Cigarettes.

I hate the smell of cigarettes
that hangs on your breath at night,
the sickly scent of smoke,
that stains and your hands mouth.
I hate the way how my own mouth
now labours around your name,
and only the things I hated,
were the thingss that stayed the same.

I gave up blogging.

I gave up blogging because I realised I had nothing to say, and no-one I wanted to hear me. Still the same.

oh wow

Yeah so, I kinda forgot about my attempt at a blog. With exams, and one thing and another it disappeared out of my mental list of things to keep me entertained when boredom reared it's ugly head. I actually have quite a few unfinished posts that I started before my blogging desire left me, which I'll try to get round to completing (including one which I remember writing while watching the Superbowl. Mars bar for working out how long ago that was...)

In other news, I didn't get into Cambridge university, I did get into York, Durham and Warwick are taking the piss making their mind up, and I don't really want to go to uni next year anyway. And I now have a girlfriend.

Superbowl Sunday

OK, seriously, what the hell is American football all about?

I watch the Superbowl pretty much ever year, usually because of it's laboured hype as some kind of must-see sporting spectacular, but my understanding of its various complexities hasn't ever increased. I grasp the basic premise of trying to get the ball to one end of the field or the other, but past that I get well and truly lost.

I tried to play Madden, the American football equivalent of the Fifa or Pro Evolution Soccer computer games, once when I was in America, thinking that the game would become clearer to me when it was in my natural setting, the PlayStation. However, I struggled to work out which side I was meant to be playing, let alone the intricacies of it's tactics and rules.

To be honest, even if I did understand the game, I could never really imagine myself being much of a fan. American football is singular in the professional sporting world in that it is the only sport in which television advertising is built into the games rules. Only the Americans could dream up such a perversion. Any kind of excitement built up in the short bursts of play is completely drained by the frequent and over-long breaks. For anyone not reared to love the game from an early age, it is virtually unwatchable - despite annual predictions by sporting talking heads, an interest in either the American Super Bowl or any type of home grown aspect of the sport has failed to materialise in the UK.

Anyway, we already have our own equivalent. Protective headgear? Lots of standing around? Shorts bursts of semi-interesting action? Popular with the yokels? It's called cricket.

[It wont take too much research to work out how long ago I actually wrote this, I don't know why I never posted it]

Procrastination.

Procrastination is a nice long word that lazy students aged around fifteen and above use in order to make themselves feel slightly better about not doing whatever homework, study or revision they are meant to be. It's usually misused by most of these lazy lazy students; it doesn't actually mean to distract yourself with things other than what you're meant to be doing, it means to put something off to a later date.

Regardless, most of its users seem to think of it as some kind of alternative study method instead of admitting to what it is; idleness. It must be have reached some kind of all time record for appearances on Facebook status updates, but you can't imagine "Joe Smith is just sitting on his arse wasting his life" coming up quite so often...

Anyone who knows me will confirm I am probably one of the laziest people on the planet. I am unashamed in my quest for energy efficiency, and rarely do anything that has a less energetic alternative. (Yesterday I broke my all time sleeping-in record: 6PM, ohgodyes.) That being said, I feel at least that I am honest in my sloth. I just don't like doing work.

But I also realise it's unavoidable, and for pretty much the first time in my life I've started to actually put some effort into doing some work outside of school/college. With my final set of A-levels approaching complete with an assortment of re-sit accessories, I guess it is finally time to take my education seriously.

EDIT: I downloaded Rome: Total War the other day. This has had a serious detrimental effect on my coursework and revision activities. Although I'm a History student, my time period of study is around 2000 year post the fall of the Roman Empire. Oh well, at least I'm not just sat on Facebook updating my status at regular, pointless two minute intervals.

Bite of Love.

Here is my erotic short story;

Michelle arched her back, pressing herself up into Paul with passionate force. He responded immediately, kissing her harder and faster than even before, his only pauses punctuated by his ragged breathing. Michelle's hands explored his body and his explored hers, but the connection they felt now was more than physical. They longed to express what they felt inside.

Paul could stand it no more, he had to take things further. He pulled away from their kiss and began to transfer his attention elsewhere. His lips brushed her earlobe and she gasped audibly. His tongue traced a path downwards, settling on her neck. His kissed gently at first. Then he applied a massive amount of suction, bursting the blood vessels that lay just beneath the skin. Disgusted, Michelle slapped him and threw him off her. "What the fuck are you doing, you sick animal? Why are you trying to hurt me?" She then stormed out, slamming any door she came across.

Love bites aren't sexy. If you think they are, then you're wrong, or you have some very particular tastes. Very few people find enjoyment in administering injuries and no other injury has quite the same sexual connotations as a 'minor haematoma' on the neck.

The desire to 'mark' out their territory is an understandable one for any kind of jealous or proud lover, but in an age of extreme social networking and regular, wide-reaching Facebook relationship status updates, is skin damage really the most appropriate way to show the world what's yours? And, although it may have been pretty cool to have had one when you were 13, it's been quite a while since I've seen a love bite anywhere but discreetly nestling behind a scarf or hidden under thick layers of make-up.

And it's not surprising that people often go to considerable efforts to hide their love bites. Parents, friends, strangers in the street; they all seem to find it obligatory to provide comment and ridicule for even the smallest of marks. The possibilities for awkward moments are endless, especially as most people refuse to believe that love bites can be anything but evidence of your sexual deviancy.

All this surmounts to one thing; love bites are funny. There's no denying it, awkward moments and comedy go hand in hand, especially when given a healthy sexual twist. So this is what I say: Give A Love Bite. Maybe to a friend, maybe a lover or even maybe sibling or parent (ok, maybe not.) Challenge society. Sport your love bites with pride. When questioned over them, explain them truthfully, or even just smile smugly, I don't care, as long as you do your bit.

The love bite revolution starts here.

Why are you talking to me; I'm neither interested or interesting.