After getting up on this fine Saturday morning, had some breakfast and a poo (not at the same time), watching a bit of the news, you know how dull people’s lives really are for the most part, I sat down to play some games (yes, instead of going outside into the city streets, with every increasing numbers of ladies wearing less now that the summer is coming). Steam, Valve software’s all singing all dancing money making distribution machine decided I needed to know about this;

Can you feel the dried up old boob that is now the Call of Duty franchise being milked again? 5 maps, three new for 12 quid after the “speical” pre-order price comes to an end. The mind, as they say, is blown.

This is not the first example of people getting overcharged for over hyped rubbish of course, look at the Apple maxipad, where thousands of fan-boys (and ladies in need to keep their underpants clean) went mad for it, only to discover slight problems with it days later with the wireless connection. The world is coming up with more and more pointless ways you can waste your cash.

The sad thing is people will buy it anyway….Come on! What happened to us men, spending our ill-gotten gains after pressing buttons in an office, on prostitutes, yogurt and other naughty items? That reminds me….must dash.

A couple of weeks ago when I was back home with the folks, sipping on the finest beer known to us from the fridge, a lovely gem of live television when watching Sky Sports News, to explain I’m not one for watching it that often.

After all, watching people do lots of exercise just reminds me how long I have before a massive cardiac arrest kicks in.

But as I was home with the folks, the afternoon was being spent watching Gillette Soccer Saturday, where lots of men watch football on their own TVs and then tell us all about it, far more gripping on occasion than it actually sounds.

Now most of the time, they are crossing from one person to another, telling you all about all the highs and lows of 22 overpaid toss-rags running round after a bloody ball, but every so often, something wonderful happens;

I thought I’d never see it again, but after seeing a recent episode of “You’ve been Watching” by Charlie “oh dear, he starting to adopt my take on personal grooming” Brooker, where it was once again mentioned, I had to see if it was kept alive on YouTube, and sure enough, it was.

Chris Karama, I salute you!

So much time has passed and so much has happened. Iceland’s volcanic ash grounding planes, the General Election being called, and Sainsbury’s have finally started doing decent jacket potatoes on lunchtime. But first, I actually have gotten round to writing about something I should have done a long time ago, as usual, nothing to do with events of great importance.

Back in the ancient days of 2009, May in fact, there was a certain posting on here about the fact that I was trying Internet Dating for a month and it was due to a few factors, people had suggested it and well I had figured it was cheaper than going out every night, dressing like something from a GAP advert, but looking like something that was the star in 50’s sci-fi horror films.

Well that fell by the wayside along with other things, and then the site I tried before was trying an extended offer, therefore offering another cheap opportunity to reinvestigate and see what the fuss was about and of course, see if indeed it is a place to contact women in a better way, once in which fat clumps like myself has a chance.

Enter Match.com (with scary Scooby Doo music…)

This is one of the original sites, though it appears there are no end of new sites that have popped up, including one where your friends can stitch you up for show like the pieces of rotten meat we all are. Now you notice that they boost that lots of people now are leaving as couples….oh do they?

So I stuck with this one for the purpose of this, and proceeded to sort out the thing that would sell me to the desperate world.

To say I didn’t spend that much time on the thing would be an understatement. I chose random pictures of me from the blog to use, along with the ye olde Ironing picture from Canary Wharf, as a way of showing, Look at me, look how funny I am, even though you get better laughs from collecting belly button fluff.

That will sell me very well.

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