Archive for the ‘Boredom’ Category

It’s been a few weeks since Christmonth was declared in our house, and Gem has been insisting on watching any movie with Christmas in it’s title.
It turns out that crap Christmas movies are the most depressing movies ever, at least up until the final 10 minutes when everything sorts itself out.
Anyway, I made this for you to use next time you get forced to watch a terrible Christmas movie starring whatsisname from that 90s movie. Have fun!

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Dear Reader,
This has been the hardest thing I have ever written, and I hope you see how brave and important I am for having committed pen (typed) to paper (phone touch screen) to write this important open letter to you.

Sure, you’re the fictional antagonist in my blatant cry for attention, and while some of the people who read this will relate to the situations and events that I list, I can’t help feeling that this is all your fault.

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Hello. How are you? Oh. Well, I hope it gets better.

Now, it seems that just writing interesting and funky reviews about shit folk send me (more coming soon!) isn’t enough to get folk thinking I’m Internet-Space-Jesus, and apparently one is expected to use one’s blog to discuss my feelings and opinions and illnesses and such. So, without further ado, here are some feelings and opinions on things suggested by those lovely spouters of boob and food suggestions, the twitter people. Also, I have a cold and a sore leg.

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Here is an out of context picture I made.

Update – twitter has been surprisingly good at suggestions today, like in the olden days so this is now a 2-parter. Ooh.

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Hi folks,

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It’s me. Sorry I’ve not updated this blog for a while, I’ve been quote-unquote busy doing quote-unquote things.

I’ve obviously been doing lots of things on the twitter and I’ve done my best to put updates on the facebook, silly pictures for The Poke and such.

I photoshopped Ed Miliband’s face onto pornography too, but Gem says I will end up dead or in jail if I dont delete them, so there you go.

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No, seriously. I'm not sharing them.

Anyway, what I’m saying is that I am gonna make a big sexy concerted effort to do some more reviews and such over the next few days and weeks, and if you don’t see anything from me for a few days, please feel free to shout “UPDATE YOUR BLOG YOU BIG FAT IDIOT” at me, even if it makes me cry.

Oh, and in other news, I’m gonna be contributing to a couple of other popculture based webshites shortly, i’ll let you know as and when that happens.

And we got a puppy. He is an idiot.

Here you go…

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Previously on Fudgecrumpet
“Let’s go shopping”
“Let’s get the chuffachoo to Leeds”
“Dairy Free Chocolate Mousse”
“Pouffe”

And now, the conclusion…

When last we saw our curmudgeonly hero, he had been firmly planted on an uncomfortable seat outside the Next changing room, buried underneath infinite clothing, waiting for the missus to try on whatever nonsense she wants to buy that blatantly isn’t Christmas presents.

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“How does this look on me?” She shouts from one of the cubicles.
“It looks lovely, dear.” You reply, instinctively, having made the mistake of actually thinking about the answer in the past.
“No, really. How does it look? Come and see.”

You pause for a moment, aware that this is probably some kind of trap to destroy you, but seeing no tripwires, landmines or spring-loaded boxing gloves, you venture into the changing room corridor.
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Merry bloody Christmas, folks. Ho ho ho, you hoes.

So, you’ve bought yourself the Radio Times double issue, you’ve got yourself a multipack of capri-sun* pouches that you’re steadfastly refusing to open until the big day, and your Christmas tree is upright for the fourth time since the cat/kids/poor structural engineering of your house knocked it down.

*booze for you non-teetotallers.

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So, I guess it’s Christmas. A few days off work, should be nice and relaxing, watching your playing Candy Crush Soda Saga on the toilet, while hiding from the kids.
Then the missus comes in the room, in her low cut top which means she wants to get her own way.
“We need to go Christmas shopping.” She says.
“You did all the Christmas shopping in November, because you were saying how efficient and awesome you were.” You reply.
“I bought shoes.” She says. “And a cheesecake.”
You mumble all the swear words and kick the cat, who squeals angrily and pulls down the Christmas tree.

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