Well, here we are. Tales from the underground man. For many months now I have 'talked' about creating my own blog - and I have finally decided to follow through on it. This blog will be host to the wondrous things that surround me - whether it be what I ate for dinner or what time I woke up I will strive to keep it as interesting as possible.I don't quite understand the concept of blogging. It strikes me as bizarre that not only will I be taking time out every day to write this, but that someone else other than me and my flatmate will be actually reading it. Ironically, I used to be anti-blogging, until about 5 minutes ago I thought the idea of expressing myself through a medium of blogging ridiculous. 'Why type when you can talk' I thought to myself in a particularly narrow minded view of this brave new world we call the present. But now I feel that the internet has consumed me due to the fact that my laptop is almost constantly on and attached to my lap (goodbye underground children of tomorrow).So please enjoy it - because I probably won't enjoy writing it and there must be some positives to come out of all of this...
I got up at about 11 to the great news that the new episode of lost was online - so I watched it with a cup of coffee and an open mind. I feel you need to leave your inhibitions at the door with a program like Lost as it can get a bit out there - especially with the whole time-travelling aspect. My flatmate then went for a haircut - which is a first. Before he resembled a more 'human' bigfoot, but after a shave and haircut he just looked like a human.For the purpose of this blog - I will refer to him as Mcsly - because he would like that.
Branson - all hail those saucy sluts!
Kudos to branson. Not only have they successfully re-invented the rule-book on baked bean manufacturing, but the crafty bastards have also hit the nail on the head when it comes to tomato sauce - or tommy as it is known when I am feeling saucy (pun most definatly intended).I will start with their beans. They are richer in taste and texture than their heinz counterparts as well as ticking all the right boxes in the packaging department - the snazzy silver label never fails to impress. For many months now I have been buying branson over heinz and quite frankly I will never go back to what was once the king among men of beans.I don't really have a great deal to say about their tommy, I had a bit of it on a bacon sandwich this morning... well it was more of this afternoon after I got lost in the world of Lost. It is easier to control the flow of sauce than heinz tommy which hasn't really had any decent competition in its history. The branson also comes with an extra reassuring click when it is closed which may seem mundane to most - but for some reason I find it quite satisfying.
Phil Collins
My 'other' flatmate goes by the name of Phil Collins. He is not the Phil Collins, but might as well be because he annoys me just as much if not more than the real thing. I have just been informed by Mcsly that his full name is Mr Phillip J. Collins Esq.The problem with Mr Phil, is that he insists on taking these dirty, disease ridden rodents back to my abode. I can say in all honesty that I hate them and everything they stand for. That is not to say that I 'hate' Phil - he is just a bit of a twat who barely ever speaks apart from the odd 'hello'.
The frustrating this about Phil is that he has the most wonderful alter-ego known solely as 'Simba'. He can often be seen elegantly running through the desert plains with some upbeat 'let's take back pride rock' music in the background. This alter ego is only summoned once in a blue moon.
It should be important to point out that Phil is actually a rat. A stuffed one at that. And when I say 'stuffed' I mean he is a toy from ikea.
Below is a picture of Phil after 'seducing' some ladies of the night for an orgy of drugs and cheese. Good luck and Godspeed Phil - you dirty fucking rat!
