Move over Freud.

Its time for a Massive views, deluded tits piece again. It’s a treat today.

I’m sure its not just me, but before, they used to be very simple comments initially put there to help ease the waving flag of degrading women. But I think its slowly starting to take the piss again. All this scientific talk and really deep views condensed into a tiny box just makes it worse. Most of the time its so loosely connected to the “story” it makes you go “Huh? What?”.

Sigh.

Today it’s Sigmund Ruth.

Ruth is glad the Wombles are making a comeback at Glastonbury. She said, “the psychology of nostalgia is still a relatively new field of science. But studies suggest it is a fundamental human emotion that can cause changes to the brain akin to feelings of euphoria. Not only will the show produce a natural high – The Wombles will help clean up, too.”

Fantastic.

In other news it is snowing loads here and I really hope Uni is announced closed tomorrow when I open my emails. It probably wont but I can dream? I remember when it happened last year. Oh, the nostalgia. *Jizz*

¬_¬

Currently listening to: Alkaline Trio - Good Mourning.

Massive views, deluded tits

I wish fat girls would stop wearing jeggings . I don’t mean curvy girls by the way -I am a curves man- but fat in the sense of “oh my that girls jeggings are being eating by the thing poo comes out of”.

Have I lowered the tone too much already?

Best stick with it then I guess.
Over the christmas holidays, it became a bit of a -thing- to text my girlfriend with the opinions and views from the Sun newspaper’s Page 3 girls. Mainly for the hilarity and irony. Well, when I say mainly, it was totally for those things.
Now, in inspiration of badjournalism on twitter (@badjournalism) whose tagline is ‘reading the daily mail so you dont have to’, I am gonna try posting these delights on the web, because no one should really have to buy the sun.

Here’s today’s one:

Rosie was fascinated by the interaction between John Terry and fans in his first match since being sacked as England captain. She said ‘I couldn’t help thinking it was like watching an anthropological field study. Just like Desmond Morris, most of us can’t resist a bit of body-watching.’

I’m sure she couldn’t help thinking it….

So it was like being on a field trip to study humans, with Desmond Morris involved, who is a zoologist by the way… Not even a psychologist… Bad show Rosie. Bad show.

Currently listening to: 2 many Djs - As heard on radio soulwax 11.

Lisa Simpson is an aviation expert don’t you know?

It’s dream time.

This one actually came from yesterday morning rather than today but the rugby was on all yesterday so I didn’t get time to blog. More about rugby later.

The setting is somewhere in Peru, a jungle in Peru to be exact, and I’ve just crashed a plane with co-pilot Lisa Simpson. God knows why, I haven’t watched The Simpsons in god knows how long.
Again, not sure how I knew it was Peru, but it was one of those ‘not-mentioned-but-definitely-the-case’ things you get in dreams, and I had fecked up some thing on the back of the plane that was expelling a lot of air or gas. Lisa knew how to fix it.
Of course.
So she tells me to get onto the England football team, they will have the 2 lead shaft pipes we need to plug it with, and of course they are now locals here.
So I call up David Beckham and he tells me they got rid of their pipes a few hours back because they had no use for them… I thought nothing of this, but Lisa burst into tears and it was then I woke up.

Now. I’ve done a little bit of dream psychology and I have no idea what the latent meaning of this dream is, apart from the obvious; “you’re crazy and don’t need a meaning behind it, stop eating so much cheese before bed”.

I actually paraphrased this onto my phone’s notes to be able to write this, as I definitely would have forgotten it and got a completely wrong version of it like “I was on a plane torturing Lisa Simpson with pipes whilst  John Terry had a wank”, or something similar….

I just told my girlfriend on Skype that she has lovely nuns. Oh dear.

Moving on swiftly, six nations started.
All cheer!
Good stuff. The opening day was spent eating a copious amount of crap and drinking fine Irish Magners with a ton of ice with my feet up all day.

Italy skipper Leonardo Ghiraldini and Ireland's Brian O'Driscoll face off for curviest man award.

Irelands performance, despite a moderately comfortable scoreline and win, was -as described by Kidney himself- rusty.

For what I can only hope to be a fantastic attempt of a back to back grand slam win, something no country has done since it became the six nations from five in 2000, I will be hoping more comes from the match at Paris this weekend coming.

I’m really jealous my brother is going to Ireland v England at Twickenham, but I would much rather go to Croker to experience a rugby match before the move back to a new Lansdowne Road.

Oh wells, maybe I can hope on Donegal making the all irelands this year?

Enough sport chat, I am gonna wrap up with a promise of analysing page 3 girls chatting absolute bollocks soon in a feature I might call “Massive views, deluded tits.”

Currently listening to: The Frames - Live at the Metro – 2007 (song : Song for Someone).

Inspired by the raptors and Dimitri Mishkin;

I am returning to ‘blog land.

Hopefully Rob will see this and appreciate my correct usage of ‘blog there.

I was just reading out to Matt some of my incredible (if I may say so myself) dreams I have recorded on here, and then I decided I must stop being so lazy and blog again.

So whilst this entry wont be entirely interesting or big, more is to come once again.

I’m tired from jamming with Matt as we practice for an open mic we are planning to do next week, and the little set list we have is looking great, not gonna reveal anything though just in case .
So on that I am going to head to bed, and hopefully I will have some crazy dreams to write about again.
Maybe I’ll eat some fruit polos to increase the chances, and provoke my brain.

Currently listening to: Ryan Adam - Gold.