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Monthly Archives: February 2010

I feel that I have to make it up to Helepolis’ readership for my previous article. Writing without any witty photos really killed humour streak that I had going there. So in that spirit… I’m going to have Statler and Waldorf follow me along for this article. I’m sure that hilarity will ensue.

"He's not even a dozen posts in, and he already needs us to pull his weight" "He should know our backs aren't that strong!" Dooohohohohoho

This is a glorious fucking time to be alive, if your only criteria is “ease of garnering fame”. Never before has there been a generation that could get a cheap camera, film a few minutes of something about them that stands out, and upload it to youtube. In less time than it takes to make a goddamn lasagna, you can go from a total nobody, to a household name. But not just any idiot can succeed at this. You have to be an idiot with a method. You’re going to have to figure out an appeal.

"Now, don't make some joke about appeal and bananas." "That's right! Victor will get mad if we show him up!" Dooohohohohoho

“So Victor,” you’re probably asking yourself by now, “You’ve got advice about what will make me a great big internet star, right? Even though you’re not famous, and live out of your grandmother’s basement, you understand what it takes to be a successful personality, right? You’re going to do my work for me, right?” Well, my over-eager little fuck-nuggets, I do have some advice. You can start by not riding my ass, because I’ve stopped riding your mother’s. </easyjoke> But here’s a few easy ways to attract a shit ton of viewers to your video quickly.

1. If you want to be a critic, make sure your points are not overly fucking wordy. Have a particular niche to full, like action/comedy movies, mystery fiction, or nipple slips by actual celebrities.  Ironically, this is not for everyone. Many people review things with circular or vague speech, or they fall into the categories of too nice, or unpleasable. Remember that you’re one of a million other Vloggers out there doing essentially the exact same thing. Bitching for attention.

"This blog would be better if Victor were a comedian full time." "How so?" "Comedians have to travel." Doooohohohohoho

2. If you aren’t really pointed enough in your critiques, and aren’t sure how you can stand out with cutting remarks, then none of that will help you. On the other hand, you can still fill some sort of niche. Some sort of gap. Some space in the internet world. Take for instance, MissHannahMinx. She just sits there talking about the things that she thinks are cute, while spouting fragments of Japanese and having heart-stopping cleavage.

And by niche, and gap, and space, I'm talking about cleavage.

Why do watch so enthusiastically? "Wakarimasen."

…I could park my bike in there… Uh, anyway… Obviously that’s not going to work for less physically stunning individuals, or y’know, dudes. But contrary to everything that may have heard in the past, and years of data about traffic collected by your ISP, breasts aren’t the only thing people want to see on the internet. Which brings me to my next plan of action. It’s all a question of angles to make something appealing, like with your mother.

"If I reached for a joke like that, I'd throw out my shoulder." Dooohohohohoho

3. Be that fucker holding the camera at just the right time. If you can snag a couple of shots of dogs that sound (or better yet, look) like famous actors. Or if you can be ready when a douchebag skater jumps a car only to wipe out his entire cluster of douchebag friends. Or if you can… well, you get the idea. It’s less about skill here, than luck. Unless you count the ability to hold still with a recording device for 3 minutes a skill. And you mother doesn’t, so why should I?

And yes. I hear your gripes about this one already, but there aren’t any other ways for a completely untalented prick to get viewers on the internet. Okay, there are, but I’ll fight you for this job.

"Victor's foul speech is really a pain in my ears." "Yes, and he should cut down on the swearing too!" Dooohohohohoho

That’s really all the advice that I have at the moment. Tune in next time when I disappoint anyone gullible enough to have their hopes built up by a goddamn tag-line.


No pictures on this one, because I doubt if I could find any images that wouldn’t somehow further dilute what I’m attempting to explain today. If you can’t read 599 words without needing a photograph to hold your attention, you’ve got some issues, and this probably isn’t the best blog for you. Better that you find out sooner then later.

It’s 5:30 in the morning. I intend to stay up as long as my body and mind hold out.

I’m at about 13 hours so far, which should give you a good hint as to how royally fucked my internal clock is. Ladies and gentlemen, I do not work back-shift, night-shift, graveyard-shift, or any other shift for that matter. I seem to be doing this of my own volition. I’m not going to get into a Free Will versus Determined Destiny rant here because that, like most other philosophy, is as much fun for me as searching for a fleck of hay in needle-stack.

What I will convey is any particular piece of intellectual gristle as I happen by it. Like I’ve said before, no use forcing the writing if it’s just not there. Be forewarned that I do not stake a claim in the inception of any or all of these theories and ideas, for that is a fool’s game. Just take them for what they are. Pieces of thought that I have deemed worthy to share.

The first thing that popped into my head is a notion about relative age intelligence. That is to say, how we regard our previous years in mental quality of life compared to how we once viewed other years even further back. That may be a bit poorly worded, so instead… How we imagine our minds compared to ourselves 5 years ago, and how that compares to 10 years ago. For an example; myself, since it’s pretty goddamn stupid to attempt this in another person’s head. When I was 16, I had retrospective knowledge of myself at 11. I had a fairly good understanding of the events therein and could pick out when I was correct and successful, or foolish and bound for failure. This is knowledge that I can scarcely say that I possessed at the time of being 11.

But, Victor, you typographical simpleton, that’s called hindsight. No, Fuck you! You didn’t let me finish.

What separates this line of thought from a rather boorish “Shit, I’m retarded” is that I’m concerned with the progression. When I was 16, I understood only a fraction of the things that I follow now. I’m not sure how big the fraction is, so don’t worry about that, and don’t worry about whether that fraction is bigger or smaller than the fraction known at 11. What’s important is that at 16, despite being less aware than I am currently, I believed that I was intelligent. I believed that my knowledge was perhaps “caught up”. I probably was more aware of things than the average person, but how can one really judge that, honestly?

Jump ahead to present day, and I see the same level of foibles and blunders in my 16 self as the 16 year old self saw in the 11 year old version. And that is the relative age intelligence …line of thought that’s been plaguing me for, oh, about 27 minutes. It seems to me that the current mental self regards itself as completed, and that all previous iterations are dumb as fuck, regardless of where it exists on the time-line of a person’s life.

But what the fuck do I know? I’m probably an idiot right now. I’ll hit you up with an amendment in 2015.

Please allow my misanthropic feelings another moment of your time. I’m in no way fond of mainstream hip hop. I find the seemingly endless flow of bitches, bubbly, and blinged out cars leaves me complacent in my distaste of the entire genre of rap. These gangsta rappers, as many would call them, have pervaded the music industry with their disposable beats and mind-numbing content to a frightening degree, as I see it. Hell, the fact that gangsta doesn’t trigger the spell-checker in Firefox is a good place to start.

Appropriate level of aggression and facelessness, or so I've heard.

But just a rant about what I dislike about the mainstream rap played on media sources that pander to the youth by selling their own frustration back to them, wouldn’t take very long. And they’d be about as repetitive as the music that I was railing against. Instead, indulge my proposition of an alternative. Enter yet another sub-genre coined in the last 10 years; Nerdcore.

Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. The same general idea of braggarts filling song after song with quick, clever rhymes, but without falling into the commercial trap of hos and throwing money. Instead of picturing a golden toothed, sagging-pants-wearing, misogynist… try something more like the following. Spectacles with spectacles, pocket-protector-wearing, rapping about owning your box… That’s the one they call the computer tower, I mean. Obviously.

Nerd core cred. His lyrical splendor, adverse to the worst verse they endorse with the bigger spenders.

One of the prime examples of Nerdcore is MC Frontalot,  proclaimed rapper-laureate of Penny-Arcade. Yeah, you know the one, the most successful web-comic in the history of …ever. Popular in the underground rap scene in San Fransisco, and actually coined the phrase Nerdcore. I’ve given him a lot of personal playlist time in the last month or so, and I’m content in having someone that encapsulates the wit of rapping for it’s own merit, but also with something content-wise that I can identify with.

One might even argue that the Nerdcore rappers are performing rap that is much closer to what rap started out as. Nerdcore rappers sport vocabularies sufficiently large to avoid grammatical sins like rhyming more than half the lyrics with “yeah!”,  “uhh!”, and “whoooo!”. And who wouldn’t love the idea of hearing raps about D&D, and urban legends, and computer optimization, and …suspension bridges?

Anyhow, for the sake of argument, here’s a short list of artists who perform the sort of alt. rap that I’m speaking about.

Possible saviour of the rap genre, but that would involve ditching indie cred.

And scoff if you like, viewers. But in my mind, who better to represent an option to people who maybe didn’t grow up in the hood. People that don’t consider ghetto life to be a positive stereotype to perpetuate, and would rather poke fun at themselves. People with English and Computer science degrees. In short, the nerds. I like this idea a lot, if you aren’t quick on the uptake. So give them a listen, before you start dissing.

Okay, I’ll stop that.

Twice, in the last hour or so, someone told me I should just cheer up. “Be happy”, they tell me. “Cheer up, think happy thoughts”

I’d love to. Really I would. I don’t, as a rule, wake up in the goddamn morning, just itching to be miserable. That is not my goal. I’m usually trying to be happy, or, if nothing else, just coast along on a wave of mutil…er, indifference. Unfortunately, shit just doesn’t fly like that.

Long story short, I find it really goddamn hard to just take good stuff that happens at face value, and roll with it. I’m a bitter, jaded, angry individual, who just can’t easily find joy in the little things unless I’m already in a damn good mood.  I’ve seen a lot of crap go awry, both for myself and other people around me. It’s way easier than I’d really like for me to look at some wonderful event or happening, and within moments pick it apart, and imagine quite vividly, how, when, and/or why its going to fall apart and leave me just as miserable as I was beforehand.

I don’t particularly ENJOY being like this. But I’ve gotten used to it. Sometimes, I’ll go a fairly long period and be completely content the whole time, and it makes me antsy. Its terrible, really. But I’m so used to things going wrong that I just expect it. I treat every stretch of happiness for myself and those around me as if its the calm before some terrible storm, and that makes it a bit tricky to truly appreciate whatever it is that’s going right. And the worst part is the knowledge that doing this probably just hastens the speed with which shit goes full retard.

And so, I’m stuck with quite the conundrum. I can do whatever it is that would make me happy, pursue good events, whatever the fuck. But the whole time it is tainted by a niggling feeling that whatever I’m doing won’t really make me happy. That I’ll just be more goddamn miserable at the end of the whole shebang, and maybe I shouldn’t even try. And that’s a load of crap, cause if I never try, I’ll never be fucking happy at all. But it certainly doesn’t make it any easier.

I’ve got various friends who’ve dealt with huge tons of shit, and they’ve got their own way of dealing with them. I have friends who are religious, and have faith. They deal with the things in their lives backed by knowledge of a higher power, supporting them, who loves them, and helps them. I am somewhat envious of their ability to put that sort of faith in something, but I cannot do it.

I have other friends who have said they’ve seen how bad things can get, and so they just know things are getting better overall. They’ve seen close to the bottom, and because of it, they can appreciate not being there anymore. I can’t do that either. I know I’ve never even come close to the bottom, and I know it’s still there, waiting for me to have one particularly bad day.

So, I’m left to my own devices, trying with every good thing that happens to get my mind to shut the fuck up, and let me enjoy it. It doesn’t work that well. But maybe it will someday. Until then, all I can continue to do is just press on. I don’t stop and smell the roses, I’ve been pricked too many times, and seen too many wilting flowers. But I’ll admire them as I walk by. I’ll smile for a moment at the beauty of the bush, maybe at someone who is themselves stopping and smelling them. But then I’ll keep going. All I can do for now. But it could be worse. Could be better…but it could be worse.

It's the hotest thing you can enjoy while fully clothed.

It's the hottest thing that you can enjoy while fully clothed.

For those of you that aren’t apt to read a article about an article, you can leave right now. Being from the Maritimes, I happened to catch this story on the evening news, and am merely providing you with a link to prove this doorknob is who I claim. The long and the short of it is that one Mr. Craig has gotten his ass banned from the only Tim Horton’s in his small town of St. Andrews NB (2001 pop.: 1,869). See, small town. Out of date Census. I’m pretty sure that their were more piss drunk girls convinced of their singing talent during my stay in university. But I digress, this isn’t about the size of his town (although that would explain the reason why they are only blessed with one Tim Horton’s…)

Self Explanitory Map is Self Explanitory.

Self explanatory map is self explanatory.

The reason for the ban is that he has, on several occasions complained to the staff about how he judged the coffee to be of subpar quality. He claimed it was burnt. I don’t really care about what was the content of his complaint. What I do care about is that he became increasingly aggressive. Working as a coffee jockey may not be glamourous, far from it. However, there’s gotta be a certain advantage to being the person(s) that give so many Canadians the fix that they’ve been jonesing for all morning. Maybe I’m just making shit up

Generally, customers aren’t bastards to the folks behind the counter. Then, there are the people like this guy. Douchebags that, through an addiction to coffee and what I suspect is a fair amount of self-loathing, he returned to the establishment, ordered and consumed the product… seemingly to bitch to the staff. So why bother? It’s a Tim Horton’s coffee. You don’t like it, that’s fine. Don’t drink it, no one’s got a gun to your head, nor are you out of options. I’m betting that at least one other store sells coffee in your town. Hell, you’re described as a coffee enthusiast. Brew your own at home, if you’re discontent.

Furthermore, from what I’ve heard, the legal standards for any sort of public business in Canada is that they have the right to refuse you service if you’re aggressive to the staff. And so, to go on the province wide news, and bitch to the viewers that you’re treated unfairly smacks of wanting to have you cake and eat it too. I understand hypothetically that a lifelong ban might sound excessive, but from what I’ve seen and heard about the guy between this news cast and the Montreal gazette is sufficient for me to award him the first ever FM2xH Doorknob of the Week.

A calibre of award you won't find in the Olympics.

Congratulation, Mr. Craig. You’ve proven yourself a selfish, griping, and ornery man, and you didn’t even have to grow old first.

It occurred to me a moment ago that the best way to write an article for this blog is to simply wait until it’s written itself. My associate, Helepolis, once told me that the only rule that his posts would follow is “Contain Words”. In keeping with this idea, I’ve decided not to push myself to write until the entire article is ready to go, jokes and all. You may call me lazy, but then again, you may be right about other things as well.

Right now, the internet is picking at my brain. For all of the positives that I feel it provides (namely, never having to think to be entertained) it also has been and will continue to prod my rage gene. I guess that’s fair. For every 3am Youtube video of a fat kid wiping out on a trampoline, or a man making 3 distinct pitches of flatulence in his elbows… There’s got to be someone out there that makes my teeth grind and my fists clench. So, here’s a list of the top people that I hate on the internet.

Right away, I’ve got to clarify. I could’ve just written Fred Phelps down ten times and went the hell to bed. But I’m not that quick to punch out on my 15 minutes of fame, nor am I quite that lazy. Yet I’d be remiss if I left him out completely.  So, here’s a dishonourable mention to the head of the Westboro Baptist Church…

The man described Mein Kampf as too touchy-feely.

…from a smoking, drinking, internet smut masturbating, fat-ass, liberal, fag-loving, evolution supporting, Canadian. Who is proud to have nothing to do with your definition of heaven. OK, done? Good. Let’s move on.

1. Youtubers. The name immediately springs to mind the people who upload the latest episodes of Lost, and documentaries about neutering. Yet it also fills the internet with a glut of video replies. Not only does this smack of trying way to fucking hard to stand out, in a crowd of professional “stand-outers”, but rarely will the video contain anything beyond a ten second shot of a half asleep internet junkie flipping off the camera.

What they see/What we see

What they see vs. what we see.

Let me ask you something. Did you think that the technology to add a video of yourself to the ever growing mass of confusion (that is not just youtube, but the entire internet) was meant to replace a well formulated reply? OR do you simply enjoy wasting bandwidth?

2. People that just write FIRST as a comment. This is somewhat like the internet version of calling shotgun when you’re 25 years old, if it were sprinkled with the ironic humour of putting up a sign that says “Don’t remove this sign!”. Not everything is a contest, although I’m sure by saying this I’ve sealed my fate to receive a “FIRST” comment myself. It’s unnecessary, because it’s not a comment in and of itself. It could be removed, and if not for the various other dipshits that berate themselves for not managing to be a douchebag as fast as you did, then nothing would’ve changed. If your life is so empty that you feel a sense of accomplishment by hammering on the submit button so quickly, then you’ve clearly got a lot of free time on your hands. And issues with competition. So, I request that you bring me a case of beer, using some of this free time, but make sure you’ve cracked open the FIRST.

And make it a good beer, please. I want my drink to be drinking as well.

And make it a good beer, please. I want my drink to be drinking as well.

3. “Macintosh Enthusiasts”, or Macfags, if you’re frightened by long words. Not -fags as in gay, or fags as in a bloke with a smoke, but merely a person who cannot go about their business without giving unnecessary praise to Apple’s products. Blind to the facts of a rather large mark-up in price and vague-at-best functionality, they heap compliments up a mile high about just how fucking shiny looking their latest piece of tech has been made.

Apple’s big selling points, beyond deflecting lasers from space (which admittedly sounds pretty cool), is that they don’t get viruses and could run windows OS anyway. Well then, why not skip the middleman? Just buy a fucking laptop with windows on it. Save yourself $500 or so dollars, and use some of that money to learn how to take care of a computer for yourself. Or send it to me, Christ knows I could use it. I’d say it’s pretty lucky that the head of Apple is named stevejobs, because I can’t think of a better phrase for what it is that your giving him.

On second thought, I better not illustrated that.

4. I could go on and on about the people that code viruses. Or girls that pose in front of mirror because they haven’t figured out how to work the goddamn timer on their camera. Or internet tough guys that would take off like the fucking roadrunner when the people they harass come knocking. Or Facebook groups that are clearing spelled out by eight year olds that feel edgy when they replace for with 4, and too with 2, and good taste with absolutely no vowels. Or Bloggers that give their audience far too little credit, and dumb their content down.

I could make that joke, but I don’t think that your little brains can follow meta-humour.

Pot Smoking
Cigarette Smoking
Alcohol Drinking
Guitar Playing
Having a Tattoo
Showing Cleavage
Showing Bellybuttons
Girls Showing Their Knees
Girls Showing Their Elbows
Girls Wearing Tight Pants
Girls Wearing Miniskirts
Being Blonde
Being Fat
Kissing on the Mouth before Marriage
Holding Hands before Marriage
Groping Breast before Marriage
Having Premarital Sex
Having Anal Sex
Having Oral Sex
Being Homosexual
Judging People (He wasn’t though, he was being honest)
Being Selfish
Playing Sports
Women Working
Watching BET
Watching MTV
Watching VH1
Watching TNT
Associating With Hollywood
Listening to “Gangsta Rap”, Techno, Christian Bands, and Rock and Roll
Believing in Evolution
Being Catholic
Being Jewish
Being Buddhist
Being Methodist
Being Protestant
Being Mormon
Being Muslim
Being Hindu
Being Agnostic
Being Atheist
Being a Woman (they’re still paying for Eve’s sin)
Being In a Sorority or Fraternity
Owning a Pet
Sin, Have Sinned, or Plan on Sinning in the Future

It is a curious thing, looking at which words society has deemed inappropriate, and which it has not. When you really examine it, it’s a pretty funny sign of the evolution of language and society.

For instance, I swear…a lot. I use it both to shock, and to get my point across. And one day, one of my (female) friends, who generally takes my swearing in stride, was completely flabbergasted when I described a certain someone as an ‘insufferable cunt’. She asked if I could not have picked a different word, especially to describe who I was indeed describing.

Short answer: No, fuck you

Long answer: I am well aware certain words get a rise out of certain people, and occasionally you get people who are largely inured to the bulk of swearing, and you just need to go that extra mile. If I’m swearing to express my anger, hatred, or displeasure regarding a certain situation, I am not going to censor myself for the tender ears around me, with few exceptions. If possible, I will pick whatever words are guaranteed to get the biggest rise in the intended fashion. That’s what the words are for.

When you look at where most extant swear words derived from, it’s obvious the initial reason for their creation was to shock and offend. The most severe come from sexual terms, religion, or insulting ones family.

So yeah, that’s the long and the short of it. I’m sure there’s people out there who take offense to my swearing. Those people should realize I don’t give two tugs of a dead dogs cock about their opinion, because if I did, I would have curbed my swearing to begin with. I swear to get a point across. If you’ve read this far, chances are it worked.

Fucking deal with it.

I’ve been playing the ever loving hell out of Age of Mythology recently. Not just for the reason that it’s from 2003, and so my laptop can process it without attaining flash frying temperature, but also because it’s a solid title.

The campaign mode throws you a few curves, since some missions feel immensely dragged out when played on anything above moderate. Especially compared to the occasional mission that feels like the end was clipped off of it. Within the 40 or so missions in total between the original game, and the Titans Expansion, you’ll be playing about even numbers of maps with each of the 4 civilizations.

This is little more than just a sampling, though, since during the 10 or so missions of a given society, you’ll be switching back and forth between the three Gods available to each. Strangely enough, the less you know about RTS gaming, the less these differences will bother you. I for one was thrown every now and again, but that’s price I’d pay for knowing a barracks from a buttocks.

The mistake happens more often than you might think.

On the other hand, if you find one society playing well outside of your strategic preferences, then you’ll probably be able to struggle through the boiler-plate challenge your world presents, and move on to another deity within the hour. So, just imagine that you’re 13 again, then. *Easy Joke Here*

The way in which these maps bitch-slapped your RTS style probably varies greatly from player to player. There’s the Norse Gods if you like a lot of muscle-bound thicks running up and putting various styles of axes into people’s squishy bits. Egyptians for those favouring defensive play and lots of priests and myth units. And the Greeks, for those people that aren’t happy with a game unless it provides comedic fodder for man-love. Oh, yes, and a Phalanx.

There’s also the Atlanteans, a civilization that will never pass even a tolerant spell-checker, but gets a lot of points in my book for being a strong mix of offensive and defensive play options. And with far less micromanaging involved, you’re less likely to spend the rest of your free time lining your walls with spreadsheets. Here’s my two cents worth on the lost civilization of Atlantis.

Immediately upon starting up a single player game, you’re going to get the option of a major deity. You can get Kronos, the titan god of time, giving you a butt load of myth unit power-ups. Maybe Ouranos, god of the sky, giving you faster human units and access to transportation buildings and laser towers. Or perhaps Gaia, god of sniveling and rebellious 12 year olds. NO! Bad Victor, too easy! Obviously Gaia is goddess of the earth and plant life, but you wouldn’t know it the way that her followers eat resources with a shovel.

The main selling point of the Atlantean civilization is that any character can be upgraded to Hero unit with a single click, giving them more hit points, more speed, and the attack to stab a Manticore square in the face like we’ve all wanted to do.

Not pictured: Your god shitting himself.

No matter who you pick, the citizens you build will be a major investment. Other citizens cost 50 food, that’s it. So you’re going to want as many of them running around as you can. But the Atlantean citizens are going to set you back 125 food and 25 wood. I suppose that I could make a crack about a massive stiffy that you’ve be getting for that price, since they build and gather each resource between 2.5 and 2.8 times faster than any other citizen is able. Also they walk at a speed somewhere between molasses, and a child being sent to the dentist.

Next are your scouts. You get three that are trained for free at the beginning of each map, but they don’t have any horses. Again, they are distinctly slower then their Greek counterparts, but what’s the trade-off? They get a staff that damn well glows. As it glows, it grows their line of sight out to that of a tower. Awesome, right? Well, not yet. You have to pay to upgrade them to heroes before they have any sort of an attack. And the speed at which the light grows without paying the hero upgrade is painfully slow.

So, you’re probably wondering by now why you wouldn’t simply upgrade every unit that you make into a hero. With a relatively small cost per character, a light shines down on them, they raise their weapons and give a shout, turning the iron age army into a full on GLOWING team of misfits like they were from Gurren FUCKING Lagann. Well, don’t think that you aren’t going to be tempted at every given second to hammer on the hero button, but for each hero you have, your population is going to suffer. Call it conservation of awesome, but each hero costs more per population then they did as an average “joesecles” or whatever. Scouts go from 1 to 2, basic warriors go from 2 to 3, and citizens and cavalry go from 3 to 4. It doesn’t sound like much, but when you’re never going to have a feasible way to bring your population cap above 130-140, the scope of the battle feels lessened by having only a couple dozen people on the map at once.

Artist's rendition of your staggering legion.

So in closing, it is a slow as fuck civilization, to be sure, but if you’ve got a lot of patience, or simply a big stiffy for mythology and a little patience… then the Atlanteans could be the civilization for you. Either that or you’ve got a recipe for being kicked out of museums.

I have 3 tattoos. And all the fuck time I get all sorts of ludicrous goddamn questions about them, as I’m sure anyone with any tattoo does. And sometimes it drives me nuts.

The one that gets the least questions is on the back of my shoulder, a piece of music staff with the thespian happy/sad masks over it. I was a bit of a drama kid, as anyone who knows me knows, so that shit shouldn’t surprise anyone. It makes perfect fucking sense.

Secondly, I’ve got a line from Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth‘ on my right upper arm. It says

‘Angels are bright still,

though the brightest fell’

There was more to that line, but unfortunately it wouldn’t fit. For those unfamiliar, the rest is ‘though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, yet grace must still look so. I’ve had a fair number of questions about that, frequently from vapid cunts who haven’t got the slightest goddamn idea what its trying to say. I am loathe to explain it in full here, but basically, it’s ‘shit may suck, but its not fucked completely. Some shit doesn’t suck’.

I may have just nominated myself for the ‘least graceful rephrasing of Shakespeare ever’ award, if such a thing exists.

My last tattoo, and the one that really confuses the unenlightened cocksuckers, is a dirty great fucking stylized spider, all in black, up on my shoulder. Some people think its from Spiderman, some are just totally fucking confused, especially given my total hatred of the fucking arachnids themselves. But I hope that one day I’ll meet someone who will see that, and my triclopic yellow smily face button(which gets just as many fucking questions), and recognise it as referencing Warren Ellis’ Transmetropolitan.

Yeah, its a fucking comic, grow up, I don’t care. It’s a great story, with a great character. Spider Jerusalem is a character who did apparently whatever the fuck he wanted, but at the same time, always had a purpose he was serving. Despite being a misanthropic drug riddled son of a bitch, with (eventually) a terminal illness, he pursued a noble cause with what you could call an unhealthy devotion, and he did what the fuck he had to do, to do what was right. He stayed true to himself and to his cause, and he came out on top in the end.

Its not exactly presented as the most enlightening story, but the message is there. Spider Jerusalem is not an icon I hope to someday emulate…it is not a personality which would function in the real goddamn world, and his habits would get you killed.

But I can look to my right and see that maybe shit ain’t that bad. I can look to my left and see that sometimes you have to do some fucked up shit to do what needs be done. I’ve got a pin on my shirt reminding me where I came from, and I’ve got something on my back so I’ll never be able to forget what I loved, or used to love.

So, for fucks sakes, I am never explaining my goddamn tattoos again. Seriously. I’m going to bed.

Warren Ellis' Spider Jerusalem

Fuck you all, I'm going to bed