Car Boot FAIL

As we're desperate for money and have lots of spare time and random stuff clogging our houses, myself, Gibby and Jack decided to go to a car boot sale. Had to wake up at the frankly ridiculous time of 5am. On a Sunday morning. Hell, I didn't even know that time existed, having never witnessed it. This blog is linked to my Twitter, so you'll probably have seen the Twitpic of the amount of stuff I had. Along with Jack and Luke's stuff, the car was packed. I was crushed in the backseat, didn't even need a seatbelt due to the stuff holding me in place.

Before we'd even unpacked, the scroungers were hovering around the car asking what stuff we had. At this point, we realised that yes, car boot attendees are freaks. Even thought we'd been warned of how cheap car boot people (as if they're a separate race) nothing, NOTHING prepares you for how cheap they really are. People were turning their noses up at £5 for 2 lamps, £2 for an Action Man and 50p for a jug as if we were asking for their daughters virginity in return. I got asked how much the Furby (it's gonna be a must-have at Christmas) cost, and after saying the very reasonable price of "50 pence" she STILL tried to haggle me down to 30p. Which is not so much haggling for a bargain, as being a complete twat. Luke had a watch that was easily the most looked at thing on our stall, which means it was also the most declined. People were attracted by a nice watch, but put off by a £30 price tag, because as we all know, nice watches are always cheap. I got this crappy Rolex or summat t'other day for a mere £10,000, how dare he charge £30 for a watch! One woman even said:
Woman: That's a nice watch though, careful it doesn't get nicked.
Luke: That's what the recorder is for, to hit people with.
Woman: You'll need more than a recorder to beat them Kosovans off.
There's a two-for-one deal on laughable stuff there:
1) That she's being totally racist even though she can't afford the watch herself.
2) She said "beat them Kosovans off". Not in public love, there's brothels for that.

Everyone's will to live was tested, as we tried in vain to sell people things at acceptable prices, if we offered the car for a tenner, they'd have tried to knock the price down. Jack summarised this best: "When picking a price they'll pay, just think of the price that'll insult you most. Then half it." My personal favourite event of the entire day was when I offered this old bloke a keyboard for £3, the only way he could get it cheaper is if he stole it from me, and even then it's worth £3 to avoid the hassle. He then asked me if I could deliver it.
That's right, deliver.
It's a fucking car boot sale mate! I'm not eBay!
"Sure sir, would you like me to bend over so you can have your way with me, because that's the only way you could fuck me over anymore!"
In the end, I left about £15 better off, Jack £40 and Gibby £45.
I say better off, at the small price of severe emotional trauma and that my body clock is now so naffed up, it thinks it's 5 hours ahead of the actual time.

Anyway, I don't believe in karma (a little bit) for nothing, and later on after our bloody gorgeous KFC me and Luke saw two lesbians. Not just any lesbians.
Porno Lesbians.
Y'know, when they're both actually attractive. Now you may be thinking "Pffft, lads just saw two fit lasses together and because they're sex mad, assumed they were lesbians." But no. They actually kissed each other, so they were definitely of the 'carpet' pursuasion. We left just after they did and after they crossed the road, got off with each other.
Full-on got with each other.
Hell, Gibby nearly got ran over from staring, I couldn't be arsed to tell him he was going to get ran over from staring, it was the singular greatest thing ever and also shows just how easily a man's common sense can be overridden by something as simple as two hot women 'enjoying' each other's company...

Mixtape? Sextape More Like!

As mentioned on Twitter, just been making the greatest mixtape July has ever witnessed. I managed to fight the urge to make it a Killers/Stereophonics fest, and for lack of any other way to get across the awesome-ness of the CD, here it is:

1. Omen - The Prodigy
2. I'm Not Alone - Calvin Harris
3. Liquid Lives - Hadouken!
4. Heavyweight Champion of The World - Reverend & The Makers
5. Spaceman - The Killers
6. The Unshockable - Maximo Park
7. Thoughts Of A Dying Atheist - Muse
8. For All These Times Son, For All These Times - Lostprophets
9. The End Has No End - The Strokes
10. T-Shirt Suntan - Stereophonics
11. What Took You So Long? - The Courteeners
12. The Bucket - Kings of Leon
13. Sticks 'n' Stones - Jamie T
14. Fast Fuse - Kasabian
    
15. Television - Hard-Fi
    
16. Flashbax - Oasis
    
17. Moths Wings - Passion Pit
    
18. Put The Sun Back - The Coral
    
19. Man In The Mirror - Michael Jackson
    
20. Get Ready - The Temptations
21. Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise) - The Beatles

There was a lot of effort made to have some form of transition through the whole thing (my initals aren't DJ for nothing!) I mean, you barely notice the shift from The Prodigy to The Beatles! Barely. Well, there it is, play it and watch summer pass us all by...

Gameshow Madness

Being the professional layabout that I now am, I get to watch a lot of TV. Daytime TV after 3pm seems to be a minefield of gameshows and quizzes, I can guarantee that at 5pm, the latest shit-fest on ITV will be there to blow your left leg off. They seem hell-bent on making their own version of 'Deal or No Deal', as Noel Edmonds gets smugger with every episode, safe in the knowledge that he's the King of Retarded Gameshows. He's the leader of his own box-worshipping cult of perpetually optimistic dicks. Whoever has the audacity to ruin another persons game by revealing the £250,000 box (which they obviously knew was in there, what do you think this is? Randomly opening boxes hoping to avoid big numbers!?) is dead to the group. After the show they probably behead the offender into that box, while Noel laughs manically as he sends another sacrifice to his God-like Banker. Probably.

Noels after-show activities aside, ITV have been churning out 5 o' clock nonsense since Goldenballs. No-one remembers it because they either steered clear of it or their brain exploded when they tried to work out what the fuck was going on. Then they moved onto Divided, which is only marginally less stupid. You think Noel Edmonds is smug? Meet Andrew Castle, spouting off the show's "Will the team be united...or divided?" 'catchphrase' with the kind of sinister tone normally reserved for the Saw series. And yes, chopping your leg off with a hacksaw is less painful than this. The main gimmick of the show is that for each question, the 3 team members have to agree on the answer, the longer this takes, the less money they get. Then at the end, the overall pot is split into 3 unequal parts with 'A' being around 75% of the pot, 'B' 15% and 'C' the remaining 10%. The team then has to agree on who should get each pot of money, before the time runs out and they have fuck all. To walk away with the most amount of money, you've either really earned the team's respect, or you've put on such a stubbornly amazing display of bell-endery, the others just gave up. Then again, you were probably just affected by too much exposure to Andrew Castle.

Not even Divided can hold down a slot now though, and The Chase has been called in for a replacement. Which, unfortunately isn't a contestant chasing after Andrew Castle with the intent of beating him to a bloody pulp. It's a 6 foot-odd brick shithouse of a man who is actually clever (The Chaser, to give him his dramatic title) 'chasing' a member of the public with questions. Never mind winning the thing, you do well to decipher the cock-en-ay accent Bradley Walsh's voice provides as he stumbles through reading the questions. ITV should give him one million a week wages and take away a quid everytime he makes a mistake, he'll finish the week on less than a part-time McDonalds worker. If you ever get around to watching it, you'll quickly hate 'The Chaser' for being from the 'Eggheads' school of answering. As in, don't give the right answer, explain why the other answers are wrong and whatever's left is "the answer, I assume".

It makes me long for someone to revive Catchphrase, an actually brilliant gameshow. It's the right mix of genius concept (say what you see!) and shit execution (Microsoft Paint visuals) all held together effortlessly by Roy "It's Good But It's Not Right" Walker. No-one in game show history has managed to nail the put-down like Roy, the contestant couldn't feel any more destroyed if the screen flashed up with "YOU C*NT" and Mr. Chips pissing on a picture of their face. An experience right up there with blagging a supermodel orgy is getting the catchprase on screen with enough time spare to remark "How do they not know this?" as everyone in the room nods in agreement of your utter genius.

And yes everyone, I have been reading Charlie Brooker, which inspired this.

My Life Since School Ended

Judging by pretty much every American teen comedy I've seen ever, the summer holidays after 'High School' ends are meant to be the best ever. They're meant to be full of brilliantly scripted banter, getting into random situations that end up embarassing/disgusting before getting pissed at a party where some ridiculously fit lass decides to have lots of sex with you before she goes back to whatever country she came from. My holidays are far from this:

I wake up in some weird haze and make my way downstairs based entirely on memory, rather than vision. I'll check the paper to see just how fucked the world is, what celebrity got her tits out/said something stupid/died and what's going on in the sports world. Real Madrid have bought all the good players, so Man City have bought Kevin Pieterson, Lance Armstrong and Roger Federer, and have been linked with an audacious trillion pound bid for Tiger Woods.

By about 1pm, the haze has just about gone, so I'll then send/recieve a text to/from Luke asking if he/I want to go Morrisons and buy something with enough glucose in it to last us the day. If there's any change left, that gets put together so we can lose at a scratchcard in an attempt to get some money to go out and get pissed at some point during the week, usually to no avail. Then we'll discuss what stuff we can't do because of the money we don't have, before getting destroyed by boredom and just lazing about, killing hours like Harold Shipman killed patients until we all go in and check Facebook to see if anyone else has done anything interesting. They haven't.

Hopefully my phone will go off with news that my football skills are needed, which they are on a surprisingly regular basis for a geeky internet blogger. If not, then I'll spend the rest of the night trawling the internet, refreshing Facebook every 5 seconds, whilst thinking of an amusing Twitter update that will gain me one more follower that wants me to see her 'hawt pics'. Which is not what I want, seeing as I've been resisting the stupidly tempting laddish urge to go on porn every 5 seconds and wank myself into some sexually repressed oblivion. After making some small talk with the family (because they did nothing interesting either) and making a few quotes that may become Twitter-worthy later, I get hungry. So I make some form of snack that involves toast becase A) it's the only thing I can properly make B) it's the most versatile food known to man, you can put owt on it.

Once hunger is taken care of, I'll go and get hygenic while despairing at myself in the mirror for being so damn bloody boring (and for moisturising, I'm a man for God's sake!), before trudging off to bed to watch DVD's that take place in a far more interesting world than mine. Smallville is my current TV series of choice, so I imagine what it's like to have superpowers while watching until about 4am when the glucose is just about wearing off enough for me to keep still for 2 bloody minutes so I can fall asleep. Then I'll wake up and repeat the whole sisyphean process again!