PEOPLE REALLY ANNOY ME

WHY IS MOVING 5,456 MILES AWAY SO DIFFICULT?

It’s very rare I ask for advice. But today I seem to be facing a MAJORRR life dilemma; so rather than discuss it with my family and friends, I pose it to you, anonymous internet reader. You know like transgender people often say “I was born the wrong gender” yeah? Well that’s how I feel right now. Not like a women, but like I was born the wrong nationality. I just feel I should be Indian. LOL JK. I obviously mean American.Yeah so ever since I was a child I’ve always been like “Right am moving to America when I’m older” - and then I got older, went there to check it out and it was just everything I ever imagined. And when I returned home this September I’ve been adamant ever since I’ll spend the following 10 months saving and move over there Summer 2013 with a 6 month visa in the hope of finding work and friends and a lovely little life and never return. And if it didn’t quite work out like that, I could at least say I went, lived there for 6 months and gave it my best.

But now this whole dream is in jeopardy. In order for this it work, I just need to stop leaving the house. Because when I leave the house I get drunk. And drunk leads to getting on a train somewhere. And then before I know it I’ve treated myself to a lovely midweek break, been to 5 concerts, stalked a band and I’m back in Weatherspoons regretting the breakfast I’m now eating because I’ve just spent all the money I had aside this month for America saving. You get me? I’m now in the Jewish mindset and committed to saving – but then along come McFly………..

Here’s the dilemma. Do I say “No Josh. This obsession is out of hand. You’ve seen them far too many times before and their new song isn’t even that good” and just completely ignore the fact that they’ve just announced a tour and continue saving. Or do I push back my transatlantic move until January 2014 so I can still afford to have some form of social life until then …oh and go to loadzzz of dates on the McFly tour?

I know this seems like quite a pointless dilemma in retrospect to hurricanes and dying children and all the bigger stuff you read on the Daily Mail app whilst having your morning poo. But it’s the only dilemma I have so stick with it. McFly tours have been the pinnacle of my entire teenage years. 99% of my fondest memories/trips/experiences all fall down to McFly times. And I just don’t know if I’m ready to cut it off? I imagine American is going to be around a whole lot longer than McFly right? Unless Sandy has its way lolololoz. But then why am I so sad about pushing my move back half a year?!

My mothers answer to all this was the best though; “Why don’t you just go to one McFly show and then you can still afford to move in September?” …..is this bitch for real? Obviously I didn’t even warrant her with a reply and simply shook my head at her and left the room. One date?! Go hard or go home innit. And my mothers obviously the going home type.

Dear YouTube

(If you follow this blog and have no idea what this is about. Ignore. It’s being linked from something else.x)

Since the video was posted on Super City you could say it’s had some mixed feedback, so I feel I need to say a few things. Understandably some people are going to dislike the piece, but that’s because you’re simply seeing a group of people that have been personally acknowledged by the band (posted on SC) shout abuse at your favourite band without actually thinking about why there shouting such profanities.

The intention of this piece was never to “showcase McFly fans in a negative way” as someone pointed out. The documentary was created for a small exhibition in Manchester and the statement which went along with the piece paid no reference to McFly. The intention of this has always, and will always, simply be to visually explore this little world of “hardcore fans”. And like every documentary of anything, you aim to show the extremes. I never asked McFly to post the video or even sent it to them. The webmasters on SC contacted me expressing their love for the documentary on behalf of the McFly camp. Persumably because of its realistic nature.

Like with everything in life, people are split into categories. And this applies to fans. And the chances are if this video shocked or offended you, then you don’t come under the classification of fans which this documentary follows. Yes we do take things too far, we know this, and the band know this; but the band also know we never mean what we say or do. We love them and have followed them for several years. They know us, they know what we’re like and we have banter. If what we do is so bad then why do they happily meet us time after time and joke with us? Why does their tour manager happily reply to our texts telling us times and such? Why do their girlfriends smile and wave upon spotting you? Lara even came up and hugged me in a club in London following the London show.

Yes we probably shouldn’t scream “abuse” – but it’s light hearted. They know we don’t mean it and its meant humours. But you, the people watching this don’t know this which I suppose warrants your “hate”. And maybe we shouldn’t lie in front of their car. But again, this is intended as a joke. People have been doing the “lying down infront of McFly’s car” game for years. Tom’s even tweeted a picture of us doing so before and we’ve joked about it with them personally.

At the end of the day, my intention for this documentary was to provoke a reaction and showcase this world of “hardcore fans” – and it’s worked perfectly. I’ve had people who had no idea this type of thing existed expressing their love of the insight this video provided. I’ve also had people all around the world messaging me thanking me for creating the piece as it perfectly sums up their life. People may not realize it, but this type of thing is happening each and every day for each and every band all around the world. And unless you’re directly involved, you’d have no idea. Which is why I think this is coming across as so “controversial”.

You might not agree with what we do, and that’s fine. But at the end of the day it’s our passion which pushes us to these extremes; this is the only way we know how to be a fan. We’re just fans like you, but on a completely different level.

DEAR ANNE

If there is one thing I hate, it’s being told what to do. Independence is the most important thing I’ve ever strived for, and here I am, years after leaving my parents having a 60 year old lesbian activist trying to tell me how to live my life. And it just isn’t acceptable. If you follow me on Twitter you may re-call my posts about Anne. My neighbour across the street who shouts at you about recycling, stops you on the street to discuss your rubbish disposal system (?), and then forces letters covering these two points plus much more through your door when you repeatedly ignore you.

Below is letter 1.

 

And as you can see, from my reply beneath this, I was not impressed.

Not only this, but Anna has since up’d her campaign to have a student free street by doing features in the local paper. There is literally no escaping her. Other than my housemate drunkenly forcing garlic bread through her letter box one night and me shouting “ANNE YOU MODERN DAY NAZI” at her, can anybody think of anything else I can do in protest? Cause this bitch is fucking annoying me now.

ANDREW STONE

It’s very rare I’ll let something as superficial as celebrity get to me like this. But I just don’t know how to continue. It’s 4am as I type this out into my iPhone note pad, and I may be a little drunk which is heightening this UTTER RAGE I am feeling, but I just need to vent this anger. I’ve had a lovely night up until this point. Friends, cocktails and general good times; it’s only now upon stumbling home and putting tonight’s Celebrity Big Brother on that I’m overcome with an anger I haven’t recognized prior to this. Yes it’s no surprise that the “celebrities” on CBB aren’t actually celebrities; more a selection of fame hungry once relevant fading stars looking to pay the bills, but are Channel 5 actually serious this year? There’s scraping the barrel, and then there’s Andrew fucking Stone. World famous pop icon, dancer to the stars and general A-lister? Or simply a poor man’s Louis Spence? You decide. And I imagine your answer to that is considerably different to Andrew’s. 

Before I launch into this hate fueled rant though, there’s one thing I must stress which Andrew is quite hesitate to discuss; he is not gay. Nope. He prances, he’s limp wristed, he wear’s make up, he take cock up the arse; but Andrew Stone is not gay. Now that’s out of the way, I’d like to move onto his second annoyance which sees me reaching for things to throw at the television every time he’s on screen; his hair. A cross between Rihanna and a fucking twat; Andrew has the perfect hair to match his obviously masculine exterior. A side shaved undercut bob with highlights.  Yes Andrew, you’ll definitely fit in as “one of the lads” with that atrocity. Next point; Andrew’s utter self-delusion. It’s no shock that celebrities like to delude themselves of their own self-importance; but surely they have to have had some slight importance to begin with for this to happen? Oh no, not in Andrew’s case! Just kidding… he’s danced with Britney, he’s sung with Whitney, he’s an international pop sensation! And he’s chats complete and utter shite. Obviously with him being such a world famous megastar though and me being somewhat of a celebrity stalker, it’s only right I have some kind of real life encounter to share with this true sensation.

Where did I see him you ask? Selling out the O2? Getting mobbed by fans? Accosted by paparazzi? Not quite. My first meeting happened in a car park in Hull which had been designated “backstage” for a McFly show; to which I (hate myself for) shamelessly flirting back with him to prolong my time in this exclusive area before my inevitable security removal. And the second time came whilst he was opening for John and Edward in a field on the outskirts of Wigan. So showbiz, I know. And if his flamboyant yet completely heterosexual 15 minute set of stereotyped drama queen inspired prancing wasn’t the most infuriating thing I’ve ever witnessed under the category of “music” – we then had the absolute delight of staying in the same hotel as him.  Whereas most celebrities would continue with their business and interact with “fans” as and when they approached them; Andrew and his management of course pranced on over asking what we thought of his performance. Explaining everything from in-depth chats about his musical style to the big and exciting projects he has coming up. Which I’m guessing you have all realized never did come up as he’s now in Big Brother spouting the same shit. You’re also probably wondering why we didn’t just confess our hatred to him then and there? The answer is simple. It was 3am, the hotel was miles from anywhere, we were starving, and Andrew had just let his inner diva out as he explained his celebrity status to the hotel management and DEMANDED the kitchen re-opened. Which they did and as they later presented him with enough sandwiches to feed his ever growing ego …WHICH THE CUNT DIDN’T SHARE. And it’s not just us, the general public, “his fans”, that are feeling this rage following real life encounters with Andrew, but actual celebrities who have experienced actual success also. Take this tweet from Kaiser Chief’s frontman Ricky Wilson; “I was once on a flight with Andrew Stone. Even I hoped we would crash.” A selfless statement which truly summarizes the feeling any Andrew related encounter leaves you with.

Before you all get the wrong idea from this post, I am not homophobic in the slightest. I don’t care whether someone’s attracted to men, women or animal’s; as long as they’re happy, I’m happy. It’s just when discussing Andrew Stone, this rational thinking vanishes as the only person that believes Andrew Stone is straight, is Andrew Stone.

Before I end this though, I am PLEADING with you Great Britain; when the opportunity presents itself, can we all please pick up our phones and vote this person off our televisions forever? I know we’re in a recession and money is tight, but if anything was worth bankrupting yourself for; it’d be the satisfaction of knowing your life savings were spent deflating the ego of this delusional wannabe. As let’s be honest, the only thing relevant about Andrew Stone is his surname. And please don’t confuse that as some kind of reference to the non-metallic mineral matter which is rock; it’s simply because the mere sight of him creates this burning desire inside you to stone him to death.

  

 

Not a tramp, just a little Jewish.

We all love a freebie don’t we? It’s basis human nature. No matter how financially secure we may or may not be, that one little four letter word manages to bring out our inner Jew each and every time. F-R-E-E. Half the time I actually have no desire for the freebie on offer; but this doesn’t stop me taking time out of my day to claim what feels like is rightfully mine. Just last week I spent 15 minutes filling out a questionnaire in the train station for a free coffee; do I even like coffee? No. But this didn’t stop me taking time out of my day to receive a free cup of the stuff. And you know, even though I ended up throwing away said cup after spilling it down myself as I ran for the train I ended up missing due to taking the time to fill out the questionnaire, I don’t regret it in the slightest! So obviously upon walking home this evening and spotting a 42” TV on the side of the road with a sign reading “FREE T.V” plastered across the front I couldn’t help but act upon it. Obviously the reality that this TV has been out in the rain and cold for a substantial amount of time and most probably doesn’t work didn’t cross my mind; and before I could even think about It I was dragging it down the half a mile road home with my housemate and two strangers who soon regretted offering their assistance.  Now I have a weak spine at the best of times, and although the slightest heavy lifting can throw it off for days, this didn’t cross my mind either. As you know, IT WAS FREE. Do I even need a television this big? No, not really. Do I even need an extra television in general? Not really again. But you know, with it being free how can you say no!  Obviously the television didn’t work upon plugging it in and I’m now stuck with a larger than life piece of faulty equipment, but does this lesson my enthusiasm any? Not at all! The moral of this story isn’t nothing comes for free, and if it does it probably isn’t worth it. That’s stupid. Lots of things come for free. Like this great piece of life advice you’re about to read. The moral is; whether you need it or not, take full advantage of everything you see with the word FREE scribbled across it! My TV may not work, but yours may!

Also, if anyone knows how to fix a TV, please get in touch.  

Karma, Fate & Masturbating Neighbours

What is stealing? How would you determine it? I used to live my life a law abiding citizen until my love of ladies denim and Primark prices became the obsession it is now. But at what point does right become wrong? I’m not a bad person. I try to do good on a daily basis, but apparently this isn’t enough. As his name is Earle once said, karma isn’t a force to be reckoned with. And it’s karma which seems the only plausible explanation for the drama which enfolded after my latest trip to council-house-chic heaven, Primark. And before I continue, please don’t confuse my love of Primark ladieswear as some kind of perverted transsexual on a budget thing; I can assure you my intentions are genuine. Thankfully now by 2011 skinny jeans are a morally accepted item amongst all men which can now be worn without the fear of having “GAAAAAY” shouted at you, but even this doesn’t stop me heading to the ladies floor and forcing myself into a pair designed specifically for the opposite sex each and every time. Obviously with Primark not being known for its longevity of products, after a few wears any sign of the skinniness which initially drew me to this alternative cross dressing style is lost and my perfectly toned thighs and buttocks are concealed deep beneath what’s now essentially the dreaded boot cut. And after trying to explain to countless of the non-English speaking workers Primark presumably imports over how the £4 jeans I bought from them and have worn repeatedly should be immediately exchanged because my legs are just too pretty to hide away, they obviously didn’t understand. Which led to the realization which initiated this entire nightmare… rather than moaning at the staff, why not simply take advantage of their stupidity and go into the changing rooms wearing you’re old jeans and swap them for some new jeans, and hand them the old pair back! The success of this plan is executed each week, and although it may seem wrong; technically it isn’t stealing as I already purchased the jeans. I’m just upgrading them if you’d like. However after today’s changing room swap and my usual quick getaway, I was somewhat halted as I found the lock on my bike had broken and I was physically stuck there mere inches from the Primark doors unable to cycle away into my new-jeans-bliss!!

The impending thought of now being trapped in town forever then proved too much as I phoned up the fire brigade pleading for assistance. They were somewhat rude as apparently this wasn’t an emergency; but that didn’t stop my harassment of the emergency services. I don’t think I really need to remind you all of my hatred of the police do I? Those who follow online may remember posts from the injustice experienced following my GATE THEFT to the time I reported my neighbour for masturbating with the curtains open; and rather than proceed with this allegation they simply dismissed it and questioned me about the wheelie bin theft I accidentally confessed too! And for those who’ve bought my book, you’ll soon be presented with insightful tales about my time arrested as a suspected terrorist, time detained for defacing the memory of the queen mother and far more sexy crimes; but today I thought things could change. Upon spotting a few passing officers and dragging them over to the scene, they each tried and failed to open the lock with my key. Not only that, they each then refused to bring a patrol car round to give me a lift home in!! Unsure exactly how to proceed then whilst aimlessly loitering around the bike, I started offering members of the passing public a whopping £10 if they could get the lock off. We had bank clerks, office workers, street cleaners – each sharing fascinating stories about their previous experiences picking locks and each one failing miserably at this one. If there’s anything that’ll bring the people of Manchester together, it’s easy cash. Clearly misunderstanding this as some kind of unconventional conversation starter, one chap even started telling me about the summer he spent working at his father’s garage! Unsure how to then process this truly irrelevant piece of information I had absolutely no interest in which, any last shred of hope I had of ever making it home had disappeared. And It was only then as I headed to a nearby store to buy a saw to either cut the bike free or cut myself to death due to utter embarrassment I was now experiencing that my good friend Oliver happened to walk past and break the lock apart with just his hands!!!!!!!! An act of fate triumphing over an act of karma.

I’m not entirely sure there’s any relevance what so ever to this blog, except that I now have a strong dislike for the fire brigade as well as the police officers of Manchester ….and if you’ve got this far then congratulations, you’re evening is as boring as mine.

PS: did you know I had a book out? http://somecallitstalking.bigcartel.com/

The worst student.

September comes round and all I feel is sick
my beautiful city fuelled by alcohol and dick

Freshers arrive and stereotypes to be met
Loans abused and a first semester of debt

Bodies pushed and hygiene ignored
Praise awarded to those who scored

Clubs are packed and pussy isn’t to be sailed
Shame fills the air as the desperation is unveiled

A night of passion, a night of lust
Sober comes round and she feels nothing but disgust

On the prowl for the prettiest skirt
Buy her a drink and have a cheeky flirt

Vulnerability apparent and advantage taken
If only her drunk eyes could see she’ll soon be mistaken

Parents oblivious and society disgusted
Photos tagged and you’re soon busted

The life of a fresher combined with the life of sin
Welcome to University, you’ll fit right in.

I WANT MY GATE BACK

I am not writing this to you as the hate-filled boy bursting with anger like I previously have; I am writing this to you as a victim of crime. And what should every victim of crime immediately do? Phone the police for assistance. Well this is what I once thought; the reality of the matter was somewhat different. Who are the police to define what an emergency is and what isn’t? I phoned them up feeling targeted, vulnerable and seeking help. And what did I get in reply? Passed from operator to operator, mocked, and then fobbed of with a crime reference number. What fucking use is a crime reference number? This isn’t going to track down the criminals behind these feelings of saddened desperation or stand up in court whilst justice is prevailed. Whatever happened to real policing? Dusting for finger prints, door-to-do enquires, you know, all that CSI:Miami shit. Horatio Caine wouldn’t have given me a fucking crime reference number; he would have tracked down these mother fucking parasites down that stole my back gate!! Yes, upon coming home from a lovely evening away on Sunday I stood in disbelief as I discovered someone had specifically targeted my house, disrupted my happy little existence and stole my fucking back gate! Since the police didn’t care I quickly e-mailed over a very accurate and detailed account of the crime to my letting agency in the desperate hope they’ll come to my immediate assistance. And after moaning on for one whole fucking A4 page about how somebody had specifically targeted one of their properties and put their criminal mastermind plan into action and stolen the gate, the possible danger and hostage type situation myself and fellow housemates could have been put in if home during the time of theft, the constant fear that the Fallowfield-Gate-Thief will return, and how the property now looks like some poverty stricken council house squat. And what do these fucking imbeciles reply with?  “I’ll send someone around to look at the gate”. LOOK AT WHAT IT’S BEEN FUCKING STOLEN!!!!!!!

 It’s now been 4 days since the theft took place. The police haven’t been in touch about locating my gate, the letting agency haven’t been in touch about fitting a new gate, I still live in fear the fallowfield-gate-thief will return; and worst of all, my irrational fear that people will now see my back yard as an area open to the public to come and please as they wish as there is no longer a gate to set these boundaries has come true! Literally just this very afternoon my housemate Dale was disrupted from his busy afternoon of lying in bed streaming crap American sitcoms by a noise coming from the backyard, and what did he discover as he peered down from his window? A large smashed up television by our back door and two chaps running away down the back alley!!!! And if this blatant act of trespassing and illegal fly tipping wasn’t bad enough around an hour later Dale was once again disturbed by similar noises, and this time as he peered down the same two chaps were now placing a broken TV cabinet in my backyard, by my backdoor under the television they’d previously dumped all because there was no back gate to stop them from doing so!!!!!! I wouldn’t be surprised if I wake up in the morning and find a fucking family of Gypsies setting up camp there!!!

Twitrelief? piss off

I’m all for charity and clean water for them little African kids or whatever Comic Relief stands for, but their latest method of raising money “Twitrelief” is so fucking dumb. For those who actually have social lives and are unaware of what I’m talking about, I’ll sum it up; basically us lucky nobodies get the OPPURTUNITY OF A LIFE TIME and get to bid to have our favourite stars follow us on Twitter …for 90 days! Yes, after a mere 90 days your kind act of charity is no longer relevant and you go back to meaning nothing to said Celebrity as they click unfollow and you’re out of their lives faster than a mild case of genital wartz. Now if that alone wasn’t worth paying a small fortune for, IT GETS BETTER! Said celebrity will also TWEET YOU! You indeed read that correctly, these high-flying mega successful celebrities will take a whopping 10 seconds out of their obviously super busy schedules and type up to 140 characters directed at you!!! WELL FUCK ME! IF ANYTHING IN THIS WORLD WAS EVER WORTH SELLING MY BODY TO OLD PERVERTED MEN FOR IT WOULD BE THIS!! And who are these A-listers we get the chance the bid on you’re probably [not] wondering? Everyone from Boy George to Mary Byrne!! Yes an 80’s pop flop ex-convict whose hobbies include imprisoning homosexual male prostitutes and an overweight middle aged Irish lady who just 6 months ago worked in a super market and has since came 5th in a TV talent show. Wow. Surely I’m not the only one who finds this whole thing stupid? Great it’s raising money, great the kids can have a nice bath, but essentially all it’s doing is inflating the egos of the celebrities who are doing absolutely nothing but exploiting their fans? Surely there’s a better way of using their celebrity status and success to raise money? Charity concerts? Signed memorabilia? Meet and greets? Not a fucking follow on Twitter. However, in the spirit of charity I am willing to go one better and offer you lucky, lucky readers the chance to bid for me to follow you ….with the follow being in a literal sense though. Yep I’ll stand outside your house, follow you to work, to town, even round Asda as you do your weekly shop! Bidding for this actual opportunity of a life-time will start at £1,000,000 and all proceeds will go directly to the charity of JOSH WANTS A FUCKING HOLIDAY. Thanks for reading. PS: Shout out to my brother from another mother Alan.

Oh Facebook Status

You know what I fucking hate about people my age? There desire to be in constant communication with people every single minute of every day. A message, a like, a comment, a wall post …even a POKE; what the fuck does it all mean? Sometimes I don’t think people actually realize the amount of people the statuses they type ever so carefully are actually going out to. Take a moment to think about your own personal Friend list; Real friends? Check. Old friends you don’t see too often? Check. Friends who aren’t actually your friend but you’ll fake a smile at to keep other people happy? Check. People from school? Check. People from work? Debatable. People you met on a night out and barely remember? Family members you rarely see but feel mean deleting? Friends you met on holiday once and know for certain you’ll never see again? The list is endless. And every annoying, generic, whiney, and if I’m being entirely honest MIND-NUMBINGLY BORING status you type and post is going out to every single one of these people. Surely this is obvious? I mean people aren’t that stupid are they? With this in mind why do people still post such fucking dumb shit like “ummm i’m so hungry!!” or “ahh it’s so cold today” Surely anyone with even the slightest bit of intelligence could see that by posting this you are still going to be hungry and cold. HEY! here’s an idea! why not get the fuck up and make a sandwich or put a fucking sweater on. What the fuck is somebody “liking” this going to do? You’re still going to be cold and you’re still going to be hungry. The fucking KFC Kernel isn’t gonna magically turn up at your door with some fucking family bucket of finger lickin chickin just because you’ve opted to post it online and clog up my newsfeed rather than doing something about it!!!!