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.


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?


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.


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


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!"


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 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.


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.