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Nothing this week (well, except for this, obviously), those total bastards at work are making me work…actually work. I mean, what the hell!!!

What do you mean, what does that have to do with anything? Where do you think I write this drivel? Provided I’m tapping away diligently at a keyboard, no-one gives a stuff what I’m actually typing.

Anyway, sorry about that. There will be drivel next week.


Make sure you tune in, it has 90’s era arcade games in it.

Go North

Having very recently discovered an old BBC Micro favourite, Hunt the Wumpus (a text based game that involves hunting the aforementioned Wumpus through a maze like setting, and one that could be beaten ridiculously easily by simply firing an arrow off at random and skewering the stupid beast), I began to get a hankering for text based adventuring. I miss the descriptions of the locations, the single letter directions and ‘Syntax Error’ appearing every time you tried the phrase ‘Pick up object’.

And it got me thinking; would other games work as text games?
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I Have An Inkling

I got a tattoo at the weekend. Wasn’t my first, won’t be my last.

Yeah, I know, I’m cool.

But, you know what’s weird? The first thing that anyone who doesn’t have a tattoo asks is ‘Did it hurt?’.
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I turned 33 at the weekend, and I’m concerned.

It concerns me that I’m getting old. Not because of the grey hair or loss of bladder control (I’m quite looking forward to that), but because of my increasing inability to do things that I used to.
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Do Me a Favour….

It’s not that I hate everything…I mean, I do hate everything, but I don’t set out every morning thinking ‘What can I find to piss me off today?’. What’s happened is that everything appears to have been specifically designed to fit in a specially carved out section of my brain; a section I like to call ‘WTF Central’.

And, when I say everything, I mean everything.

Take games consoles for instance.

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OK, so, something happened to my brain. Not entirely sure what, but it just won’t function properly. Everything I try to type is just gilded shit. I even watched a few episode of My Name is Earl to try and give it a bit of a kick start, but nothing doing.


But, never fear, for there are contigency plans for everything.


Rather than leave you with nothing to read, I’ve cut and paste an old newsletter I used to write into this column so that, if nothing else, you can see that, once upon a time, I was actually not too bad at this sort of thing.


Next week, I promise, I’ll be on top form. Oh, and this is about 5 years old. The bit about the burglary is old news.


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It’s in the Game

Only a short one this week. I have decorating preparation to do. I know that sounds awfully organised of me, but in reality it’s less decorating and more ‘finishing the little bits of the decorating that I failed to do the first time around…….in the summer…..of 2008’. In my defense, they’re the really fiddly, annoying pieces of crap that no-one really likes doing.

Anyway, enough prattle. On with the show.
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Everybody has, at one time or another, had something they absolutely adore crapped all over by Hollywood.

It could be a hobby or pastime (though I’m not entirely sure what the difference is), a job you love (though I’m not entirely sure they exist in this dimension), a TV show you covet or a book that influenced  your entire life. Whatever it is, American cinema will have found a way to destroy it and, probably, destroy it in such a way that you find yourself hoping Lacuna inc is actually a real company who can save  you from the horror you just witnessed (Though (and I swear I’ll stop using ‘though’ and brackets in a second) that would inevitably drop you into an existential nightmare as you revisit the craptastic ordeal  time and time again like a technological version of Memento).

(Hello, by the way. I know I usually start these things by greeting you all in some hopelessly amusing fashion, but this was too important for me to waste time on pleasantries. I’ll act like a knob later. Maybe at the end.)
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Could someone please explain to me how McAfee are still in business when their products are turbo-powered cock.

I mean, seriously, when your flagship programe can identify a problem (like, say, by noticing that your memory buffers are being clogged up with shit), but can’t find the source during a deep scan, then what fucking use is it? It’s like a police officer wandering into a newly burgled house, spotting the emptied out drawers and tossed over sofas and casually asking the homeowner if they realise they’ve been burgled, whilst failing to notice the stripey shirt and eyemask wearing motherfucker in the corner carry a dvd player under one arm and a white bag marked ‘Swag’ over his shoulder.

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Writers Block

When I was 15 yrs old, I came up with an idea for a story. It was brilliant. It was funny, interesting, and it hadn’t been done before (I don’t think). I started writing almost as soon as the idea struck.

3 years later, I had another incredible story idea. This one hit me as I showered (don’t picture it, it really isn’t pretty. Imagine a wet, slightly flabby wookie and you’ve passed the pretty bit) and again, just like last time, I started writing as soon as I possibly could.
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