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It’s always helpful when you forget the name of your own blog, getting pissy at Chrome’s URL bar that isn’t giving me the address I was hoping for. Then I temporarily snapped out of my idiocy and realised my blog was named slightly differently from my totally ignored Twitter account. Thus the most exciting part of my day, getting to my own blog in a manner that would be in all liklihood the shittest puzzle game ever, is over. So here I am.
One of the reasons I’m here, writing this, is because I’ve promised myself to do something constructive related to writing. Partly so I can kid myself that my days aren’t just spent wanking to Youtube videos and partly so I can pretend I do do something TOTALLY WORTHWHILE with my time. Or something like that. Truth be told that after one of my parent’s talks about how I have no money, no job and a significant lack of job-worthy skills, I promised to start writing blog posts regularly so I could pretend I was interested in a job in media. Apparently thinking that if you can’t get your ideal job no matter how unlikely that is, then giving up on the world and collecting rusty bean cans to lick in the dead of night while crying silently to yourself does not count as a particularly clever outlook on life. It certainly doesn’t put your already totally paranoid parents’ fears to rest.
My total lack of forward planning can mostly be put down to the fact that I honestly don’t think I have much to offer the world. Sure, I am pretty good at being an absolute prick at social gatherings, but it’s hardly a skill that a) the work force tends to prize and b) has much of an application outside of work, even at social gatherings. I guess prickish people, scared at others finding out how socially retarded they are, could hire me out to draw the heat away from them, but I can’t imagine this to be a booming industry. I imagine that pitching this idea to Dragon’s Den wouldn’t work for a variety of reasons either. Partly because I’m not entirely sure what I’d need money for, apart from to piss up a wall. The other main point being that I am fairly confident the members of Dragon’s Den are ten to the power of Tosser more prickish than I am and could therefore get more business than me. I, for one, don’t get people with far less money than me to pitch their really quite stupid ideas to me while I sit surrounded by my own money. As an aside, why do they not put their money in a bank like everyone else? Is this why they’re rich and we’re not? Put money into a bank and you can almost guarantee that some high-flying wanker will decide what to do with your hard earned paper with all the skill and accuracy of a method of investing whereby you paint prostitutes different colours and you invest in something related to the colour of the prostitute who can snort the most coke without looking like a human-shaped sherbet fountain. Clearly the best way to protect your money is to sit on it on national TV guarded by a Gollum lookalike in a business outfit.
I could comfort myself with the thought that at least other people my age are in just as much shit as I am. At least I have one goal in mind. Even if that goal is twenty football pitches away and the ball is a foot high breeze block. Course it would be fun to be some sort of critic, but really, aren’t there enough already? I could be an outspoken music critic but this is slightly hampered by the fact that a lot of the music I listen to is either so obscure that I am the band’s fan base, or is in a genre of music that no one reads any of the sodding reviews for (I’m looking at you death metal). Case in point, I occasionally DJ for an alternative music society in York and like to play a whole range of stuff, mostly because melodic death metal is some of the most boring music on the planet so an entire set of that makes me want to erase Gothenburg from history. If I play something from an album which Terroriser and Metal Hammer haven’t shut-the-fuck-up about, which in the metal community makes it ‘widely critically acclaimed’, no-one has sodding heard it. Maybe this just says something about the metal scene in York, but when I’ve spoken to people from other areas of the country the response seems mostly to be the same (my research for this claim being largely based upon imagination -piss off).
So what I am getting at is that Duncan Bannatyne should stop writing reviews for death metal albums and that I should consider putting my (non-existent) money into a bank and not just hoarding it and other shiny things like some zealous magpie. Or something like that.