The Exceptionally Weird World of Ben Broughton

Look, we're all a bit weird in our special ways. What seems the daily average to you may seem bizarre to the next person. Me, myself; I get extremely attached to inanimate objects, I have a tendency for hoarding certain things of no value plus I have certain quirks ingrained into me.

So here I'm going to offer you some insight into the life I live and all the 'norms' to me, that you may or may not know.

Hoarding #1; Haribo

An Un-'Bo-leavable Collection

Amongst those in the know, this is my most infamous hoarding 'project'. This is such a notorious part of my character that other people are willingly involved in this deluded action! Close friends and family members will constantly return from holidays aboard with bags of 'Bo for me. And I love them for it.

As for how this particular hoarding came about I'm not entirely sure. I've always been a fan of Harry Bo [that's how I pronounce it, like he's an actual fucking person], it's the perfect post-extra-long-cigarette-eating-snack. But the catalyst for me starting this collection is completely lost on everyone including myself. Kids, don't do drugs!

I'm not really fully aware as too how long this particular 'obsession' has been doing on either, what I'd guess anywhere between three to five years. People often ask me what I'm actually going to do with empty packaging of Haribo bags, and I'm not sure about that either.

But while my memory is fogging over the inception of this 'obsession', I have an extremely good grasp of the bags I've collected. I have loads, the picture featured is about 70% of what I have. There are some doubles, due to me changing the way I open the bags; I went from opening them like a normal person to cutting them open from the back with scissors to make sure the front stays intact [dedication]. But I can usually tell within an instant if I have a particular bag or not. In the world of collecting bags of 'Bo, that's like the best skill to have.

So to summarise; I don't know why I started this, I don't know when I started this and I don't know how it'll end. Upon discovering this revelation, I'm slightly unnerved by my actions and I'd rather not talk about it anymore because if I delve deeper I don't know what underlying causality is actually taking place here and I'd rather not find out.

Object of Affection #1; Cup & Spoon

"Mmm... brown stained Simpsons mug"

If I've lived with you in the past or you've ever come to my house for a cuppa, you'll know about this; but I rarely wash my cup and spoon. This pairing is my exclusive tea drinking equipment. Nobody else uses it [no surprise there].

I know from numerous reactions that most people find this “disgusting”. In my old job, I had the exact same set up; big Simpsons mug that I never washed, so if I had a holiday/time-off, staff members would bleach my cup in my absence [the bastards!].

Once again, I'm not sure how this started. I'm never writing an autobiography, as I seem to have little memory of my own fucking life, apparently. This 'quirk' has been going on for as long as I can remember though.

Eventually the pairing does get washed, if I was to hazard a guess; I'd say three or four times a year, or whenever the mood takes me. What's weird is I'm generally quite a neat freak, I won't use cutlery or crockery that isn't perfectly immaculate, but when it comes to my cup and spoon, I don't have any hang-ups what so ever.

In my opinion, tea tastes really good from this filthy mug and on this rare occasions it's clean, tea lacks something. Maybe it's all in my head, or maybe I'm the only person in England drinking tea properly.

Quirk #1; The Ring-pull Turn

This reminds me to buy more beer.

I don't have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but this trait is as close to OCD as I get. I'm quite found of my canned beverages, I drink from four to twelve a night depending on my mood. But as soon as I crack open that sweet amber nectar and the head squirts out of the hole like a successful “pull-out”, I'll always turn the ring-pull.

I know exactly where and why this quirk was birthed [surprised myself knowing this, to be honest]. In my younger adolescent days when I used to have bottle tops tied to the laces in my trainers; I spent the majority of my free time with my friends in a caravan getting high and drinking beers like gypsies. In that situation it soon became important to lay claim to what was yours; lighter, tobacco, beer. This is where I came up with the ring-pull turn. It followed into later life in university dorms and student houses, but now it's still with me, even as I drink alone, every night, crying at what my life as become. Woe is drunken me.

So there we have it, three things that I thought were normal, but after thinking about them for this blog post, I'm really starting to think I need to seriously re-evaluate my life.

Winner of Game of Thrones [Ben's Predictions]

Game of Thrones... or simply 'Thrones' to us in the know [unlike Jon Snow], is a worldwide phenomenon, everyone and their mother watches, although due to the amount of sex scenes I'd highly recommend not watching it with either parent. And as the television show rapidly approaches surpassing the events in the books it's based on, everyone and their mother[s] are starting to make predictions on what will happen over the coming season[s]. Now, I'm not usually one to jump on bandwagons, but I'm hoping on this one to Kings Landing, and hopefully I'll reach it in time to see whomever will be sitting on the Iron Throne by the end of the story... but whom shall be sitting on the throne in the end?

And by the Seven Gods, these are my Seven Predictions. 

"I'm just an innocent kid, do I deserve to die?"

Tommen 'Baratheon'

I like how it's basically a given in most people's minds that the Baratheon [or Lannister incest off-spring] are expected to fall for 'whomever' in the end and we totally disregard the likes of Tommen even though he's swimming in one of the best gene-pools in all of Westeros. His mother; Cersei is most certainly not one to be meddled with, his biological father; Jamie is one of the greatest knights and swordsmen on the globe, his uncle; Tyrion has one of the best minds for politics in the land and his grandfather; Tywin was a strategical mastermind. If Tommen has one or a mix of any of these Lannister traits it's probably best not to count him out yet. If he manages to avoid the same fate of Margaery Tyrell's first two ['King'] husbands and with a little guidance he could remain on the Throne indefinitely … although he obviously won't, poor Tommen! 

Maybe Gendry & Arya can 'bridge' the Seven Kingdoms?

 

Gendry [Baratheon] & Arya Stark
There's a reoccurring theme of these two houses never really being able to finally link up. Robert Baratheon was engaged to Ned Stark's sister; Lyanna; yet they never married due to her kidnap and eventual death. The series kicked off with the promise of the Houses finally joining when it's planned that Sansa Stark and Joffery Baratheon are to be wed, yet that eventually all falls through – obviously this would have only linked them via name as Joffery isn't actually Robert's child and instead is a product of incest.

These two – although currently split-up – do have chemistry and history together, which helps this theory, the obvious fact that hinders this ever happening is that we haven't seen Gendry in a long while, since he set off in a boat with help from the Onion Knight; Davos Seaworth.

Clearly if Gendry is to return to Westeros he'll need some back up with him to take on all the other motherfuckers trying to get into that extremely uncomfortable looking chair. That's why I'm suggesting he's been on his own little adventure to... some place... let's call it Easteros, there he met the locals; individuals [of what we'd describe as East-Asian], luckily these people have invented a strange substance; gun powder... but seeing as this is GoT it'll probably be called; 'Powder of Fire' or 'Dust of Explosion' or some shit like that.

As for Arya, her future amongst the God of Many Faces seems dubious so maybe she'll get a Seeing-Eye-Dire-Wolf and leave Braavos. Although she seems on a mission to encounter every religious faction going in the GoT world, but hopefully she'll stop messing around, get her shit together and link back up with Gendry.

 

Would you ask him to get off the Throne?

Petyr Baelish
Let's face it; Littlefinger is such a manipulative cunt he basically the humanoid version of Cersei Lannister's vagina. Littlefinger is so conniving, he could call “tails”, flip a double head[ed] coin and still win... somehow. I think I probably like Baelish due to the fact my house-mate reckons I could play a younger version of him.

But the dude has talents and he has his eye squarely on the prize. He has an excellent talent on stocking up favours and doing whatever it takes to get him one step closer to his ultimate desire and stepping on anyway that gets in his way, he's like a contestant on the The Apprentice with extra evilness.

And although Baelish [probably] has no lineage to the Throne, I still think he could make it. I most likely see him manipulating whomever he has to, to go to war with each other until they're all dead, I mean the entire of Westeros; everyone, apart for little Petyr, then he'll finally sit on the Throne and more than likely pull an extremely smug smirk. Yes, it's unlikely, but if you doubt Littlefinger you're an idiot. 

 

If George gets his way, next time Bran's eyes roll back he not be "Warging".

Brandon Stark
Let's face the facts here, we all love the Stark's as much as George R.R. Martin loves fucking killing them off. One of the very few Stark's that hasn't died [yet] is the second youngest; Brandon or simply 'Bran the Cripple' to his mates.

If it wasn't for Bran and his bloody habit of climbing up big walls, towers and whatever else he could clamber up, he never would've spotted that [sexy] Lannister incest, then got pushed which escalated the Lannister/Stark beef which fed into Robb Stark going to war and whatnot. Only if he'd he'd listened to his mother! So the boy's got some making up to do!

I can't be the only muh'fuckah that remembers his dreams containing flashing images; one being a birds-eye view of a dragon [- should've put “dragons-eye view” that would have been leaning towards clever, never mind, can't change it now -] casting it's shadow over a city [looking a lot like King's Landing]. We all know that Bran can't jump, but he can jump into the mind's of animals [and Hodor] and control them due to the fact he's a Warg. We've seen a few other Wargs, mainly amongst the Wildlings, but they could only control shitty little birds, Bran can control Dire Wolves and he's only a child still perfecting his skills. I suspect that as he wasn't in last season next time we see him they're be a jump in the time-line [as he's a child actor and they have a curse of ageing fast and he'll clearly look older by next] so he could have sharpened his Warg talents by the time we meet again.

This is how I; Ben Broughton sees Bran's future panning out; super Warg skills, dragons arrive in Westeros, he does his thing; controls them to kill the White Walkers [if dragon-glass kills them, dragon-fire is sure to fuck them up too] and their army of the dead, bolts back down South with some swagger and he's like; “Yo bitches, the North remembers, and I've got dragons and shit, so back da fuck up!” [Told you he had swagger], they meet his demands, he's crowned, he's slowly ascends the Iron Throne. Credits roll.

This how him; George R.R. Martin sees Bran's future panning out; DEAD.

That's Rickon... Rickon Stark. RICKON STARK!
The youngest of the bunch! Honestly, he's really in the show!

Rickon Stark
See above [but ignore 'George R.R. Martin' line].

Credits finish. Bonus Scene!!!!

As Brandon Stark slowly sits on the Iron Throne, Rickon pops up from no where and stabs him in the back, while spouting; “You didn't see that comin', did ya, muh'fuckah?” And he becomes King.

C'mon, we all love Stark's, remember?

[Then after that scene you Google; “Rickon Stark”, because it's been so long and he's so insignificant you can't remember him]

Titty Grab!

Sansa Stark & Margaery Tyrell
Male homosexuality often rears it's ugly head in this show – usually to peer over it's shoulder to discover it's getting bummed – but the same can't be said for the lesbian brigade.

These two seem to be extremely unlucky in the marriage department. Tyrell's husband's seem to have an habit of dying on her, while Lady Stark is simply offered up to anyone so they can have a claim to the North. So this would be a decent match, the Tyrell's have the coin and Sansa has the North locked down [or hopefully she will one day].

Plus at least these two seem to get along, this is one of the only [maybe the only] duos we've seen spent screen-time together that actually get along for the duration of their relationship. Think of any other two characters on this show that have spent considerable amounts of time together, they end up bickering or hating each other at some point, but not Sansa and Margaery. With these two it's funny chats with Grandma, strolls in the garden and talking about sex.

Talking about sex; [although I haven't read the books – cos readings for twats, I say to you, as you read this...] I'm surprised George R.R. Martin hasn't written a sex scene with these two lezzin' it up.

Although, maybe he has, and that's the final page/scene; Sansa and Margaery 'consummating their marriage' and the fact they both rule the Realm...
Then Melisandre [The Red Woman] turns up... willing to offer her services to the two Queens of Westeros...
“Your services?” Margaery queries, glancing towards Melisandre, who has just interrupted Lady Tyrell's passionate romp with her newly crowned wife; Lady Stark.
“Yes, my services, my Lady... My Ladies”, Melisandre replies, “I can aid you in your reign of Westeros in any way you see fit.”
A silence dwells on the room, as the rampant smell of lesbian love lingering in the air circulates.
Finally the silence is broken as Sansa sits upright, her left arm clutching at the bed sheet, covering her heaving ample bosom, her right hand gently brushes her 'strawberry blonde' hair back to reveal her lust-filled eyes; “Maybe The Red Woman can service my Red Bush?”

*Lesbian Sex Scene Ensues*

This could be the dirtiest sex scene ever on TV, c'mon, it is HBO afterall. Plus Margaery was married to Renly Baratheon so you know she's up for some anal play, also we've seen a 'smoke ghost[?]' crawl out of Melisandre's cave [in that scene with her and Davos in the vagina], so R'hllor only knows what she'll let someone shove up it!

So the series ends on a lesbian threesome. Credits roll.

Obviously this will almost certainly never happen, I'd guess that there's not much progressive thinking towards same sex marriages in Westeros, [like someone such as myself] and I don't think the majority in the Realm would take too kindly to being ruled over by two dykes... excuse me; women, that's why;

Credits finish. Bonus Scene!!!!

Rickon Stark pops up amongst the lesbian orgy and stabs them all in the back and becomes King!

[Then after that scene you Google; “Rickon Stark”, because it's been so long and he's so insignificant you can't remember him]

"Nothing mate, honestly!"

Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun

“Wun Weg, Who? Dar What?”

The motherfucking giant!

Commonly known as simply “Wun Wun” to the Windlings, but to be fair, he's a bloody GIANT, call him whatever he wants to be called.

Ideally I'm waiting for the Wun Wun spin-off to GoT in which the giant simply attends to normal life in Westeros. Maybe he gets a farm or something and has to win over the affection of the local folk, but while it doesn't seem like that'll happen, he may as well just take the Iron Throne.

Obviously he has no real claim to be King; no lineage, no titles and so forth, but he is a giant, and that works in his favour. Let Rickon try to stab him!

Obviously we all want THIS to be the ending, but now the question is; how do with let our feelings be known?

#WunWunWin? #WunWunFTW? #WWFTW? #WunWunWon! #WWWWWDWD? [What Would Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun Do?]

Me Pour Grasps Off Da Inglish Langwich

Although I may come across as more intelligent than you, in my extremely small circle of friends the way I speak and my turns of phrase are often under constant ridicule. But then again I'm a white male with a fully functioning brain, so they have to pick on me for something.

Obviously most of what I say incorrectly is due to my up-bringing in the small Nottinghamshire town I was born and raised in. And due to my friends being lucky enough to fall out of their mother's vaginas in other parts of the country then hadn't encountered such dialogue until I was introduced into their [then miserable – I'm assuming] lives.

Like most things in life; my escalating problems with alcohol, my hatred of children and my uncontrollable temper... my poor grasp of the English language falls squarely on my mother. Being the voice that I've listened to for the majority of my life, I've picked up all her bad linguistic habits.

Listening to myself, I find that there's a trend of amalgamating two or three words into one simple sound or completely dropping words from a sentence. Clearly now I've come to learn of what I'm doing wrong, I should try to change the way I speak to make myself more understandable... but I'm set in my ways.

Things I Say Wrong;

“I'm gu'in t'shop” - I am going to the shop.

This is the closest thing I've got to a catchphrase amongst my friends [that doesn't involve weed, beer or swearing]. And I'm constantly mocked for the t' – Michael McIntyre had a whole stand-up routine about how Northerners say t' instead of 'the' – it was his usually brand of sub-par comedy. But I've pushed this further by incorporating two words into a single letter; brilliance and time saving, while being incomprehensible to the untrained ear.

“Owt” - Anything.

Fuck knows where this comes from. But it usually follows the last one; “I'm gu'in t'shop, do you want owt?”. This cleverly compresses a three syllable word down into one.

“Or'ate” - Alright.

A common greeting in Sutton-in-Ashfield, often said; “Yu or'ate, mate?” because of the intricate rhyming pattern it expresses.

“Noun'a-gen” - Now and again.

“Tour'da'pens” - It all depends.

While the first three are often heard around my own town, I'm confidence these last two are exclusives from my dear mother. It was only in the last few years that I realised I was saying these so wrong. It may sound stupid, but it's as if I really didn't know what I was saying. Yeah, it's fucked.

“Me” - My.

Yes, that's right, in my old town even the simplest two letter word can be halted into a similar word that already exists and said in it's place. If that doesn't boggle the mind, I don't know what will. 

Some of me Sutton folk gu'in t'shop

 

Or'ate, noun'a-gen, I don't know how to end these blogs, tour'da'pens what I'm doing that day, but I gotta get off as me mum's got me gu'in t'shop.

Leave a comment if you want owt pickin' up.

Oak Furniture Land Customer Complaint

To whom it may concern,
Hello, although I've never purchased anything from your company before, I often frequent your store with fellow family members. As I'm in decent enough shape to help the majority of my decrepit family members – Hey, I suppose I'm just a decent guy.

My major concern with your business is your employees. I acknowledge that installing a strong sense of customer service is vital, I myself have spent many years in retail and understand continuing to deliver high standards is extremely difficult, so sometimes I'll allow a slip up here or there, but the level of outlandish stupidity on the part of some of your staff verges on totally inexcusable.

The first example of terrible customer service happened when I was in store with my uncle, he was after a new dining table and chairs. We had been viewing for a while and had noticed two of your employees; both male; one young skinny and an elder gentleman slightly more rotund simply talking amongst themselves and being of no help whatsoever. My uncle had a couple of questions about a dining set, so he approached the younger gentleman, and before he could grab his attention, the young man spouted out; “Gold for the price of silver” in a pirate voice while having his right hand in the shape of a 'hook'. Obviously my uncle took great offence to this as he's missing his right hand. He lost it in a freak accident as a youth has been bombarded with pirate jokes for a large potion of his life. Clearly your staff think it's totally acceptable to notice a disabled customer and make jokes about it as that customer walks around your store. This is absolutely despicable. What does this employee do on his break; flatten the tyres of cars parked in the blue badge spots out front?

Obviously, at this point, we left the store.

I returned to your store begrudgingly with my younger sister as she was after a closet. The two gentlemen from before were once again working, I had told her we would be better off finding other members of staff to help deal with her needs but she was adamant they help her. So I simply left her to it and watched on... in amazement. Your two employees simply played a little cat and mouse game around the closet; knocking on it and alluding to the fact that someone's inside it, obviously by this point we didn't know my sister was a lesbian, she only came out the next day... in her suicide letter. Clearly pushed over the edge by your employees tormenting her sexuality. This is despicable, luckily it was my least favourite sister, but I'm still quite torn up about it. 

Your two employees come take a break from insulting customers and chat about how great UKIP is [probably].

 

Just recently, despite my best efforts to encourage him to go to IKEA, my granddad wanted to visit your store – luckily for you he's a massive racist. And to my surprise I still see you have this double act still on your payroll. Due to my past encounters with them I simply tried to avoid them and did quite successfully until I lost my granddad. The store was busy and he was tired so he was having a sit down to recharge his batteries. By the time I found him, the elder employee was pulling at his beard. Look, I don't want to blow this out of proportion but that's physical assault on an OAP! That's unjust in normal society not only when you are at work! You can't employ people that lay their hands on your customers, that's simply a fact of working in retail! I'm calling for the gentleman in question to be fired, immediately!

I understand in a world that many think “political correctness” has “gone mad”, but your staff have managed to offend paraplegics, homosexuals and the elderly, I'll be sure to ring the store ahead of time if I ever have to visit with a friend of non-White ethnicity so you can knock up a few burning oak wood crucifixes and construct some Klan outfits in time.

Good luck peddling your over-priced wood to able-bodied, straight, middle-aged people.

Irking Me Off; #2 The Clarkson Problem

I know I'm a little late off the mark with this one, but I don't have to justify myself to you, so piss off.

I'm not going to sugar-coat this; I fucking hate Jeremy Clarkson, in my eyes he's a Daily Mail reader's wet-dream; a middle-class throwback that thinks spouting xenophobic rhetoric is funny... basically he's a typical Cracker-ass Honky. Along with being a Grade-A Cunt.

Obviously like most people my age I mainly know Clarkson from Top Gear. I don't like Top Gear because I don't have much of an invested interest in cars and even if I did, I still wouldn't like Top Gear. To me, the show seemed like a front for three immature grown men to act like children under the disguise of an informative program about motor vehicles. Hey, but I'm not a car guy, so what do I know? That's right; nothing about cars, but a lot more about decent television. But I'll give the man his due he really cornered the market on obnoxious cunts presenting television shows on motors. Kudos, you cunt, kudos.

Now, although I had this disdain for Jeremy, he never really bothered me, I stayed clear of Top Gear and would put up with him when he appeared on the likes of QI. It was a decent set-up we had working until he went and did something stupid and physically assaulted a producer and after that I couldn't escape the cunt like a baby trapped in the womb.

EVERYONE was talking about him. His face was all over the newspapers and not for a good reason like him dying in a high-speed car accident. And I began to feel like one of those ridiculously priced cars he trails... as I was driven crazy! [Fuck off! You try and write car gags without knowing anything about cars!]

People were debating this issue endlessly.
“Would he lose his job?”

“Will the BBC end Top Gear?”
“What will May and that other fucking cretin do without their Messiah?”

And as this whole debate was up in the air, people were signing a petition online to get him reinstated. Now this is something that really irks me, yes, people have the free will to do such a thing, but guess what; it doesn't matter in the end. Not in a case like this. Online petitions are good most of the time, but this one was totally devoid of meaning.

It's not up to the public to make this decision, that falls on Clarkson's bosses. Not the public. Just because the guy is extremely popular doesn't give him free range to do whatever he pleases. He's been on thin ice numerous times before due to borderline racist incidents and always managed to skate away unscathed, but at what point do you keep letting someone off just because they're a big star?

I saw a lot of social media updates along the lines of; “BBC used to cover-up child molestation but Clarkson in trouble for only hitting someone”. What the fuck is wrong with you people? So what? You want the BBC to cover something like this up when it's someone you like, but not if it's someone you don't like? Because Jimmy and Rolf, were as popular as Clarkson back in the day! Or is this down to the actual 'crime'? So punching a producer in the face is OK, but sexually abusing children isn't? [Look I know which is worse, but you can't simply draw a line and pick and choose.] What if Clarkson had molested a child? Would there still be a petition because what else can petrol-heads watch on a Sunday with Clarkson and his two shadows?

The whole concept of this argument is ridiculous. Yes, as stories of sexual abuse that happened years ago come to light it paints the BBC in an extremely bad light... so what should they do? Punish employee's that step out of line, and Clarkson's had enough chances. Fuck him.

I also come into contact with individuals commenting on how supporting James May and Richard Hammond were towards Jeremy. People mentioned they wouldn't do the show without him... well obviously, those two peons owe their success to Clarkson, they'll ride his coat-tails into retirement. I was once in Waterstones and saw a book Richard Hammond had released; the cover featured a large picture of his face and a little tag-line; “The Funny Guy from TOP GEAR... Includes stickers inside so you can make Richard look as funny as you want”. And there were little stickers that you could add on to the cover to make Hammond look as ridiculous as you wanted... so I stuck the sticker of Clarkson's penis over Hammond's mouth and put it back on the shelf. I don't have any real beef with May, he actually seems like a nice guy, but seeing as he doesn't have the moral integrity to step out of Jeremy's shadow; fuck him too.

Then 'celebrities' started to share their opinions. Rupert Murdoch said something along the lines of the BBC would be idiots to get rid of Clarkson. To me that's a massive vote of confidence for the Beeb, because when the most evil man in the world is suggesting you shouldn't do something, you should definitely do it. Then our very own Prime Minister [aka the 2^nd most evil man in the world] came out and said his daughter had gone on a hunger strike until Jeremy was reinstated. I hope the bitch starved to death for her father's part in trying to sway public opinion in a matter that only concerns him because his friend is involved [this is also the only time a Tory has been involved in any kind of striking action]. Seeing as he's technically employed by us, I shall punch him in the face next time I see him as he clearly thinks that an acceptable way to act.

This is what it comes down to; Clarkson did something wrong; he verbally attacked a producer for around twenty minutes and then punched him in the face... why? Because there wasn't any hot food available at a hotel – download the JustEat app, Jeremy! Yet in the majority of public opinion the producer was in the wrong... that's so infuriatingly stupid I want to punch myself in the face repeatedly under I've lost enough braincells to fathom it but if I did that I could end up liking Top Gear. He had to get sacked from the BBC. It's not as if that's the end for him, he has a following, he has a brand, he has his little two minions by his side and hopefully he also has inoperable cancer.

So it'll all work out for him in the end.

But I hope it doesn't.

Advice to Aspiring Battle Rappers [Part 2]

So this began with Advice for Aspiring Battle Rappers – although it's slightly began to change into me cataloguing my experiences of attempting to secure myself a rap battle. This is Part 2 of that never-ending saga.

So what do you do after you've penned three rounds of bars that you've finally realised you'll never get to use against anyone else?

It's obvious … you post them on a battle rap forum for your own kind [battle rap geeks] to judge, in the hope to seek admiration. You hit 'post', the thread comes up, you get a bit nervous; “Wait... will they read it how it's supposed to be performed?”... no probably not. Well done, you've opened yourself up to a possible barrage of insults from people you don't know! This is the internet, you twat! In which people hide behind alias so they can slag you off to their heart's content!

You sit. You wait. You repeatedly hit refresh. “How come 'X', 'Y' and 'Z', have viewed the thread and not left a comment... can't they see my genius?” You ask yourself. You sit a little longer. You wait a little longer. Eventually you have to sleep, staring at a computer screen for ten hours straight can take it's toll on anyone.

It's hard to push the thought of it out of your head, you've busted your metaphorical balls on the these metaphors, and nobody is willing to acknowledge that. BALLS!

Finally you see there's been a couple of responses to your post. With a shaking hand you move the cursor over the the thread and click. As the page loads you're filled with dread and excitement. You scroll down with your heart in your throat like you're dining at Hannibal's house [punchlines for days]. You read the replies... they're favourable. Some constructive criticism but the majority are supportive. Even a Don't Flop battler you like quotes a line and says it's a “fantastic bar” [shout out to Shuffle-T].

Real Screen Print... No Photoshop

You should be happy, people appreciate what you've written but now there's a nagging in the back of your head; “if only that cunt had've turned up!” It becomes infuriating but what can you do?

Skip ahead awhile and after the dust settles, you think; “fuck it, may as well give it another go”. It's a little easier the second time around, although you never got that battle you've kind of got your foot in door like over-pushy Jehovah Witnesses [punchlines for weeks]. So you go about setting up another battle.

And you get one. And your opponent has battled a couple of times before, even had a try-out for Don't Flop [the UK's #1 Rap Battle League]. This is a massive advantage to you, he's battled before you have plenty of material to study and plenty of angles to use, while he's battling you; a nobody. Plus this guy wants to make a name for himself in battle rap, so he's bound to turn up.

So boom; you get down to writing again. And luckily for you your opponent is quite lanky and he isn't the best looking chap in the world, so there's plenty to say on that matter;

Is it me or; has Tim Westwood's orphaned lad - started talking black,
as a performance act - to plead towards his awful dad
Or maybe; Steven Hawkins has - finally contort his back, [...and...]
by a BLACK-burn-HOLE; been transported back and taught to rap

Or is this; a zombie from 28 Days Later's supporting cast?
Or … has someone stretched Gollum on a torture-rack?
No it's a Morbid twat … that's only alive because his parents adored the fact;
his umbilical cord 'wun't' snap in their abortion pact

Doubt settles in though. You start to realise no matter how strong your pen game you still have to perform this material better than your counter-part, he's had plenty of practice. You write a couple of personal schemes that you think will give you the crowd reaction you need and then you concentrate on your performance.

Eventually you get it down. There's a confidence about you that wasn't there the first time around. All those positive comments on the forum have got you a little gassed up.

Then you get a Facebook message.

Your opponent has pulled out due to some legal trouble. It's frustrating but not out of character for the bloke, you've been doing your research, you know he's a bit of a wrong 'un. While this totally deflates you, you cast your eye back over your bars and probably count your blessings because;

In my eyes; shouting about a battler's loved ones until ya lung's collapse is fucking wack
Cos we came to see if our punches match - not turn this into a punching match

Cos I don't need to call your baby mum; a slut or slag, so someone braps

Or negatively mention your son in raps, cos I'm sure he's sweeter than a pussy cat

And I bet that child loves you... but do you really love the brat?
Cos being a father to a budding chap means more than getting a humongous tat'

Cos I heard you got involved in a shoving match,
and some cunt got slapped, so it escalated into thumps and jabs,

and you got put on tag, [was facing jail] but luckily in fact; it never come to that,

But if it did; picture yourself serving a sentence as tons of months go pass
As you miss your son's first sentence; “Mum, when is Daddy coming back?”
Then question; Is that really how someone with a son should act?

… probably would have got you a stern punch in the face and a couple of kicks would have had you sprawled out of the floor like unfurling a rug [punchlines for months].

But wait... because it's fucking happened again. Your one man mission to be a purist and write only for the person in front of you has bit you on the arse like a kinky prostitute [punchlines for years]. So you've got three rounds of angles you can't use on anyone else, did you not learn your lesson the first time around?

Another battle is arranged. The emcee hosting the event's mate will step up to battle you, he's going to tag along to the event anyway, so this time you know he'll definitely be in attendance.

So back to square one. Research. Write. Practice.

You're getting pretty good as these aspects. But the doubt in your head is performing in front of people. This time you take heed from past experiences and throw in a couple of schemes relating to TV shows you're obsessed with so even if this guy pulls out – which he definitely not do – you have something you can reuse.

It's less than a week from your battle, you've got everything set. You're not as confident with this material as you were for the other battle, but fuck it, this new chap is borderline shit so it shouldn't be too hard to beat him.

Then you get another Facebook message.

You're new opponent has pulled out – what the fuck is this Groundhog Day? Fuck sake!

It's at this moment it begins to settle in... maybe this battle rap t'ing isn't really for you.

End of Part 2.

#UnfinishedBusiness; Ben’s Big Day Out

#UnfinishedBusiness is a collection of Blog posts from 2013 that I never quite completed or totally forgot about.

Synopsis:

It was the summertime and it was a warm day, so after a few too many days trapped in my own home I decided to venture out into the real world and then attempted to write about it.

Now, I’m a notorious shut-in. I’m most at home when I’m … at home, basically. Venturing into the outside is oxymoronic in my drug-addled mind [into/outside – stick with me people]. But after spending the majority of my spare time attached to my rickety chair has began to take it’s toll on my productiveness, as in it’s completely obliterated it, so in an effect to not go completely stir crazy I decided to leave my home and do something.

Now, I wasn’t going to do anything totally outside my comfort zone. No! That’d be way too much for me to handle. This was simply a practice run.

Before I left on my adventure, I had to make sure I had the suitable equipment; a sandwich, packet of crisps, books, sunglasses, recreational drugs and obviously a couple of beers. I also had plenty of tissue, for HAYFEVER – before your minds begin to conger up any ill thoughts of masturbation. Obviously I had already attempted to halt any effects of that disgusting pollen that fills the atmosphere around this time that renders the majority of hayfever suffers absolutely useless, with tablets and nasal spray, which later turned out to be as effective as homeopathic medicine. But either way, I had my bag packed and I was on my way.

My destination was a familiar one; Markeaton Park. I don’t think I’ve been since my frolicking years as a student, even then I wasn’t keen on the place but it beat sitting in lectures or studying … all that would have gotten me would be a better degree … a better job … and a better life… but who needs that when the sun’s out and you’ve got a Frisbee?

Before locating my spot I stumbled upon what could be described as a damsel in distress, or what could also be described as a mother struggling to push a pram up a steep, yet small hill. Seeing as I was in a joyful mood, I offered my assistance. Although it was slightly upsetting that we didn’t get to push the pram down the other side. Apparently harming children isn’t a hobby each and everyone of us shares, who’d have known? 

#SunshineSelfie

 

I made my way onto the park and secured myself one of those fishing dock things by the water to sit on. I was able to relax in the sun far enough away from anyone else so that I could enjoy myself. I then sat back, relaxed and listened to a couple of podcasts – with my earphones in of course, just because my phone is perfectly capable of producing audio for others to hear, doesn’t mean they should have to [take note, kids].

And that's as far as I got. I can't remember anything really exciting happening. Some baby swans got a little too close for comfort and then a random dog started barking at them, that seriously messed with my buzz. I saw a massive dragonfly. And after too many beers I had to use the communal toilets. Never fun. And that's all I can remember. 

Baby Swan fucking up my buzz.