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Well, in case you didn't know, I have no life.
- I write
crap, not very funny updates for a humour site. [Eureka!
And so I decided to write a self-help book.
And yes, that is a pretty lame change, but I was thinking of dying my hair blue.
Ok, this was a toughie. I ate a lot, and most of it was junk food. Hell, my five major food groups were sugar, savoury, alcohol, misc. water and pizza. So what I did was this: I now eat more vegetables and eat rice or a baked potato for dinner instead of chips. I also eat fewer toasties at school how I crave the taste. And I eat less when I raid Chris' kitchen!
I did however allow myself a more lenient attitude to chocolate *drool*
Since I started 6th Form in September, I've done very little exercise. Well, thanks to my new workout regime, it's all different. I now play pool on most Thursdays, Xbox on the weekends AND do sit ups and push ups when I get home from school. Sometimes I'll even use the exercise bike that my dad bought. Go Team!
Celebrate everyday as if it's your birthday obviously without the presents, and if you're following the earlier steps, without the cake. But hey, party hats are up to you. And parties might sound good for a while, but I'd leave it to one a week if you really must have them frequently. Otherwise, you'll be dead by the end of the week.
risks, cut some corners and occasionally get caught. The
excitement will make your heart grow healthy and strong,
and maybe unclog those lardy veins.
Plan out how a typical day should be, how yours actually is, and try to compromise. Leave time for relaxation, even if it means not doing all your work. Make sure you leave some quiet time to sit and think, recollect the day's events and harmonise the spirit within. Don't go too far with it. Couch potato should be a hobby, something that you do at the weekend, not as a job.
Write a webpage. Learn another language, preferably not European. Learn how to survive in the wild from Ray Mear, and how to kill crocs with Steve Irwin. Go on a world tour. Eat a guinea pig.
For I Am Your God!
Self Help Now Available From All Good Retail Outlets.
And now, a choice of viewing on Fully Ramblomatic.com. In the Reviews section we have an examination of an ancient Spider-Man tie-in, while over at Angular Mike the Beatles take on Japanese cuisine in the newly-uploaded six-part Raw Octopus saga.
Alternatively, if neither of those things interest you, you can always go play on the railroad tracks, you fussy bitch.
Oh, and I've been informed that someone on the AGS messageboard is pretending to be me. Hello, whoever you are. Please pack it in. It's all fun now, but someday we'll probably end up fighting on some clifftop somewhere and our sidekicks won't know which of us to assist, and then one of us will die and the world will be forever suspicious of the survivor. You didn't think of that, did you? Noooo. Foresight, y'see.
[Hope you don't mind waiting while I clear out my backlog of guest updates. Here's one from Daniel McFarline, who would like to talk to you about a comic that changed his life. You should read it first with the following links, as I'd be buggered before I put so many big images on my front page, thank you.
If Geoshitties won't let you see them, come back later. They seem to have this thing against sites they host that get too many hits. Jealousy, I suppose.
See you tomorrow!
The day, Saturday. The place, McDonalds, waiting for my burger and fries to be lovingly presented by one of the restaurant's many non-threatening staff. Suddenly something catches my eye: a comic, a FREE comic. The comic: "Ronald McDonald, our hero". It's a wonder I didn't notice it straight away, there were dozens of copies strategically placed all over the restaurant so you couldn't look anywhere without being blinded by primary colours.
Since there was no-one looking I used all my game-inherited stealth skills and took a copy, folded it and put it into my Safeway fleece pocket, unaware of the evil I would witness. Later I read it, expecting a happy-go-lucky superhero adventure for Ronald McDonald and his non-threatening chums. Lets say from the start, I was wrong.
It starts off happily enough with Ronald McDonald, who lives in a typical McDonalds restaurant, (minus the mewing kids and furniture) making happy meals for the non-existent customers without the aid of a grill (Ronald is MAGIC, kids). But soon it all goes horribly wrong. Soon a meteor SCREAMS from the sky and crashes mere feet from the restaurant. The tiny building stays intact due to the solid titanium walls and meteor shock protection. The roads don't have this technology so they are instantly destroyed in the blast.
The next day over a healthy breakfast of McMuffins and crappy pancakes the gang are not surprised to see that birdie's head is backwards, but YIKES, it can also rip a door right off the hinges, the hamburglar tries to demonstrate his magnificent powers by lifting the golden arches, but fails horribly. Just like when Colonel Sanders (KFC) went crazy and tried to blow up the universe using chickens.
Ronald realises the truth, they have different powers, which is a bit like Nightmare on Elm Street 3, except there is no Freddy, or that chick that was beautiful and BAD! We can also tell at this point that the buildings destroyed in the meteor blast were rebuilt and the people are surely living in a mad max style post apocalyptic world.
The crazy crew then decided to make costumes, since it seemed like a nice thing to do, plus they managed to get the retarded duck with the possible thumbs [What? -YZ] and twisty neck to make them, eat that today's feminist society! Note that despite all the excitement, they still manage to have ANOTHER happy meal to celebrate the rebuilding of society.
After much hilarity of birdie proving once and for all that ginger haired ducks are the fastest things ever (apart from Mr T's Van and that spooky evil ' its chasing me' thing from the Evil Dead movies), the purple triangle thing lifts the MacDonald's from its foundations, probably sending the already scared shitless employee insane (if my co-workers at my job were a duck, a clown, a 5 year old gentleman thief and the aforementioned purple triangle thing, I would be insane too).
We learn on the next page that the hamburglar uses his new-found heat beam eye blasts to cook his own burgers BETWEEN MEALS! The fiend, look at the sheer delight in his eyes at the prospect of such evil. Even Mumm-ra (the ever-living) might feel guilty sometimes, but not this hamburglar. Speaking of which, since the hamburglar has superpowers, shouldn't he set his heights higher than cooking meals for himself, I bet Garrett (from Thief) would pay a 1000 candlesticks and deer legs to have laser vision and the ability to fly. Imagine Thief 3.
Who's there? Must have been rats.
The comic reaches an exciting climax (so exciting my eyes have stopped crusting over from reading this crappy comic), the true evil is revealed, EMPEROR NEFARIOUS!! Yes, some alien emperor has bunged himself in a meteor and shot himself towards earth in the hope of stopping kids eating meat flavoured sponges and coke flavoured ice. At this point I noticed that the emperor looked very much like broccoli, perhaps this friendly alien has come to earth in the hope of teaching kids to eat healthy fruit and vegetables, but was cursed with an evil looking face and the name Nefarious. But Ronald McDonald, the McDonalds revolutionary, is having none of that, so he gets serious, and decides to stop this non-greasy campaign of hope ONCE AND FOR ALL!
[Let me just interject and say that I'm going to try to work the phrase 'non-greasy campaign' into every conversation I have this week. -YZ]
I'm not sure how it ends, as it is to be continued, but I can easily tell it is going to involve happy meals stopping the evil baddy, like those hostess fruit pie adventures staring marvel superheroes (see seanbaby.com for more info). After defeating the vegetable version of ET, Ronald and co. use their god-like powers to force the world to eat at least 5 portions of MCDONALDS a day, which would involve the entire continent of south America being used for cattle grazing and at least 3.5 billion people working in slaughter houses, delivery companies and McDonalds 24/7. It would be like Nosgoth in Soul Reaver, only with hamburgers and fries instead of vampires.
Time for the scores!
Education factor: 1/10
Nothing in this comic makes sense, so much so that your IQ is countable by the number of feet you currently own [What? -YZ]. We learn that MacDonald's has mice, so it gets 1 point.
Fun factor: 5/10
Despite its insanity it is actuality an enjoyable comic, but all the corporate logos and advertising bring it down quicker than the population of roast chickens in the presence of Lisa Riley, we also learn from the disclaimer that the characters are not real, and that made me cry.
Cholesterol levels: 11/10
I gained weight just reading this fucking thing.
Interesting thing happened the other day. I was on my way back to the office after lunch, taking a short cut through a pedestrian plaza, when I saw a young man with a crewcut being closely pursued by a slightly chunky uniformed police officer. The pair ran in circles around the square, like a very small and athletic conga line, while I and a small group of privileged peds gawped.
Immediately I knew what would happen next. The fellon would run towards me, and acting entirely out of reflex, I would trip him up and pin him to the floor. The police officer would thank me breathlessly and shake me by the hand, and the papers would praise me as a 'Have-a-go Hero'.
My new calling would be clear to me. Drunk on the small dose of fame, I would begin taking to the streets with a mask and cloak, calling myself The Fist, Friend of the Proletariat. I would right wrongs and rescue those in peril by the light of the moon, and before long the underworld would quake in fear at the mere mention of my name, like a sound-sensitive jelly. But the extreme nature of my vigilante activities as I pummel the criminals to submission would make me a wanted man, and soon enough the police would take me away.
Imprisoned for a short three-year sentence, it would quickly become clear that I retained considerable public sympathy. Other vigilantes would take to the streets, following my example, and soon the government would have no choice but to legalise amateur crimefighting. Released on pardon, I would devote my time to composing the memoirs for my time as a superhero, laced almost imperceptibly with my opinions on politics. On the chat show circuit I would continue to make my political motivations clear until I found myself in a position to found my own political party.
My speeches would be carefully written by myself to contain no bullshit and appeal directly to the hearts and minds of a disillusioned voting public. Eventually my party would grab a few seats in parliament, adding to that number each year until we were the chief opposition party. At the next general election, the result is a foregone conclusion. Prime Minister Yahtzee begins a reign which few people would forget in a hurry.
After the death of the Queen, the remaining royals are unpopular enough to justify pushing through a bill disbanding the monarchy, and with it all that is attached; the House of Lords and the hereditary peerships. The United Republic of Great Britain is born.
Under the guiding hand of President Yahtzee, whose methods are un-PC and brutal but which undeniably work, Britain becomes once again one of the world's most important superpowers, its people happy, gainfully employed and almost completely free of crime. The European Union, long ignored by the President while the problems of his own country were sorted out, asks if Britain will be joining the new European superstate. Yahtzee makes it clear that it will on the condition that he is made life-president.
The European heads of state balk at this until the idea is fully explained. Over the years, President Yahtzee's methods have turned Britain's fortunes one hundred and eighty degrees. The people are the happiest they have been in a long time and the economy is booming. If I am made life president of the EU, I say, I will be in a position to do this same service for the entire continent.
After many months of debate, the EU gives in, and I am invested as the new head of the United European Republic. True to my word, it does not take long for this new nation to enjoy the same prosperity Britain has. The world is forced to sit up and take notice as, one by one, surrounding countries join the party.
Eastern Europe signs up after less than a year. Africa and India are finally persuaded to come under my sheltering wing a few years later. Within less than a decade, the United Earth Republic covers three-quarters of the globe. It takes a lot of diplomatic talks, but eventually the most difficult hurdle is crossed; North America joins up. After that, the remaining countries file in like lost sheep.
Under the command of one man, united under a flag of peace and understanding, I shepherd this stronger loving world into a new age of enlightenment.
I am distracted by these appealing thoughts, and as such do not realise for several seconds that the thug has been caught already, the police officer sitting on him and talking urgently into his radio. Shrugging, I move on and return to the office.
Back at the office, the future President of the World empties the packet of granulated sugar he bought into the near-empty sugar bowl.
"Oh, thanks," says his boss. "Shall I reimburse you for that?"
"Nah, don't worry about it," he replies, before returning to his desk.
Okay, so, the war.
Yeah, yeah, I know, it's over. Why didn't I make more comment on it last week when it was still in full swing. Well, as I have said before, I've tried not to have an opinion since I don't know too much about it. Really don't think I should pass judgement if I don't understand the whole story, advice I'm sure a lot of barroom mouth-shooter-offers should heed.
So the Americans and the British and a few other chaps ran into Iraq, shot each other a few times, shot a bit more enemy, took down a few statues and raised a few flags. For most of the population, freedom and jubilation reigns while all those people who objected feel a bit stupid. We've broken into Saddam's palace and heartily laughed at his crap taste in art. Saddam himself has gone to go and live in the same apparently really-hard-to-find place Osama Bin Laden disappeared to. The world is asking: what happens in Iraq next?
America aren't going to do fuck all. They've gone in, shot a few allies, stomped on a few badly trained soldiers, raised a few flags, stroked their penises, and are now going to disappear over the horizon and find some other 'rogue nation' to victimise. They don't give a shit who ends up in power. It was the Americans who put the Taliban in charge of Afghanistan and set this whole mess off in the first place, I really don't think we should leave the decision in their hands.
Britain isn't going to put in too much effort either. Blair's too busy trying to simultaneously appease George Bush and the EU, which is at the moment like trying to initiate talks between snakes and mongooses. The British army meanwhile are too busy following the American army into Syria, 'cos they have to pay them back for all the borrowed supplies somehow.
As for the other countries that were involved in blowing Iraq to smithereens, none of them have the authority to put a government together for the bloody place. The future for the looting civvies of Baghdad is looking increasingly uncertain.
So, what to do with Iraq? Well, I have my own suggestion for that, which came to me in a flash of inspiration after standing up suddenly in the bath.
Ladies and gentlemen, the solution is clear:
TURN IRAQ INTO A TESTING GROUND FOR NEW GOVERNMENTS
Seriously! Remember the communism fiasco? It was a good enough idea in theory, but in practise it all fell apart, leading to the inevitable dismal collapse of Soviet Russia. All that complicated fol-de-rol could have been averted if we'd just had some nation set aside for beta testing the communist regime. If after a few months everything started buggering up, we'd just toss the whole thing as a bad idea, rewrite the little red book and try again.
If we just had a test country to try out new systems of government before bringing it to more developed nations, we could avert a whole lotta misery, guys. Let's say some plucky young dictator wants to take over, I dunno, Belgium. He goes to the United Nations with his manifesto.
MAN: United Nations! Here is my manifesto for 'dartboardism', a system of government wherein major decisions are decided by hurling darts randomly at a dartboard covered in post-it notes. Can I have Belgium now?
UN: Hmm... I think we're going to have to submit it to testing first. Here's the keys to Iraq.
MAN: Well hot piss!
ADVISOR: Emperor Man, the people are rioting! Unemployment is rife, food reserves are depleted! What should we do?
MAN: Well, let's find out. According to the dartboard, we should (thunk) hypnotise them into submission, then (thunk) hand out free sweets.
Maybe it wouldn't be ethical to submit the people of Iraq as international guinea pigs. In that case, we should probably give them something in return for their efforts, like a gigantic amusement park with free admission, or the world's largest Knickerbocker Glory.
All this ingenuity makes me sleepy. Nap time!
I can't believe I didn't think of this before. Whenever I don't feel like doing a full update, I just upload a bunch of new Angular Mike strips. I also added some more character profiles. Read, damn you, read!
material not otherwise credited by Ben 'Yahtzee' Croshaw