Hmmm. The last week or so I seem to have taken a liking to U2 bordering on obsession. I bought their Best Of today, though that's not completely accurate. I can't believe the robbing bastards made two Best Of CDs, one of the 80s and one of the 90s. I refused to buy both out of sheer stubbernness. I bet the profit made from making fans buy two CDs won't be going to Africa's starving either! Anyway, it's a good CD, and they didn't really do much in the 90s anyway to be honest.

 

When I was in town I also got stopped by one of the monks who patrol Mill Street. No I don't want a monk rock CD, but I will have a random ethics book. Don't laugh, one of you will be getting it as a birthday present!

 

Chemistry down; biology left to fail. Best revise un petit peut.

Everything sounds better in a different accent. If I shout at someone I always end up putting on an American accent, though I resist the urge to add "motherfucker" to the end of each sentence. That would be an exclamation mark at the end of a Tarentino sentence written in italics.

 

And, whenever I read something I want to remember, I autonomically put on an accent. Like this morning, I was sat on the toilet reading over the formation of the nitronium ion in "Module 4: Further Physical and Organic Chemistry" when I suddenly slipped into what I perceived to be Marlon Brando in the Godfather. I don't claim to be any good at impressions AT ALL, but nobody else was in earshot, and it sounded alright to me; but the point is, it sunk into the *CRAP! WHICH BIT OF THE BRAIN IS CONCERNED WITH MEMORY?* Oh balls, I am going to fail biology; not even Superman can save me now. Actually, what does Superman's voice sound like?

 

But anyway, my (somewhat diminished) point was, accents are good. I wish I could do accents. My impressions sound accurate to me, but I'm informed (whether reliably or not, it doesn't really matter) that they do actually suck. I wonder why it is that the sounds are interpretted differently. Is it completely psychological? Do I hear the voice I'm trying to recall in my brain, and not the sounds actually come out of my mouth? Or, is it something physics? Do different wavelengths of sounds pass through your jaw bone than the ones which through air, or something? That's impossible. If anyone knows, or wishes to spend a few minutes pretending that you know, I would be delighted to hear your opinions.

 

HNO3 + 2H2SO4  -> [H2NO3]+ + HSO4-

 

[H2NO3]+ -> H2O + NO2+

 

I think I should be leaving now.

 

 

It amazes me how I can go from the insane high of the most random chemistry lesson ever, to wrist-slashing depression. And the sole cause of this...JAMES FUCKING BLUNT! STOP WHINING YOU WANKER! YOU HAVE AN AMAZINGLY COOL LIFE! SING SOMETHING SLIGHTLY CHEERFUL! I DARE YOU!

 

Hearing songs about getting dumped give me an erection.

 

HAHA! That's more like it.

 

 

Unless you're a randombloghopper, I'm sure you'll have been on this. But go on it anyway. It's fooking hilarious.#

 

Adios

The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who, in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truely his brother's keeper, and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengance and furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my brother. And you will know I am the lord, when I lay my vengance upon you.

 

Now I've been sayin' that shit shit for years, and if you heard it, that meant your ass. I've never stopped to think what it meant. I thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this morning that made me think.

 

You see, maybe, you're the evil man, and I'm the righteous man; and Mr nine milimeter, he's the shepherd, protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or maybe, you're the righteous man, and I'm the shepherd, and it's the world that evil and selfish. And I like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is, you're the weak, and I am the tyranny of evil men. But I'm trying Ringo: I'm tryin'g real hard, to be the shepherd.

I hate being ill. And this is a really bad time to be ill. I think I'll run you through my symptoms, hoping to stir up some sympathy! Well, last night I had a blinding headache, I felt really cold and started sweating and shaking uncontrollably. All noises seem unbareably loud and I have no energy to do anything. I tried reading something but I couldn't focus on the page and I ended up going to sleep at 6:30.

 

I'm ill. And pathetic. And I'm a loser. And I'm not a rockstar. And a cop car has been parked across the road from my house for two hours now. Wouldn't that just be fucking fitting. Well, I'm not here ok. I've had enough. I'm going to bed. Sorry for being so self-deprocating. Oh God I'm so depressing. NIGHT!

91. INT. COFFEE SHOP - MORNING 91.

 

Jules and Vincent sit at a booth. In front of Vincent is a big stack of pancakes and sausages, which he eats with gusto. Jules, on the other hand, just has a cup of coffee and a muffin. He seems far away in thought. The Waitress pours a refill for both men,

 

VINCENT

Thanks a bunch.

(to Jules, who's nursing his coffee)

Want a sausage?

 

JULES

Naw, I don't eat pork.

 

VINCENT

Are you Jewish?

 

JULES

I ain't Jewish man, I just don't dig on swine.

 

VINCENT

Why not?

 

JULES

They're filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.

 

VINCENT

Sausages taste good. Pork chops taste good.

 

JULES

A sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie. I'll never know 'cause even if it did, I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I don't wanna eat nothin' that ain't got enough sense to disregard its own feces.

 

VINCENT

How about dogs? Dogs eat their own feces.

 

JULES

I don't eat dog either.

 

VINCENT

Yes, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?

 

JULES

I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy, but they're definitely dirty. But a dog's got personality. And personality goes a long way.

 

VINCENT

So by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he's cease to be a filthy animal?

 

JULES

We'd have to be talkin' 'bout one motherfuckin' charmin' pig. It'd have to be the Cary Grant of pigs.

 

The two men laugh.

 

VINCENT

Good for you. Lighten up a little. You been sittin' there all quiet.

 

JULES

I just been sittin' here thinkin'.

 

VINCENT

(mouthful of food)

About what?

 

JULES

The miracle we witnessed.

 

VINCENT

The miracle you witnessed. I witnessed a freak occurrence.

 

JULES

Do you know that a miracle is?

 

VINCENT

An act of God.

 

JULES

What's an act of God?

 

VINCENT

I guess it's when God makes the impossible possible. And I'm sorry Jules, but I don't think what happened this morning qualifies.

 

JULES

Don't you see, Vince, that shit don't matter. You're judging this thing the wrong way. It's not about what. It could be God stopped the bullets, he changed Coke into Pepsi, he found my fuckin' car keys. You don't judge shit like this based on merit. Whether or not what we experienced was an according-to-Hoyle miracle is insignificant. What is significant is I felt God's touch, God got involved.

 

VINCENT

But why?

 

JULES

That's what's fuckin' wit' me! I don't know why. But I can't go back to sleep.

 

VINCENT

So you're serious, you're really gonna quit?

 

JULES

The life, most definitely.

 

Vincent takes a bite of food. Jules takes a sip of coffee

In the b.g., we see a PATRON call the Waitress.

 

PATRON

Garcon! Coffee!

 

We recognize the patron to be Pumpkin from the first scene of

Pumpkin and Honey Bunny.

 

VINCENT

So if you're quitting the life, what'll you do?

 

JULES

That's what I've been sitting here contemplating. First, I'm gonna deliver this case to Marsellus. Then, basically, I'm gonna walk the earth.

 

VINCENT

What do you mean, walk the earth?

 

JULES

You know, like Caine in "KUNG FU." Just walk from town to town, meet people, get in adventures.

 

VINCENT

How long do you intend to walk the earth?

 

JULES

Until God puts me where he want me to be.

 

VINCENT

What if he never does?

 

JULES

If it takes forever, I'll wait forever.

 

VINCENT

So you decided to be a bum?

 

JULES

I'll just be Jules, Vincent -- no more, no less.

 

VINCENT

No Jules, you're gonna be like those pieces of shit out there who beg for change. They walk around like a bunch of fuckin' zombies, they sleep in garbage bins, they eat what I throw away, and dogs piss on 'em. They got a word for 'em, they're called bums. And without a job, residence, or legal tender, that's what you're gonna be -- a fuckin' bum!

 

JULES

Look my friend, this is just where me and you differ --

 

VINCENT

-- what happened was peculiar -- no doubt about it -- but it wasn't water into wine.

 

JULES

All shapes and sizes, Vince.

 

VINCENT

Stop fuckin' talkin' like that!

 

JULES

If you find my answers frightening, Vincent, you should cease askin' scary questions.

 

VINCENT

When did you make this decision -- while you were sitting there eatin' your muffin?

 

JULES

Yeah. I was just sitting here drinking my coffee, eating my muffin, playin' the incident in my head, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a "moment of clarity."

 

VINCENT

I gotta take a shit. To be continued.

 

Vincent exits for the restroom.

Fuckety fags. I had my chemistry resit in the morning and I really think I nailed it in the ass. I managed to get a U last time, so I can only have gone up this time round.

 

FUCK OF JAMES BLUNT

 

That's better.

 

"Get your rocks off get your rocks off honey."

 

I played football in my new boots. I didn't slide over once which makes a merry change.

 

Tea time. DAMMIT. Missing neighbours lol. Bye

I've just taken time out of my hectic sleeping schedule to read my past blogages. I have realised that:

1) Writing emotions down is never a good idea because you'll probably feel differently in a week and you feel really stupid and fickle looking back on it. If you can remember what you were talking about that is!

2) I normally start with the phrase "Today's been shitty."

3) I normally follow that with the phrase "Seriously crappy."

4) Only four people have ever read my blog, which angers me greatly! I have put a lot of effort into these entries (well the ones which I haven't just quoted films anyway) and the least you people can do is read them. Now I sound like Galley in his last ditch attempt to get more comments. That didn't work either.

5) I never told you the story about the dog.

 

Ok, set the scene. It was a very hot day in *thinks back* ages ago. Start of the summer holidays. I was walking home along Chester Road. *Why was I there? Ahh yes, I remember. I'd just been to see Archie the beagle and "writing emotions is never a good idea..."* Anyway, I had been sunbathing and my shoulders were incredibly itchy. Okay, I think I've spent enough time setting the scene, but I needed time to remember what actually happened.

 

There I was, just past the Bupa roundabout. The mid-afternoon traffic was still and I took the opportunity to cross the road. I never feel completely comfortable crossing in front of cars at roundabouts. I always expect the driver to take a dramatic disliking to me and run me down. To protect against this rather disappointing death, I always look at the driver's expression when I'm crossing, so that if they do decide to murder me I would at least be able to see the malicious expression on their face, and I would hopefully be able to jump out of the way.

 

Did you know that a leopard can jump 24 feet in the air from a standing start?

 

If someone does like my appearance that much he wanted to kill me, I imagine I would leap athletically onto the car's bonnet, glare at the driver and kick his windsceen through. The car would then accelerate and I would fling myself off the car towards the pavement, doing an amazingly dramatic and agile roll on the concrete. Seeing the car speeding off I would sprint powerfully and pointlessly after it with a look of intense hatred on my incredibly handsome face while Limp Bizkit played in the background.

 

But that's my imagine taking over. What actually happened was less sexy, but much more freaky. I looked in the window of a dark grey Honda something, and staring back at me was a large dog, a German Shepherd. In utter shock and horror of the thought of a dog driving a car I stopped dead in the middle of the road. When I'm replaying this in my mind I imagine the dog winking at me. But I'm sure that's just my imagination again.

 

Far from wave me across in front of it, the dog put his foot down and drove away. I gazed after the car in sheer amazement, and, with a sense of great relief I noticed that it had a foreign number plate. I then came to the anticlimactic realisation that the car was in fact left hand drive and the dog was a mere passenger.

 

In retrospect, it occurs to me that my comment that the driver was a German shepherd may still be accurate. As my gaze followed the car into the distance, my brain decided to remind me that I was in the middle of the road at a busy junction. The black object coming towards me then came into sharper focus and I realised that I was about to be run over by a hearse. Now that would be a more suitably ironic ending to my life. I'm not quite sure how I survived. The hearse probably stopped at a crazy guess. I picture the coffin opening and a corpse shaking its fist at me, telling me to "look where you're going you crazy young whippersnapper." But of course that didn't happen.

 

I hope this tale was worth telling.

 

6) I normally end my entries with "adieu"

"You’re weird."

"Sorry."

"No, that was a compliment."

"Well, look, errr …. you want to go with me?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"No, I mean like 'go' with me. You know like, it’s what we call it here. 'Going together'."

"Sure."

"OK. Hey, where are you going?"

"I’m going home."

School seemed so surreal today (alliteration not intented). Everyone seemed happy!  (except Sarah obviously, who was still as miserable as ever ) Guess Christmas was still in everyone's systems. The highest nmr peak of the day's jovial nature was the rendition of the S-Club 7 classic  "Reach" in chemistry. And Catherine brought us cake in the library.  Twas very nice. And very chocolatey.  I thought I had chemistry sussed. I actually got As on a couple of practice papers over the holidays. But in today's lesson I couldn't do a fucking thing Fisher -->  asked. "Can you draw that on the board?" "Erm. NO." This is turning into a proper journal blog. Ok, what else happened today?  Erm, we played football as always. The Christmas pudding factor was apparent. I wonder when Hutchinson will let us play in frees again.  I gave a letter in at the end of last term outlining my disgrace and general  yadder yadder.  Galley gave me a lift to the gym, (via McDonalds). And no that doesn't undo the whole point of going to the gym.  And also, my belt broke in his car. But I masterfully fixed it with a two pennie piece.  This year's gonna be good.