"He's Pining for the Fiords"

That's been stuck in my head ever since I watched the Dead Parrot Sketch on "And Now for Something Completely Different." Oh it's hilarious.
Anyway, what is this post all about? Hell I don't know, I was hoping you could help me with that. But hey, let's roll with it and see where we're taken.

First off I'd like to start on a high note, with the first official showcasing of the Zombie Plan trailer in front of a large audience. The audience was 9K, and the venue was their tutor room in top red. After a Happy Birthday sung to young Tetley, I pressed the play button and the madness ensued. For some reason people keep laughing at Mr Wilson; there's nothing funny about that, it's a serious issue. Anyway, yes, they thoroughly enjoyed it, and Mr Hawksley mentioned a billion times that he loved it. So, job well done for the first draft I say.

So, where do I continue from here? Where am I in my life right now? Well, I'm 17 going on 18 and I have no job, no life and still no girlfriend. That "soon" I said like a billion years ago definitely hasn't happened. 'Da fuck? Luke is trying to teach me how to be a slag, and I've accepted these teachings, but is that really a route that I want to go down? I mean, I know I certainly have the potential, and I'm really good at ignoring girls when they try to annoyingly contact me, but is that the sort of person I want to become? Am I going to lose my virginity to some desperate slut who has been in more one night stands than a finicky lamp shade? (To understand this metaphor, you must take into account that this lamp shade is particularly fussy, and changes stands every night).

But I can foresee what will happen. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly Charlie Harper. I'm more like James May or Jesus, and they're not exactly slags, are they? No, if I do become a slag, the exact same thing will happen that is currently happening now. I get with a random chick, stuff happens, I tell the amusing story, but then it doesn't happen again for fucking ages. How about I cut out the middle man and have a relationship? But what's the likelihood of that happening? I've been told I apparently "deserve" a girlfriend, but would you? No, didn't think so. It's one thing to to think I deserve one, but it's something altogether more different to thinking that I actually have a chance with someone.

I mean, for fuck's sake, I'm 18 soon. That's like a big thing. If it's the same as it always is, then I will not be fucking happy. Getting older sucks. I'd rather just stay 17, that's a nice age. Eugh. You know what's even more depressing? My little brother turns 16 in May. If nothing happens by then, well, I may as well not bother with anything beyond that, because clearly I don't have the capacity to do this "cliché life" thing. This blog may be called Cliché Life Stuff, but I don't consider myself cliché. The cliché thing for me to be doing now is sleeping in a skip outside a club with half a bottle of whisky cradling from my finger tips. That would happen after I banged the hot chick with the pink hair and a billion piercings. Okay, that's a little extreme, but you get my point.

And here we go again. What are you playing at, God? Just let it be simple, like the lyrics from Parklife explain. Hey, you remember what happened this time last year? Yeah, I did do that. No it didn't help anything. And no I'm not going to do it again. I'm just saying, bar a couple of instances, I'm in exactly the same position. At least this time around the Krewe are much closer and we look after each other, and I'm spending a lot less time alone. So yeah, I'll remain chirpy, with this dying on the inside effect.

Anyway, I'm exhausted. Bed time, me thinks.
Thank you guys for being you, and not some arsehole with a Tommy gun.
G'night.