Waste Of Time

Turns out I'm far worse than I rememeber at the first Metal Gear Solid. I decided to have a crack at it, being as I'm doing bugger all else at the minute other than alternating between twenty cups of coffee a day and none to see what happens - a very saggy face apparently. I distinctly remember being able to batter through both discs in one sitting at one point. Not so now. And now today, after spending four hours fighting Metal Gear and that blond wank Liquid, and dealing with Otacon driving like a paraplegic in a horse and trap, the game goes and crashes on me, for no apparent reason. The disc's grand, the Playstation's in fairly good nick. I think the message in this one's fairly clear- Stop fucking repeating yourself. You'll only end up frustrated, with a banging headache, and with far less wine than you started.
Now to go and take the Movie House up on their offer of Kerrrrrrrazy Tuesday and see Watchmen for three ding. I have it on good authority it'll make me so angry I'll immediately go out and write a classic death metal album. Or kick someone in the face (finally, something in this blog about kicking things). I've discovered also that I couldn't give a tuppenny fuck if Liverpool win anything this year, which is nice to know. It's not healthy that a group of wealthy men I've never met have an effect on my moods at all. Makes far more sense supporting your local side if you're going to watch football. I'd probably follow Linfield, if they were any fun to watch, but I'd probably have more fun watching the mouldy pot in the living room in its slow quest for civilisation. It doesn't bother me particularly that all their fans' songs are bigoted dirges, but it does make for an interesting game when they play Derry City - one crowd of balding hallions screaming themselves hoarse about how they all live in the randy Brandwell (hoo ha), and the other keeping schtum for fear they'll get arrested. Very odd country, this.