It’s all good fun until someone loses an eye.

So this happened a couple of days ago at work.

One of my close friends at work came up to our department to say hi, bringing along with her a girlfriend she was showing around.  Her friend had her young son in tow; I’d say he was about 5 or 6 years old.

Now, for context, everyone in our department owns a Nerf gun for any impromptu gun fights that break out.

It happens.

It’s brutal.

It’s also possible you can see where this post is going.

Anyway, they walked into our department, said hi and then handed the 5/6 year old a Nerf gun and he started firing at us, indiscriminately.  He was loving it; shooting and laughing like a boy possessed.  Hey, as long as there’s no nudity or swearing, some mindless and unprovoked gun violence is always welcomed here in America.

(ooh, controversial)

A few of my colleagues pulled out their guns (he he) and retaliated with friendly fire; it was a fun moment.

Then in came me.

I pulled out my massive weapon (sorry, couldn’t resist), cocked it (seriously, I can’t stop) and aimed at the child (OK, I’m going to get arrested).

Now, I’m a terrible shot with these things so I wasn’t worried.  I couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a banjo. So I aimed at his general head area and fired.  The dart hit him full on in the face; his left eye to be precise.

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There was a pause in time and everyone held their breath.  We were all thinking the same thing.  Will he:

A) Laugh and fire back more enthusiastically

….or…..

B) Cry.

 

He went with B.

Great.

He put down the gun and buried his face in his mother’s embrace, sobbing profusely while everyone turned to me and said things like “Nice one Dan!” or “What were you thinking?”.  It was all slightly tongue in cheek, but the kid didn’t know that.  If only someone had said something like “Right, he’s going to get you now!” and boosted his primal urge to retaliate, he wouldn’t have felt so embarrassed and may not have cried.

Alas, that wasn’t the case.

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I genuinely felt bad for injuring this poor kid, and because he was now weeping in front of all these adults (loose term), but I was undergoing an internal conflict between my brain and my mouth.

Mouth – “Oh my god, I am SO sorry!”

 

Brain – “Ha ha, YES!  In the face!  IN.  THE.  FACE!!!  Boom!  Did you see that?  Right in the fucking eye.  Crack shot! (self high five)”

 

Mouth – “I really didn’t mean to hit him in the face!”

 

Brain – “I TOTALLY aimed for the face and I can’t believe I hit him!  I am the Nerf master!”

 

In an attempt to explain my actions, I tried to explain to his mum that I was usually such a bad shot and that I wasn’t aiming anywhere near him.  Then, to prove my lack of accuracy, I fired in her general direction.

As the dart bounced off her head with the most satisfying ‘Doink!’, my brain went into overdrive, but my mouth (thankfully) took over the situation.

Mouth – “Oh my god, I am SO sorry!”

 

Brain – “Ha ha ha, straight off the noggin!  Did anyone see that?  Bam!”

 

Mouth – “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!  I’m going to put down the gun now.”

 

Brain – “I TOTALLY aimed at your head and hit it!  I really thought I’d miss this time, but I didn’t!  I’m putting the gun down now as I’m two for two!  Booyah!! (air grab)”

 

She looked at me with a mix of angry surprise and ‘WTF!?’.  She literally couldn’t believe I shot her a mere 10 seconds after blinding her son.

Maybe this is why guns aren’t legal in Britain; it appears we’re TOO good, by Jove!

darts

 

The influence of (s)laughter

This morning I came into work and one of the guys I work with asked me, “Hey, you know the word ‘Homie’; well, in England, do you say ‘Flatie’?”

picard palm

He looked proper proud of himself.  I think he’d been rehearsing that question all morning to be honest.

Anyway, after I’d finished laughing like a corpse, the subject turned to my blog.  It seems one of my colleagues had been reading it and absolutely loves it1.  It was at this point that the joker (let’s call him Castro) asked if his awesome joke would make it onto my blog.

For clarity, Castro is a 6’5″ Black dude, built like a brick shithouse with the ability to punch me in half.

Yes Castro….(gulp)….your joke made it into my blog.

(Please don’t hit me).

hulk-smash

 

1 And who can blame her?

Is the pen REALLY mightier than the sword?

There are phrases out there in the world that people have tattooed on bodies, printed on clothing and plastered all over social media profiles to make them appear somehow more profound.

I’m talking about the sort of drivel designed to be inspirational or empowering, but actually results in me despising them more than a complete stranger should.

MP Knight

These are words of encouragement to let you know you’re special…a unique little snowflake.

Here are a couple of examples:

“Only God can judge me”

Hmm, I’m not sure I – and groups of people all over the world known as ‘Juries’ – fully agree with that one.

“What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger”

What about arthritis?

Anyway, yesterday at the gym I saw a guy wearing a t shirt with this slogan emblazoned across the back of it.

“No weapon formed against me shall prosper”

So I shot him.

IJ Gun

No offense. Oh….wait….

As some of you will know, the over-censorship of media and entertainment in America really pisses me off.

I’m not a child.  I can handle the word ‘fuck’ in a movie filled with uncensored (and apparently child friendly) blood, gore, guts and violence.

Well, this morning as I drove into work I heard censorship on the radio that pushed censorship (and me) to the next level.

It happened during the song, ‘I Write Sins Not Tragedies’ by Panic At The Disco; it’s a great song with an incredibly catchy chorus.

The beginning of that chorus goes:

‘I chime in with a “Haven’t you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door?!”

No, it’s much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality’.

Guess which word was censored?

Yep, that’s right, the word ‘Goddamn’ was censored. The irony of that second line of lyrics was most definitely lost here.

I love this song, but the joy of singing along was ruined.

You see, in America religion is a big deal and it’s so easy to offend people.  I knew this was the case before coming in, but I had no idea it was this bad.  The phrase “went to church” comes up in more conversations than I’m comfortable with and a lot of my new friends here in the States are very religious.

This is something I have tended to find out when they casually mention going to church or they post something ‘God-ish’ on Facebook.  When this happens I get a real sense of dread because I have to think back over every conversation we’ve ever had.

Did I say something blasphemous or offensive?

Have I made jokes about God or Jesus?

Did I sacrifice that goat in front of them?

In fact, not 10 minutes ago, this very subject came up at work (not instigated by me, I hasten to add) and one of my colleagues said, “I swear a lot.  I use ‘Fuck’, ‘Shit’, ‘Asshole’ and all that, but if I use GD or JC, then you KNOW I’m pissed!”.

It took me a moment to figure out what she meant by GD and JC.  She couldn’t even bring herself to say the words.

To her, saying ‘God Damn’ or ‘Jesus Christ’ is worse than saying ‘Fuck’.

What the Goddamn?

Is it me, or does that seem a bit fucked…er, I mean, ‘Jesus-Christed’ up?  This would go some way towards explaining why the word ‘Goddamn’ was edited out of the song this morning.

A few months ago I said ‘Goddamn it’ at work and got told to watch my language.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was being scolded like a 7 year old by a woman I have heard swear numerous times.

I’ve even started to replace “Oh my God” with “Oh my goodness”.  I hate that I’ve started doing this.

But people here are way too sensitive, and the entertainment business knows this.  Out of fear of being sued,they’re pandering to the masses by censoring the shit out of television.

Unless the customer is paying for it of course.

Netflix anyone?

Nothing on Netflix is censored and I hear it’s a popular service[1].

So, is America OK with bad language, blasphemy and sexual content when they’re charged a premium?  Apparently so.

My wife pays a yearly subscription for something called XM radio in her car.  It’s pricey, but there’s little to no censorship.  It really expands the selection of music they play as they can air otherwise unplayable tracks and, being a premium service, there are no Goddamn, Jesus Christing commercials.

When it comes to TV, the UK have it right with censorship.  Everything is the same as the US until 9pm.  Well, I SAY it’s the same, but that’s not strictly true; they don’t play violent action movies on a Sunday afternoon when kids can see it.  But apparently it’s OK for kids to see heads being chopped off and people being riddled with bullets, as long as there’s no sign of a nipple or someone saying ‘Goddamn it’.

violent tv kids

At 9pm (or the ‘watershed’ as it’s called) it is assumed that your delicate little snowflakes are all tucked up in bed.  After that, it’s the parents’ responsibility to manage what their kids watch.

At 9pm, all bets are off.  The only word that is bleeped out is the word ‘Cunt’.

Sorry; ‘the C word’.

After 9pm, TV is for adults and if you’re easily offended, change the channel.

blasphemy

 

[1] Sarcasm, in case you didn’t realise it.

Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaAAAARRGHH!!!

Today is Christmas Day and I am at work.

To be honest, I don’t really mind; the commute to the office was easier, my colleagues are in a festive mood and the customers have reached new depths of unmeasured dumbfuckery.

It all keeps me smiling.

One of the guys (and a good friend) is playing Christmas music loudly through his computer.

How very festive.

I’m torn between my love for him, my disdain for Christmas music and the utterly overwhelming desire to shove his PC up his arse.

lube

Literally figurative

One of the girls at work is feeling a little under the weather today.  She has come out with some choice comments [1].

Firstly we had:

“What is sneezing, exactly?”

This was later followed up with:

“D’you know what?  After this cold is gone, I’m really going to appreciate my nose”

Then we got:

“D’you know what I can’t wait to do tonight?  Have a shower and blow my nose in my hands”

But the worst had to be:

“Oh my god, I feel like shit.  I am literally dying”

Bad use of grammar always grits my shit.

She wasn’t literally dying.  Not unless you count the fact that, technically, we’re all dying from the moment we’re born.

But, let’s be honest, she didn’t mean it like that

No, she was saying that her grim demise was fast approaching solely because of her cold.

This misuse of the word ‘literally’ really bothered me because it simply wasn’t true.

So I stabbed her.

stabby

[1] Bollocks

The cinema ‘experience’ (Part 2)

Following on from Part 1, here is the second category in why the cinema experience isn’t that great.

 2. The People

I can tolerate the extortionate prices of the food and over-iced drinks. I can even tolerate the uncomfortably stained and sticky seats.  It’s the people I have issues with. I could write shitloads about the people, but there’s only a finite amount of storage on the internet so I’ll break it down into categories.

Talkers

Why are you talking through the film? You’ve chosen and paid money to watch this film, so sit down, shut up and fucking watch it.  Are you so incapable of not spewing utter bollocks for 2 measly hours of the day?  If you can’t shut up, get out.

cinema talking

I have to go out on a limb here and include children and babies in this section. I realise it’s not their fault as they have yet to adopt social cinema etiquette, but come on!  If your baby is screaming and crying, take them outside.

They’re clearly not happy being in a dark noisy room surrounded by strangers.  After all, I’m not.

Take them outside. What are you doing in the cinema with a baby anyway? Either leave them with a sitter/friend/stranger or catch the film in a few months on Netflix.  It’s not fair on the baby and it’s not fair on me, er, I mean us.

As far as kids are concerned, have a word with them beforehand about not talking or at the very least gag your little treasures.

I’m joking of course, but there is a degree of responsibility here on the parents. When the child is asking “Daddy, what’s Shrek doing?  Daddy?  Daddy?   Why is Shrek shouting at Donkey, Daddy?  Daddy?  DADDY?  DADDY!?”, maybe consider quietly answering them, followed by a discreet “Shh, watch the film” rather than just ignoring them.

cinema shouting child

You might be able to tolerate their incessant babbling and running up and down the rows, but we can’t.

Kick my chair again you little bastard, I dare you.

Texters/Facebook fiends

I hate this above everything. Get off your phone!  If you’re doing it behind me, that’s ok (unless you haven’t muted the beeping/clicking sounds when you type), but anywhere else means I get a bright light in my face which can be as distracting as a punch in yours.

punch face

What is so important that you absolutely MUST send a message to someone or check your news feed RIGHT NOW? Then, when they’ve missed massive chunks of the film, they become a ‘talker’ and have to ask their friend what they’ve missed.

If I were the friend I would lie about it.

And punch them in the dick.

Or the vagina.

(I don’t want to appear sexist).

Loud eaters

Admittedly the cinema is somewhat responsible for a majority of this, but not entirely.

Firstly it seems ALL food packaging in the cinema is required to exceed the decibel level of a jet engine. It’s like bubble wrap being driven over slowly with a steamroller that launches fireworks and ball bearings out of its exhaust pipe, in a room with a lot of echo, during an earthquake.

loud noises

Secondly it seems that most people wait for a really quiet moment in the film to rummage shoulder deep into their popcorn, taking ages to grab a fistful to stuff in their stupid fat mouths.

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE!!!!

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

SLUUUUURRRRP!!!

RUSTLE RUSTLE RUSTLE!!!!

CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!

Can someone get this prick a nosebag?

Or me a gun?

twitchy eye

Seat etiquette

Don’t kick the back of my chair, or any chair in my row that’s bolted to mine.

Even if you’re gently tapping the back of the seat without realising it, don’t think I won’t gently tap your face with my fist without you realising it too.

Also, if you choose to sit with a space either side of you, don’t act like the victim and get all reluctant and huffy when my wife and I ask you to move over.  Do you seriously expect us to share popcorn across you?

We’re still going to hold hands.

And kiss.

That’s happening.

awkward

Last In, First Out

What are you doing turning up 20 minutes into the film?

Considering there’s usually half an hour of adverts and trailers/previews, that’s pretty fucking late to be strolling in. Did you forget what time the film was on? Was it a last minute decision?

And now that you’re here, please feel free to take a further 20 minutes to decide where you want to sit, preferably half way up the aisle so you can block the view of those who WERE on time.

Sit.

The fuck.

Down.

Oh, you need me to get up so you can get past my legs?  Of course mate, no problem; I wasn’t doing anything anyway.  No, no, it didn’t hurt when you trod on my foot.  It’s fine; adds to the whole experience.

late cinema

Then, when the film ends and the director’s name appears on the screen, most people are up out of their seats and already halfway to the exit.

This makes sense if the film was truly over, but with some films there are extra scenes during the credits.  However, the people who have already started leaving still continue to leave!

Fine with me.

It means I can finally let out that fart I’ve been holding in.

Aaaaah…..

fart cinema

To be concluded…