I will never.

Categorised as GENERAL.

That drinking game ‘I have never’ is really good, because it’s like mixing the ‘truth’ part from truth or dare when you were little, and the pissed part from drinking alcohol from when you’re the age that you are. Sadly this post doesn’t really have anything to do with that game, and if you’d have looked at the title you would know this because it says ‘will,’ not ‘have.’ This is basically a list of things that I will never do in my life. Life is short, so why do stuff like this that will eventually bring you down when you can be out doing other swell stuff instead? Who knows though – maybe you really enjoy doing some of the stuff that I’m never going to do – but I don’t care, because once I’ve finished this article I’m going to completely forget everything I’ll have just written about forever.

the human tampon.

Go bungee jumping/sky diving.

Yeah yeah yeah, I’m a pussy, whatever – fuck off everyone. Don’t get me wrong, I see how the idea is appealing – the rush of hurtling through the air at 100 mph, the wind pulsing over your face and the piss running up towards your mouth (you’re upside down) with the knowledge that everything will be fine, but still with the exhilarating & ever-so-slightly worrying niggle in the back of your mind that all will go to fuck and you’ll end up looking like dog shit after Pooch has got in to the cupboard and drunk a can of red paint. Both pursuits are terrifying, but trustworthy 99.5% of the time – and I know that you’re not that 0.5% (no-one ever is), but for a split second you realize that you could end up being one of those poor people who becomes a trivia piece on wikipedia about sky diving accidents and you shit yourself. Sure, once your safely back on the ground you’ll act all nonchalant  and say slightly comical stuff like ‘OH.MY.GOD – that was the most amazing thing…that I will never do again!’ but inside you are weeping out of every hole in your body. Weeping firstly because the overweight instructor who you were strapped on to just as you jumped out of the plane whispered in your ear ‘I wanna be in you,’ which is highly distressing as you watch your potential death race towards your eyes, with the realization that those are the last things you will hear any human say in your lifetime. Secondly you’re weeping because you still haven’t got over the shock of ‘your best mate’ pushing you over the side of the bridge, or dam, or out of the helicopter or whatever people bungee off. You actually weren’t ready to do it, but felt like you could if you did it in your own time, but then that prick had to go and ruin the whole thing for you. Them: ‘It was just a bit of banter mate!’ You: ‘NO IT FUCKING WASN’T – IT WAS YOU BEING A FUCKING DICKHEAD THAT’S WHAT IT WAS.’ Thirdly, or fourthly? LASTLY – and this ain’t even on the weeping flex no more – people have invented drugs that make you feel like you’ve just realised that you’re not, in fact, going to die – which is essentially what the thrill of these two things are. I’d rather do some of them in a conservatory in the suburbs than jump out of a plane anywhere in the world, especially Australia (I’ve heard that people are annoying there).


This is a Japanese metal band called Aiming High.

Aim High.


This may be seem like a sort of abstract one, but it’s the only one of these that’s founded in something tangible that’s actually happened to me. All of my life I’ve been told to ‘aim higher’ – by school reports, my parents after reading the reports, my basketball coach, the guy at the urinal next to me & my girlfriend when I asked her how to improve my bedroom technique (the last few aren’t true). Aiming high has never done anything for me though – it’s actually doing stuff that gets it done (duh obviously), not just aiming to do it. Aiming high is a bit like telling people that you’re going out with the hot girl from work when all that’s really happened is you wrote a faggy little poem to give to her and wussed out at the last moment because you didn’t have your inhaler to calm you down when your lungs started ejaculating with fear. Aim high, and you’ll be crushed when everything you’ve been aiming for crumbles away in front of you like a wet biscuit. Aim low however, and your wildest dreams will come true; you will have your pick of 100 virgins, your bank account will become Swiss and full of lots of money, your penis will double in length, you will grow secret wings and be able to make yourself invisible, you will have control over time, and the entire Ikea back catalogue will be yours.


Get in to an argument about football


I just don’t really care about football. Much like sky-diving, I appreciate the act – and in this case I enjoy watching it played (especially around the world cup when you hear people pretending to know what team North Korea’s goalie usually plays for to maintain lad status) but I really don’t see the point in arguing about it. The only thing more stubborn than two football fans debating whose team is better is Lindsay Lohan insisting on two grams for the blow-job, and not just one & a little bump of MD instead – and that just means that the argument is going to be endless, and incredibly boring for the people around you who don’t know every-fucking-fact about Cheltenham’s formation history. I might sound like a giant flower-planting hippie here *note – flowers are only for hippies now,* but is so much confrontation, and ultimately violence between supporters really needed just because some preening, squeaky voiced guy kicking a ball around isn’t as good as you think your team’s preening squeaky voiced guy is? I think other points of the beautiful game should be debated, instead of boring stuff like ‘which team is better?’ Stuff like that gets solved at the end of each season anyway. I think people should argue about which manager looks most like a washed up player who resents his squad for being young and athletic. My money’s on Maradonna. Sure, he could probably still get most of the women he wanted, but if he tried running from the goal to the edge of the box he’d have a full-blown heart attack. Also the movies that stem from this sort of thing are terrible and will inevitably star someone like Danny Dyer or Vinnie Jones, which means that they aren’t really films, they’re acted out ‘Pub Tales’ from Zoo magazine. On that note, will someone please watch Danny Dyer in ‘PIMP” and tell me how it is? I was thinking of getting it for this girl that I’m trying to impress because Danny Dyer is super cool & it’ll make me cool by association, and the film also makes me seem sort of exotic sexually because it’s about prostitutes. Not really, I have a girlfriend – I was just making fun of Danny Dyer.



[vsw id=”-Sgj78QG9Bg” source=”youtube” width=”600″ height=”450″ autoplay=”no”]

Try and talk ‘street’


This one genuinely makes me sad, because I would love to be able to pull off saying stuff like ‘mos def,’ or ‘ain’t no thang,’ or ‘got to be got,’ or basically anything Omar says in the Wire. But it’s just not going to happen because I’m not black and I don’t live in West Baltimore, and I can’t even really say any of those things in an ironic way – my voice just won’t have it. My next resort then would have to be British/Jamaican slang, which again is a pleasure on the ears – in fact my favourite part of the bus ride to uni everyday was listening to all the south east London kids talking on their way to school – as disgustingly middle class as that makes me sound – “Oh I read this wonderful piece in the Observer about how white school-children are adopting Jamaican patois – just how darling is that?” Anyway, white school-children in London are adopting patois and obviously that’s fine, it has become a variety of speech that’s getting more and more prominent, which is a good thing because it sounds fucking rad. What doesn’t sound rad though is when people, normally under-graduates or sixth-formers, who have been speaking in a strong home counties – with a twinge of rugger, net-ball and private school – accent start trying to emulate this dialect. There are a few things that are just about Ok to say; stuff like ‘safe’ & ‘jokes,’ but when said rugger-buggers start going for the big-guns like ‘allow it man,’ and ‘man’s on a shottin’ tip, still,’ they instantly sound like an even cringier version of High Renaissance Man, and you can see the arrogance and self-satisfaction literally seeping from their pores. Gross.


‘Street golf – putting the ghetto back in golfing.

Get in to golf


I’ve always found it weird when I see young people playing golf. Young people should not follow or play golf, young people should do stuff that requires movement. I’ve also noticed that a lot of football players play golf in their off time – what happened to partying like a decadent warrior and still playing amazing football? Well actually I guess George Best happened and showed people that mixing the two wasn’t always the best idea. STILL THOUGH! Golf is for pensioners and middle aged people who have lost all expression in their voice and now speak in a monotonous drawl, not for young people.

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