my mothers womb. I was well fed and watered, had no expectations forced upon me and whenever my mum pissed me off I could kick her in the stomach. With absolutely no comeuppance, just acknowledgement  "Oooo the babies kicking". I would spend entire weeks pondering as to whether or not zombies could be biochemically created, and if they were would we as a society see them as sick people in drastic need of a cure, or as bloodthirsty dead people. And how can I have such an elaborate thought process, when I have zero life experience.

Yep, all was well in the womb (which I would oftenly refer to as moist cushion land). Until, from outside of my mothers comfy innards, I heard an unfamiliar voice yell the word that still strikes fear in my heart. The word that prevents me from being emotionally capable of walking through 50% of the sides of a door.
"PUSH!"

I had recently felt some discomfort, the walls surrounding me would close in and then retract, this was gradually happening more and more often. I would slip down a bit, but I managed to climb my way back up. But then came The Gloved Hand. I had heard whispered stories of this foul creature from other unborns at pre-natal classes. A beast with oily blue, snake like skin and a grip that could crush a tin can. The beast was said to be at the command of a devil like human with dark eyes and cloth for a face. "The five pronged snake beast takes unborns from the comfort of their home. He takes them to a place where they are subject to the cold and a lifetime of torture". If only these were just tales.

 The Gloved Hand reached deep inside and gripped tightly around the crown of my head. The pressure on my infantile brain was almost too much to bare. It began to pull me away. I instinctively reached for anything that I could hold onto. Kidneys, intestines, a lung, I didnt care how much damage I caused, it was a last ditch effort at survival. Luckily, only milliseconds before I was dragged into the abyss, the vaginal wall closed on my face, like an automatic door with a poor judgement of timing. The Gloved Hand lost its grip for a split second and I managed to grab onto my umbilical cord and hoist myself back up.

I had won, I had defeated the Five Pronged Snake Demon................ or so I thought.


Part 2. Coming on 18/08/12

The truth about the Sandwich uncovered

Popular belief would have us thinking that the sandwich was created by Lord Sandwich, when he was playing cards and was hungry but didn't wanna get meat grease on his fingers. So he asked for two pieces of bread on either side of the bread. But I have it on good authority that this isn't the case. One day I was going to walk into Greggs when I was dragged away by a homeless man, who claimed to be the original Gregg. We sat in his shack in the park and he told me the story of the sandwich.

It was back in the 18th century, Lord Sandwich had been to the local tavern for a piss up. After failing to find a wench to bring back to his manor he walked home, as he was far too drunk to ride a horse and hadn't enough money to get a carriage home. On the way home he saw bright flashing lights in the sky coming from a rectangular shaped spacecraft that was plummeting towards the earth at an alarming rate.

The ship crash landed in the woods. Filled with curiosity Lord Sandwich decided to follow it. Lord Sandwich wondered the woods for several hours before he came upon the strange rectangular wrecked spacecraft. He was hesitant to approach it, but his curiosity was too strong. He could hear a muffled growling coming from under the peculiar craft. He approached slowly and lifted the ship. A very strange looking extra terrestrial dragged itself out from under the peculiar craft.

The alien was also a rectangular shape, with no arms or legs. Two beady eyes stood upon his strange frame. He had a white grainy complexion, thin lips and a pink thin bacon like tongue. Thick red blood oozed from his dark lips.

Lord Sandwich asked to the peculiar extra terrestrial what had happened. The alien told the curious man all about the war back in their home planet and how they had to find a new place where they could live in peace and harmony with other life forms.

Lord Sandwich felt incredible sympathy for the odd life form. He scooped him up in his arms and held him close to his chest. Lord Sandwich couldn't help but notice how good he smelt, like really nice. He also couldn't help but notice how soft his skin was and how beautiful he looked.

The alien was getting worried as the cuddle had lasted more than 5 minutes and the frightening man was taking in deep breaths right by his forehead. The extra terrestrial asked the Lord to stop, but there was no response.

Lord Sandwiches showed wide dilated shark like eyes. He couldn't resist, his desires had overcome him. He pierced the terrified aliens skin with sharp dagger like teeth. Ripping out the poor creatures vital organs, a thick red substance covered the psychotic animals face. The wounded extra terrestrial screamed for help to no avail. Fingernails started digging deep into his skin and ripping off his flesh.

The poor beings life flashed before his eyes, having memories of picnics with past lovers on beautiful meadows and his sons first birthday. He embraced the light.

It was over, Lord Sandwich fell to his knees and screamed at the skies. His skin was pale, clothes covered in the red substance. What had he done? The poor being had never harmed him in any way, why did he have the desire to devour the thing?

The rush he felt was the best high he had ever felt before. But his hunger was not yet filled, he searched the area devouring the corpses of the extra terrestrials that had passed in the crash. Not one having the same taste as the last. Until he had ravaged every last one. Lord Sandwich then fell to the floor and looked to the skies with a blank stare, his appetite had finally been clenched.

The next day Lord Sandwich was found by a search party, shaking, rocking back and forth, muttering words that simply had no meaning. They were horrified at the sight of the massacres aftermath. Organs hanging from trees, red, white and brown substances covering the ground and a crude mask made from the aliens skin over the Lords face. The "crusts" were buried and Lord Sandwich was sentenced to life in solitary confinement.

A few weeks later he hung himself in his cell, some say Lord Sandwich was haunted by the horrors that had happened at his hands that night. Family and friends made what we commonly know as a sandwich based on drawings he had made before his passing and named it in his memory.

The lifeforms of that planet never came back to earth until many years later, when they were found by a man names Adulf.

To be continued.......

No Signal VS Jason

You are a college student and decide to go stay at your uncles cabin in the middle of the woods with a group of your friends. All of a sudden a 7 foot hillbilly with a machete starts picking off your friends one by one. You go to call for help and realize you have no signal. Now i guess you feel like you would be the victim in this scenario, but try and see it from the hillbillys perspective.

You have just spent half of your wages on a brand new blackberry, you couldn't wait to go home and set it up. Then to your absolute horror you have no signal. You cant bbm your mates, you cant tweet about how you have "only jst woke up, worst eva hngover", you cant decline facebook adds from strange cyber stalkers and worst of all you cant call or text your family and friends. You becomes more and more furious, but you have no networking site where you can vent your rage. You spend the next few weeks holding the blackberry above your head to see if you get a signal. Then out of the blue a car full of thick as shit college freshmen move next door to you. They keep you up until the early hours of the morning, screaming things like "beer pong", "wooooooo", " for shizzle" and "Sup". You decide to go and ask them calmly to keep it down, as you would like some sleep, as you are working a 14 hour shift the next day. As you approach the door you hear the whining of a slutty blonde girl, "I dont get any signal in this shithole". Who wouldn't cut her arm off with an axe and beat her to death with it?

I mean we've all been in this situation. Waiting on the platform of an underground tube station, getting out your phone and remembering,  you cant tweet "the tube is loooooong" as you have no signal. You just feel like shoving the 15 year old indie kid in front of you onto the tracks, so you can watch his eyebrow piercing come out of the back of his head. Dont pretend you havent thought about it.

I guess what i'm trying to say is that you shouldn't blame the serial killers, you should blame the mobile networks and their lack of coverage.

What is crazy?

I've been called "crazy" by alot of people over the last year or so. It got me thinking, what really is "crazy" or "insane". I mean surely if the majority of the world believed that licking yourself clean like a cat, just before bed stops Dracula from going into your bedroom to take pictures of you asleep and putting them on facebook. Then surely in this kind of world, not licking yourself like a cat before bed would be considered "crazy" or "insane". I guess what i am trying to say is "crazy" is just what we perceive it to be. I will be using this as an excuse for anything "twisted" or "disgusting" that i may say on this here blog.