Profile for jabboy:
I like Brighton, shiny things, guitar pedals, women who wear too much eyeliner, and pretending to be more pretentious than I actually am. I hate people and life, in that order.
http://sephfromabove.blogspot.com/
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I like Brighton, shiny things, guitar pedals, women who wear too much eyeliner, and pretending to be more pretentious than I actually am. I hate people and life, in that order.
http://sephfromabove.blogspot.com/
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Pointless Experiments
The Great Guiness Experiment
Thankfully, I was not the experimenter in this case, merely the documentor of evidence, but it's a story that deserves to be told.
A few years ago now I was one of a number of first year university students living in halls, doing no work, essentially on summer camp for a year. Next door lived a guy named Jezz, known for his hare-brained schemes. One day he comes round all excited.
"Hey, you know the other night, we were rinking Guiness, and you told me you heard somewhere it's possible to survive on a desert island with no other food?"
It was true. I had told him this. In my defence, I was drunk, fairly confident of the facts, and in actuality only slightly wrong (later investigation revealed that a pint of guiness and a vitamin c tablet per day contains your RDA of everything vital). It was unlucky for Jezz that students have that peculiar combination of limitless trivia, poor research skills, and limitless free time that can mean that such a misunderstanding could be pursued so much further.
He outlined to me his idea. One week, no food, only guiness and water. And we were to catch it all on camera. My housemate still has all the tapes of that week somewhere, one day soon I'm going to have to compile them. Unusually for one of Jezz's plans, we were all quite supportive, another friend, Tom, even offering to try the all-guiness diet as well. After some consultation, it was decreed that marmite would be allowed as well, being a by-product of guiness.
On day one, the fridge was stocked and the first cans were cracked open. Having had no breakfast, the boys needed a couple of pints to feel properly full, but one of the bonuses of the guiness diet is the heaviness of the stout, a factor which at least makes it feel as if you've eaten a tolerable amount. By mid afternoon, we were all a bit pissed, and the day passed in a pleasant enough haze, the only low point being the guys' inability to get stoned for fear of forfeiting the diet in a moment of munchie-related weakness.
It was on the morning of day two that the trouble started. Firstly, I'm sure the factor that has been playing on your mind since reading the first paragraph has been the infamous 'guiness shits'. Well, on the morning of day 2, they hit, and when they hit, they hit hard.
From this point onwards, both men must have spent at least a third of their time engaged in ejecting a viscous black gruel from their bowels into the toilets both next door and in my house. The stench was unbearable, so much so, that on more than one occasion I would head round the corner to the student union to do my business rather than contend with it.
However, the fine Irish stout kept pouring down, and by the end of the afternoon, a Friday, we were suitably tanked up to entertain the notion of heading out clubbing. "But I'm too depressed", protested Tom. Nonsense, we argued, going out would distract him from the monotony of his diet, cheer him up. In fact, in an environment where there was nothing to do but drink, they might stop seeing it as a chore, and return to seeing it as a pleasure.
Unfortunately, we did not plan on Brighton's stringent ID policy, which left us unable to get into any club apart from the horrific West Street slagheaps that we always avoided like the plague. Unable to face the prospect of having an even worse time in a club that we all hated, we elected to go to a late-night cinema screening instead.
The only movie showing that late was the godawful Paris Hilton vehicle House of Wax, which we paid up and saw anyway, drunk as we were, we thought we might enjoy it. By this point, Jezz and Tom couldn't even last through the trailers without having to rush out of the room to evacuate bowels once more.
The film was terrible, and did nothing to lighten the mood. At one point I forgot myself, and offered my popcorn round, garnering cold looks and an invitation to go fuck myself from Tom.
When we got home there was nothing for it but to drink until the sweet embrace of sleep came to save them from their nightmare. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come.
When I came round the next morning, Jezz answered the door, a peculiar shade of grey. He looked drawn and pale, a combination of hangover, rampant diarreah, and the promise of nothing but more of the black stuff for a further 5 days. We spent the morning trying everything to vary the diet. First, the boys ate marmite with their fingers. Then came the real low; a hot, frothy brown mess that was optimistically named 'Guiness soup'. I tried a mouthful and could do nothing more encoraging than proclaim it 'not completely evil'.
In the afternoon we went to the pub, and over a few pints (orange juice for me, a couple more liquid tars for them), we watched England play the USA at football, one of the most dire games of football it's ever been my misfortune to see. After the first half, Tom, being Welsh, could stand the horror no more and left. Me and Jezz stuck it out and were rewarded with a ground-out victory, but he was hardly in celebratory spirits. We trudged back up the hill to our houses.
When we got there Tom was sitting in the kitchen, looking quietly ill. When we asked him what he had been up to, he cracked.
"I'm sorry...I couldn't take it any more..."
"What did you do?"
"I...I...had a lion bar."
"You bastard!"
What followed was one of the worst attempts at fighting I have ever seen. Both contestants weakened from poor nutrition, managed to get each other in half hearted headlocks before Jezz got out his mobile phone from his pocket.
"What are you doing?"
"Fuck this, I'm calling for a Chinese."
And so the Great Guiness Experiment ended acrimoniously after only 60 hours, proving that
a) man cannot live by guiness alone, and,
b) to attempt to do so is among the most depressing activities man may ever endure.
(Sun 27th Jul 2008, 1:54, More)
The Great Guiness Experiment
Thankfully, I was not the experimenter in this case, merely the documentor of evidence, but it's a story that deserves to be told.
A few years ago now I was one of a number of first year university students living in halls, doing no work, essentially on summer camp for a year. Next door lived a guy named Jezz, known for his hare-brained schemes. One day he comes round all excited.
"Hey, you know the other night, we were rinking Guiness, and you told me you heard somewhere it's possible to survive on a desert island with no other food?"
It was true. I had told him this. In my defence, I was drunk, fairly confident of the facts, and in actuality only slightly wrong (later investigation revealed that a pint of guiness and a vitamin c tablet per day contains your RDA of everything vital). It was unlucky for Jezz that students have that peculiar combination of limitless trivia, poor research skills, and limitless free time that can mean that such a misunderstanding could be pursued so much further.
He outlined to me his idea. One week, no food, only guiness and water. And we were to catch it all on camera. My housemate still has all the tapes of that week somewhere, one day soon I'm going to have to compile them. Unusually for one of Jezz's plans, we were all quite supportive, another friend, Tom, even offering to try the all-guiness diet as well. After some consultation, it was decreed that marmite would be allowed as well, being a by-product of guiness.
On day one, the fridge was stocked and the first cans were cracked open. Having had no breakfast, the boys needed a couple of pints to feel properly full, but one of the bonuses of the guiness diet is the heaviness of the stout, a factor which at least makes it feel as if you've eaten a tolerable amount. By mid afternoon, we were all a bit pissed, and the day passed in a pleasant enough haze, the only low point being the guys' inability to get stoned for fear of forfeiting the diet in a moment of munchie-related weakness.
It was on the morning of day two that the trouble started. Firstly, I'm sure the factor that has been playing on your mind since reading the first paragraph has been the infamous 'guiness shits'. Well, on the morning of day 2, they hit, and when they hit, they hit hard.
From this point onwards, both men must have spent at least a third of their time engaged in ejecting a viscous black gruel from their bowels into the toilets both next door and in my house. The stench was unbearable, so much so, that on more than one occasion I would head round the corner to the student union to do my business rather than contend with it.
However, the fine Irish stout kept pouring down, and by the end of the afternoon, a Friday, we were suitably tanked up to entertain the notion of heading out clubbing. "But I'm too depressed", protested Tom. Nonsense, we argued, going out would distract him from the monotony of his diet, cheer him up. In fact, in an environment where there was nothing to do but drink, they might stop seeing it as a chore, and return to seeing it as a pleasure.
Unfortunately, we did not plan on Brighton's stringent ID policy, which left us unable to get into any club apart from the horrific West Street slagheaps that we always avoided like the plague. Unable to face the prospect of having an even worse time in a club that we all hated, we elected to go to a late-night cinema screening instead.
The only movie showing that late was the godawful Paris Hilton vehicle House of Wax, which we paid up and saw anyway, drunk as we were, we thought we might enjoy it. By this point, Jezz and Tom couldn't even last through the trailers without having to rush out of the room to evacuate bowels once more.
The film was terrible, and did nothing to lighten the mood. At one point I forgot myself, and offered my popcorn round, garnering cold looks and an invitation to go fuck myself from Tom.
When we got home there was nothing for it but to drink until the sweet embrace of sleep came to save them from their nightmare. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come.
When I came round the next morning, Jezz answered the door, a peculiar shade of grey. He looked drawn and pale, a combination of hangover, rampant diarreah, and the promise of nothing but more of the black stuff for a further 5 days. We spent the morning trying everything to vary the diet. First, the boys ate marmite with their fingers. Then came the real low; a hot, frothy brown mess that was optimistically named 'Guiness soup'. I tried a mouthful and could do nothing more encoraging than proclaim it 'not completely evil'.
In the afternoon we went to the pub, and over a few pints (orange juice for me, a couple more liquid tars for them), we watched England play the USA at football, one of the most dire games of football it's ever been my misfortune to see. After the first half, Tom, being Welsh, could stand the horror no more and left. Me and Jezz stuck it out and were rewarded with a ground-out victory, but he was hardly in celebratory spirits. We trudged back up the hill to our houses.
When we got there Tom was sitting in the kitchen, looking quietly ill. When we asked him what he had been up to, he cracked.
"I'm sorry...I couldn't take it any more..."
"What did you do?"
"I...I...had a lion bar."
"You bastard!"
What followed was one of the worst attempts at fighting I have ever seen. Both contestants weakened from poor nutrition, managed to get each other in half hearted headlocks before Jezz got out his mobile phone from his pocket.
"What are you doing?"
"Fuck this, I'm calling for a Chinese."
And so the Great Guiness Experiment ended acrimoniously after only 60 hours, proving that
a) man cannot live by guiness alone, and,
b) to attempt to do so is among the most depressing activities man may ever endure.
(Sun 27th Jul 2008, 1:54, More)
» Social Networking Gaffes
A long time ago
I was fiddling around with my new computer when up popped one of those 'girls looking to chat in your area' type things (You know, the ones where they just show a repeated five second bit of webcam footage to give you the impression there's some sort of live feed). Anyway, I would have ignored it, only there was one thing that was weird - obviously the pop-up had got my IP address wrong, because it kept referring to me as someone else, and not only that, but the name it was using seemed oddly familiar. Eventually I realised that the guy it was referring to was an old mate of my dad's (I know! What are the odds?), so I tracked him down. Anyway, long story short, not only does he know this girl, turns out she's my sister and she wants me to help her go blow up the death star.
Also turns out that stretching the Star Wars saga to include social networking is really fooking difficult.
(Sat 13th Sep 2008, 1:24, More)
A long time ago
I was fiddling around with my new computer when up popped one of those 'girls looking to chat in your area' type things (You know, the ones where they just show a repeated five second bit of webcam footage to give you the impression there's some sort of live feed). Anyway, I would have ignored it, only there was one thing that was weird - obviously the pop-up had got my IP address wrong, because it kept referring to me as someone else, and not only that, but the name it was using seemed oddly familiar. Eventually I realised that the guy it was referring to was an old mate of my dad's (I know! What are the odds?), so I tracked him down. Anyway, long story short, not only does he know this girl, turns out she's my sister and she wants me to help her go blow up the death star.
Also turns out that stretching the Star Wars saga to include social networking is really fooking difficult.
(Sat 13th Sep 2008, 1:24, More)
» Housemates from hell
Not my housemate but
related to me by a university accquaintance, and definitely worth retelling:
This girl I knew a couple of years ago was retaking her freshers' year for the third time. In her first year, she shared uni accomodation with a residential advisor, an Italian girl. One night, the RA burst into everyone's bedrooms in the middle of the night and dragged them all out into the communal living area, bellowing about how this was the last straw.
"Someone 'as done a shit, in da shower!"
On inspection, it was indeed true. Someone had curled off a meaty chud in the basin. Cleaning supplies were fetched and the necessary cleaning up was done, the irate Tuscan screaming all the while.
"'oo 'as done zis? I demand to know 'oo 'as done ze shit, in da shower!"
But none came forward. Eventually she had to relent and sent them all back to their rooms, vowing that she would catch the culprit somehow. All remained quiet for a week. The atmosphere over lunch was frosty, to say the least. Showers were had in next door residences. Bleach was bought. Distrust was rife. Eventually, a house meeting was called and they waited with baited breath to see what the Roman sleuth had uncovered. They sat around the dining room table, the tension palpable. Suddenly, and without warning, the RA broke down in tears.
"It was I! It was I 'oo did ze shit in da shower!"
She moved out the next week.
There are 3 questions that need to be asked - firstly, why leave a nutty log in the shower in the first place? Secondly, if the action was unavoidable, and if it was the middle of the night, why not simply clear up said offending mudsnake and avoid the unneccesary confrontation? And finally, why admit to the crime, after so diligently putting up such a convincing front? I have lost my trust for Italians ever since hearing this story. Freaks.
(Sat 7th Apr 2007, 2:00, More)
Not my housemate but
related to me by a university accquaintance, and definitely worth retelling:
This girl I knew a couple of years ago was retaking her freshers' year for the third time. In her first year, she shared uni accomodation with a residential advisor, an Italian girl. One night, the RA burst into everyone's bedrooms in the middle of the night and dragged them all out into the communal living area, bellowing about how this was the last straw.
"Someone 'as done a shit, in da shower!"
On inspection, it was indeed true. Someone had curled off a meaty chud in the basin. Cleaning supplies were fetched and the necessary cleaning up was done, the irate Tuscan screaming all the while.
"'oo 'as done zis? I demand to know 'oo 'as done ze shit, in da shower!"
But none came forward. Eventually she had to relent and sent them all back to their rooms, vowing that she would catch the culprit somehow. All remained quiet for a week. The atmosphere over lunch was frosty, to say the least. Showers were had in next door residences. Bleach was bought. Distrust was rife. Eventually, a house meeting was called and they waited with baited breath to see what the Roman sleuth had uncovered. They sat around the dining room table, the tension palpable. Suddenly, and without warning, the RA broke down in tears.
"It was I! It was I 'oo did ze shit in da shower!"
She moved out the next week.
There are 3 questions that need to be asked - firstly, why leave a nutty log in the shower in the first place? Secondly, if the action was unavoidable, and if it was the middle of the night, why not simply clear up said offending mudsnake and avoid the unneccesary confrontation? And finally, why admit to the crime, after so diligently putting up such a convincing front? I have lost my trust for Italians ever since hearing this story. Freaks.
(Sat 7th Apr 2007, 2:00, More)
» Cheap Tat
On 99p DVDs
Costcutter gold over the years:
Omega Cop - Stars Adam West as commander of a post apocalyptic wasteland where a rogue cop is hunting down mutant pirates via the twin methods of really slow, poorly executed kung, fu and collecting random hotties in his armoured truck.
Psycho Cop - teens are hunted down by a serial killer cop who on some hideous oversight of the LAPD has failed to have his license revoked. Lines include "Move out of the way! You're obstructing justice!" and "Bitch!" (delivered by Psycho Cop in the middle of a completely unrelated scene about a mile away in some awesome display of telekinetic prowess, or possibly poor editing).
Dangerous Orphans: I'll let the tag line speak for itself on this one - "A bullet made them orphans. Revenge makes them dangerous."
(Wed 9th Jan 2008, 19:55, More)
On 99p DVDs
Costcutter gold over the years:
Omega Cop - Stars Adam West as commander of a post apocalyptic wasteland where a rogue cop is hunting down mutant pirates via the twin methods of really slow, poorly executed kung, fu and collecting random hotties in his armoured truck.
Psycho Cop - teens are hunted down by a serial killer cop who on some hideous oversight of the LAPD has failed to have his license revoked. Lines include "Move out of the way! You're obstructing justice!" and "Bitch!" (delivered by Psycho Cop in the middle of a completely unrelated scene about a mile away in some awesome display of telekinetic prowess, or possibly poor editing).
Dangerous Orphans: I'll let the tag line speak for itself on this one - "A bullet made them orphans. Revenge makes them dangerous."
(Wed 9th Jan 2008, 19:55, More)
» Will you go out with me?
When I were a fresher...
...got talking to this girl one night in the student union, who lived in different halls to me. I told her I was jealous as her flat had a bath, and not just a scummy shower shared between 7 people. She said I was welcome to use it one night if I wanted a little luxury. Of course I took her up on the offer (I do like a nice proper bath). I think she was a bit surprised when I turned up on her doorstep with a towel and a bottle of shampoo, but she let me in and I was soon happily splashing away. About ten minutes later, she opens the door and climbs in the tub with me. Result.
(Sun 31st Aug 2008, 2:53, More)
When I were a fresher...
...got talking to this girl one night in the student union, who lived in different halls to me. I told her I was jealous as her flat had a bath, and not just a scummy shower shared between 7 people. She said I was welcome to use it one night if I wanted a little luxury. Of course I took her up on the offer (I do like a nice proper bath). I think she was a bit surprised when I turned up on her doorstep with a towel and a bottle of shampoo, but she let me in and I was soon happily splashing away. About ten minutes later, she opens the door and climbs in the tub with me. Result.
(Sun 31st Aug 2008, 2:53, More)