WillWybrow.com

I don’t want to change human history. I don’t care much to be remembered after I die, even if it is just in the minds of my “loved ones.” I don’t care about contributing to society. I just want what everybody wants: periodic bursts of happiness (I guess, seratonin) that are regular enough to keep me from being depressed and bored but scarce enough so that I don’t grow accustomed to them. I can achieve that shit by sitting here watching terrible TV shows that I’ve torrented and playing video games while eating terribly unhealthy food that takes advantage of our evolutionarily-developed sense of taste to be enjoyable. I think everyone could probably go about being happy in much simpler ways than they are.

We’ve burned through a quarter of our candle and all we’ve done is fallen into line behind everyone else, jumping through the hoops we are expected to jump through by people who have already jumped through theirs and need to feel validated by it.

Enjoy your fucking worthless day everyone.

Argh, I am so fucking pissed off right now with my stupid dickless housemates. Pilbrow and Lupo invited their French friend around to study with, and between the three of them they decided to cook eggs for dinner. Well, I lived with them last year, and I know that if Arnaud Develle decides to cook something, whatever gets in the way will get wrecked. Last year… well, he seemed to have a policy of “if it doesn’t belong to me, I can use it without having to clean it afterwards,” and that appears to hold true still. Only this time it’s more along the lines of “if it’s not mine, I can ruin it and nobody will care.”

This is just one more example of how I’ve been dicked over by fucking Eurofags. Astonishingly enough, it’s damage to about the same monetary value as the last time. Maybe they’re trying to out-do each other? Either way, there’s no chance I’m going to let this slide as easily as I let the last one go.

As many of you will be aware, it’s “two thousand and nine,” now. And whilst I expect that a lot of you see the futility in making “new year’s resolutions,” what you don’t understand is you are guilty of a similar mistake, one which is far more common and far less often noted as fallacious.

Somehow, despite getting out of the habit of deliberately creating new goals and targets that begin on the First of January, we are all still in the mindset that the new year is somehow a “fresh start.” We say things like “here’s to 2009,” or “I hope this year is better than 2008.”

Newsflash: the parts of your life that were shitty at 11:59pm on December 31st, 2008 will be just as shitty at 12:00am on January 1st, 2009. Nothing is magically changed in the ticking of that transitional second. Hoping or expecting 2009 to be a “better year” than 2008 is just as bad as setting resolutions. These are just arbitrarily chosen days; they do not mark that any of your problems are coming to an end, and they do not give you any reason to hope that something in your life is going to change.

All the end of the year does is give you regular markers against which you can evaluate and record your happiness. But why wait until the end of the year to do all that? If you want to see how well you’re doing, always be looking back over what’s happened. Surely a month-by-month reflection is going to help steer you away from your mistakes sooner?

And what if you’ve had a really terrible “year,” up until, say, mid-October? Then even if things start to go really well, most of your year has been spent having a terrible time, and you say it was a “bad year,” – that’s just not accurate enough. It focuses too much on things which you might have dealt with and left in your past, and it just drags you back down like an emotional deadweight.

Nothing stops. And nothing starts. Not without you making the same effort you’d have to at any other time, so why wait to do it? Let every day feel like January the First if you have to, just quit pinning all your hopes on just one of three hundred and sixty-five opportunities.

Give it up, bitch.

You might have read about Laura Williams recently, the eighteen-year-old who got pregnant with conjoined twins, and against all advice, decided not to end the pregnancy, but to give little Faith and Hope a shot at life.

Ok, fair enough, you’re just a little girl who has filled her head with fancies and dreams about the inner strength of your babies, but come on. Not only is it completely irresponsible, but it’s completely inhumane. Why bother letting the children live out a terrible and short existence when you can easily and painlessly abort them?

Well, go ahead with it then. Let your babies get beyond the abortion limit. Then it becomes murder.

Ok, all the moral and ethical piss aside, let’s have a look at the delicious poetic justice at work here: the doctors advise to abort the children, the defiant mother keeps the babies. She names them Faith and Hope to show off how much she believes (without evidence) that her babies can survive in the face of all the experts that predict otherwise. One dies at the start of December in the operation to seperate them, and the other dies on Christmas Day from being too fucking weak. So you’d think the mother would have no more hope or faith like this. Gracefully accept that you make a stupid decision and back down. But no, “if I had to do it all again, I would,” she says. What?! You would kill two more babies? WHAT?! Hello? Did you miss the part where you fucking just lost two babies named Faith and Hope?! Hello?!?!

You can read the story on BBC News, but they put a horrible spin on it where it makes that stupid bitch look admirable for being so stubborn and foolish, but anyone with an independent thought in their brain, especially if they’ve followed the story, can see that all Laura Williams’ steps were the wrong steps, and her defiance to the end of this fisaco is unworthy of admiration in the same way that blind faith in an imaginary god should be criticised and ridiculed.

I’m pretty angry at the BBC for being so biased.

…September 11th caused the popularity of blogging…

…then you might just be a douchebag.

My twin brother turned me on to blogging in 2001. At that time, not too many people were actively blogging. That soon changed after 9/11. Blogs boomed in popularity and On the Fritz was one of them.

Halfway down his “About” page on his website.

This guy also thinks that Rick Rolling started in 2007 with an episode of Family Guy, and that it’s intrinsically homophobic.

Do this guy a favour and drop him a line at fritz@fritzliess.com to let him know how much of an incompetent fool he really is.

One would hope that a nice, well-meaning individual, such as those one might choose to call friends would actually feel remorse if one expresses immediate and deep-seated distress at such a friend’s actions, actions that result in the destruction or otherwise irreparable damage to one of one’s oldest and most favourite possessions.

Everyone’s a bit materialistic. Well, I would consider that most people are, even if there are the odd exceptions. Now, some people can say that such materialism is negligable. They might say that they’d rather spend time with their friends or that they preferred a life enriched with quality experiences and the values of friendship instead of a bunch of stuff that anyone could buy. But just see how long such a thing would last if one of their friends carelessly, oh, say, put their foot through their TV, or crashed their car. Chances are, he or she would still be pretty pissed off with the friend.

Then suppose that the friend makes no effort to reverse the emotional damage to the person or the friendship. Suppose the friend doesn’t care about the damage they’ve caused? Not only is there the monetary value to consider, but with personal items, sentimental value too.

What I’m talking about isn’t a TV or a car, but then, the person I’m talking about doesn’t necessarily place higher value on friendships than possessions. Possessions never grow tired of you, they don’t have needs. It’s a good relationship. You can also throw away possessions that remind you of bad things and nobody thinks you’re cruel or weird. You can look after possessions that have sentimental value attached to them. But it gets harder when you want to be possessive over them. Not many people understand that some aren’t as liberal with their things as others.

Some of you reading this will remember this:

It’s my oilslick-coloured Zippo lighter that I bought almost four years ago. I used to carry it around every day. It’s been useful, comforting, a talking point, a distraction, an inspiration and a common interest; I’ve spent a lot of money on filling it with fuel and on its purchase in the first place (ask an unemployed sixteen-year-old with no income from parents how often they have £20 to spend on one thing). I wrote rhyming verses about it once, and when it fell out of my pocket one drunken evening at my friend Cai’s birthday party, I was so happy to find out that he’d picked it up and kept it safe for me, and overjoyed to have it safely returned to me months later. It’s been a rollercoaster few years; setting light to wood, paper, explosives, the touch paper of short-lived friendships… well, those years have come to an abrupt end.

You see, an unnamed shit-munching housemate of mine came into my room one evening. In his usual absent-minded way he began being liberal with other people’s property (mine), the way that most people are these days. I’m uncomfortable with it, but I restrain myself from being too possessive because it’s unseemly to be like this with friends that I can supposedly trust.

Well, some childish behaviour ensues and stupidity prevails, much to my disgust, and my courteous housemate slams the lighter on the floor in “fake” annoyance that it’s empty and won’t light. Wow, thanks for taking care of it. A little disgruntled, but managing, I pick up the lighter, prepared now to confiscate it and terminate our session of interaction by asking him to leave. But when I go to snap the lid shut and hear the friendly clink of lid touching base, I’m greeted with an uncomfortable grinding. I investigate further to find that my housemate slamming it into the ground actually deformed the hinge. The lid doesn’t close properly, and the lighter is ruined. My lighter is ruined.

What does that mean? Well, it means I would quite like it to be un-ruined. Or, failing that, replaced with an identical-looking one that I will grow to love more easily than a brand new, different-looking one. I was civil to him when he came to talk to me this evening, and when I brought up the subject, he didn’t care. It’s not normally like him to avoid talking about issues, which is why I am slightly perturbed by this. He doesn’t care. I asked for an apology, I figure that’s the first step. I told him it was ruined. It bothers me. But there’s nothing.

This is my bitch to you, internet-land. And don’t comment saying “WELL LOL RITEING ON UR BLOG ISNT GUNNA FIX TEH PROBLEM” because I have already talked about it, and will continue to, but I wanted to write it here as well. Fuck you, fuck everyone. God damn I hope bad shit happens to everyone after reading this just so you can feel as pissed off as I do.

Man, we have a stupid crest. It doesn’t look professional at all. It looks like it was thrown together by a GCSE student studying… I’m gonna say ICT. And the project is to make a web page for a fictional university. It looks like it was just put together as a by-product of some other, bigger project, and serves only to fill a space whilst not expecting to be judged.

Well, it looks dumb. Why is there two of the atom logo? The bottom left one is far too big for its section on the crest. They could have made the badge a bit bigger or changed the space ratio a bit. But why is it there twice? Damn it. The only advantage to it is that it looks a bit like that atheist symbol… This one:

Next, there are too many colours on this. It can’t be a really effective logo when it’s so busy. I know it’s not meant to be a proper logo, but god damn it, why does that mean it has to look so shitty? It will go on my degree certificate possibly? I don’t even want a degree if the certificate has to be stained with this bullshit. Ah man, why even bother with university?

Having a comfortable bed is the single biggest mistake you can ever make.

I used to think that having a comfortable bed would make a night’s sleep more relaxing, better for you. Better than waking up in the middle of the night with springs digging into your back in painful places (what I get in my dad’s house), at any rate.

Now I know that this is bullshit. A comfy bed only makes me want to stay in bed for longer. I am much more lazy and sleepy than I have ever been before, and it’s just detrimental to getting things done.

So, in the hope of motivating myself to actually get the fuck out of bed in the mornings, I am going to buy another duvet, lay one on the floor and one over the top of me and kip on my floor for every weeknight next week.

I will let you know how that goes, if you like.

Fucking lying medicine. It doesn’t help, it just lies to you in the hope that the “placebo effect” isn’t just another two meaningless words strung together like everything else.

I’ve already had more than double the maximum daily dosage of this delicious cough “medicine,” and guess what? I still have a cough. Shall I tell you why? Ok, this is why:

BECAUSE MEDICINE IS ALL PHONY.

In this “magical cure” are the following ingredients: HONEY, SUGAR, LEMON JUICE and ETHANOL.

WOW LIKE I COULDN’T HAVE JUST HAD A FEW SHOTS OF LIMONCELLO TO GET THE SAME FUCKING EFFECT, LEMSIP, YOU JIZZCOCKS.

It’s just a load of old bollocks. I reckon surgery is the same. I mean, you go under anaesthetic, wake up a few hours later with a “scar” and nothing but the word of a few faceless surgeons that they’ve been inside to fix the problem. Bollocks have they, it’s just a big old lie, and your recovery is a big old case of the placebo effect. Yep. All of modern medicine is one blanket after another pulled over your eyes.

Maybe I should just get prayed over?

This is how it starts. And then everything goes downhill. First one, then the rest and it spreads like a virus. Sometimes when things get infected, the only answer to save yourself is amputation. Serious amputation. Nobody ever considers the limb’s feelings with an amputation. It may well be perfectly happy to continue, ignorant of its malady. Or maybe it wants to drag the rest of the body down with it? Sorry, but you’re just not that important.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!