Munkeefish Blog 2003

2003-06-24T16:46:00.000Z

spacey got that website he promised:

http://www.blogspace.co.uk

please read there instead.
that is all.

2003-06-05T16:57:00.000Z

Right. I just spent about an hour writing a long post about religion, and the internet swallowed it. I am not going to re-write it because I can't remember it all, and I really can't be bothered!

I will however re-write my additional news: I've finished site designed and have found some host space for my website. I will be spending a lot of time writing content, so you can expect it to be up and running sometime soon, hopefully before I go away to Russia in July.

I will be looking for guest updates periodically, after a while, so do take a look once it's up and I'll eventually request them Thankyou.

2003-06-04T20:22:00.000Z

I'm feeling sorry about not bothering this afternoon.

So, without further ado, I present to you....

more quizilla!

You are Agent Smith !
An agent without a goal, you fight for your
vengeance (and more, probably -waiting for
Matrix Revolutions for that) You have
supernatural strength and speed, and you are
just damn cool.

Which The Matrix : Reloaded character are you ??
brought to you by Quizilla

These are some other stuff I found.

find your element
at mutedfaith.com.
<º>

Find your Role-Playing
Stereotype at mutedfaith.com.
[Angel.]

What Type of Villain are You?

mutedfaith.com /
<º>

And that's it till tomorrow.

2003-06-04T14:41:00.000Z

Quizilla everybody!

You are Neo, from "The Matrix." You
display a perfect fusion of heroism and
compassion.

What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Middle-aged. You'll die from something unexpected,
just when your kids are going to college or
something great is happening. Cause Unknown.

At what age will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

WHAT TYPE OF WILD CREATURE ARE YOU? (New Pictures!)
brought to you by Quizilla

You should be a Capricorn, your Determined, single-
minded, ambitious, patient, and a natural
leader, but you can be a workaholic, and a
pessimistic.

~*What is your TRUE Zodica sign?*~(WITH NEW PIC'S!!!)
brought to you by Quizilla

Not sure about workaholic, but whatever.

Hey dude, you are the typical stoner kid. Put down
the bong and pick up a book once in a while.
Try the Yellow Pages --look up Rehab.

What kind of typical high school character from a movie are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I'm on drugs now? Cool!

Avril Lavigne, she's a disgrace to your kind.

What annoying Celebrity would you most likely wanna kill?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yeah, I'd kill Avril "I'm a rocker who keeps singing ballads and pop music" Lavigne. Hopefully she doesn't read this site, so I can publish my plans, and ask for help with the radio detonation control.

Guess I'll either write a real update tonight or tomorrow, when I'll be less apathetic.
Meh.

2003-06-03T16:35:00.000Z

Then again, maybe not.
I just had my politics exam. I was predicted an E, so let's see how it goes, I guess.

That's about it. Sorry.
Big update tomorrow, once I get out of bed.

Although it might just be quizilla if I really can't be bothered!

2003-05-31T16:42:00.000Z

Right, so my internet connection is back.
Hooray.

In other news, I have a fan: TheXicelander, or peter to his friends.

Oh, and Quizilla says I'm like Neo! Interesting, no?

Better update tomorrow, I guess, now that I know that my connection is working again.

2003-05-25T10:33:00.000Z

Did you see the Eurovision Song Contest?
Obviously, those in America and Australia might not know what I'm talking about. Basically, every year, each country in Europe (an extended one at that) enters a song and singers into a televised competition, where each country then votes for the songs they liked.

This year, the UK received 0 points.
No country voted for us.
And we were the only ones without said points. Even the hosts, Latvia, gained 6 points (I think. Might've been 5).
By the time our turn came to vote, our presenter was nearly crying, and had begun to drown her sorrows in drink. I haven't laughed so hard in months.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is, how sorry do I feel for our entry? I mean, these two singers who call themselves Gemini will come back to the UK and be accosted in the street, laughed at on television, and just generally be forced to choose exile.
How funny is that!

Turkey won, followed by Belgium and Russia (Russia entered TaTu, if that means anything to you).
Oh, and our ever trustworthy commentator Terry Wogan ended with words to the effect of "Did they watch the same show as us?"

Well, next year there's to be a qualifying show, also televised. Turkey will automatically go through to the final.
I'm sure I'll write something about that.

2003-05-24T22:39:00.000Z

Found this in an effort to avoid boredom. Go have a look.
http://www.colorquiz.com/

My Results:

Your Existing Situation
Trying to improve his position and prestige. Dissatisfied with his existing circumstances and considers some improvement essential to his self-esteem.
Your Stress Sources
The existing situation is disagreeable. Has an unsatisfied need to ally himself with others whose standards are as high as his own, and to stand out from the rank and file. His control of his sensual instincts restricts his ability to give himself, but the resulting isolation leads to the urge to surrender and allow himself to merge with another. This disturbs him, as such instincts are regarded as weaknesses to be overcome; he feels that only by continued self-restraint can he hope to maintain his attitude of individual superiority. Wants to be loved or admired for himself alone; needs attention, recognition, and the esteem of others.
Your Restrained Characteristics
Wants to broaden his fields of activity and insists that his hopes and ideas are realistic. Distressed by the fear that he may be prevented from doing what he wants; needs both peaceful conditions and quiet reassurance to restore his confidence.
Willing to become emotionally involved as he feels rater isolated and alone. Egocentric and therefore quick to take offense, though he tries to avoid open conflict.
Your Desired Objective
Desires a tranquil, peaceful state of harmony offering quiet contentment and a sense of belonging.
Your Actual Problem
Wants to be valued and respected, and seeks this from a close and peaceful association of mutual esteem.
Your Actual Problem #2
Needs to achieve a stable and peaceful condition, enabling him to free himself of the worry that he may be prevented from achieving all the things he wants.

I guess this sounds enough like me to bother updated with it.
Bigger update tomorrow, I think.

2003-05-24T19:22:00.000Z

So I've been reusing updates from my old website.
So what?

Only one person seems to care.

That is all.

2003-05-23T13:23:00.000Z

Ok, a day late, but whatever.

A while back, I went camping near the Yorkshire coast (that’s York-sher, damn yanks!) near the town of Scarborough.
Now I do need to state that I am a Scout, or at least a leader-type figure, having passed through Scouts and out of the other end. You should also know that at Scouts, we term ‘camping’ as pretty much any form of going away, so we actually went hostelling.
Ok, so we’re hostelling near Scarborough. All appears fine. We have a wonderful if sleep-deprived weekend, shouting at the annoying little shits who don’t respect authority if you're only 17, drinking beer (oops, I think I’m underage. Ah well) and phoning/texting my current girly girl, finally managing to get a signal towards the end of the weekend whilst hiking along a cliff top.
I was getting ready to leave, and was in fact standing by a car waiting for the owner to come and let me get in, away from the cold. Imagine my semi-boredom if you will. The sky was grey; the grass was a dull, cold green. In the grass was something shiny. My super-powered Magpie senses tingling, I greedily walked towards the glistening silvery thing. I bent over, flexing my back, which is hard to do having slept of a wooden floor for several nights, in case you haven’t tried.
The object of my gaze is a kettle lid, for one of those old metal ones that doesn’t plug in. I picked it up and examined it.

It bore my name!

That’s right boys and girls; I read my own name from upon its shiny surface. Crudely scrawled in black marker was “B Hall” (My name in Ben, fools!).
Instantly, thoughts pulsed through me. Why did it have my name? Why was it handily nearby? Why was I drawn to it so? Is this some kind of Government plot? Has the Lilac Leprechaun, my enemy, nemesis and all round bad person finally found out my secret identity? If so, who leaked?
Or was I facing what I had read Yahtz had faced once before? A message from the future, sent back to warn me of impending doom? What possible doom could befall us that the only way to contact my former self was by kettle lid?

I did not know.
I still don’t.
But it makes a vague sense – I could have laced it with pheromones only I could sense, was sufficiently shiny that my Mighty Magpie Powers could sense it, and it’s weight large enough that any passing magpie would carry it off.

Or was it just that the place we stayed was called Birch Hall?

…

No, I like my idea better. If any of you disagrees, I’ll whoop your Asses!

…

Oh crap, I dreamt that magpie bit too, didn’t I? Damn wooden floors.
Well, we can but dream.

I have to go now. I can feel the bemused glares, despite writing this several weeks in advance.
Spoons.

2003-05-21T19:19:00.000Z

Well, that's exams out of the way for a week or so. Now I just have to learn me some politics so i can revise it.
Yippee!

In other news, I'm sick to death of being single.
Oh, and I'm considering religion. That's how low I've sunk!

And I still hate Geroge Bush.

Proper update tomorrow, I've got all day to work on it.

2003-05-19T18:49:00.000Z

School.

A word full of expectations for the future, boundless knowledge and nightmarish dread.

Sitting in lessons, writing, writing, always writing. Ok, maybe not always. But it sure gets dull, doesn’t it? With it’s essays, exams, miscellaneous (often ‘lost’ or ‘temporarily misplaced’ or ‘dog-eaten’) homework. Insane stress levels, compulsory exercise and teachers doolally or drunk, or both! It’s enough to make you want to scream.

Be right back. I need b33r.

…………

Ok, all better now, although I think I killed the hamster in my rage...oops. (This was written a little while ago. My Hamster has since passed on to another place.)

I don’t know about other countries, but in England, we have some very basic levels of education:

Pre-school/Kindergarten. Nothing much happening here – easy!
Infant school (ages 5 to 8) Pretty easy going, ends in national tests
Junior School (ages 8 to 11) Workload increasing, but not sufficiently to annoy, ends in national tests
Middle/Lower Secondary School (ages 11 to 14) Further increasing of workload, ends in yet more national tests
Finishing/Upper Secondary (ages 14 to 16) GCSE study course, OH DEAR GOD!! I have a headache from LEARNING!!
Sixth Form (ages 16 to 18) A-Level voluntary, WTF am I doing?!? I fucking ASKED to do this????????
University (ages 18+) Thesis, Doctorate etc. - eep!!

For those not in the know, the first three sets of national tests are called SATs or STAs or whatever. They apply in courses of Maths, English and Science only. At age 8, top grade is 2/3. I forget which. At age 11, top grade is 5/6 depending on whether your school allows you to take an extra test or not. The one I went to didn't. Fuckers. At age 14, top grade is 8/8 e.p. standing for exceptional performance. Ask Chris Smowton how he got this…Bastard! THAT'S RIGHT! I REMEMBER!

GCSEs are courses undertaken by the pupil. Along with the compulsory maths, science and English are some option choices, usually consisting of a language, a humanity and some others. My personal choices were German, Geography, Electronics and Art. Our Maths group was made to take an extra GCSE in Statistics! We laughed, we cried, we killed again. Any grade between A and G is a pass.
I got two As, 6 Bs 2 Cs and a D. The D was in Electronics. As were in Maths and German, ironically.

A-Level. There’s a novel idea. Voluntary education because “at this age they can choose what they want for themselves in the future.” Shows what they know. All this time we’ve hated school, then we go straight back. We are fools.
I chose to study English Language, Physics, Politics and Psychology.
Where are Maths and German? I’m not a fool is the answer I will give you.

University. Living out on your own (in a houseful of other students), learning your favourite subjects (sex, drinking, drugs and…um…more drinking) and generally having a rip-roaring time (larging it down the local club or round a mate’s student digs). Spiffing.

And then the BIG, WIDE WORLD!

If we’re the future, abandon all hope, ye who read this here.

Now, to revise for that exam… oh, and do that extra curricular activity worksheet…and look at some university prospectus’. Oh dear god, what have I let myself in for?

There. A whole update. I did good, huh? No, I really didn't, did I... Well, at least i have the end of the week free to rant about Big Brother 2003, and to write up the background for the imaginary world I'm building. See you around.

2003-05-19T18:39:00.000Z

Ok, sorry about yesterday. I was mainly revising my psychology.
Which, by the way, I think i did reasonably in...

And if Chris beats me, he's gonna get such a kicking.

In other news, I have an English Language exam tomorrow. There go another 3 hours of my life!
Ah well.

So, I should really update properly, huh? Well, I could put up another article, if I could be bothered to write one.
And Word's being a pain and crashing after 30 seconds. I think it might be a virus, but it hasn't shown up on any scans so far.

Um. Well, that's what's going on in my life at the moment.
Give me a couple of hours, I'm sure that I'll think of something.

2003-05-18T17:39:00.000Z

Haphazard update. I found these. Enjoy.

You have an entrancing kiss~ the kind that leaves
your partner bedazzled and maybe even feeling
he/she is dreaming. Quite effective; the kiss
that never lessens and always blows your
partner away like the first time.

What kind of kiss are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Weed.
Youre the baby of the drugs,
and thats okay,
because Im sure,
I could do you all day.

Which drug should you be hooked on? [now with pictures]
brought to you by Quizilla

Hooligan Bear

Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

pure

What's YOUR sexual fetish?
brought to you by Quizilla

avoidant

Which Personality Disorder Do You Have?
brought to you by Quizilla

Angry Goth

What Kind of Goth Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Rock on, dude! You are Punk music!

What type of music are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Sad, I know, but it's something to tide you guys over with. And it just goes to show how right these things can be sometimes.

i.e.NEVER!

2003-05-17T17:18:00.000Z

I can't be bothered to write anything. Here's a story.

Jed was having a good day.
Already this morning he’d managed to get out of bed, have a shower, eat breakfast and leave the house.
That was when the bad things had started.

Jed was perhaps the unluckiest man alive. In the last week he’d been mauled by a dog (a poodle for god’s sake!), attacked by all the pigeons in Trafalgar Square on his way to work, and, oh yeah, become rather dubious about his doctor’s practices after what he could only describe as an MOT when he went for a rabies injection. After that, he’d thought things couldn’t get any worse. Oh how wrong he’d been.

On his lawn (copiously large, his parent’s wills had seen to that) sat a large black helicopter. What looked like a platoon of flak-jacketed, black-bereted soldiers was standing around, some casually smoking a fag. In front of them stood someone who could only be described as an officer and a young woman in a white lab coat.
Apart from them, the only thing out of the ordinary was that he’d forgotten to put any trousers on.

The woman in the lab coat, whom Jed realised was surprisingly attractive, was walking towards him, along with the tall officer-type. He looked horribly efficient and impersonal.
“Hello Jed Clambake,” he said in a clipped German accent. “I am Major Hübelgrüber. I’ve come from the High Consulate of the Secret World Government to recruit you.”

Jed was shocked. The secret world government really existed? He’d doubted the rumours from his conspiracy newsgroups for a long time. You see, although Jed was a huge conspiracy nut, his heart wasn’t particularly in it. At all the big Conspiracons he was the one with the rational arguments for everything – “It really was a weather balloon. Look, I found records for the weather in New Mexico and the launching schedule of the nearest science station.” Sadly for Jed, no one ever believed him.
But this was different, wasn’t it? These people were real. They didn’t look like pranksters from one of the Conspiracons; they were far too casual about their jobs. If they were just conspiracy freaks then the only secret world army that they could possibly recreate would have been standing to attention constantly. Plus, there was no possible explanation for the helicopter.

“Mister Clambake?” asked the pretty girl in the white coat. “I’m Jeanette Hackman. I’m a SWG science technician. I’m here to explain as much as I can.” She spoke with an accent that he couldn’t quite place. She sounded bizarrely like his friend Pete from Sydney.
“I’m sorry, where are you from?” he asked.
“Canberra.”
“Oh… But isn’t that guy German?”
“Hübelgrüber? Oh he is. You didn’t think the world was ruled by the Germans did you?” That made him blush. She chuckled. “Follow me Mr. Clambake. Germans, I ask you. What were you thinking, neo-Nazi fascism to the core? Germans indeed.”
“Well who does rule the world then? Don’t tell me it’s the Americans!” he whined, turning to follow her towards the helicopter.
“Bill Gates. He bought out the SWG a while ago, too many profits, no idea what to do with them, you know.” He didn’t. “But before him it was the Welsh.”
Jed stopped walking.
“The Welsh?”
“Yeah, I know. I couldn’t believe it when they told me either. But you’ve got to admit, they do have a good cover.”
She was right; he did have to agree. He stepped up into the helicopter, and then turned back to her before he sat down.
“Do I need any trousers?”

“Now,” said Hübelgrüber when they arrived at wherever it was that they were supposed to be going. “There are a few things that you must do.” Unfortunately the military aspect within him had taken control for that second sentence, and Jed found himself standing to attention instinctively.
For all Jed could tell, he was standing (at attention) in an unremarkable field somewhere on the Isle of Man, and possibly west of Douglas if that was right.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a patch of earth move. Turning, he saw it begin to rise, revealing a metal cage with an armed guard inside.
“Isn’t it a bit dangerous to have him wear a red uniform?” he asked.
“Pretty much everyone does,” replied Jeanette, “you were just picked up by the special ops team.”
“Haven’t you ever seen a Star Trek episode?”
Jeanette was about to answer, a questioning look on her face, when Hübelgrüber stopped her.
“First, we must make sure you are… trustworthy. You must undergo a ‘probing’.”
He seemed to take great enjoyment from the word.

Jed sat on the bench of what had been referred to as the medic’s post. The bench was functional and looked similar to something that he’d seen in a catalogue, so he wasn’t surprised to see the yellow and blue logo stuck on one corner.
He felt uncomfortable in the hospital gown that he’d been given, especially by the continuing use of the colour black in its design. No hospital robe should be black. It just felt as if the doctors had given up hope of a cure and were beginning to push you towards your funeral.
The doctor walked in. At first Jed thought there was something in his eye, but it turned out to be a nervous twitch. He began to feel worried. Then he saw that the doctor was wearing black rubber gloves. In fact, all his clothes were black, apart from a dazzlingly white coat.
“Hello Jed,” he said in a particularly strong Glaswegian accent. “I believe you’re here for your first probing, yes?”
“Um, yes. So I’m told, I mean.” At this point he began to stutter like Gareth Gates on a bad day. “Th-thing is doctor, I was w-wondering w-w-what exactly I-is about to h-happen.”
“Well now, dinnae worry pal. It’s a routine procedure. Everyone here at the SWG has to have one done before they enter. Standard protocol, dontcha know. Maybe afterwards I’ll tell you what happened when we probed Bill after he bought the Welsh out.” That had made Jed feel a bit better. Then again, maybe it was supposed to.
“Uh. O-ok. B-but what exactly does this entail?”
“Does nae matter pal. You just lie back there and it’ll all be over very quickly. You’ll be perfectly fine, or my name is nae Mad George McTaggert.” He grinned wide, and his squint seemed to pick up speed.
“And why exactly do they call you Mad George McTaggert?” asked Jed, still feeling slightly tense.
“Ach, dinnae be stupid lad. My name’s Bill McDonald.”
As Jed dived from the bench, he completely forgot to take his landing into account. As it was, it could have been worse – he only hit his head against the wall.

When he woke up, he had a shockingly painful headache, and for some reason his tongue was sore.
“I see you’re awake.” It was Jeanette.
“Yeth… Hang on, what’th wrong wif my thongue?”
“The Doc says you bit it when you hit the wall. I should’ve told you about his jokes. Did he do the twitching thing too?”
“Thath wath a joke? I’m going to KILL that bathtard! And I beth thath probing thing wath a lie thoo-“
“No, that’s quite real. My God, were you unconscious when they did that? Wow. If I was you, I’d feel violated.”
She told him to look at his ankle. On it was a little smiley face.

Jed lay glancing at the surf as it rolled its way up the beach towards him. In the distance, a cruise ship paid him no attention, and next to him laid Jeanette. Her olive skin and skimpy black…

Jed woke up. An alarm bell placed above his head was sounding its shrill ring and made his head hurt.
So far, this week had proved eventful. He’d been dragged from his home, trouser less, landed on the Isle of Man to find out that the Secret World government, of which he was now presumably a member, was full of painful Star Trek jokes (which, incidentally, had been introduced by Bill Gates upon his buyout), and of course that the doctors in the SWG liked to play practical jokes on the new recruits in their compulsory medical examination.
What hadn’t happened had been any particular reference to why he was being recruited in the first place, what his job actually entailed or why his medical check stamp was actually TATOOED on his ankle. It was all very confusing, and it was giving him a headache just thinking about it.
Although that could probably be attributed to the still sounding alarm bell.
Sufficed to say, job prospects did not look good from the outset. He looked up to where his new uniform hung. It was red.
“Balls!” he yelled, slamming his hand against the alarm stop, giving himself a nasty gash on his palm and completely failing to shut off the alarm.

Jed sat in Hübelgrüber’s office, although it was hard to tell if it was actually used by him all the time. Jed’s thoughts of efficiency had been shattered when he had seen the Major’s in tray, but the Major had since picked up all the documents within and dropped them in the out tray. It had struck Jed as the most efficient and speedy method possible, so Jed felt reassured of his judge of character again.
The only problem he had now was the Sports Illustrated Bavarian Edition calendar on the wall.
“Jed, I am sure that you already know why you’re here, so I shall skip the formalities.” He picked up a piece of paper and continued before Jed could ask exactly WHY he was here.
“We need you, Jed, because of your extensive background in Public Relations. You see, the SWG has decided that it needs to go public, that the people have a right to know who makes all the important decisions.”
Jed was even more confused, and he could feel that headache on its way back already. The SECRET World Government going PUBLIC? And what was that about being in PR? Jed was a tax consultant.

Hübelgrüber had a subordinate show him where his office was.
It was dark, and cold, and a hasty sign on the door was crudely taped in place. It read: ‘Operation SWG2WG’. Niggling curiosity later showed that it was taped over the word ‘Janitor’.
"Jed, this is where you shall work. This," he gestured, "is you computer terminal. There's a telephone next to it if you need any help with software." He turned to leave. "Oh, and Jed?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I expect a full report on your progress by the end of the week." And with that, he walked out.
Jed sat down. Today was Wednesday. He picked up the phone and pressed the 'PERSONNEL' on the speed dial.
"Hello. Jed Clambake here. I was just wondering, do we work weekends?"

More sometime soon, I'm sure. Possibly tomorrow, but if not, Thursday.

2003-05-15T16:05:00.000Z

Blog continues. Day 2.
I guess i'm gonna get this out of the way now. If you've never read any of my work, good for you. If you know who I am, then you'll probably know that my last webmaster fired me for not being very funny. Well I have a few words that I'd like him to take into consideration.
I can write funny if I want to, but most of the time, I'm just a blogger.
And some of those recent updates, Yahtz, really weren't as funny as the old ones. Cut down on the pace man. One a day is too many.

This seems hypocritical, given this is the second update in as many days, but it'll slow down soon enough. I just wanted to get this done.

Anyway, hello and welcome to my new blog. It'll be here until I finish writing my own website and have a place to put it, which will probably be sometime this summer, given how much of a slacker I am. I don't really know how well Blogger.com works or anything, but I'm sure I'll pick it up sooner or later.

I promise i'll do something reasonable for my next update, which will probably be this weekend.

(For a brand of more intellectual humour than I can currently offer, visit www.fullyramblomatic.com . Have a nice day, as I'm told they say in the god-awful rat-holes of the planet.)

2003-05-14T21:53:00.000Z

Blog begins. Day 1.

Well, in case you didn’t know, I have no life.

I write crap, not very funny updates for a humour site.
I can’t seem to get a girlfriend, and my ex is still nagging me, despite her ex status.
My few friends think I’m losing it in the head, and so do I.
I can’t seem to match my early success, namely my fireworks article (the first, which everyone seems to like).
I find myself mocked and picked upon.
My dreams are getting freaky.
I feel like I’m about to burst with rage, but still remaining more or less calm on the outside.

And so I decided to write a self-help book.

Part the first:
To calm the demons of the interior, one must calm the exterior. Or in other words, get an image change.
Mine was a pretty lame change, but I was thinking of dying my hair blue.

Part the Second:
Change your diet.
Ok, this was a toughie. I ate a lot, and most of it was junk food. Hell, my five major food groups were sugar, savoury, alcohol, misc. water and pizza.
So what I did was this: I now eat more vegetables and eat rice or a baked potato for dinner instead of chips. I also eat fewer toasties at school… how I crave the taste. And I eat less when I raid Chris’ kitchen!
I did however allow myself a more lenient attitude to chocolate…*drool*

Part the third:
Exercise. It’s definitely a biggie.
Since I started 6th Form in September, I’ve done very little exercise. Well, thanks to my new workout regime, it’s all different. I now play pool on most Thursdays, Xbox on the weekends AND do sit ups and push ups when I get home from school. Sometimes I’ll even use the exercise bike that my dad bought. Go Team!

Part the fourth:
Relax man. Chill.
Celebrate everyday as if it’s your birthday… obviously without the presents, and if you’re following the earlier steps, without the cake.
But hey, party hats are up to you. And parties might sound good for a while, but I’d leave it to one a week if you really must have them frequently. Otherwise, you’ll be dead by the end of the week.

Part the fifth:
Live a little.
Take some risks, cut some corners and occasionally get caught. The excitement will make your heart grow healthy and strong, and maybe unclog those lardy veins.
Don’t forget to exert your control sometimes, take hold of situations by the reins and swerve them into completely the wrong direction. It’s good for a laugh.

Part the sixth:
Get economic with your time.
Plan out how a typical day should be, how yours actually is, and try to compromise. Leave time for relaxation, even if it means not doing all your work. Make sure you leave some quiet time to sit and think, recollect the day’s events and harmonise the spirit within.
Don’t go too far with it. Couch potato should be a hobby, something that you do at the weekend, not as a job.

Part the seventh:
Broaden your horizons. Get international.
Celebrate the New Year in different ways. Why not do as many as you can: Rastafarian New Year Sept. 11th, Pagan New Year Oct. 31st - Nov. 1st, Christian Dec. 31st - Jan 1st.
Write a webpage. Learn another language, preferably not European. Learn how to survive in the wild from Ray Mear, and how to kill crocs with Steve Irwin. Go on a world tour. Eat a guinea pig.

Part the eighth:
Buy the rest of my book, you bigoted, fat, stressed, good-for-nothing layabout. You will never change unless you seek my help and my eternal forgiveness.

For I Am Your God!

Spacey’s Self Help Now Available From All Good Retail Outlets.
Remember, If They Don’t Stock It, They Must Be Bad.
Never Shop There Again.