Sobreity, and the difficult journey to normality

It's been a long time since I've written a blogpost; be it here, elsewhere, everywhere or never..where.. or something. However, this time I really want to talk about something important, and something that hundreds of thousands of people fight against each and every day. Alcoholism.

Now, Alcoholism is a word that is frequently tossed around rather freely to describe anyone from those that go clubbing every Saturday and get smashed, to those who are passed out in alleyways wearing 10 year old coats. I can't comment on those types of people, and I don't pretend I can, but I believe I am in one of the worst groups; the ones that try to hide it.

I know usually on this blog, I try to be funny by swearing a whole bunch, posting stupid pictures, and ranting about things that really don't affect me, but this particular issue has, for the past 4 to 5 years. Drink has been a scapegoat for me for a long, long time. When I was unemployed, I used to drink a shitload of horrible white cider to drown out the nagging feeling I should be doing something. SOMETHING. Then my first job in a while came along. I was an admin for a charity, that let me work from home for three days a week. I had the opportunity to earn money without spending a penny, and I fucked it up by doing the bare minimum. When I was at the office, I found work placements for dozens of kids, but the fact that I could have done more haunts me to this day, every time I look at a bottle.

Then I found a job in retail, I won't say where just incase, but I finally found a distraction of sorts; for a while. Then I was earning money, which I could easily spend on a few drinks at home. Which I did, for almost two years.

The thing that affects me most is my family. I'm sure every single one of them know, yet it's taken this long to do something about it. I'm literally pissing away potential for the sake of one night a little bit lightheaded, at a cost of about £10 a pop. Is it worth it? Really?

No-one begrudges someone a drink at the end of a work week, but I never knew when to stop. I wanted to wake up the next morning and get into the exact same state. It was a disgusting way to be. To be in a constant stupor, snapping at people, never coming out of my room, I hated it, yet it was something I couldn't stop.

Until I posted on Facebook a frank, and extensive talk about what I felt. The amount of support I got was phenomenal and every time I look at booze it makes my heart pang thinking of them. Do I go overboard and let them down? Or do I just have a glass, instead of a bottle? I had no idea that many people cared about me that much, and, alas without a funny picture, caption, or joke, must sum up this post.

Thank you, you fantastic, wonderful people.

Doctor Who - Enterprise Part One

DOCTOR WHO – ENTERPRISE



PART ONE – FIRST CONTACT



The Doctor reclined in his seat and sipped his glass of special reserve tawny port, turning the page of a thick novel. The Tardis hummed with a quiet comfort, the time rotor grinding with a familiar, dull tone. A moment of reflection, the Doctor thought, and one well deserved, after 11 previous incarnations of the adventurous persuasion.

The Doctor was immersed in his book – the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams – the text frequently bringing a smile onto his young, yet experienced face. He turned another page and reached for his glass again, only to find that it had moved a little further across the table sat astride his battered leather chair. His eyes shifted to it, and he leant over a little to grasp it, when the Tardis shuddered and it fell to the ground with a loud crash.

He clutched the arms of his seat until the tremors passed, before standing up and glancing over the complicated central console. The readouts seemed normal, the Tardis forcefields were up and at full power, and the course was set correctly – so why the disturbance? Flicking a switch, the Doctor brought up a holographic galactic map, plotting his location within a tenth of an inch.

"Good lord." he whispered to himself.

__

"Analysis, Mr Worf?"

"The vessel is unknown to sensors, Captain. The dimensions suggest it may only be a probe."Lieutenant Worf replied, frowning at the readouts displayed to him.

"Mr Data?"

"I am familiar with the general design of the object Captain, but cannot explain its presence in space. It appears to be of Earth design, late 19th century. A police box."

"A 'police box'?"

"Indeed, it was used widely on street corners as a sort of communication between the public and the authorities. Records say they also acted as a communications line during the Cold War."

The Captain frowned and leant forward in his seat.

"So how can a late 19th century phone box end up in space?" he asked, causing a contemplative moment of silence from the bridge crew. The vessel in question continued to spin in place on the view screen, matching the ships velocity. The Captain decided to open a communications channel.

"This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship 'Enterprise'. You are in violation of Federation space. Identify yourself."

The viewscreen remained in static for a few seconds, before flickering into life, revealing a distorted face. The audio was no better, filled with static and undecipherable. Captain Picard ordered Data to attempt to clear up the signal.

"Captain, the vessel has very complex shielding. Its forcefield necessitates a continuous cycle of communication frequencies over the medium band at one thousand transmissions a second."

"Make it so" the Captain replied.

Data began to make the calculations, and tapped them in to the Enterprises' console, clearing the video and sound quality. The Doctor smiled warmly as he witnessed this development.

"Hello!" he began "I'm the Doctor. I appear to have been bounced off your deflector shield."

Captain Picard replied ernestly "This is the Federation Starship Enterprise. State your intentions immediately."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "I love how you just assume I'm not trustworthy." he sighs. "I'm a Timelord from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous."

Picard glanced over at Data, who returned a bewildered look. Neither Gallifrey nor Kasterborous appeared in Federation records.

"We've never heard of either of those places, Doctor." the Captain said, moving closer to the screen. "How are we to believe you aren't a smuggler working for the Cardassians or the Ferengi?"

"The what?" the Doctor replied, his face contorted with disbelief, "Captain, I assure you, I've heard of neither of those factions, or..races. Our paths are merely crossing due to some error on one of our parts."

"Maybe so, but I'd like to talk to you face to face, Doctor." Picard said sternly, bringing himself up to full height. Commander Riker stood and joined him.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Captain" The Doctor shook his head. "It would not be a good idea at all, infact."

"Very well" Captain Picard replied "We will beam you aboard. Transporter room one, lock on to the target and beam it aboard. Vessel and occupant."

"Aye sir" came the reply.

The Doctor tried frantically to start the time rotor again but it was too late. The Tardis was being transported to the other ship, and what the Doctor may find there remained a mystery.

The transporter pad on the Enterprise glowed and began to hum, Chief O'Brien looked up and tapped a few controls, stabilising the beam. A beam of orange-yellow light fizzled into view, slithering down in numerous streaks, forming a vague shape. The process continued until the Tardis faded into the beam, its' dull blue a stark contrast to the sterile colours of the starship's interior. It hummed contently.

"O'Brien to Bridge.." the Chief signalled from his console.

"Picard here." came the reply.

"Our visitor is aboard Captain. We seem to have beamed his entire vessel here." There was an awkward silence as O'Brien tilted his head, studying the blue box stood before him. He half expected it to start talking or moving, but he shook off these ideas quickly as Picard's voice crackled over the intercom:

"Chief, is it undamaged?"

"Aye sir, though the beam was distorted somewhat by the vessel's shielding. What I am looking at is a 8 foot blue box that's humming at me."

"..I'll be right down" Picard replied, and the communications line cut out. O'Brien's attempts to conduct a scan of the Tardis from his console met with failure. Whatever was shielding the ship, he thought, was like nothing he had ever seen before. Even the Romulan cloaking device seemed inferior to this technology. His thoughts were interrupted by the transporter room door hissing open. Captain Picard, Lieutenant Worf and Commander Data appeared, and looked first at O'Brien, then the Tardis.

"Analysis, Mr Data." Picard uttered, to the side.

Data unfolded his tricorder and ran the scanning beacon from the top to the bottom of the police box. The device began to beep furiously, its lights flashing. Data held it further away from him, and it began to smoke, still beeping, at a higher frequency. The tricorder then was engulfed in a single, hot flame, and Data dropped it to the floor, where it disintegrated.

"Intriguing.." he remarked, as Picard and Worf looked in disbelief. Worf drew his phaser as a loud, angry shout was heard from within the box. The door creaked open, and a tall figure stormed out of it, slamming it shut behind him. The man was clothed in a long coat, thick boots, and a black suit, his shirt collars emblazoned with red question marks. He turned on his heel and fixed a disgusted scowl on Captain Picard. The Captain recognised him as the man he spoke to on the viewscreen.

"You!" he shouted. "You..blithering.." The faces of the men in the room hardened, and Worf tensed noticeably.

"Who the hell are you to.. use your stupid.. fwoosh thing on my ship! Do you have any idea Captain; ANY idea of with whom you are dealing? You have scrambled a Type 40 Tardis like a pair of cheap eggs, then reassembled them to make some..clumsy omelette!" The Doctor clutched at his hair, exhasperated "Shall we serve it with waffles, Captain? Draped in syrup of paradox?!"

Captain Picard looked at Data, utterly confused at the gesticulations of this strange man, only to be greeted by a look of equal confusion in return. The Doctor continued to rant, using nonsensical metaphors to relay his situation, but they fell on deaf ears. Picard nodded towards Lieutenant Worf, who fired at the Doctor at low power, causing him to stop suddenly, look up, then fall awkwardly to the floor.

"Secure him in the brig, Mr Worf. I'll question him when he calms down. Meanwhile, take this..box to the cargo bay, and call the science team to analyse it."

The World according to Rich - The World according to Rich

Uhoh! Paradox!

No, not really. I've been having some complaints that TWATR might garner some hostility from certain people, and I wish to address these grievances.

Firstly, let's address the content itself;

Yes, I have a unique view on the world, and the issues within it. I exercise my right as an internet user and a resident of a democratic country(ish) to talk about or vent them. But what you must understand is that the content on these posts are ridiculously overstated. Anyone who knows me would know that, and anyone who reads it properly would, too.

This blog is intended both as a place for me to waste time, and to ENTERTAIN PEOPLE. Make sure you read that right, and not around it, please. ENTERTAIN. If you're offended by this silly little blog, welcome to the internet. Let me show you what other wonders it contains. You won't like those either.

Let me tell you a little about myself. I don't keep a diary, I don't keep a journal. I had an awesome childhood, with some fantastic parents and a wonderful sister. I continue to live a life of security and love, and I hope to do so for a long while yet. I have career aspirations, just as much as the next man.

Now, if you DARE turn around to me, and accuse me that my blog is indicative of how I view other people entirely, then you are sorely mistaken. If people are offended by the content of this place, then they can message me directly and say so. I'm more than willing to discuss it with them. Do not try to guilt trip me into shutting up. You know who you are.

For example, my rant about the Jobcentre. I've been told people can sue me for it. Well, go for it. I haven't got pittence anyway. If the content featured on this blog gained such attention, Blogspot, the hosts of it, would remove it.

Now, I know, "But you write it, this tells me alot of who you are!" - no, it doesn't. I honestly do pity you if you think I'm this shallow and offensive. My parents have seen it, but they understand why I do it. I would rather write all this shit than go out and hit someone, vandalise something, drink, or any of that.

If internet users lose the priveledge to speak their mind, then all is lost.

Oh and by the way; don't you ever try and make me feel small again. There's more fire in me than you can ever imagine, pal.

The World according to Rich - Wrestling

Since the early 2000's, wrestling has sucked monkey nuts, and it's easy to see why. There's no competition.

Now, for my readers who are starting to roll their eyes, thinking they cant relate, bear with me, seriously. The 80's and 90's gave us people like Hulk Hogan, Ric Flair, Sting, Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock - people you'd tune in to see, whether they talked or wrestled, it didnt matter. Can you say anyone nowadays is the same? I doubt it.

I remember in the past, every Tuesday morning in the school playground, all anyone could talk
about was the WCW Nitro or the WWF Raw on Monday Night. Nowadays, we prefer to forget what WWE calls a "show" Eurgh. And I can probably explain why.

WWF buying out WCW was pretty much what killed wrestling. It's like Microsoft buying Apple. With no competition, people get complacent. Vince McMahon thinks people will lap up whatever bullshit he serves up, because there's nothing else. A product which, because I'm an idiot, keep giving a chance. It keeps fucking me in the ass without lube though. So bugger it.

TNA has recently signed Hulk Hogan and Eric Bischoff, and a whole bunch of ex-WWE wrestlers - in the hope that it can compete with WWE on Monday Nights. It can't. It just doesnt have the money.

It pisses me off that every time I watch a wrestling livestream online, I get people spamming the chat with "TNA RULES" or "WWE RULES" - neither do. WWE has more money, and the only selling point for TNA is that they "aren't WWE". Try again Dixie. it'll take more than that to make me interested in it again.

Signing Hogan and Bischoff arguably means that you are straddled with the biggest egos in the sport, so I dont give TNA much time. Both of those guys want another WCW (which, for non wrestling fans was WWF's big competitor for a while), yet, because like I said, their selling point is that they're "Not WWE". Fine, but you're gonna have to pull your finger out more to get me interested in the events you run.

I noticed since Hogan started, a whole lot of "old faces" (emphasis on OLD) have been making an appearance. Scott Hall (Razor Ramon), Sean Waltman (X-Pac (who people still dont care about)) and Hogan himself (who is about 600 years old), and even Jeff Hardy, who should, by all rights, be in jail by now, stupid druggie piece of shit.

Anyway. TNA used to have a 6 sided ring (which I liked because it was a bit different) - yet this has been scrapped at the behest of that handlebar moustached has-been Hogan. This is really starting to get suspiciously like WCW was. Just you wait until Robocop comes back for an angle, like he did before. And what has WWE have to counter? A guy who does 5 moves, and a midget who think he's Irish. Fuck sake.



I'm almost ashamed to call myself a wrestling fan. I'm going to continue this later. Eurgh. I'm just...eurgh

The World according to Rich - Christmas

Ahhh, one of the best celebrations of the birth of a fictional character. Why is there no Spockmas? And no Spidermas? I'll tell you why, no-one really cares about what Christmas means, its just a great excuse to get hopelessly drunk, eat too much, and embarass yourself on Dance Dance Revolution.

Besides, if you go to church at Christmas, you end up sitting on a horribly uncomfortable bench for 3 hours learning about the birth of Jesus, which, because I am so fantastic to you all, I'll summarise:

Some virgin woman who essentially got raeped by God, was homeless for a bit, and then spat out a baby in a bunch of hay. There were other dudes there who followed a star or someshit, brought gifts of Jewgolds, Frankenstein and Mirror, shouted a bit, and then everyone went home.

Oh, and there were donkeys.

Now come on, who the fuck gives a baby spices and shit? Its like they totally forgot, and had to rush and get some cheap wank from the local Texaco in Nazareth. Its a bit..flimsy to be honest. However, sleeping in a barn was a good choice by Joseph, since I cant imagine the Premier Inns in the year 0 would be much better than they are nowadays.

Another annoying thing about this time of the year is shopping. Never before (other than when filling the car with petrol) have I seen my bank account witter to nothing faster than when Christmas shopping. And the lot of it as a load of wank anyway. Have you ever been to one of those shops called "Bedazzle" or "Spiritualissimo" - I should open one called "Shop O'Crap". £450,000,000 for a glass orb that's supposed to act as an aphrodisiac or someshit, feng shui beads, roast camels testicle, basically, if Koreans eat it, the shops sell it.

Why is it whenever you walk into one, it smells like a rotting corpse? Incense? Nonsense morelike. The shopkeepers arent much better, most look like a rotting corpse. With dreadlocks. The mid-90's is that way, pal.

Now, alot of you are probably thinking "What a miserable bastard" - well, if you're a newcomer, yes, I am a bit of one. If you've been following my blog, then HERPDERPDETECTIVE. I just dont like how Christmas has become so commercialised, the idea that you have to spend a shitload of money to have a happy one. You don't. All you need is friends or family, some booze, some nice food, and some games to play. Everything else, in my opinion, is a bonus.

Oh, and what's up with all the furniture sales on Boxing Day? It's advertised that you can buy a sofa set worth £3000 for £1600! ..Well why the fuck was it £3000 in the first place?! If the company can afford to hold that sale, why grossly inflate the price to begin with? Assholes. Any excuse to make a cheap buck from muggins. On the topic of television, it's almost universally crap. Repeats of shows that were made 30 years ago (admittedly, some of them are good to see again, but where are the original new shows?), and repeats of movies that everyone in the history of the galaxy has seen three hundred thousand times. Oh, and the Queen's speech. Oh-ho. Ready for this one?
Who actually watches this? Apart from people over 60. What's the point? Its just an hour of the Queen being oblivious to how shit everything is here. I'd bet that Gordon Brown will make an appearance at some point and grin like a one-eyed smug twat who has us all over a barrel. Now, I understand a portion of the population of the UK watch it religiously to be affirmed that the Queen hasn't forgotten about us, but what exactly has she done to help? Nothing. Statistics show that the UK is the most depressed country in Europe, and 8 in 10 people said 2009 was the shittest year they've had. Bollocks to this tripe. If she wants me to listen to her, then televise her shoving her Queenboot so far up the governments arse their crooked expenses claims shoot out of their nose. You can't tell me that seeing the Queen give Peter Mandelson a Shawn Michaels style superkick wouldn't be awesome.

Right, now I've got most of that off of my chest, I'm going to have a glass of sherry and throw ice at small children.

Merry Benicemas!

The World according to Rich - Television

My god it's bad nowadays, isn't it. I mean REALLY bad. It's saturated with pointless documentaries, reality shows that are about as realistic as me becoming president of the world, and soap operas.

What the hell is up with them? What possible entertainment is to be had by watching a group of Londoners arguing for a bit, then leaving in a taxi. More drama happens behind the scenes of those shows than on the screen. It seems the show creators can turn on a sixpence too - if they kill off a character and it causes massive outrage from single mothers and people over 70, then ooh! He/she wasnt *really* dead, one of the following happened:

1) Its a long lost twin that died!
2) They escaped the burning overturned car with nothing but some duct tape and a pencil!
3) ETZA CLOHNE!!

Give me a break. If I was in charge, I'd add random gunfights, explosions, Citroens doing corkscrew jumps, and copious amounts of female volleyball. THEN it'd be entertainment.

Also, where do scientists find the time to make documentaries on shit nobody cares about? Or, where do they get the funding to 'prove' that dolphins have accents? Or, that cows fart in C minor? Who the fuck cares? Its like in school, getting picked for the basketball team. The scientists who get picked last get the crappy experiments to do, like finding out how long it takes for a Jaffa Cake to decompose.

How about spending your time doing something worthwhile? Renewable energy, cancer cures, improving the lives of the handicapped.. not these ridiculous primary school projects that cost millions and contribute NOTHING to the lives of normal people.

It's the same with reality shows. Big Brother is the worst damn offender in this shitheap. Let me break it down for you in two parts. Part A summarises what it was meant to be, and Part B summarises what is actually produced.

A) Big Brother seals a group of diverse people in a house together for a set amount of time, to study their relationships, conflicts, and see their reactions to bizaare challenges that require teamwork.

B) A black man, a homosexual, a whore, a dumbass, a guido and a goth are put in a house, where they eat, shit, sleep, then leave.

Er, loses something in the translation, doesn't it. I love particularly how the participants treat Big Brother. They cater for the show's every whim without question, cry for a bit, fumble around with each other under the duvet, and cry a bit more. Why dont they say "Go fuck yourself" when they're asked to dance around in spandex doing the Riverdance. THAT would be interesting television. I would watch it just to see what the producers of the show would do. But no, instead, it starts every year, goes on for three millenia, and whoever wins gets to sell their story to the Sun and bring out a range of fragrances called "Devils Buttplug" or someshit. Puh-lease. Hey, I can think of far better uses for that house, too. HM Customs Detention Center, anyone?

I do admit, there are some good reasons for paying the TV License fee, or buying a Sky box (Cable for you yanks). Top Gear, Have I Got News For You, Doctor Who, etc. One that you may not know about, or for that matter expect me to enjoy, is Al Jazeera, and assorted religious and middle/far eastern channels.

If you've had a little to drink, seriously, flick through them. It's like swallowing an ecstasy pill laced with pixie dust. I managed to summarise most of the Indian channels thus:

________

Zooming Camera x (Angry Indian Man + Concerned Looking Indian Woman) = Indian TV

________

Its just all completely batshit insane. And it's all accompanied by frantic sitar music, and what I swear is the sound of a cat being fed through a mangle. Instant lols.



Al-Jazeera and the Middle Eastern channels are pretty much the same, and you can't understand either the writing on the screen or what they're saying, so they're clearly talking about infidel Westerners and terrorism. No, that's unfair. Probably the latest burkha fashion aswell.


Hang on, back in a second, I think the Muhajideen are knocking on my door after that last section. I'll finish it when I get ba-

The World according to Rich - Babies

Cue the female lynch party. Balls to you. Literally. Infact, I titled this wrong, this should be about dumbass parents. Well, no, I'll just cover both in one. You should feel priveledged. Before you start, yes, I reckon I'd be a quite good dad someday, but until that day comes, keep your goddamned noisy, puke covered, crying, stupidly dressed abomination away from me. I don't want to have to deal with that shit until I have to, thank you.

No, it doesnt look beautiful, it doesnt look like Jesus reborn, it's a baby. Its the genetic mix of you and your partner. And its at least 18 years of responsibility. It might seem awesome for a few months, but when you have a few sleepless nights because baby just shat itself, come back and tell me I'm right.

Don't get me wrong; I love the idea of having kids someday, I just wish I could bypass the being-covered-in-custard bit and get straight to the shooting of their first boy/girlfriend. I cant wait to be waiting in the hedge, timing how long it takes my daughter to say goodnight. Longer than 2 minutes, then he gets a machete to the mouth. If a girl breaks my boys heart, then I'll boil her eyes in transmission fluid. But, does this mean I should have to suffer all the other kids? No. Of course not. If people can't control their kids properly, why should everyone else have to suffer the consequences?

Take resteraunts for example. If you try to tell me you have ever been to a resteraunt that "welcomes" children and not been pissed off when the little fuckers are doing laps of the bar or pretending to be Hulk Hogan, then I'm sorry but I don't believe you. How are you supposed to enjoy yourself with that going on? You just can't. You're overwhelmed with a desire to shove them in the deep fat frier and chow down on fried-child.

It's not just resteraunts where children get on my proverbial tits. Museums. I have never understood why parents think it a good idea to drag 4 year old Jack through an exhibition about coal mining in Zambia. He's not arsed, and neither are you. Just go away. I want to touch lumps of coal inappropriately in peace. The reason children are always rowdy in these places is that not enough emphasis is placed on museums, libraries and historical sites. If people would talk to their kids, tell them just what the places mean, then maybe they'd shut their goddamned ice-cream covered mouths and read.

Too many times I've seen women with more children than they can control, smoking like a Welsh power station, and with the intellectual ability of a cowpat. I could honestly punch someone like that. Repeatedly. Probably adding a few hits with whatever blunt object was at hand. IT'S YOUR OWN FUCKING FAULT. WHY SHOULD EVERYONE ELSE PAY FOR YOUR FUCKING KIDS. EH!? It's not our fault your legs are a revolving door for pregnancy and syphillis.

To get back to the point, if your child can't stop running around screaming, it's not their fault, it's yours. It's ruining everyone elses time, and making everyone uncomfortable because everyone wants to shove that child back up whence it came. I beg you, stop having children. I don't want to pay for them. I don't want to have them vomiting in my burger or sandwich, and I don't want them thinking it's funny to throw things at the tall guy who is about to murder them.