Wednesday, 14 February 2007

Myspace blogs of yore..

In a move that is both cheeky yet dull, I am going to post some of my old Myspace blogs here...

Friday, February 02, 2007
People who look like witches should not dye their hair black (the gospel according to me)
Current mood: a bit hungry

Aqua Teen Hunger Force is really good and funny and should be watched by all.
This can be done at jello tv ,although biche would never want to condone such thievery (or spelling of thievery) from the industry she peripherally works in; it is a very funny series starring a milkshake cup, a box of fries and a ball of meat.
Biche realises she sounds like a right gimp to a certain Danwise Gamgee who told her about the series about six months ago only for her to go 'uuhhh yeah cool' and totally erase it from her tiny mind, but gospel is gospel non? I mean, when you have priests going 'God is good! Do not steal!' you don't see Jesus going 'yeah well I said that aaaages ago'.p.s Danwise is not Jesus. He could maybe pass as an apostle or something but only when he hasn't shaved.

Biche is however a priest. A priest of cool.

p.p.s Biche is not a priest of cool. Maybe something a little bit less authorititive and important. Maybe a ticket inspector of cool, or more likely the receptionist who takes calls and puts them through to cool's PA.

Gossip websites rot your brain,,,, are the crack of the internet world. This is evident by the way Biche likens them to crack, the laziest metaphor you can think of for something addictive and rubbish. So no, they are not like crack, your teeth will not fall out, you will not (perhaps sadly) lose lots of weight and there are no need for a burnt out coke can, virtual or otherwise.
They are however utter rubbish evidenced by the fact Biche now knows more about Lindsay Lohan than she does her brother, her flatmate or indeed herself, yet has only seen one of her films, on a plane, during severe turbulance. Biche also hold LiLo and others personally responsible for her inability to remember vast swathes of her philosophy degree and how to wire a plug.

In a suprising turn of events it is revealed the reason Linday can't ever remember her lines or turn up to set on time is because her brain is too full of useless information about Biche. Here she is desperately trying to forget about the dilemma Biche had yesterday at Boots where one mascara was £2 off but the other one had 200 advantage points as a bonus.

Conclusion: Do not ask Biche or LiLo to help you sort out electrical appliances and Biche now has £10.47 on her advantage card.

People who look like witches should not dye their hair black.
Now Biche is not shopping for sympathy here, her hair, although a bit of a state, is not black and her general appearance is not overly witchy-poo except in certain lights and in bad photos. It did however start a chain of though which ended with the above conclusion, other strands of reasoning being that if people who looked like witches dyed their hair blonde they might look a bit like Meryl Streep who is pretty damn fly for an old lady and veh good at acting.
This is a flawed argument with dodgy premises and a desperate attempt by the Biche to claw back some philosophy from Lindsay Lohan's tight little fists.

Speaking of witches, Loose Women is on. Urg, it's like the female equivalent of Top Gear in that smug middle ages twats make their sex look bad by well, being smug middle aged twats who think they're so fucking funny..when they're not like, ...fucking funny...fucking..
Well anyway, I almost wish I could lock them all in a big room together for years until some of them mate and then the child would grow up tormented by their polar opposite parents and trapped because he is repelled by his chauvinist father's attitude to women so tries to be gay but then his mum wants to go clubbing with him and talks loudly about bum sex with all her friends so instead he gets a great big knife...Dear god, Biche does scare herself sometimes.
Anyway, gospel number four - Loose Women and Top Gear are shit and may endanger the future of the planet.

And lo, it was decreed and Biche went back to tidying her desk.xx

Friday, January 12, 2007

i discover the link between cheesestrings and nu-rave and fail to find a new job

Current mood: tired and headachey

Last night Ms Welsh and I tested out the theory (her theory) that if you coat your teeth in Vaseline, then they won't be stained by wine. The results were neglegable, but it sure as hell made the wine taste bad, so I am not convinced. This could however have something to do with the fact that we used Aloe Vera Vaseline.
How the Vaseline looked after the consuption of a bottle of Shiraz

Been hunting for a new job, seeing as current job consists of not much more than answering the phone about 5 times a day and sorting the post. This is not all bad as I do have all day to hunt for the elusive bugger that is a job in television which is paid, not totally admin and for a company that makes something other than corporate videos.
Still trying to find my way to the emerald city that is the BBC, but there is only so many times one can apply for work experience, bleeding your poor little heart and soul out over two pages of 'put your answer in the box below' fully aware that you are never going to even get a reply. It feels a bit like in Lost where those two men filed reports, sent them in a chute and they shot out in a field somewhere.
Somewhere impossibly good looking people have stumbled across a huge pile of applications and are going "wow this *Biche* says she has 'a great love for entertainment television' If only I wasn't stuck on a tropical island with nothing to do but get caught up in increasingly ludicrous plots and look incredibly beautiful, I would definitely hire her'

Kate and Sayid consider my application for BBC entertainment, based on the fact 'I avidly watched Strictly Dance Fever and thought it was an excellent programme which succeeded in targeting a wide range of audiences'

Hmmm what else? Oh yes, that advert for Cheesestrings where the teacher goes 'grrr what is that?' to the smug child who is strolling along carrying said processed crapstick aloft. Cue long montage of how Cheesestrings are actually cheese and come from cows and everything, before smug child goes 'oh. It's cheese.' and strolls off, like this is the answer for everything. Surely the teacher meant 'why the hell are you parading around like a smug little bastard with a sweaty bit of orange processed rubbish clenched in your tight little fist?' Why not just eat the fucker, or is it because it is totally inedible, but looks a little like a glowstick and the child is down with the whole nu-rave thing? Nu-rave does appear to be like a lightbulb to the smug trendy moths of london town. Hmmmm
another link between nu-rave and cheesestrings. Goddamn, I'm like the Jessica Fletcher of popular culture

Oh so bored. Still, better get back to productionbase and apply for jobs I am hopelessly underqualified for


Wednesday, November 22, 2006

zen and the art of getting a seat on the tube
Current mood: a little bit too warm

Right, so the trick is to stand at the end of the platform, trying to forget your aunt's tales of train crashes -"ooh no, the end carraiges get totally smashed and the people in the middle are ok"- by reasoning that terrorists are more likely these days, and if they are terrorists worth their salt, they will blow up the middle of a train. What is even better is if you know exactly where the doors will be when the train stops (Opposite the man holding a peanut if you're on Piccadilly northbound at Earls Court par example) because then you don't have to push past those who think 'allow passengers off the train first' applies to those stupid tourists and their massive backpacks who seem to be waiting for an extra announcement to go 'yes Pablo Arronzo, you may now also get off the train' and realise 0.2 seconds before the door closes that they should have got off two stops ago anyway.
Then go and stand right in the middle of the will be so cramped that you're pretty much lapdancing the old cleaning lady sitting down sleeping infront of you whilst boshing the buissnessman behind you with your giant bag and sopping umbrella but then, oh glory of glories! Woman with lipstick on her teeth reading a book on Information Management next to buissnessman shuts her book. She is evidentally getting off at the next stop! Angle your body back a bit, and then, as she rises, do the shadowslide whereby you slip into the seat pretty much before she is even straight legged. Admittedly you do get a bum in your face and I once got my coat caught on an ascending posterior which was unfortunate for all involved, but then huzzah! you have a seat! Now all you have to do is avoid the glowers of the old lady who is standing and maaybe if this was a bus, should have had the seat. Tough tits lady, it's every man for himself below pavement level!

So yes, this is a sadly large part of my life these days, as it muting the tv whenever those fucking adverts (dear god there are two of them at least) where dogs look sad and talk in dinnerladies style voices about how 'Dogs never stop loving..even after our owners no longer love us'
FUCK OFF! It makes me want to go out into the street and strangle a bloody mutt just to stop the voices!

Oh dear, I don't think in reflection that this blog is putting me in a very good light. I just moaned at sophie because I can't think of anything redeeming I have done today and her response was 'well, you took your nose stud out'. This is true, but is pretty ambivelent in moral terms, and in any case she didn't notice I ever had my nose pierced, so I don't think anyone else will either.

Anyway, I'm being antisocial ontop of all my general other sins, so I am off to talk to the soph, and wow her with tales of London Lite nabbing and invoicing stationary, bon viveur that I am


Saturday, May 13, 2006

'no pop no style' debate:

*I got a bit bored so wrote a little storyette in a different stylee to usual blogs. I think it makes me sound like a right moody bugger, heneforth any comments on the subject gladly accepted. Except those about my spelling Mrs Gerould!*

The heat wave had been a great excitement to the student population as it allowed them to act out their music festival fantasies on the otherwise grey streets of Leeds. The musty waft of gypsy skirts dug out of suitcases last opened in September mingles with cheesy doughy sweat and eau de spliff. Inhabitants once as white as the spring sky turn red to match the bricks of their houses. Suddenly sitting in the park becomes de reguir, even though it is an activity usually reserved for scabby kids bunking off school and tramps trying to take advantage of society-conscious students (i.e all students until their loan runs out and a lack of milk suddenly turns into a test of nerves and tactics not seen since the Cold War)

Even the trendiest kids partake of the bum-grass action, although their uber-skinny black jeans and tight t shirt combo suddenly seems like less good dress sense and more like lack of common sense. The great apathetic sit-in continued for several days, until the eager participants found that their red skin was as hard to cool down as their red houses were. Sitting on a slight slope also buggered up spines. This turned owners of previously slinky gypsy walks into hobbling old dears who smelled like nights under abandoned railway bridges with clothes salvaged from a rubbish bin. A half open can of Orangiboom in ketchup stained hands only added to the look. The after effects of a medieval diet of beer and barbequed meat were also something of a downer on the summer ideal, although it did lend an air of festival authenticity to bathrooms across Hyde Park.

Still, the onset of exams somewhat staunched the alfresco revolution, as life in the library negated the risk of being twatted in the head by a Frisbee whilst trying to recount the finer points of Weizs Anti-Essentialism theory.

Sitting in the library was a bit like being inside a lego house made by a giant, although with everything either made out of cement or wood (except the books, but then then paper/wood/whatever). A lego house overrun by thousands of tiny ants who have carved their favorite football team into most of the wooden surfaces and scurry around whispering, ironically in high little voices that travel far further than normal talking. About where they are going for lunch. And what a dick Steve is. And did you know the exam had three parts? I didn't and Tony's fucked because he only went to two lectures.

She realised she had been looking at her book for half an hour and not actually read more than the first sentence. Tony was going to chat to Lucie because she has notes and is safe and that. She was going home to enjoy Deal or No Deal with a milkless tea.

Monday, May 08, 2006

You can't fool Anya, Boy Kill Boy..I know your hair.

aah Most Haunted: Your Say is on Living tv...gems this time include: 'i literally felt my head explode' and 'it's been rather cold on my left for about an hour'

Been in an odd mood today due to editing essay. Going through my own waffle for hours on end with a toothcomb means i can't help but extend my pernicketyness into everyday life. This is a double edged sword as although i did tidy the sittingroom and do some washing up, i then nagged and criticised the homies into doing similar, which did not go down too well (or get anything done)
I'm actually having to make a concientious effort now not to write a blog like an essay (hence the parentheses and starting sentences with verbs etc etc)

On a different note, Boy Kill Boy make me uneasy. They have a scent manifacturedness about them that is reminiscent of The Bravery (Honest Mistake excluded as that is a TUNE) To be honest *arf*, I did quite like the Bravery but then they had the whole snarling yanks in leather jacket thing which is far preferrable to big nosed mancs in suit jackets. And hideous hair; I am shallow and it is ultimately about the hair.

upon reflection i think i have sported each one of those haircuts at some time in my life..ha! They are stuck in the Dido rut, which ensnared me for many years. Fools! The feathering may slim your face but you constantly look like you've been out in the rain! Ha!

Urh going to have to go to bed because formula 1 is on tv and i can't find the remote so killing it is the best option. It is late and i do have my LAST EVER LECTURE tomorrow. I am strangely non-plussed, probably because I will still be sclepping in every day for two weeks to revise.

Biche's after-exam plan
*Learn Japanese
*Make a nice big collage of university
*Read all the books in the library that i gaze at when i should be revising, eg The Women of the Bastille and Transgenderism in Modern Chinese Literature etc etc
*Get rid of lots of stuff so I don't have to cart it down to London town
*See my brother
*Kill Boy Kill Boy
*Get a job
I think I have my priorites straight! I anticipate that pretty much all of the above will be done within 2 days of me finishing which leads to at least a month of boredom. And myspace. Oh dear.

*biche soundbite*I do quite like the music of Cocorosie but their lyrics about niggers and god are really quite objectionable and discomfort my liberal middleclass soul.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

the future, the future
Current mood: apocalyptic

To avoid thinking of the immediate future, i.e unemployed poor and bored, i have recently been musing on what would happen after the end of modern society - either when the oil runs out or when some disgruntled country nuclear bombs another etc etc

Ben started the discussion by arguing that streetlights would be the first things to go as they use so much energy, but i think that surely some rationing/prohibition of useless plastic items would be called for before then. When trying to illustrate this point using plastic animals from china (the kind you get in crackers, see illustration 1)
The conversation got so sidetracked onto whatthefuckareyoutalkingaboutyoutard that my rant was lost. Streetlighting is somewhat important to stop mugging and raping and me losing my keys when i drop them out of unsuitably sized bags whereas there are factories all over the world pumping out millions of mounds of plastic which at best get put on a child's shelf as a memento of the time daddy had to rush me to the hospital to get blue llama surgically removed from my larynx and had to pay a 50 taxi bill because it was 2pm on Christmas day and he had drunk too much brandy; and at worst get chucked in the bin at approximately 5pm, 2 hours after it pinged across the room and landed in a pile of tinsel.

This is only one of the rubbish things that we produce for very little reason...others being dog toys shaped like anthropomorphic food items, those chewable toothbrush things you get in train stations and plastic cutlery which snaps and causes you to ingest little fork prongs with your cake.

I also just realised this would work very well with my proposed ban of pushchairs in shopping areas (recap: if your child can't be tied to your person or walk by itself it does not belong in central london) as most of these modern models take up more plastic and space than if the mother merely covered her infant up in a mile of bubblewrap and rolled it along the street.
Yes, when i am ruler of the world (or i'll settle for london) pushchairs must be small and light enough to be held aloft in one hand in a salute to my marvelleousness...infants are allowed to be removed first.

Wow, I wasn't expecting that ramble to go on so long...I was going to write about how a post nuclear world would be rubbish as the only things to survive would be cockroaches, ray mears and me because i can knit (only long thin scarves so far, but it's still a skill!) and hoard shiny objects to trade for food, but there simply isn't time now!

...except to say that obviously Bobo the invincible would also survive and at the rate he is still growing i would be able to ride him around the wastelands gathering detrius to knit into scarves to try and strangle ray mears with.

giant hamsters roaming a nuclear wasteland

Oh god, now i have to do revision...

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