My Beef with Social Networks

MySpace

When I’m really bored I go on MySpace to look at foolish fucks and how they live their pathetic lives. Lonely bastards talking to fake friends, get a fucking life. I will now single-handily dismantle the main groups that annoy me on MySpace.

Emcees/Rappers/Hip Hop Crews/Producers

How many more shitty emcees are going to try and add me to MySpace? Fuck off you untalented bastards. When did unoriginality become acceptable? What crossed your minds, you fucking waste of space? You’re fucking shit, stop sitting around all day making predictable beats and writing recycled rhymes that we’ve heard a million times before. If you’re so fucking ‘Street’ get off the internet you little cunt, go out on the street, live what you claim. Go out and get stabbed! One less cunt. Or go out and stab some other shitty emcee, fuck it, come and stab me, death would be a sweet release from the world occupied by people like you. Or how about learning a trade? Because you’re spending all your fucking time locked in your mother’s basement trying to make it big, you could be out getting a job, you fucking tool. And what is it with these fucking producers? Trying to sell something they made in five minutes on Fruity Loops for over £100! Get fucking real you pricks. The best music in the world is made because it needs to be made, not because you need the latest pair of Nike Air Max. Make music because you love it, not to make money. If you really want to get somewhere in the music business you have to give shit out for free first, build a buzz the right way or go and fucking hang yourself. And stop posting pictures of plastic girls holding up a piece of paper with your name on, you may think its good that a slightly decent looking sket thinks you’re good, but what do girls really know about Hip Hop? Not fucking much in my experience.

Emos

Next is all the fucking emos on MySpace. The thing about emos is they claim that no-one understands how they feel, shut the fuck up please. PLEASE! Fuck you and your problems, nobody has an easy life, everyone has troubles, there’s nothing different about the shit that happens to you. You’re life is not original in anyway, shape or form. And also please stop using mass produced music to put forward how you feel, you see its mass produced because everyone else feels the same, you dumb fuck. Go kill yourself, I mean you keep telling everyone you’re going to do it, so go ahead. Stop getting my hopes up for no reason.

Plastic Girls

Next up is the fucking plastic girls, uploading half naked photos of themselves. You sad little girls. You’re begging for attention. If MySpace was a nightclub, you’d be in the corner with a sign around your neck that read; “Free Blow Jobs”. I don’t know what it is that makes you so needy, did Daddy touch you? Maybe it is has something to do with the fact you’re really ugly. Photoshop can work wonders! Look, if you’re lucky you’ll end up in some dodgy basement somewhere making cheap porno films, but you need to make money somehow to feed you three bastard children and your crack habit, that stuff isn’t cheap. But it’ll all be fine because in your mind you’ll still be a star. So what you have to swallow cum to put food on the table, who cares?

Facebook

Now when Facebook first came around it was great, much better than MySpace. It was a place for friends. But eventually it became over-saturated with people wanting to be my friend. Now I have no problem with adding people that are my friends but what is with these fucking losers that I used to go to school with? We’re not friends you fuck. We weren’t at school, we’re not now. I hope you die when you push out your next bastard child, or I hope you catch AIDs when you fuck you 15 year old female cousin. You’re all from Sutton, you’re all shit, go and shoot up and OD, please. And what is with all those fucking applications? Fuck off with that shit, it’s fucking annoying! Every single time I log on someone I hate is trying to make me join their group. “Join my group ‘Help Save the Planet!!!1’ please.” No motherfucker, how is my joining your group going to save the planet? Please explain that to me. And what is it with all these idiots I went to school with? Stop posting pictures of your ugly, disfigured bastard children. Nobody cares about the flock of fatherless little shits you keep pushing out. One last thing, if you keep ‘poking’ me, I’m going to come to your house and poke you in the throat with an AIDs infected syringe.

Bebo

Now when it comes to Bebo I’m not too up to date with it, because I’m not actually a member for one major reason. That reason is when I pick up the newspaper and read about the latest teenager getting stabbed to death, there’s always a picture of the victim that has been taken from their Bebo page. From this fact I have concluded that you are more likely to get stabbed to death if you’re on Bebo. That is why I avoid this social network website. I’m also been lead to believe that most of the members of Bebo are young teens, and I have nothing in common with the youth of today; happy slapping, self harming, getting each other pregnant… Not really my scene.

TV ... Licence to Kill

Welcome reader, I will once again provide you with handy information for you to consume and help you lead a much better life. “But Ben, you’ve taught me some much already, what else could you possibly educate me on?” is probably what most of you are now thinking. But I have something to say to you; I’m an intellectual, a genius, there is much more I can teach you. This week I’m going to help you all out with that annoyance that all of us lazy bastards encounter; having a TV licence.

To start with I’d like to talk about having a TV licence, basically if you have a TV you need one. And if you don’t get one TV licence people take you to court and make you pay a large amount of money. The money you pay for your TV licence mainly goes to the BBC, yet we have no say on what they spend it on. Personally I’m cynical about paying because of one person; Jeremy Clarkson. I’d hate to think that any money that was once mine has been used to line his already overflowing pockets, because he’s a cunt. The current going rate for a TV licence is £139.50 (or £47 for a black and white TV), which is more than an ounce! Now which you I rather spend my money on?

I’ve chosen this topic because I currently have no TV licence and I’ve had to devise a plan for not getting caught and ending up in court to pay to stupid fine. It’s hard living a normal life with no TV licence, especially if you get smoke enough cannabis you get paranoid of anyone knocking on your front door. Only last week someone knocked on my door and I hit the floor faster than the last 6 year old girl I beat up with a crowbar. Luckily for me and my housemates it wasn’t the TV licence people or ‘bastards’, as I call them. The bastards have been sending us letters warning us that they are coming around the area where I live soon. This has scared one of my housemates; Leon, he his determined that we get a licence soon, while my other housemate; Kate*, is not so worried about the whole situation, but she’s a Scouser, she’s used to feeling guilty for stealing something. Kate feels that seeing as she stole the TV from Currys, she shouldn’t have to pay for the licence. To be fair it was quite amazing to see a tiny girl run threw the city carrying a huge plasma TV while fighting with security guards, that’s something you can only learn in Liverpool. I personally am divided on the situation, on one point I’m tired of avoiding people at the front door but I don’t want to pay my money on something I’m getting for free. So at the minute we’re sticking with no TV licence and not answering the front door to anyone, which is causing us quite a problem because the children that are trick or treating think we’re avoiding them so they keep egging our house.

Seeing as it’s only a matter of time before we’re caught out I’ve put together a plan and a bunch of reasons for not paying for the licence.

Firstly I read that people over 75 years old don’t have to buy a TV licence, so I’m going to find myself a girlfriend that’s around the age of 80. I will get here to move into my house so when the ‘bastards’ finally turn up, we’ll get off free. Plus this kills two birds with one stone. A work friend of mine suggested that I get with an older woman, because “they will teach me a lot.” I’m sure she will, knitting has always been an interest of mine.

Reasons for not paying:

“Sorry sir/madam, I haven’t even passed the theory test, so I can’t apply for a licence yet!”

“Yes we have a TV, but we don’t watch it. It’s modern art. Our living room looks like a typical living room because it’s IRONIC! It’s not a living room, its art. The TV is just like part of a picture.”

“We don’t have a TV, I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about mate! I promised myself I would never do anything wrong after I got out of jail for murdering a Jehovah Witness on my door step. You can come in to my house and check if you really fucking want, but I’m currently hosting my daily sacrifice a goat to Satan ritual, so it’s not the BEST time for me, it’s your choice.”

“Yes we have a TV, but we don’t actually watch it. We take some LSD and just pretend it is switched on.”

“That’s not a TV, it a digital photo frame … what has sound … and the images are all of the same thing … slightly changed … er ...”

So beloved reader, put these suggestions into action and tell me how it all goes please.

*Kate you wanted a mention, you got one!

Shit Joke #1

At a young age me and two of my friends; Tom and Dave, said we would all try to put our shitty town on the map. Tom tried to become a movie star but failed miserably. Dave tried to become a rock star but he also failed miserably. I became a cartographer.

Women Troubles

I’m a man and like all (heterosexual) men I have trouble with females, and just lately I’ve had real trouble. It turns out that women are becoming immune to Rhohipnol. Of course I’m joking. There was once a rumour going around that I used date rape drugs on girls. But I had to defend my reputation and put an end to these damaging rumours. I had NEVER taken a single one of those girls on a date! Ever! And in no way do I condone drugging or rape, at all. But I do understand that ugly guys need an edge. Rhohipnol is like Lucozade for the unattractive and desperate.

Another problem with women is they want all these things; a man who cares for them, a man that has a sense of humour and they always top it off with these immortal words; “I don’t care what he looks like!” Which is complete bullshit. Stop lying to us ladies. I have many wonderful friends, not the best looking lads that ever walked the Earth but extremely nice guys. They never get any ladies. Me on the other hand, I’m a complete cunt, I have no sense of humour and I beat off women with a baseball bat (but that’s a hobby of mine). But I’m good looking; I’m one of the lucky ones.

What also annoys me about women is that years ago they were fighting for their right to vote, but when it comes to making decisions in the household they completely have no understanding of how democracy works. Because a woman’s word is final. A marriage/relationship is basically a dictatorship. No matter what anyone else thinks, it’s wrong.

Light up a Cigarette

My breakfast for the last four years has always been the same thing; a cup of tea (with milk and two sugars) and a cigarette. Yes, a cigarette, I don’t eat it of course, that would be silly. I smoke it. Of course a cup of tea is good to open up your lungs in the morning, but who wants that? I close them right back up with a smoke.

Nowadays smokers are some of the most persecuted people in Britain. Yes, I really said that people! I’m talking about the smoking ban. We’ve been living with it for a while now but that still doesn’t mean I’ve accepted it. I thought this was a democracy I was living in. But clearly nobody asked me about how I felt on the issue. This unwanted ban has leaded me to not being able to enjoy a nice cold pint and a smooth smoke in my local pub for a long time. Instead I have to go outside and smoke in the cold. Not so long ago I was in a pub and I accidentally sparked up one of my Mayfair Superkings (the brand of kings… on a budget) and I was ejected from that establishment. It’s charming; I get thrown out for inadvertently lighting up a completely legal drug while my friends are in the toilet cubicles snorting lines of cocaine, which last time I checked was an illegal drug.

And why do we still have the health warnings on packets of cigarettes? We know they’re bad for us, let up people!

“Smoking seriously harms you and others around you”
So what…? Fuck the people that are around me. I’m antisocial; I prefer to be on my own. I don’t want people around me.

“Smokers die younger”
No shit! Smokers know that smoking kills us. Why do you think we do it? It’s slow suicide! I’m too pussy to go jump off a bridge or hang myself, I’ll take cancer thanks. Plus how long have people been working on a cure to cancer? I’m sure they discover it in the next few days, it’s been long enough. And what’s wrong with dieing young anyway? People that die young are always remembered more than people that died old.

“Smoke contains benzene, nitrosamines, formaldehyde and hydrogen cyanide”
That sure is an interesting fact there. I never knew that. And I still don’t know what the fuck any of those things are, or what they do to me. But I’m guessing it’s not something good.

“Smoking kills”
Plain and simple! Yes it does. But it makes me look cool, and I’ll trade looking cool for dieing.

“Fajciari zomieraju mladsi”
Foreign cigarettes! They feature those annoying warning labels but you have no fucking idea what they say, it sure does make smoking a more pleasurable experience.

At the end of the day I know the risks of smoking but I know the risks of unprotected sex with prostitutes and I’m still doing that. But I’m not scared of cancer. I’ve survived mad cow disease, SARS, bird flu and a load of other media scares, I’m not saying cancer is a media scare, I’m just saying I’m tough.

I'm going to be a Dad ...

It’s time to let the world know that I’m going to be a father. Yes, after years of believing I was firing blanks it turns out I’m not, or maybe I am and my girlfriend is being a whore. I just wanted to write this Blog to explain a few things because I’m sick of repeating myself and answering the same questions. So here I go …

“Were you trying for a baby?”
No we weren’t trying to get pregnant, but we were having unprotected sex.

“Why weren’t you using protection?”
It feels better without a condom.

“What about the pill?”
We’re always taking pills, just not that ‘pill’.

“Were you surprised that she got pregnant?”
Of course I was. I didn’t even know twelve year olds could get pregnant.

“Are you sure you’re the dad?”
No.

“How has your mum the news?”
I’m not telling her, she had a stroke last year. I don’t want to kill her … just yet!

“How did her family take the news?”
I have no idea. I only bought the mail-order-bride, not the mail-order-bride and family. I didn’t have that much money. I’m sure if they survived the tsunami or haven’t been murdered by their oppressive government, they’ll be happy about it.

But I’m looking forward to being a dad. I think years of being neglected by my own father have made being a father look easy for me. For me a father is someone that never sees his kids, never pays anything towards his kids and never buys any birthday/Christmas present. That’s basically what I do now, so I don’t think it will affect my life at all.

Of course it took us a while to discover she was even pregnant. It’s hard to notice you’ve missed a period when you’ve never had one. At first I just thought my future baby mother was just getting a little fat. And as for morning sickness, it’s a lot like a hangover, so it’s easy to confuse the two. Because we’re a young couple, well she’s a young girl and I still think I’m sixteen so we still enjoy drinking every night and the weekly drug binges. Of course drinking and taking drugs when you’re pregnant is probably not good for the child, but it’s a bastard child being born into a loveless relationship of a drug addict and a school girl, this child is bound to have problems and end up on crack anyway. If it’s born addicted it just saves itself a few week of sobriety.

I need to tell you I believe in smacking children, not because I think it’s the best way to punish children, but because my partner has hit puberty now, she’s getting bigger and strong and starting to fight back. And I can’t afford a punch bag. So hitting the baby will be the only form of getting rid of my stress.

How to Deal with getting dumped.

Most people get dumped at some part in their shitty lives, it’s a sad truth. But don’t worry because I’m here to help you deal with the rejection and the eventual realisation that nobody loves you. And I bet you are thinking; “Why should I take advice form this fool?” Because I’m one of the beautiful people, I have experience with being rejected; I’ve had my cancerous heart broken before so I have experience with this. I’m more experienced than any journalist that writes in the problem pages of the tabloids (Fuck Deidre from The Sun, that bitch never responded to my letters – so I had to help myself!). So here it is, the Ben Broughton guide to getting dumped:

1) Get back with your partner.
I’m joking of course, this won’t happen. She’s already moved on, got a restraining order and her new man can kick the shit out of you. So forget it.

2) Drink.
It’s so unoriginal but it’s the first thing to do. Drink motherfucker, drink! Keep drinking until the hangover pain is worse than the pain of being heartbroken.

3) Drugs.
Much like drink, bet better. Heroin is probably the best bet. Smackheads are never heartbroken, so become one and never worry about getting dumped again, although becoming a smackhead will probably put an end to the rest of your life.

4) Self Harming.
It’s not just for Emo’s anymore! Any loser can never hurt themselves. So do it, cut yourself a bit, it takes your mind off being unloved.

5) Suicide.
It’s a bit strong, but it certainly puts an end to that heartache. But do think about your reputation after you’ve done it. Killing yourself over getting dumped it’s a bit strong, and at the same time, who’ll turn up to your funeral, you’re not exactly Mr Popular.

6) Become Gay.
Face facts, women hate you and you’re never going to get another one so you may as well turn gay. There’s nothing wrong with being homosexual, so give it a try.

7) Revenge.
This is the good one guys! You’ve been made to look like a fool, you’ve had your heart torn out of your chest and then the girl you loved has walked all over it. Now you can inflict pain on her, like she did to you. Follow these simple techniques:

• Post those naked photos of your ex on Facebook/MySpace/Bebo/The Misadventures of Ben Broughton Blog*

• Upload those naughty oral sex videos from your phone online too.

• Kidnap then kill her pet. Cut off its limb and post them to her.

• Tell everyone she gave you crabs.

• Make some phone sex cards featuring her mobile phone number and leave them in public telephone boxes.

• Tell her new boyfriend/girlfriend (in case you turned her gay) that you’re still sleeping with her, which will ruin her new relationship.

• Hack her email or online social network profiles and change the information and send hateful messages to her best friends.

* Just get in contact with me if you have any photos you would like me to share. I’m happy to upload them for you, I’d do anything to help a fellow bitter ex got retribution.

The Most Wasted I Have Got #2

I’ve already told you one story of me getting extremely wasted, so if you liked that story you may also like this one, if you didn’t like that story you probably won’t like this one either, so go put the kettle on and get a sense of humour!

This second story takes place in Derby. Derby is the lucky city I now live in, and while many Nottingham Forest fans might not want to live behind enemy lines, I’m not like most people; in fact my psychologist even suggested I’m one of a kind and need special attention. Anyway, “what does this have to do with your story?” is probably what you’re thinking. Well reader, I need to set the scene and get my word count up.

The plan for the night was go to my local pub with my acquaintances for some cheap pints of larger then to return to my flat for some illegal substances, while discussing the state of the economy and society, just like every Monday night. But little did I know that this Monday night would be a lot different to the ones that came before it. The night started as it should have done, we had a few beers at my flat and headed to the pub. We had a few beers and chatted the night away. With it being a Monday I’d had a busy drug-filled weekend and found that I still had two pills on me. So I thought I better get rid of these little things. The best way to get rid of pills is to take them. You could always sell them but that’s bad, because people that sell Class A drugs are very bad people and should be in jail because they are bad. You could just flush them, but I paid good money for these pills, I’m not going to flush them, that is just a waste of money. So I took one and continued to drink.

Of course after a while I started to feel a lot better. By now I’d had quite a few pints and was defiantly in an intoxicated state. Everything at this point was fine, until Graham left the table to get a drink. This is when things start to come apart. A girl came to our table and asked for the free stool, but I told her that Graham was sat there and she responded; “OK, calm down!” At this point it would be funny to shout; “I AM CALM!!” in a joking-sort-of-way. A few minutes later my phone rang so I went outside to answer the call and talk. After the phone call I went to walk back into the pub but was met by a big bouncer who told me I was not allowed back into the pub. I asked him why and he told me that I had been screaming at a regular customer saying that I had a bomb! This was a load of bullshit. This bitch that got me into trouble was not even a regular, I was a regular to the pub, and so were the people I came with. We went to that pub every-fucking-week! The bouncer wouldn’t even let me in the pub to give Graham his coat back; I was wearing it because it was really cold. This caused me another problem; I was in the beer garden which is situated at the back of the pub. I had to leave threw the back gate, which was new to me. I hadn’t been in Derby that long and wasn’t sure where I was going. So I just walked into the nearest pub, which didn’t look like a pub from the outside. I ordered a pint and took out my phone to text Rob seeing if he could explain to the bouncer what really happened, what I’d really said and if I could return to the pub. Rob informed me that they wouldn’t let me back in the pub, so I decided to stay put in this new pub. I’d already started talking to some of the chaps at the bar anyway.

After a while I decided to nip to the toilet and take the last pill I had on my possession then I returned the bar. After chatting to a few of the guys drinking there I noticed that they were all gay, maybe this should have made me realise that I was in fact in a gay pub. But I didn’t take that fact in until Rob sent me a text that read; “Dude, you’re in a gay pub. GET OUT NOW!” But I was too far gone. I couldn’t leave this pub in my state. I needed a little time to get my head together, so I stayed. And I’ve got to say I had a great time with those bowel bangers. They were some of the nicest guys I have ever met. Let me just state, that I was not leading them on, it was clear from the moment I walked in that pub that I was straight, seeing as none of the guys picked me up on their gay-dars (which are radars for homosexuality). So I had a few more drinks and then left the pub. I cannot remember walking home or how I got home, but once back in my flat I met up with my flatmates and started smoking weed.

As I mentioned before the plan was to talk about social and economical issues just like every Monday night. But I was currently finding it hard to speak. After a few spliffs I was gone. But then the fire alarm went off, more than likely caused by us, but we never did find out. So the whole of my block had to go outside, bear in mind that this was about 2.30am, once outside I was taking on the chin. Being well-known as a stoner does tend to mean people blame you for such things as fire alarms, and as I lay on the cold concrete floor rolling around I was finding it hard to defend myself. After the fire alarm we all poured back inside, but not for long. A few minutes later the fire alarm went off again causing more problems for me, because walking was becoming very difficult at this state and holding back the vomit was equally as hard. Once again as I lay on the floor I began to think maybe I should call it a night. The fire alarm was stopped again and I returned to Frenchie’s room to pick up my beer, I remember leaving his room and not being able to walk, so I crawled to my room on my hands and knees. I climbed into my bed and fought with my clothes as I pathetically attempted to remove them. And eventually I fell asleep.

The moral of this story is you should never shout at strangers in a pub because they might be moody bitches that will get you thrown out, never take drugs without your friends being with you and go to gay pubs because homosexuals will buy you drinks.

Hello & Random Pondering

Allow me to re-introduce myself ... My name is Ben! OK, nobody can quite pull that line of apart from Jay-Z himself, but I thought I'd give it ago. I'm sure the millions of you people that read my blog have been asking yourself; "Has Ben finally ODed? because he hasn't posted anything in a while." Well please stop worrying and sending my mother flowers and cards saying "Sorry For You Loss", because I'm fine.

The reason for my lack of blogging is simple, I'm lazy and busy, which is quite oxymoronic. But fear not people, because I've cut back my time at work, I'm avoiding my friends and family, I'm not doing my Uni work and I've given up sleep just so I can blog more.

Since I've been away (by away I mean not-blogging), not much has happened to me really and I'm almost at a loss of something to blog about off the top of my head, but as soon as my lazy-ass housemate (yes, you Leon - I know you'll read this eventually) sorts out the internet at our house I'll be online all the time. Of course I could have sorted the internet out but I was too busy ignoring my housemates. Anyway, I even have a follower now (shout out to Neyull), that's one step closer to world domination!

Anyway, I'm going to leave you with a few subjects I've been pondering lately:

- The new RSPCA advert (click here to see) is asking for urgent money to pay for it's biggest rescue ever after new laws have been bought in that lets them save an animal before it gets hurt or something along those lines. If they are desperate for money that means they must be short on staff and food so the animals aren't getting the correct treatment. Does this mean that the RSPCA will end up taking themselves to court for cruelty to animals?

- Sarah Palin ... what is with this bitch? Jornalists love her. This bitch is a oxymoron* a creationist that kills 'Gods' animals, a pro-lifer that supports the death penalty, talks about family-values when her teenage daughter is about to have a bastard baby. "What's the difference between a pitbull and a hockey mom? ..... Lipstick" That joke sucks! Plus it's not true. There's loads of things that make them different. It anything lipstick is one thing they have in common, hockey mom's have lipstick, ever seen a horny pitbull's cock?? I rest my case!

- Is G-Star the uniform of cunts? Honestly, I'm yet to meet a cool person that wears G-Star. I know it's meant to be one of the coolest clothes brands out now for males, but nobody cool is wearing it. Maybe it's just Derby people that wear G-Star that aren't cool. The missus told me to buy some G-Star clothes, but I'm waiting for a penis to develop on my forehead, and for the price to come down, which ever happens first (but I'm willing to bet I'll have grown a cock and vagina on my forehead before you can pick up some G-Star jeans for around £25).


- Thanx for your time people, Ben


*I know I used the term oxymoronic twice in this post. I've always known what this word means, honest. I haven't just learned it. It's just a bit strange that I've finally used it ... TWICE.