I Rate That: StumbleUpon

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Oh mate, StumleUpon is the procrastinator’s wet dream. If you are a huge fan of doing fuck all for hours on end, you might as well make this website your homepage right now: StumbleUpon. I can’t be bothered to explain in detail all it’s attributes and functions; thats why God gave you eyes and the potential to read.

Basically, it’s like the lucky-dip of the internet. You can discover some freaking marvels, such as this thing I found yesterday. And depending on which topics you’ve added as an “interest,” it may send you to somewhere like this… (I am still having nightmares.) Once you get hooked on this shit, you will cease all productivity and become a slave to the internet. I would give yourself a good 12 hours of free-time. If you have a lot of responsibilities like “schoolwork” or “childcare,” don’t you worry, you’ll soon forget all about that shite when you start sifting through the randomness of the interwebs.

And I’d feel selfish finding these gems without sharing the wealth and providing you with a piece of the pudding. So I thought that if I found anything worth sharing it’s going straight on the blog. It seems like a waste having the ability to blog and possess a voice without actually using it for the entertainment and annoyance of others.

However, before using StumbleUpon I would strongly suggest investing into antivirus software just in case some bellend stumbleupon user chose to ‘thumb up’ a website infested with malware and other internet-naughties. And unfortunately, out of all the plethora of ‘interests’ you can choose from, you cannot roulette ‘Hardcore Pornography’ at the click of a button. You’ll have to get that the old fashioned way; with one hand down your boxers and the other frantically searching for your obscure dominatrix fetish in an incognito window, whilst accidentally smearing vaseline all over your keyboard. You sick fuck.

So yeah. StumbleUpon. Get it.

I rate that 12.4/14.1 in procrastination points. Happy Clicking.

 

Fastfood Rant

Standing at the till in your local Fastfood establishment, you may be completely unaware of the frantic jostlings and general happenings on the opposite side of the counter where the poor creatures toiling in the kitchen have to face the sneering up-turned noses of the fuckwit hoards that grace the building everyday from open to close. In my experience, having worked in a McDonalds for 7 (long) months, most of the workers are pleasant, fun, intelligent and enjoy what they do. It just so happens that customers are arseholes. As the most minuscule part of their day, a fastfood worker is below human; they’re unhuman.

Respect and courtesy are kicked to the side. From what I have observed, two thoughts must occur in the customer’s brain 1. The unhuman is working in a fastfood restaurant, they must be a fucking moron. And 2. They work in a fastfood restaurant, they are beneath me. As one female customer eloquently put it, “Them in the kitchen.. Are they foreign or just retarded?” Unfortunately, they had put onions in a burger when she had requested no onions. The only conclusion we can make of this is that she must be incredibly important and that we are simpletons who made the mistake of existing.

And whilst it is ‘unskilled’ labour, people seem to ignore that the employees are often just trying to earn money on the side while a midst their studies. But don the ludicrous uniform and pin a nametag on the chest, you become a nobody. I think it says more about your intelligence if you assume that the person providing you a service is fucking brain-dead. However, I have experienced more than just my intellect thrown into question by some lard-sagging shitnut.

This complete bitch thought my unhumanity stretched to personal hygiene. She waddles in, barely collapses as she wheezes in front of my till. “Hi there, can I help?” I offer cordially, because I am polite as fuck. “Yeah. Chocolate Milkshake.” As a machine that will be used a thousand times a day The McMilkshaker is a temperamental beast and will often spit small amounts of shake before becoming the fountain of thick brown gunge that we all know and love.

On this particular occasion a small speck hit the side of the cup and dribbled onto my thumb nail. I pass her the cocoa-slime with a smile and await the confirmatory grunt that signals the end of transaction. Instead, she spots the gloop on my thumb and her face contorts into a disgusted grimace. The sweaty gargoyle asks “Do you even wash your hands?” I reply with a monotone “Yes, it’s just from the milkshake I made a second ago.” Looking unsatisfied, she murmurs “That’s disgusting…” and jiggles off somewhere to gorge.

I stand slack-jawed with my mouth slightly ajar. My mind hazed at that point… If the chubslut thinks a small drip from the shake machine is bad I don’t think she would be able to comprehend the scum that resides on the faces of an average coin, not to mention the coins that come into contact with some of the ogres that frequent the restaurant. And if she just imagined how many hundreds of coins I had to handle everyday from grubby, clammy hands that had probably never seen soap. And then imagine me fingering and grabbing the food that will soon travel into her body, having just touched a (both metaphorical and literal) shit-covered coin or note.

In the moments that followed the transaction I was praying that I had touched something diseased and contagious. The jokes on her; I would be washing my hands in the next 5 minutes, whereas the she-beast would be slurping up cock and vag germs that had rubbed off onto my hands and then onto her drink. But alas, she would be fine. And no doubt she would act with same fuckery as she undoubtedly does with every worker she sees herself above. Fuck me, I’m glad I escaped.

Thanks for reading, I rate this blog 6.3/10.01 on the Simmonds Blog Scale. Too preachy and self-righteous.

Enjoy your meal.

BIC 1 Sensitive: I rate that.

Say ‘bon voyage’ to that facebush with the streamlined BIC 1 Sensitive army-issue shaving utensil. This solid polyethylene badboy does not fuck about. Its handheld, manual-action interface implements a minimalist structure and single laser-precise blade which makes short work of that persistent upper-lip peachfuzz; imagine an AK-47 combined with a Samurai sword. This multi-use machine is ideal for lips, nips and dicks and escorts unwanted body-hair off of the premises. Deadly yet sensitive, it gently kisses your skin with the ferocity of a Bengal tiger and looks good while doing it. The chic design introduces orange to white; really breaking the mold for razor kind everywhere; it says “I have stubble, and I want it gone. capisce?”

There she is sport fans, there she is.

There she is sport fans, there she is.

Portable and easy-to-use, it looks good in a hand-bag, in a pocket, even holstered next your side iron. I thought I’d take the engineering prowess of the BIC 1 out for a face-based testdrive.

Bracing for impact.

Bracing for impact.

Face lathered, ready for anything. I place the saber onto my cheek and wait for that sweet kiss from Ms Metal.

The aftermath

The aftermath

Cleanest shave I’ve ever had. Without doubt. Hardly any bloodloss and the blade is ready for more. Slap on a bit of aftershave and think of England. Wash the hair off and pop the razor in the fridge . The battle’s not over, the hair’ll be back with a vengeance. I just pray that the majesty of the BIC Beauty will tough-out my chin-mane.

Thanks for reading. I give the BIC 1 Sensitive 14.74/16 on the ‘Simmonds shave scale’. Happy Hair-removing.

I Rate That: Captain Phillips.

Hanks shirtless and sporting a beard as Captain Phillips

Hanks shirtless and sporting a beard as Captain Phillips

Yes, I recently watched the latest, and most unexpected, installment of The Pirates of The Caribbean Sega. It is a modern day re-imagining of the Disney classic that follows a hilariously curmudgeon Sea-captain on his voyage in search of the legendary ‘Horn of Africa,’ which once played, will grant the musician a shit-ton of cash. Innovative and fresh, the new timeframe in which the film is set (2009) may indicate that the golden age of piracy has finally rusted and that these slapstick tales of pirate-pillaging need a newer domain. In a sense, it is comparable to the Call of Duty franchise; Modern Warfare was introduced because history gets boring after a while.

Unfortunately for some, it does seem as though Peter Greengrocer has put the final nail into Captain Jack Sparrow’s coffin by replacing him with the more mature Captain Phillips, who despite being less of an on-screen heartthrob, is played by notorious gambler Tom Hanks. Unlike Depp’s role, Hanks has gone for a very reserved approach to acting which may be either a God-send or risky business for the seafaring franchise. After POC: On Stranger Tides, the series was heading into choppy waters but I think that this altered perspective of comic piracy is now steering clear of the storm. Naturally many critics were skeptical of the drastic style divergence from the previous movies, particularly with Depp being swapped for Hanks. But the latest sequence of the James Bond menagerie acts as testament to the idea that change is ultimately good. After all, Daniel Craig has acted as a much needed breath-mint for the halitosis infection that was threatening the franchise with obscurity. Also, the cast (or crew) of POC: Captain Phillips still bang out the one-liners with sword-striking precision as has become expected of the film’s typesters and will have you chuckling at the shear lunacy unfolding on screen.

Now, it’s fair to say that Hanks and the ocean don’t really mix. We’ve seen before how the sea makes him go an utter mental-case and causes him to fabricate makeshift lovers out of volleyballs, (rumour has it that Warner bros. have finally bought the rights to a “Wilson” spinoff series which will focus on his exploits as he travels to Ankara for the CEV championships.) But in the case of Captain Phil, he is master of the waves and always manages a butt-clenching escape from anything the bad guys throw at him. Barkhad Abdi plays opposite Hanks as the lovable rogue ‘Muse,’ who is the leader of the ragtag band of pirates who share the endeavor to snatch the mythical horn. I did find his performance reminiscent of Captain Barbosa, which I’m sure would have served as inspiration for the character; Jeffrey Rush’s portrayal as the antagonist is obviously a hard act to follow. But Abdi is one mean motherfucker as far as acting is concerned. Delivering a bulletproof persona, he will have you crying, almost as much as he’ll have you smiling. There is definite potential in this man’s sea-shantying career.

Like any ground breaking pirate fantasy adventure, the film is not devoid of its share of controversy. Namely, from a feminist standpoint the film is devoid of almost all womenkind. Needless to say Captain Phillips fails the Bechdel test, and the few women that are included tend to be right whiners. Unfortunately, it’s a film not watched one-handed, if you know what I mean. Utter lack of tits, and not even a tasteful shower scene with a bit of side-bum. If raunchy is what you’re after try either Wolf of Wall Street or American Shuffle.

Overall, this movie is a delight to behold (I would recommend it solely for the last twenty minutes where Hanks does this shtick where he’s all shocked and confused; it’s textbook Chaplin). Captain Phillips is a classic adventure caper for the whole family. I would give it 4.3/5 wooden legs. Y’arrr Me Hearties.. Arrr.

Breaking Mad.

In 2011, after months of receiving aggressively relentless declarations of worship for the show “Breaking Bad,” I realised that there was some kind of epidemic sweeping my town. It had become difficult to hold even the idlest of chit-chat with anybody unless I could prove that I was a devoted fan; I would wince when the topic of TV arose, as I knew I would be faced with the inevitable question of whether I had seen the latest installment of the show. And God strike me down if I had the honesty to reveal that I hadn’t even viewed the first episode. My apparent ignorance warranted a barrage of response, such as “You just, like, have to see it” and “It’s totes amazeballs.” It’s as if Vince Gilligan himself, the writer and producer of the show, was managing to replace these people’s brains with the same incessant recordings of praise that would instantly siren whenever it detected a lack of Breaking Bad knowledge. They were somewhere in between zombies and robots. It’s a severe mental disorder I now dub “Breaking Mad.” I am ashamed to say that the bombardment took its toll and I buckled under the pressure.

Staring at the first season boxset, I was underwhelmed. I had been expecting something biblical. Reluctantly, I play the pilot episode.

…Oh my God. Breaking Bad. You have to see it.

Pinning ‘Breaking Bad’ to one genre is difficult, but a sickeningly simple description would be that it is a crime drama. The audience follows the story of Walter White, a high-school chemistry teacher who has, thus far, lived an uneventful life in a dusty corner of America. He has to toil two jobs to gain extra cash, his students don’t listen to him, his son faces constant challenges due to disability and to top that off he is diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. Life could not be any suckier. And so, in order to support his family financially, Walter unites with a former student and current junkie Jesse to cook and distribute methamphetamine, or Crystal Meth.

What struck me most from watching this show was the constant genius from the writing team. Each episode manages to artistically continue from one to the other, with cliff-hangers that will frequently make your brain explode. I imagine waiting for each is episode is like a meth addict waiting for his next fix; it is only comparable to that of the show “Lost.” But instead of the abysmal ending that made absolutely no sense, “Breaking Bad” manages to answer more questions than it poses and wraps up neatly without obvious loose-ends. The characters are tragic, funny, and can rarely be described in black-and-white terms with morality being completely contorted. By the finale of the show it is completely unclear of who is good and who is evil. Similarly, the cast that embody the characters are impeccable. If someone had told me a few years ago that Hal from “Malcolm in the Middle” would become the kingpin of a drug empire I would have aggressively laughed in their face. However, Bryan Cranston is utterly convincing as both innocent Mr White and his megalomaniacal alter-ego, Heisenberg. This is the same for Aaron Paul as Jesse Pinkman, from the offset it is clear that he is a good guy that finds himself in bad situations. But by far, my favourite character was the slick-and-slimy lawyer Saul Goodman played by Bob Odenkirk who manages to flit instantly between humour and straight-faced lawyer-badassery. I am currently awaiting news of the spin-off show “Just Call Saul,” it is fair to say that I am buzzing off of my ratty nut.

After watching all 5 seasons I can confirm that the robotic hordes were correct. The show needs to be watched, and it is in all fact totes amazeballs. I hope that “Breaking Bad” will be emblazoned onto popular culture significantly into the future so that the one or two people who haven’t seen it yet can understand the hype. I have never been happier to be a mindless conformist.

I rate that, I rate that a lot.