How to get the girl of your dreams.

We’ve all been there.

Click, click, click goes the mouse.

The keyboard rattles.

Your heart violently thumping in your heaving chest.

…A sigh of relief. The goblin is dead. You loot his unworthy corpse, and there you have it, your new iron sword, along with an unspoken oath of abstinence from mingling with the other gender. And showering.

“Somethings got to change”, you mutter to yourself after flicking the webpage, and preparing yourself with another date with that girls Facebook page.

Well my friend. Now is the time. The time for change.

Lets get started, shall we?

First things first.

Go to your bathroom. Look in the corner. You’ll see this ominous thing in the corner. That’s what we normal people call a shower. Get the fuck in it. Done? Good. Now you no longer smell like a Polar bear, we’re in business. You need a shave. That neckbeard makes it look like your face and neck are playing charades, and your face is Forrest Gump, your neck being whatever you call the main character in Castaway.

Yeah, I like Tom Hanks. he’s a legend.

Now let’s talk clothes. Lose the shorts and socks combo. That setup  only works in nursing homes, where the women you’re hitting on are near enough blind anyway. Lose the oversized and dirty woolen pullover. You aren’t, nor will you ever be, in Nirvana.

Deodorize. Buy your own, stop using Mum’s.

Accessorize. Get some sparkly jewellery and wear as much of it as possible. If another guy mocks you, look him up and down, say “Please.” in a patronizing tone, turn, and walk away. Remember, girls love sparkly shit.

Realize. Time you realized that if you had spent as much time socializing as you have getting your Ogre to level 100 to be chief of all the other outcasts, you wouldn’t be in this shitty dilemma in the first place.

You’re almost ready to talk to the girl of your dreams. Almost. Just a few more things to clear up. Luckily for you some of these are all in your mind, so no-ones going to judge you instantly and walk away. You’ll need to verbally convince them to.

  1. Never ask the girl what level she is. Ever. Unless shes wearing a t-shirt with some kind of goblin on it, in which case go ahead, you two are probably a match made in heaven.
  2. If you have any restraining orders against her, please, go back to collecting pixels.
  3. Don’t stare at her like shes carrying high level loot. Even if she is.
  4. Stop sweating so much, you look like an amphibian.
  5. For now, at least pretend like you have talked to a girl before.
  6. Act like she isn’t even that pretty. Even if your penis weeps with lust. Which it probably will.
  7. Try not to boast too much about all those dragons you’ve slain.
  8. Don’t call her a “newb” if she doesn’t know as many fire spells as you.

Now I know you’re eager, but don’t get your hopes up. A great man once said “To get the girl you must be willing to lose her”, I can’t remember who it was, but let’s face it, you need to be willing to lose her, bruh.

Because it’s going to happen.

Anyway, I’m off.

Need a shower.

And a shave…

1 Comment

Posted by on December 9, 2011 in Uncategorized


To back up on a post I made earlier, here’s a dog successfully making a Dubstep track using it’s leg, a frying pan and a cup.


Leave a comment

Posted by on December 8, 2011 in Uncategorized


5 things that annoy the figurative shit out of me.

1. First things first. Dubstep. If I wanted to listen to someone with Irritable Bowel Syndrome take a shit I FUCKING WOULD. Some young Dubstep artists are actually known to stick a crushed can behind the back wheel of their bike. P.s I didn’t know an audio sound could be “dirty”.

2. Pretend drunks. Holy shit. There should be a special place in Hell for these bastards. You’re standing talking  to a group of people in a club / party and suddenly, some sober guy comes over seemingly just to annoy the shit out of you. Especially the ones who are really rowdy and pushing you around. Seriously, last time this happened to me I literally cried a single tear. A tear that was a mixture of annoyance, bacon, loathing and an ounce of sorrow for what humanity had became. They never even get the balance right. There’s a standard level of drunkenness, then there’s the pretend drunk who is either a) Pretending or b) Is under the influence of enough ether to kill a rhino.

3. The absence of toilet roll. That will be all.

4. Having a sense of responsibility. Please tell me why I would want to be needed when I can get up at 2pm, sit around in my underpants all day and watch Dora the Explorer?

5. People that blog. Yeah I saved the worst for last. Total assholes, all of them.

P.S. Jokes on you, Dora isn’t on that late.

Leave a comment

Posted by on December 8, 2011 in Uncategorized


How to be cool.

Ever get the feeling, when you’re at a party, that you just aren’t as cool as everyone else?

I don’t.

You might.

I’ve decided to spend some of my precious time today to give some advice on how to be “cool”.

First things first, don’t wear anything cheap. Cheap clothing is for tramps, and tramps are only cool when they’re fighting eachother. That settled, buy some designer clothes. Make sure everyone knows you’re wearing designer shit, not some ripoff stuff from the local supermarket. You’re going to want to get shoes that look like they’re from the 1880’s but are really worth more than my computer and T.V combined. You know the ones.

Trousers. You can go only two ways here. Chinos or jeans. What the fuck even are chinos? Buy some jeans. The key here is not to buy baggy jeans, that’s too mid 90s rapper for everyone’s liking.  Get them tight. Really tight. Mmmm. Oh yeah, and make them a colour that only a character in a kids cartoon show would wear. Purple is good.

We’re almost there.

Get a v-neck t-shirt. Don’t be seen in any of these shitty “normal” neck t-shirts. You aren’t retired. People will talk, bro. Top that off with a checkered shirt. Designer. You must also get a cardigan. In case you’re wondering, the idea is to dress as your grandparents. Cardigan. And trousers that resemble something that Grand-papa plays golf in every Sunday morning.

Get as many shitty rubber or leather bracelets as possible and put them on your wrists like each one adds an inch to your penis.

Now you look the part. But can you act it?

First things first. Never admit you’re wrong. Ever. Secondly, always make eye contact. Never look away. Seriously, never. It’s like the opposite of Medusa, look away, and you turn to stone. By stone, I mean a shivering mass of social disgrace. Don’t even waste your time on girls. Girls are for people who can’t get laid.


Maybe you like a bit of Metal? Classic rock? Not anymore you don’t, you creep. You like Pop and Dubstep. The key here is to only like the songs everyone else likes. Even if they sound like someone has audio taped the noise a dog makes just before vomiting, and replayed it over and over with a robot singing to it. And trust me, they will. Doesn’t matter though. Still bob your head to it like its the new Rust In Peace.

Leave a comment

Posted by on December 7, 2011 in Uncategorized



So the festive season is upon us once more. Time for Santa, the nation’s favorite fat bastard, to invade our homes with his jolly red cheeks and a passion for children that, if you saw in anyone else, you’d be straight on the phone to the local police force.

Nevertheless, it’s that time of year. Maybe I’m weird, but I don’t enjoy Christmas. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy Turkey as much as the next guy, and I do enjoy people spending copious amounts of money on me. (By copious amounts of money I mean whatever it costs to walk into the local petrol station and buy a box of Maltesers..) But that doesn’t make up for it. You see, that’s my point: when you strip away the commercial aspect of it, all I have is a dysfunctional family meeting over a dinner table once a year, because there’s fuck all else to do when the shops are closed. You must know how awkward it is to watch your grandfather drink one too many glasses of wine and swearing at the television screen. Which isn’t even on. Or looking into your mother’s eyes, and getting the sneaking suspicion that the antibacterial floor wipes you got her just weren’t enough. Especially so when she maxed her credit card buying you a designer pair of chinos and a matching shirt. Well, it’s not your fault you’re so fucking cool.

Actually, maybe its the food that puts me off. Receiving a plate of food should never make you have a flashback and, for just a fleeting moment, make you think you’re Oliver fucking Twist getting handed a plate of slurry by the bastard overlord.

Or maybe that’s what Christmas is all about.

Leave a comment

Posted by on December 7, 2011 in Uncategorized