Pope Denies Homosexuality: Rumours PersistPosted May 14th 2007 by PaPa
Many of you may have heard, whilst some of you may not, which is why I'm writing this news post. Don't think about what I just said too much. Focus rather on this:
Saturday, May 19th: Blizzard Worldwide Invitational, Seoul.
Blizzard have officially confirmed that they will be announcing a new game on this portentious date. Rumours and speculation have been rife, with the most touted candidate being the long awaited Starcraft 2, a title that has me salivating at the mere thought of its glossy CD deigning to enter my humble PC. Other options include Diablo 3 (who cares), Warcraft 4 (pffff) and in the most disturbing instance, a Starcraft MMO. Whilst it is feasible that Blizzard would want to add another cash cow to their dairy, I would think that another of the same breed might sour the milk, so for myself I doubt this idea.
There is also the possibility that when Blizzard said that Ghost had been indefinitely delayed they were actually telling the truth instead of just avoiding saying flat-out cancelled, in which case Ghost may return to crush the hopes and dreams of gamers all over the world once again.
Blizzard.com currently displays a splash screen featuring a timeline of previous franchise releases - notably missing are any expansion packs and any of the classic Blizzard games. From the set up, it appears that each game in the timeline will be highlighted day-by-day until it's the turn of the '?' on the 19th.
For your future reference, Seoul is 8 hours ahead of British Summertime.
I Am In Flavour CountryPosted November 1st 2006 by PaPa
I expect that many of you, those with "lives" and suchlike, will have been out partying last night. Well, either that or Trick or Treating. Speaking of Trick or Treat, it seems like such a fucked up ritual these days. As far as I can see, the choice between tricking or treating is not decided by the one answering the door, but by the one soliciting an audience. Broadly, the "Treaters" are pre-teens out with the parents, typically wearing plastic masks and dustbin bags, accoutrements which are on some continents deemed terrifying, and the "Trickers" are 15-20 year old boys with an exaggerated belief in their own comic genius. What the fuck are the little kids and their parents going to do if someone says "Trick"? Jump up and down a bit? Murder the cat (unlikely)? No - the treaters have zero expectation of being denied confectionary. Similarly, what do the spotty teenagers who bought six months' supply of eggs before heading out do when the sweet old lady offers them a sugar mouse? Personally I'm suspicious as to whether they even ask the question in the first place - they're just out for some senseless vandalism, an act which they feel is somehow vindicated by the earth's current spatial co-ordinates. What kind of fucked up person prefers throwing eggs at windows to eating delicious candy anyway?
You may not have realised this, but the entire monologue above is in fact a wide digression from my subject. My actual intent was to write about The Secret Policeman's Ball, the Amnesty International associated comedy show that aired on Channel 4 last night. As I said, most of you were probably out getting drunk and laughing at how hilariously ironic each other's costumes were, meaning that you missed a consistently high-quality hour and a half of comedy. Starting with Eddie Izzard lambasting creationism and moving on to an interpretive dance performance of Natalie Imbruglia's 'Torn', the show continued strong, including various famous British and (apparently) famous American talents. Doubtless the entire show will be available on DVD for all you socialites, and I greatly recommend at least renting it.
The Pedantry of PederastsPosted September 6th 2006 by PaPa
For those to whom this thought has not yet occurred, it should be made clear that only fucking lady-boys heat up the milk for their hot chocolate on the hob when there's a perfectly serviceable microwave about two feet away from them. Real men have too many things to worry about in their hurly-burly life of sex and drugs and rock 'n' roll to be able to wait more than one minute and forty seconds for their hot chocolate, and they certainly don't have time to wash up a motherfucking saucepan. The kind of pansy who pulls that kind of shit probably has some kind of preference as to which order the milk and chocolate powder are placed in the mug and gets all fucking high and mighty when someone happens to create a 2 meg, 8 second wav file. Well, you now see the product of that unsuccessful compression on this site, and I think you'll agree that it was barely worth the emotional anguish and psychological trauma necessary for its conception. Fucking hob warmers.
In conclusion, PaPa 1-0 Dae.
Tim Tam SlamPosted June 30th 2006 by PaPa
My absence from the front page of this website has been lengthy, and already I hear many of you crying out in the long dark of the Internet, asking me why. Why have I left you without one of my poorly written and factually derelict rants? Why have I left you in the clutches of Dae and his masturbatory linguaphilia? These questions, and more, shall all be answered, but not now, and not by me.
Rather, in a rarity for this site, my post will concern itself with the subject matter referred to in its title – the infamous Tim Tam Slam. For the exact technique of this manoeuvre you may wish to familiarise yourself with the bullet points in the above link, but I am not myself concerned with the cold, unfeeling methodology; my intention is instead to describe my personal experience with this awe-inspiring biscuit dunking procedure.
It begins, as so many things do, underwhelmingly. At first I was unable to discern any effect at all, and I may be forgiven at least partially for believing that I was doing it wrong. Such was not the case. This period of inactivity was merely the time that it took for the hot tea to travel the length of the biscuit, and when it reached my mouth it struck me almost physically, so unexpected was its appearance. After this first shock I was unable to continue for more than a couple of seconds before I realised that what I held was no longer a biscuit, but had become a hot, sodden mass. Quickly cramming it into my mouth, I became aware of the horrific damage done to the structure of the biscuit by the tea, its alteration from crunchy snack to amorphous piece of faerie flesh being complete and entire. I was rendered almost insensible by this effect – my only response when an enquiry was made after my success was to shout a barely coherent string of affirmatives.