2005 - That was the year that was

I had to go and get a blood test done, what was it... last Thursday. Now, I watched the guy do it, and he seemed to know what the fuck he was doing, and it didn't hurt (it looks cool as fuck when the vacuum in the vial kicks in and it whips the blood right out of your vein), but I've ended up with a massive fucking bloody-yellow bruise on my left arm. It's actually impinging on my fucking tattoo.

It looks like I've had part of a junkie-biker-whore's arm grafted onto mine. I can see people look at it in work, too. Whatever must they think? Fun fun fun. Really though, he made a right fuckin' meal of it. Hopefully, it'll fade in the next, oh... week or some shit.

Anyways, back to the task at hand. Last year I decided to have a little fun with my calendar. Each day, when the day was done, I wrote one, two or three words down to describe each day. Some days were cryptic, others were blatant. I honestly didn't think I'd keep it up for the whole year. But I did. And what do you do with all that data? Well, if you're me, you put it into an Excel spreadsheet, allocate each day a rating between 0 and 13, then you graph the fuck out of that motherfucker.

Here's the raw as fuck data, untouched and graphed:


As you can see, it's pretty much all over the shop. That blue line is the general trend, but it doesn't give the full picture. I had to do some fucking ninja shit on the data to get an awesome graph. And here it is, my overall happiness throughout 2005, month by month:



So that was 2005.

Shit man, I need a new fucking hobby.

And now for something completely different

I don't think this site was primarily designed for this sort of shit, but...well...here:

--Bombay Bullion
--Saucy Nurse
--YAMS
--Lollipop Man
--Project Mayhem

Sorry for the appalling lack of humour (not to mention words) in this update. I'm a tired panda

Liz Hurley has shoulders like a rugby player

I fucking hate January, I swear to fuck. The whole month is just a hangover from Xmas and Hogmany. I feel like I've been underwater for the past 2 weeks - I have no money, my health is shot to fuck from over-indulging and I have this sort of creeping dread that washes over me every now and again. I think last year it wasn't so bad, 'cos I'd just been dumped so I had every reason to feel like shit. But this year... Fuck. This year I am in a good place. Things are going well for me, and I have no reason to be in a shitty mood. Which just makes it worse when I feel like rubbish.

On the plus side (of this laughable emo fag outpouring), I am feeling much better today. Maybe it's the methamphetamine in the coffee; maybe it's the fact it's payday on Sunday; maybe it's the fact I have a lovely girl who lets me do stuff to her; maybe it's the limited edition Japanese Adidas I bought yesterday made from FUCKING NILE CARP! Whatever it is, I'm feeling rather damn spiffy.

It's probably the meth, actually.

Yeah, anyways, you didn't come here to listen to me moan about this shitty month, you came to hear me rant about moths and keyboards and poorly trained killer whales, didn't you?

And on that note:

What the fuck is the deal with that smell? You know the one - when you leave your clothes out to dry and they don't dry properly. What the fuck is that? It doesn't exist anywhere else in nature and I'd like to know where in the everliving fuck it comes from. It's deceptive, too. You grab a fresh tee shirt from the cupboard, you think everything's hunky dory, then BAM - you're sitting at work, furtively sniffing your sleeve to see if that pungent, corpse-like aroma is emanating from your supposedly clean clothes. I'm too poor and lazy to be washing shit twice, but I'm too fucking cool to be out in public smelling like Bernie after he's been left out too long in the sun.

It's very annoying.