Monday, 3 December 2007

In which Jon criticises yet another work written by somebody evidently better than him

On this occasion, I have chosen to mock Yeats' seminal work 'The Second Coming'. I shall do so mainly by taking it litterally.

Seminal, like semen.


Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Then shout louder.

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Shoddy design.

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

Insufficient respect for anarchy

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

The worst are always full of passionate intensity. that is what makes them so very shit.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.


Yes, surely. You, alone, of all of the billions of people who have always, throughout time, thought the world was about to end, are right. How very prescient of you. And now, a meagre century later, you have been proven so very right, haven't you? Twunt.

The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

http://www.phreeow.net/wiki/tiki-index.php?page=Spiritus+Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

Obviously.

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

Fucking livid they were.

The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Not confined by your own historical context are we, Yeats? 'Sleeping' is definitely what the world did for two millennia after Jesus . Buy a fucking history book.

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Look, what with it's body of a lizard and head of a man, and our knowledge of it's general direction of travel, this beast seems rather easy to identify and stop. Particularly as it's method of ambulation is 'slouching' one of the less graceful and efficient forms of movement. Quit whining and fucking sort it you pretentious twat.



That's it. sorry.

Sunday, 2 December 2007

It's that time of year again

No, nopt fucking Christmas. Thats weeks away. It is instead the time of year when all of my pissfucking essays get piled into a 3 day period. And I am sorely demotivated about them.

I can't be bothered to rant right now, so just slap yourselves sharply once in the face to create broadly the same effect.

Pisswitch.

Lots of love,
Me

Saturday, 24 November 2007

Originally a facebook note

I know these days it is deeply untrendy to say anything positive about google but, hey, I am deeeply untrendy. I'm so untrendy I use the word 'trendy' to denote things which are cool, hip, with it or fashionable. Anyway, I have recently decided that, however shit they may be at being ethical, Google's search engine can answer almost any question or find anything you want. It recently found for me inspiration and the secret of true happiness (read previous note). Tody I asked it some questions...

First, I wanted to know if things are getting better or worse. So i typed in "things are getting better" and then "things are getting worse" into google. 'Better' won by 396,000 hits to 126,000 - an astonishing three to one.

Then I simply asked google 'Will everything be alright?' It's answer? First hit: everything will be alright (by the killers). So, yes, apparently it will.

Then I asked "what should I do now?" which brought up a link for a law training course and one for how to become a teacher - incidentally the two professions I am currently considering.
Finally I asked google 'Who am I?'. Sadly the answer is 'Will Young'.

I'll also put this on my shitty blog (lovablefuckwit.blogspot.com) because I am a vain, pretensious man.

Sunday, 11 November 2007

No.
OK.
She shuts the window. The whore.


But WHY! WHY ALL THE ORANGEY GOODNESS! IT'S NOT PART OF ME... BUT... BUT... IT'S GROWING FROM ME!!!


Edit: I'd just like to thank David Quin for this wonderfully surreal schoolboying of my blog, which will remain as a testament to the man's absurd talent and talent for the absurd.

Saturday, 10 November 2007

Romeo and Juliet were a pair of whiney emo cunts

Hypothesis:



When Shakespeare was writing Romeo and Juliet, he was not writing a tragic love story that he intended to forevermore be the benchmark for all romance. No, no, in fact he was writing about a pair of whiney emo pricks with so little perspective about life that they end up topping themselves.



Evidence:



1.) Romeo and Juliet are teenagers. Juliet had not seen 'The Change of Fourteen Summers'. If they were alive today, she would have an Emily Strange backpack and he would have one long black flop of hair that covered half his face (how's my zeitgeist? ludicrously out of date? I'm 23, what's your excuse?)



2.) Romeo is 'in love' with a totally different woman, Rosaline, at the start of the play. He basically admits that he loves her because she is proper fit. One might argue Shakespeare uses Rosaline as a device to create a contrast between Romeo's 'infatuation' with Ros and his 'true love' for Juliet. Oh fucking really? Then why does it take Romeo all of six seconds to fall in love with Juliet? He is practically fwapping himself off within moments of seeing her, knowing sweet fuck all about her personality.



Romeo: O, she teaches the torches to burn brightly!

She hangs upon the face of night

like a rich jewel in an Ethiopian's ear--

her beauty is too rich to be touched, too heavenly for this earth!



Okay, we get it - she's a hottie. But it's quite a leap to go from getting a semi over a girl to saying:



Did I ever love anyone before now? My eyes will swear

that I never saw real beauty until tonight.


So you've forgotten about what you were saying less than five minutes ago then? You flippant, whimsical, fly-by-night, indecisive cunt! What Rosaline, who you've just spent the last month pining over? As soon as you see another girl you fancy a bit it's like she never bloody existed! Lets face it - if you'd not had the good sense to top yourself you'd have been onto some other bird within a few weeks, leaving poor Juliet completely heartbroken! This isn't love, it's love of drama, the principle curse of the emo. Which leads me onto:


3.) Romeo knows it's going to go badly. He deliberately goes to a party that not only has he not been invited to but is being hosted by his sworn, mortal enemies. And why does he take this fucking stupid risk? Because the girl he fancies might be there. Don't get me wrong, I've gone to the Union on nights I'm going to hate so i can chat up someone I'm into, but as far as I know Joff Manning has not sworn a blood oath to kill me on sight.


Not only has Romeo decided to recklessly go to a party hosted by his mortal enemies, on his way in he says:


Romeo: I am afraid we're too early, for I am afraid

that some unpleasant events, still only destined to happen

will bitterly begin to unfold

with this party tonight and bring to an end

this hateful life of mine


So, he knew it was going tits up form the outset. But, having a fetish for drama, Romeo blithely waltzes into catastrophe, no doubt thinking about how he can post all about it on his myspace later.


4.) Having fallen in love, do Romeo and Juliet realise how fabulously lucky they are and pursue their shared desire for each calmly and carefully, safe in the knowledge that, if they get things right, they will ahve the rest of their lives to enjoy each other? No, they immediately and secretly run off and bribe a corrupt priest to marry them, so they can slip it to each other without pissing God off, all the while keeping it from their respective parents but continuing to live under their rooves. Obvious recipe for disaster. Even if they aren't emo they are definitely a pair of muppets.


5.) Romeo and Juliet don't actually enjoy each other's company. They aren't in love with each other, they are in love with the idea of being in love. The only thing they talk about is how much they love each other. Seriously, the only topics they discuss are A.) How, like, totally in love with each other they are B.) How their parents just don't understand them C.) How they should just, like, rebel and run away from those fascist adults. At least modern Emos can discuss the latest fallout boy album.


It is obvious, at several points, that as much as Juliet loves being constantly flattered by Romeo, she does occasionally get a bit bored of talking about love with him. See how she hints for him to fuck off at the end of the balcony scene:


Juliet: It's almost morning. I wish you would go now--

Translation: I want you to fuck off now. However, I realise that's not really in the spirit of things so I'll add:

but no farther than a spoiled girl's pet bird

which is allowed to hop away from her hand just a little

like a poor prisoner in his twisted chains.

Then with a silk thread, the girl pulls the bird back again,

she is so loving, and yet so jealous of his freedom.
Translation: I've got you wrapped around my little finger. This is ace.
ROMEO I would I were thy bird.
Translation: Let me be your fuckpuppet

You can almost hear the glee in her voice that she has this besotten, if occasionally tiresome, admirer puttified in her hands. Right now I don't know which of them I hate more, 'Woe is me' Romeo or 'cult of my own personality' Juliet.

6.) On the same day as the two of them get secretly married, Romeo happens to bump into Mercutio and Tybalt, who are itching to stab each other up. To be fair to the lad, he does try and stop them, but fails miserably, and Tybalt kills Mercutio. Now, the main reason for this is that instead of simply saying 'I married your sister earlier, so lets, like, be mates' Romeo only subtly hints at what's gone on, infuriating both Mercutio and Tybalt. Nothing worse than an emo with a secret.... 'Oooh, you wouldn't believe what happened the other night... oh, no, i can't possibly tell.... it's just soooo secret'. Having failed totally to stop the fight, Romeo suddenly forgets that Tybalt is basically his brother now and stabs him right up. Getting married not enough drama for one day, eh, Romeo? You silly little man.

7.) If one takes a synoptic of the play, Romeo and Juliet spend much, much, much more time whingin, gossiping, plotting, sneaking and generally over dramatising their romance than, you know, actually being together. Indeed, They don't even spend any time with each other ON THEIR FUCKING WEDDING DAY, as undoubtedly they both wanted to go and write it up on postsecrets and craigslist (how's my zeitgeist? Phone 1-800-fuckoff).

8.) Having quasi-deliberately fucked up their own lives, R & J devise a frankly ridiculous plan to spend a bit of time with each other. None of this 'I'll come up and see you for a bit, maybe stay over?'. No, no, that would be far too simple for these twattish emo sods. Their plan has to encapsulate the worst elements of The O.C., Dawson's Creek and 24 to create a foolproof plan for total disaster.

9.) They kill themselves pointlessly. The End.

QED: Romeo and Juliet were a pair of whiney emo cunts. Touch my fact.

Edit: On reflection, I am open to a charge of hypocrisy here. I have a blog (so am automatically a bit emo), tend to whine a fair bit and have on more than once done things a partly for the drama/lulz. Hypocrisy is the compliment vice pays to virtue on this occasion, which I think you'll agree is a brilliant excuse.

Also, I don't hate the idea of love. I love love. But anyone who is modelling their ideas about love and romance on R&J is in for some serious headaches. So don't, Okay? Love is both much harder and much, much better than what is described by Bill Shaks.

Tuesday, 6 November 2007

Rubella

I have Rubella. This horrific-sounding illness is actually nothing more than a mild annoyance - rash, tiredness, feeling under the weather. Sadly, however, I haven't been able to leave the house for fuking days because, as long as I am contagious, I could infect pregnant mothers/unborn babies, potentially killing the latter.

I am therefore a temporary social pariah. I would be less fucked off about this if Rubella was not the third of the 'MMR' diseases that I have caught since getting the MMR jab. I can only conclude that eitherA.) My immune system is fucking shit B.) The vaccine I was given was fucking shit or C.) At some point before I got the MMR, I was given a vaccine that made me immune to other vaccines.

I'd just like to point out I think the MMR and vaccines in general are good things, and I don't think my personal experience is indicative of the norm. I do, however, have a bizarre immune system. I never catch flu - or at least haven't yet. This is despite being repeatedly exposed to the flu virus through members of my family. That's right - diseases you can't become immune to, like flu, I'm fine with, but diseases I have been officially immunised against laugh in my face and infect me.

This all correlates closely with an observation I have made: nothing in my life makes any sense. I have sprogged, married and divorced at the age of 23. I am a politics student who believes politics is pointless. I regularly attend socials for societies that are not my own. I have six arms.

Oh, and I'd like to say hello to our newest reader, Eve Ka.

Much love to my homies, etc.

Monday, 29 October 2007

Jon's complete unabridged autobiography.

I am proud to present to you my complete, unabridged autobiography:

I was a massive fucking idiot.

Many thanks,

Jonathan May-Bowles

Thursday, 18 October 2007

If good things come to those who wait...

... but he who hesitates is lost, where does that leave us? Fucked, thats where.

People who are better than me...

I am not sure quite what I am going for in this whole 'life' bizzle, but the following people do at least part of it better than me. This is a partial list and if you are not on it it means either A.) I forgot to put you on here or B.)you are trying to do something different to me. Also, if you are on the list it does not mean you are better than me in every respect, oh no no, it just means you are significantly better at at least one of the things I consider to be part of being JMB. If you don't like reading long lists of people names, I suggest you do not read the following long list of people's names.

The list:

David Cullen

PJ McCabe

David Quin

Jonathan 'Jack' Boyd

Jamelia Bear

Jack De'Ath

Ben Mansfield

Len Audaer

Ben Ford

Rebecca Clarke

Mario Creatura

Rachel Charman

Joff Manning

Phil Hooks

Sam Kiss (yeah, OK I admit it. Twunt.)

Est Donnelly

Chris Hall

Sally Healey

Phil Blakey

Martin Sedgewick

Tom Ingrey

Helen May-Bowles

Jack Lennox

Alastair Norgate

Keir Pearcey

Jonny Wooddin

Ed Brown

Dale Pluthero

Clare Spray

Duncan Scott

Sarah Jane Stenlake

Mikey Uong

Jon Wilson

Patrick McCabe

Right now I have top go and debate about Iran (My position? I think it should be legalised) so the list remains, as ever, partial.

Wednesday, 17 October 2007

But there is always a good side...

Pre-Script: Read the post before (i.e. just below) this one to make sense of it all. Trust me: less funny, but more right.


1.) Everyone seems to love my article. This, however, does make me feel worse for missing my latest deadline.

2.) The very big, very black, very garage/R'n'B/Urban MCs bigging up and pumping the arctic monkeys. "I bet YOU look good on the dancefloor!" Laugh? Yes I did.

3.) The eclectic range of music. Nicely fucking done.

4.) Meeting the marketting research guy for malibu and telling him that A.) Good night, well done, B.) I found the Big Black MCs bigging arctic monkeys hilarious on many levels (turns out he had seen me laughing my lilly white off at this already in the eve) C.) My disgust at the use of an East Side/West Side motif for the evening. As I expressed to my brief marketting friend, the east/west side thing was a real, you know, war, and countless young disenfranchised black men lost their lives for what was a massively pointless cause: money. I personally found the use of this tragedy as a marketting tool offensive and made a pledge - longe before i met market research man - to not buy any Malibu.

He says I was the only one to express such views.

But seriously, guys, if we had been chanting "Israel" and "Palestine" instead of "East Side" and "West Side" I'm sure we'd have all been a bit less comfortable. I hope.

Nevertheless, some bigwig marketting twunt will be hearing my very sultry and righteous opinions. So: I do actually win.

Because obviously i really would have drunk a lot of Malibu otherwise.

P.S. Oh, and I told him I really enjoyed the night "In an ironic way". He didn't seem to like that very much.

F.A.I.L.

There are a number of interpretations of the events I have just experienced.

1.) I thought a lovely young lady was coming onto me. I was wrong. I made myself vulnerable. FAIL.

2.) I thought a lovely young lady was coming onto me. I was right. At some point she changed her mind. I did not follow suit. FAIL.

3.) I thought a lovely young lady was coming onto me. I was right. But both she and I were to shit scared to properly make ourselves vulnerable, so we botched it. FAIL.


In my defence, I was lovely, kind, nice, friendly and (I thought) attuned to the signs. However, my inbuilt capacity for avoiding vulnerability like plague, and my total lack of self worth, precluded me from making "the move". Perhaps, therefore, I missed the moment and if so I am sorry. However, once you started talking about which one of your exes you thought was best to go back to I thought, perhaps, the moment had passed. So, if only out of curiosity, I asked:

Me: Did I really misread this or was there something between you and me this evening?
You: No. What? Are you joking?
Me: No
You: But you are, aren't you? Putting it on?
Me: No
You: Your putting it on, I know you are
Me: No
You: But you are really?
Me: Can we change the subject?

FAIL

But, despite your protestations, what I sense is really a reluctance to actually be intimate or vulnerable with anyone. I am the same. I'm sorry if I got this shit wrong - frankly, the rules to this game are really weird. I just hope for your and my sake that we didn't miss something good out of mutual fear or, more likely, my colossal ineptitude.
Jon’s laws of drunkenness:

1.) An object in drunkenness tends to stay in drunkenness unless an outside factor (running out of money, pub closing) intervenes
2.) Give a constant, C, which represents quantity of alcohol, the degree to which you will get drunk is inversely proportional to the recentness of your last encounter with alcohol
3.) There is at all times a strong positive correlation between your level of inebriation and how brilliant you think you are. There is simultaneously a strong negative correlation between your level of inebriation and how brilliant you actually are.
4.) As drunkenness escalates, the probability of your face rapidly and dramatically hitting the pavement approaches one.
5.) Likewise, the probability of you making an utter twunt of yourself approaches one
6.) Blah blah phonging your ex and crying down the phone approaches one
7.) Your level of drunkenness is inversely proportional to your understanding of the value of money
8.) The amount of alcohol you have drunk positively correlates with the apparent attractiveness of others. The amount you have drunk negatively correlates with your attractiveness to others.
9.) Statistically speaking, if you are drunk and your mouth is open you are talking shit.
10.) As the amount of alcohol drunk increases, the chance that you will remember any of this approaches 0.

Finally

11.) The amount of time before you actually decide to call into the shite late night ITV gambling show is inversely proportional to how much you ripped the piss out of it when you first turned it on.

Tuesday, 16 October 2007

Update

The "k" word, it turns out, is "coon".

Just thought you'd like to know.

Thursday, 11 October 2007

The K word

Last night was singly the most shit night I have had out yet at Royal Holloway. But I enjoyed it anyway. Fuck Knows why.

I ought to mention that, around eight P.M., I was very much in two minds about whether or not to go out at all. I now put this down to God, who usually has my back, trying to prevent me from making a Massive Fucking Error.

Little beknownst to me, Wednesday is RHUL's weekly 'twat' night. Generally the music is generic R&B, a lot of the more meatheaded sporting societies have their socials and the security apparently have given it the nickname "Guns and Knives Night".

I turned up in a fluorescent jacket with the words "Atomic Bomb Squad" on the back, a tee-shirt whih proclaimed that "I bring nothing to the table" and a slightly surly attitude.

This retarded mix produced the following lowlights:

1.) Being hit round the head by members of the rugby social and, when I elected to forgive them and believe their feeble excuse, being rewarded with a second smack, this time round the front of the head.

2.) On attempting to say hello to a young Chinese gentleman, being met with the following:-

Me: Hello (shakes hands)
Him: Er.... do we know you?
Me: No, I'm just trying to meet new people
Him: Ok. Could you go away and leave us alone please?

My ego bled.

3.) Almost getting my fucking head kicked in after trying to mediate in a fight

4.) Attempting to mediate in an argument only to discover, moments later, I was it's cause. Actually, this one needs further explanation.

My friend Mike who is Greek, a first year, very left wing and spectacularly outspoken was arguing with a first year girl who we shall call Little Miss Oversensitive, or LMO for short. I probed what they were arguing about and it was what she described as 'The N Word'. Mike was making the argument that he used the word all the time with both black and white people, and that LMO had no right to be offended as she was white. I disagreed, saying she had a right to be offended but also that the degree of offence should depend on the context. What was said context?

LMO: "You're the one that said it!"

Oh.

It would appear I had briefly before greeted Mike with my not unusual 'hello' replacement of 'Sup my n word?' and then promptly forgotten about it. Mike had been defending my honour. Cue a moral dilemma.

Do I switch sides to defend what I personally don't think was a wrong action? Or do I stick to my guns and leave poor old Mike, who had waded in to my defence, on the wrong end of a 2-1 defence?

I elected to do neither, both briskly defending the reasons for my use of said racist American pejorative and telling Mike he was being too nasty to the girl. Result? Within a few minutes they had made up and agreed I was being a knob.

But not before LMO had claimed to be offended by "the N word, The C word and the K Word".

The K word? The K word?? As an afficionado of swearing, and a regular user of both the N and C words I was delighted to discover there was an equally - if not more - offensive word which began with K. Sadly, she would not reveal to me it's identity reasoning, quite fairly, that if I knew it I'd use it.

5.) Listening to Amerie's pissweak shitty set while watching the crowd stand motionless, mostly taking photos. 'Live' music my arse. It was barely breathing.

Please comment with your own views on how much of a dickhead I was last night.

P.S. If anyone knows what the 'K' word is could they please tell me. I can't imagine it's 'knob'. Surely it can't be?

Tuesday, 9 October 2007

Jon is fail redux

I have just joined 'Hot or not' in what is a hail mary pass to revive my love life. Though I'm pretty sure the consensus will be 'not', I feel I must take desperate measures as I fear that otherwise the hole at the end of my cock might heal up.

If you'd like to have sex with me, please do.

That is all.

Monday, 8 October 2007

Today Jon has achieved:

So far:

Went to a lecture

Discovered the word 'twunts'

Ate a banana

Made a Facebook group

Set myself a challenge


Curiously, I feel I've had a pretty productive day.


Also, I plan on writing a book called "The Dawkins Delusion", the central theme of which is that, as Richard Dawkins is not mentioned in the Bible he therefore doesn't exist.

Post script: does Richy-boy have a girlfriend? If so, why? Also, why don't we refer to him by the alliterative name 'Dick Dawkins'? Finally, do we need him? he does take up significant space, which could be better used to store a big pile of steaming shit.

Post post script: learned the word 'shitclown' and the phrase 'He/She has a face like a bag of broken twats" as well as "S/He has a face like fuck all, twice". Finally, learned the word 'cockwomble'. Day: productive.

Here are some links to the mindless pap I've been polluting our student magazine the Orbital with. It is our pleasure for you to enjoy.

The first one.

The second will be linked after it's actually been published. Naughty Jon got told off by Mario for linking to it earlier.

Wow, I've blogged a lot today. I guess my blog entries are like buses: fucking shit.

Just thought I'd mentioned this...

I have decided, just now, that I am going to be on the news. In what capacity I have yet to determine, but I am giving myself one month to complete this challenge.

It may be local or national, and my face and/or name need not appear, but I must have substansively affected the news story in question. I may rope in some friends to help me.

I shall keep you informed.

I want to smack Gordon Brown's cowardly Scoittish face with a spade

I almost cried on Saturday night. On the train. In public.

When I heard Gordon Brown wasn't calling an election this year I knew it was over. We'll get two years of proper Labour Government and then - yuck - David Cunteron will be our Prime Minister.

GB has fucked up in myriad ways through this one errant decision. Not least of his, and hence our, problems is that it looks like he is perverting the democratic process. This is probably because he is perverting it.

Of course there is no need for him to call an election. But it looks suspiciously like he thought about having one when he thought he could win, then pussied out because he thought he'd lose.

In my humble opinion, Labour has a very very slim chance of winning the next General Election. I have actually taken the time to work out what is required for them to do so, and I plan on sending a detailed letter to whoever runs Labour campaigns and strategy ATM. Yes, I do think rather highly of myself, thankyou for noticing.

In other news, I'm sorry I haven't blogged for a while. It was mostly because I was getting drunk (NB: I got 'special' pissed last night. I was at least an eight on the drunkenness scale I invented - where 6-7 is 'danger', 9 is 'shameful' and 10 is unconscious.). Partly, however, it was because of B3ta.com which is, put succinctly, brilliant.

In yet more news, a position has recently opened for the post of 'Jon's Woman'. The succesful applicant will be clever, funny, honest, nice to look at, a bit of a pisshead and will not mind being my girlfriend for a bit. A full, clean driving license is preferred, and the ideal applicant will enjoy occasional recreational drug use and frequent sex.

The deadline for applications is any time before my death, reckoned by most analysts to be in the next few years. Please include an up to date C.V. and covering letter, or just come and randomly snog me at the Union.

Sorted.

In not-quite-news please do leave me comments on my posts. It lets me know you care.

In "news", I intend on widening the scope of my religious pisstakery by mocking the following sacred texts: The Bible, The Tora, That thing the Mormons read, Quaker Faith and Practice, The God Delusion and whatever it is that gets Buddhists, Hindus and Zoroastrians off on their little spiritual wank trips. Basically, I figure if I fuck everyone off then nobody can accuse me of persecution. If time permits I may also give the Koran a kicking, but Islam has already felt the sharp edge of my tongue so I'll save it till last.

In final news: arg.

Tuesday, 2 October 2007

Banging your head against a brick wall, only to find it's not made of brick, it's made of trifle

Oh for God's sake!

The fresher flu caused me to sleep for roughly 48 of the last 72 hours. Really.

Having finally gotten over it, I made my way towards my seminar. I got the time wrong, which meant i was an hour late for it. The I couldn't find the room. When I did find the room, it had been evacuated. The room it had supposedly been moved to contained a Spanish class. After briefly considering just giving up and doing Spanish I decided, instead, to just give up.

A fine start to my year this has been. I have so far missed all my lectures and seminars this week. My house is horrible, so I shower and sometimes sleep on campus. Right now I hate Royal Holloway.

In other news, my student finance form was returned yesterday by the Royal Mail. Jam had forgotten to put the address on it. I have decided to file this under 'hilarious' rather than 'infuriating' as, frankly, it is the kind of shitbollock idiocy I am known for myself. However it does mean that, unless I win the poker tourney tonight, I am broke for a while.

I have been thinking a lot today about the principle of "creative destruction". More specifically, I ahve been thinking that maybe it is one of those times in humanity's development where we should just shoput 'fuck it', tear the whole lot up and have another go. The Mayans had the good sense to just shrug their shoulders and leave behind their broken society. Perhaps we should too.

Of course, I'm guessing this apoplectic misdirected rage is a mixture of the arse end of my flu and the start of year blues. But, right now, Tyler Durden's vision sounds like a good one:

"In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway."

For some reason that has always given me goosebumps. Sadly, I don't have time to blow up any credit card companies this week as I ahve too many lectures. That, and anarchy doesn't work .

Well, it didn't take my blog very long to go all ranty and emo, now, did it? I apologise on behalf of myself and my ancestors. In future more funny, less crazy. Promise.

Sunday, 30 September 2007

Just a quick one

Fresher's week is over. Yesterday I slept for twenty four hours. I shit you not. I have Fresher's Flu, which is horrible. I have still failed at my on going mission to lose my virginity (I lost it once before but it's grown back).

My feelings about Royal Holloway oscillate wildly between an almost apoplectic love of the place and a dreary, cynical hatred. Replace the words "Royal Holloway" in the previous sentence with any other noun or verb to reveal my feelngs about said thing. Go on, try it.

Friday, 28 September 2007

I always thought safe sex consisted of wearing a condom and a crash helmet

So, a very good friend of mine sent me this. I'd like to start by saying I am very tolerant of other people's religious views and their right to practice those religion freely. I expect in return that people will respect my view that such beliefs are sometimes hilarious, and my right to publish blog entries mocking them. The same law that guarantees my right to rip the piss also gives us all the right to say "Allah Akhbar", "Praise Jesus", or "Jonathan May-Bowles is a jumped up little twat". If you are offended by what you read, I invite you to exercise your free speech by invoking the latter option, repeatedly.

I'd also like to point out that A.) I don't consider this text to reflect the views, practices or beliefs of all - or even the majority of - Muslims and B.) I'm not singling out Islam. I find all religions funny, including my own. I could write jokes about Quakers all day, but you wouldn't understand them. Suffice to say we can be as big a bunch of idiots as anyone.

So, If you may be offended, please don't read on. You'll only upset yourself.



Let us begin:

"In the ideal Islamic situation, the husband and wife will most probably be total strangers to each other, having no kind of personal contact with each other previously... [so] In order to “break the ice” the husband should gently place his right hand on his bride’s forehead and recite: “O Allah! I ask you of her goodness, the good within her and the goodness upon which she was created. I seek Your protection from her evil, the evil within her and the evil upon which she was created”".

Smooth. I'm trying this at the Union tonight.

"There can be no greater turn-off to a returning husband than to find his wife in an unkempt, untidy condition."

Take note scruffy girls.

"A man should inform his wife of his intentions to have sexual relations from the morning in order that both be prepared fully at the appropriate time."

Darling, I'm going to fuck you later. Tidy yourself up a bit because right now you look like shit.

“When women emerge outdoors, they appear in the form of shaitaan, thus if any of you accidentally gaze at her and take fancy to her, he should consort with his wife, for she has the same that the other woman has.”

Allright love? I saw some proper fitties today, pop your knickers off so I can get it out me' system.

"For the protection from shaitaan and other harms, it is important to recite the Masnoon Duas at the time of intercourse. In this way the couple and their progeny will be protected from much harm.The respective duas for this occasion are as follows:-

1. AT THE TIME OF COMMENCING WITH INTERCOURSE:


“In the name of Allah, O Allah! Save us from Shaitaan and prevent shaitaan from that which you grant us”."

Pillow talk always gets me in the mood.

"2. AT THE TIME OF EJACULATION:

“O Allah! Do not grant shaitaan any share of that which you have granted me!”."

Er... wouldn't "Oh yes!" be a bit less creepy?

"Note:- 1. At the time of ejaculation, the dua should be recited in the mind only, not verbally."

Oh, right. Still, you're not exactly 'in the moment', are you?

"It is reported that if a person does not recite these duas, Shaitaan participates with him in the act of coitus and derives pleasure from his wife."

Don't be so bloody mean. The devil needs lovin' too. Also, reported where? The Daily Mail?.

"By night is meant the Islamic night, which precedes the day. "

Yeah, yeah, allright. Our night comes before the day too, you know Even after it, sometimes.

"Once Hazrat Umar (Radiyallahu-Anhum) had intercourse with his wife through rear entry (not anal entry). Later he was overtaken by the thought that perhaps he had committed an undesirable act. Immediately he rushed off to Rasulullah (Sallallahu-Aalyhi-Wasallam) calling out: “I have destroyed, I have been destroyed….!"

Calm down, dear. It's a commercial.

"There was a false notion; a baseless superstition that the Jews of Madina entertained as far as rear entry was concerned. According to them, the child born out of such union would be squint eyed. Some Muslims were misled by this myth of the Jews. When the above-mentioned were verse of the Quran was revealed, all such false conceptions were shattered and demolished for once and all."

Those clever, naughty little jews, plotting away to stop you from boning your wives from behind. Of course, as devilishly cunning as this plan was, it did rely somewhat on your lot being utter fuckwits.

“Await the completion (climax) of the wife before disengaging, otherwise she will become your enemy.”

Warned.

"A very shameless trend has emerged nowadays where members of both the sex narrate the details of their sexual encounters to friends and associates."

This line is the only thing on God's good earth that justifies the existence of the program "Sex and the City". Also, do you perhaps mean 'shameful' instead of 'shameless'? Or do you thinking gossing about your boyfriend's cock ring is good form?

"It is the experience of the elders that a person who re-engages in sexual intercourse without doing any of the above, the resultant off-spring will be mentally-retarded or will be niggardly in nature."

Welcome to the twenty first century. Please help yourself to some science.

"Total nudity during coition has been prohibited in Islam."

Reason number 248 why I will not be converting to Islam.

"It is undesirable for both the partners to look at each others genitals."

Reason 249

"Many of the Ulema are of the opinion that looking at the wife’s gentials causes the eye- sight to weaken."

But why would I even want my eyesight if I can't look at pussy?

"It is the experience of wise men that the result of sexual intercourse on a full-stomach is a dull, backward child."

Seriously, we keep the science over there, next to the Enlightenment and underneath Feminism. Grab some of those as well, while you're up.

"Today, medical research has discovered that the greatest risk factor of contracting AIDS-the killer disease of the century-is anal sex; with or without protection! May we be sacrificed upon Allah and his Rasul for protecting our lives and health by strictly prohibiting us from this inhuman act."

Yeah, nice one God. Cheers for making all the fun stuff lethal.

"Premature ejaculation is a sexual problem that could adversely affect the marriage. In premature ejaculation, semen is discharged immediately or very shortly after the commencement of sexual activity-within 30 to 60 seconds- whereas the normal period ought to be 2 to 3 minutes. "

2-3 Minutes? Dear God man, I'm not a machine!

"On an overall basis, women have a considerably a lower sexual urge than men."

Don't count on it.

"To indulge in sex when the eye is sore results in the swelling and whitening of the eye.

Even when the woman’s eye is sore, sex should be avoided."


Or perhaps just stop fucking her in the eye?


Not all of this little book was quite so mental. I've obviously picked the weird/funny bits to put in this blog. If you've been offended by this, well, I did warn you. But sorry all the same. If this is how you chose to live your life, go for it. But, seriously, your child won't be a retard if you're cock is a bit grubby. It just won't.

Also, if there are any Muslims of the crazy-angry-lunatic persuasion reading this, remember: If Allah is cross with me, he'll sort it out himself. If you do it, you are basically calling Allah a wuss. You're not calling Allah a wuss, are you?

Next time: Jon calls the BNP a bunch of gaylords, and tells a group of hardline Zionists that he fucked their mums.

Tuesday, 25 September 2007

Did you know these so called 'volunteers' don't even get paid?

For some, the above Homer Simpson quote sums up the volunteer experience. But not for me. At the risk of becoming incredibly wanky over the next few paragraphs, I am going to tell you what I have done so far this week and why it has been brilliant.



A blow by blow account of what I've been doing - shifting bags, barbequeing, helping people find things and most of all 'etcetera' - would be shitbollock boring. So instead I will tell you about the good bits.



For a start I have met and talked to at least a hundred new people. And it's only Tuesday. Having a badge that says 'Sup?' seems to be a great way of breaking the ice, I advise you all to get one. But along with the scores of amiable acquaintances who will now accost me in Medicine, Stumble and the Union with the word 'Sup?', I have also met a number of people with whom the rapport goes deeper, and who I am sure will become firm and perhaps life long friends.



I'm only half way through the week, but already I feel more at home at Holloway than I ever have before. I've started keeping a secret bag of clothes and toiletries on campus so I hardly even have to leave. No I'm not telling you where it is, but suffice to say I once actually won at hide and seek while I was hiding. Yes, they had to give up. I hid that well.



I am thinking of setting up a tent in the quad to save on rent. Perhaps I could become a quasi-gypsy, setting up my tent all around Egham and, when I finnally got evicted after thirty days, moving my stuff just down the road.



I was never a fresher myself - well, not properly. During my first year I still lived at the flat. Plus, I was 20, with a kid, so the "wow, we are finally free!" vibe of my first year was kind of lost on me. And perhaps it says something that, even though this year I could have celebrated my new found independence with a fresher's week full of hedonism and frivolity, I have actively sought out responsibility like some kind of fucking masochist. Last night I was at Medicine, half way through getting pissed, when I heard there was a bit of a ruckus at the union. There was no expectation or obligation for me to go and help - I'd clocked off at six after a nine hour day - but I wanted to be there, I wanted to help, and even when I found the situation to be under control, I stayed and helped out anyway. I stayed for over an hour, and by the time I returned my pitcher had gone missing. But even this, and the fact I couldn't actually get into the Union, did not dampen my spirits (well, they did, but only for ten minutes or so).



All this is beginning to sound suspiciously like bragging. And I suppose it is, a bit. But I prefer to think of it as advertising. Helping people out this week has actually gotten me high. This high in't quite up there with the first time you drop a pill, but I'd sure as hell no trade it for ten grams of coke. Or, if I did, I'd sell those ten grams and give the money to charity. Fuck yeah!

Friday, 21 September 2007

And he knew he'd never play the tambourine again

So, I'm working on the beans vs loo roll campaign and I am listening to scroobius pip. I've got it on at a normal volume because I'm playing Thou Shalt Always Kill, and everyone needs to drink in those lyrics. In any case, there are only two other people in the lab, one is wearing headphones and the other is a mate of mine.

This girl walks in, sits down and does some work. So far, so what. But when she gets up to leave she comes over to me and says:

"You are not on your own here, and some people might not like your music so you should use the headphones."

For a start, what headphones? The ones she is going to buy me? I haven't got any headphones. So I get a bit shirty and say:

"Listen, if you'd come over to me when you walked into the room and asked me to turn my music off because you didn't like it, I'd have respected you and done as you asked. But instead you have waited until you are already leaving and dressed up your pet peeve in a load of pseudo moral bullshit to make it seem as though you speak on behalf of the room. I didn't like the silence, so I decided to put some music on. If you don't like the music, you can ask me to turn it off. But acting like I have done something actually wrong just discredits and devalues the very idea of having a common ethical code, a trend which in itself is contributing to the decay and downfall of modern liberal society!"

Or, rather, that's what I should have said. What I in fact said was:

"Yeah. Thanks. Bye."

Which was just as passive aggressive without any of the accompanying social commentary.

The long and the short: Don't mess with politics students. Unless they are pussies like me.

Thursday, 20 September 2007

Trapped in the computer centre...

I want to eat my own hands.

The evil internet has robbed me of the will to do anything, despie the long list of jobs, many of them quite urgent, that lies in front of me. I can't even be bothered to go home, as I'd only have to tidy my room. Fuck knows what I'll do about dinner. I am trapped in the computer centre, a quicksand of the soul.

Why do I keep coming to this place? Why can't I be bothered to write the sketches i've been busting a bollock about for weeks? What is my major malfunction? All these questions, and more, are things I can't be fucked to address.

With a deep sigh, Jon smashed his head repeatedly against the monitor.

Wednesday, 19 September 2007

Keep on running...

I just had rather a scary phone conversation with Capital One.

Capital One, for the uninitiated, is a big evil credit card company with shit customer service. Their phone line forces you to enter your account number and date of birth before it even gives you a list of options and, if you do get to talk to a person, they are usually in a country far, far away.

I phoned up today to ask about my balance. After pissing about with the options for a few minutes I was put through to a very helpful Indian lady. I asked for some statements and for the current balance, which she told me. She then asked if there was any particular reason for my call. I said I'd been thinking of closing my account (i.e. paying them back).

Within 20 seconds I was on the phone to 'Linda', a suspiciously helpful and very well trained English lady. She was staggeringly eager for me to close my account... so much so that they essentially offered me a discounted rate if I can do so in the next week.

C1 are a load of evil penny pinching bastards who have never, ever before in my life offered me a discount for anything. Most credit card companies don't want you to pay them back too quickly - they are happy for your debt to sit there, having the minimum payment lopped off it once a month, indefinitely, so you end up paying back many times what you initially borrowed.

The fact C1 are so desperate to get my measily couple of grand back quickly strongly suggests that they are royally fucked. Capital one is a small bank, which mainly makes it's money from the sub prime market ( meaning people, like me ,who are a bit shit with money). The fact they are in trouble is hardly a shocker. But the fact they are so crudely grabbing at cash on such a short term basis is, well, worrying. It might not be time for another run on the banks, but I'd pop your trainers on just in case.

Don't get me started...


I'm pissed off. Gloriously, incandescently pissed off. I don't know why. I woke up this morning angry with the world and everything in it. Every stimulus I encountered between my bed and the computer centre caused caustic, sarcastic barbs of vitriol to squirt from some forgotten part of my psyche. I am spectacularly, mercillessly, pointlessly pissed off. The only thing taking the edge of my rage is how much I'm loving it.

It's great. It feels like I've tapped some long lost mine of motivation buried deep amidst the grey matter and now hot, red gold is spilling out. Most people, when they feel like this, have to go and ruin it all by pretending to be pissed off about something - traffic jams, rain, the existence of Richard Littlejohn (who spends his whole life finding reasons to feel annoyed). But the truth is that sometimes we are just generally fucked off, and all of the post hoc justifications in the world don't change it. We should learn to embrace this feeling, focus it, choose a direction in which to unleash our unyielding anger and so improve our broken world.

Here's a short list of things I could direct my bristling malice at:

George Bush.

The fact that, upon his departure, Tony Blair was not immediately marched out into the car park, forced to kneel down and shot in the back of the head.

The fact Tony Blair is now Middle East Peace envoy, which is a bit like getting Ian Huntley to present Live and Kicking.

The fact there is no longer any such program as Live and Kicking.

The fact that, when there was such a program as Live and Kicking, I never got my fat, lazy arse out of bed on a saturday morning to watch it. A few more hours of sleep, a lifetime of regrets.

David Cameron's soft, doughish, public school face. I bet you could punch it all day and not even scuff your fingers. God knows I'd like to find out.

The fact all that ever comes out of the fat fucking hole in Cameron's stupid fucking face is a whiny scraping sound as he begs people to forget what a Conservative is and hand him the power he hopes will fill up the yawning chasm where his soul should be. That, and the occasional choking noise as he swallows the vomit produced by another piece of gesture politics not even he can bring himself to believe in.

The fact cigarettes kill you.

The fact I had to google the word 'cigarettes' because I have forgotten how to spell since I started dropping.

The Daily Mail, who this morning announced that after 'four months under suspicion', a case was 'finally' going to be brought against the McCanns. Let me get this straight - You spent the first three and a half of months unable to stop fawning over them, never missing an opportunity to print a front page pic of Maddie's fit Mum (doesn't grief look good on her?) and now, not only have you switched sides faster than you'd change a broken condom, and practically convicted them in print before they've even been charged, your going to pretend you knew they were guilty all along? Have you been drinking lead paint or something? Oh dear God
the daily mail really are a bunch of fucking twats.

The Sun (newspaper)

The Sun (hydrogen helium fusion reaction at the centre of our solar system that is 109 times bigger than the earth but is still shit at keeping us warm. Fucking slacker.)

All of these other cunts in the computer centre. I mean, just look at them! Sitting, working, typing, breathing. Who the fuck do they think they are? Bastards.



Jesus fuck, I could go on and on indefinitely, but I think I may be in serious danger of giving myself an aneurism. Well, that was fun. I must get fucked off by things more often.

Returning to normal in 3...2...1...

Oh, and 'Hi!', by the way. Welcome to my new blog.