Posts Tagged ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’
You can over-capitalise…
November 20th, 2009 | 
Author: They say money can’t buy happiness, but really it can if you have any imagination. However, money can’t, and never will be able to, buy class: the more money you throw around trying to surround yourself with pricey wares, the worse everything starts to look.
Middle Eastern interior design doesn’t follow trends. Instead the attitude appears to be “write a cheque and get one of everything, and then get a couple of spares, and then buy the companies that made them”.
Have you been contemplating converting your diesel motor, so that it runs on Crisp’n'Dry? This will help you come to a decision.
Tags: 
Chocolate Milk
I was meant to write a blog post today, but I didn’t. I started one, but I didn’t finish it. It was going to be about the really annoying boss in the new Tekken game. I hate him.
I didn’t finish the post because I was playing Tekken last night. Sorry. I might write it later this week. Maybe tomorrow, but I doubt it because I want to play Tekken some more.
For now, here’s a video. Watch to find out why I usually unplug my headset if I’m online with the Xbox.
Update: I finally wrote the Tekken article. Read it here…
Bottom line: working for a living, and why it sucks
The IWDTFM team during office hours
It will come as a shock to absolutely no one to find out that, every once in a while, when the moon is full and the leylines are aligned, I complain about my job.
This is not an uncommon occurrence. We spend a third of every day at work. Eight hours out of twenty-four. Apparently, the UK workforce is one of the hardest working populations in the world, putting in an average of £5,129-worth of overtime every year. I don’t really put in much extra time, although to my credit I’ve been known to stay late if something needs finishing. Most days, however, I’m out the office sometime between five-thirty and six o’clock with a spring in my step and my evening ahead of me.
So what do I complain about? The usual, really. Being tired, being busy, being bored, being hungry, wanting to go and play outside, wanting to stay and play inside. Wanting to be anywhere but cooped up in an office working for a living.
For sale: “as new” machine-washed 4GB USB drive
It even scrubbed all the serifs off the text!
To get the most out of your portable USB drive, leave it in your jeans and throw it in for the wash. Afterwards you’ll not only be able to use heiroglyphics in filenames, but its capacity will have increased to 26.2GB.
This works as well as ever and the bidding starts at £50. I will pay postage.
Bidding closes 5:30 pm on Friday 9 October 2009.
Please enter your bid in the comments field below.
Mini NaNoWriMo: are you up for the nano challenge?
Even this baby can type faster than us.
NaNoWriMo season is fast approaching… and around the Iwilldothatformoney offices, it’s invoking a sense of swiftly impending doom.
What the hell is this NaNoWriMo thing and do you get money for it?
In case you haven’t heard of NaNoWriMo – and you probably haven’t unless you know a handful of crazy writers who spend too much time online (nice to have meeting you!) – it’s a writing challenge with the aim to write an entire novel in the single month of November. 50,000 words in 30 days. 1,667 words a day. Last year, 119,301 people from around the world participated.
Yes, it’s fecking hard. And no, you don’t win anything. Except, perhaps, the modest pride for having written a shitload of crap words that you hate and will never look at again.
Stupid ways to earn a living #3: the fashion industry
Karl Lagerfeld: the definition of ego
We on the IWDTFM team are often asked, “Why don’t you all become models?”. It’s a valid question, given how good looking we all are. But I have a secret: I don’t understand the fashion industry. What it is, what it does, and why the hell anyone would want to be a part of it.
I’m writing this because I read Kate’s article about the New Zealand fashion week, and – like Kate – I was impressed that a country that has yet to pave its streets even has a fashion week. Wales doesn’t, although this could be due to the fact that large numbers of the Welsh population have yet to be introduced to clothes.
Not that the fashion industry is particularly concerned with clothes. They don’t produce things that you can wear. They produce monstrosities of design, much like a five-year-old with access to a large supply of Play-Doh might.
What really confuses me about the fashion industry is that so many people seem to want to break into it. Models, fashion designers, stylists, hairdressers… never mind that the industry seems to be a mix of sweat shops and the Third Reich, it’s honestly an industry that people marry footballers to get into. On your average thirteen-year-old girl’s list of “Things I Want To Be When I Grow Up”, the desirability of jobs in the fashion industry is probably only second to whatever the hell it is Tara Parker-Tomkinson did to get famous.
Regress Australia Fair: Victoria state in morality time-lapse
Screw you guys we're off to Sydney
In The Time Traveller’s Wife, the protagonist keeps losing children as they teleport in and out of her womb before she can carry them to term.
Her strict Catholic upbringing prohibits her from taking steps to minimise the damage done by repeated miscarriages. In the meantime, the time traveller, Henry, makes no effort to save her as he is repeatedly confounded in even the most innocuous fate-altering experiments.
The Australian state of Victoria has set itself apart from the free world and is intending to send all its citizens into the past in its decision to allow religious groups to discriminate based on sexual orientation or family situation.
Host your own Windows-themed parade of forced corporate tastiness!
Don't worry! Just mash Ctrl+Alt+Del twice if you're in a hurry...
Microsoft can’t be arsed to take Windows 7 to exhibitions or expos this year. Instead they encourage their beta testers to invite everyone to their house and have a Windows 7 themed party.
The hammyness is only occluded by the strained range of genders, ethnicities and age groups on display here. The idea is to gather the most unlikely bunch of “friends” on the planet, and instead of playing Ring of Fire, Spin the Bottle or Rude Guess Who? let’s exchange lessons in desktop customisation and taskbar organisation. WOOHOO SPRING BREAK!
“We’ve all had a head start” gushes the soccer-mom typecast in the promo.
“You may want to begin installing Windows 7 a few days in advance” the plaid shirt and thick-glasses clad barely palatable techie guy meaningfully warns us.
Ticketnovice, or how to completely avoid ever going to a single gig
I want to go to a gig, but I can’t because TicketMaster is intent on keeping me at arm’s length from any ticket at all times.
Browse to Ticketmaster.co.uk and try to book something. It needn’t be anything particularly popular. Try getting the unreserved standing tickets. Proceed through loads of pointless questions that could definitely wait until I’ve committed to a couple of tickets. Decipher the faux-typewriter Captcha words and reproduce them in the text field provided. Find out that the tickets aren’t available. Repeat.
Despite that I choose the “just find me a fucking seat, I don’t care where” option, infuriatingly it states that my anally stringent gig-attending criteria are preventing it from finding any tickets to sell me, so I have to go back and try looking for tickets to see the same band in Dusseldorf or Montreal.
Guys, look – I’m a big boy, if the damn thing is sold out, just tell me – I can take it!
Alive and tweeting
Twitter bird finally giving up the ghost
The whole developed world is in the grip of #TwitterMania – even the interred are getting in on the action.
The bizarre movement of providing a global audience with a play-by-play of sordid exploits began life as a medium of communication for lazy bloggers and self-important narcissists three years ago. Some purport that its name is an acronym for the unnatural phrase “text (of) what I’m thinking toward everyone reading”. This is unconfirmed by the bastard who created the damn thing, Jack Dorsey.
@somepointmid2008 the corporations got their sleazy mitts on it and turned it into an advertising medium more sinister and asinine than TV – something I never thought possible.
Now, with a new and inevitably bleaker decade approaching, and with nearly all the good old celebs dead, metaphysical brainfarts from our loved and lost idols are beamed in from both realms of the afterlife, lest we should miss out on a single minute of the infernal quandary or unbridled paradise of famous souls milling about waiting for The Final Judgement.
