The Bard

I would have sold my CDs but unfortunately I spent my teenage years using the jewel cases as impromptu ashtrays. I pretty much have no physical music that I still use, but I wouldn't mind having some of my favourite albums on vinyl. It takes the middle space between buying album posters and physical media - and it has more sentimental value - what music is about, after all - than binary code.

She was fat because she was in a wheelchair because she was paraplegic. My knowledge of ancillary fictional characters is why I don't get laid more.

The only reason I'm keeping my Vita around is in the vague hope of Chrono Cross coming to PsOne classics. I wish they'd hurry up with it already.

Enid was a nurse, as revealed in that slightly disturbing 60's flashback of Kelso with glorious sideburns.

I was just dismayed to remember that Studio Liverpool is nae more, so it's not likely that the PS4 will see an iteration of Wipeout. 2048 was like viagra for my Vita boner, but the PS4 is going to have to pull out something special at launch now .

Fuck sake. My attunement and intelligence skills are basically zero at the moment. I'm playing a Warrior. I think I've made it harder on myself than necessary. Decided to just fuck going to Valley or Londo Ruins, and instead made a detour to Shelaag's domain. I suppose Shelaag must be a spider. Edit: Got murdered by Larvae because some smart ass decided to leave a hint that said "Try attacking." I feel like a moron.

Wow, what a ringing endorsement for Dark Souls: "You should have taken the item that let you skip large parts of the game" .

I'd been playing the thing for hours, my faculties had been eroded, and I didn't even think that there was that much opportunity for a trap. I just thought I'd make a run for it if something bad happened. Instead, the loot was but a short sword and the fucking thing batted me away like a fly. It wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't been lugging around 30,000 souls . Still, everything so far has been forgivable, except for those fucking Mokujin looking shits that shoot toxic darts at you.

I got the curse removed, as well as a back up stone lest it happen again. The fucking awful thing is that had I been vigilant and noticed a ladder near the giant rat, I could have avoided the fucking curse toads altogether. As it is, I beat the gaping dragon, and then got all the way through Blight Town. I stopped at the bonfire near the opening to The Great Hollow before doubling back and finding the entrance to Valley of Drakes. Then, instead of using the key I'd just gotten to get into New Londo Ruins, I went right and decided rather bashfully to check out the giant dragon corpse (or so I thought) which promptly came alive and absolutely demolished not only my character, but also my will to live. This game should be played with the immortal words of Admiral Akbar persistently ringing in your head.

I can see a bit of Chester and Hetfield (mostly early 90's beardface). I got Cilian Murphy and Peter fucking Andre alongside a bunch of random gormless looking d-list dudebros. I'll take Cilian Murphy though, dude is sexy. Yesss @Emma! Loving the Marsha.

Fuck. I made unforgivable mistake of allowing myself to explore a new area without having fastidiously read up on the whole fucking Wiki, and now I've not only been cursed by some bizarre frog-esque creature - halving my life bar and rendering the game pretty much impossible - but trying to get back to New Londo to get it removed is such a ridiculous trek. Where do you get the stones to remove the curse; I may as well stock up on a few to prevent it happening again. I guess I have to do it now though, since I ran into the gaping dragon and got through about half it's health before getting flattened. I have no doubt in my mind that this game was designed by autistic savants who absolutely don't grasp the concept of easing you into an experience. I like it though.

Young Jay, I'm going to tell you a story. It's about this one time that I asked a girl to come over to my halls at uni to watch Lost in Translation, and she would occasionally look up at me when nothing of note was happening on screen. Now, the movie finishes, we've had a few beers and I had a good time. I walk her to the door of my block and see her off. And she looks at me like I'm fucking retarded. Dude, she wanted you to slip her your luncheon meat truncheon. Also, if she's at all sane, you'll be able to convince her pretty easily that it slipped your mind because you were worried about your friend. I'm sure she'll think it's quite sweet if she isn't totally crazy.

Goddamnit Jay. Right now I would settle for a half assed handjob.

I distinctly remember waking up in the middle of the night, pretty much naked with my arm half around Ashley's quivering body, thinking "this is really weird," and trying to remember when and how I got into bed. If someone had lit a match in that room, there would have been a moderate to large sized explosion.

Please tell me you got that caustic looking orange one with the gameboy adapter. Also I find that there's a difference between meeting people online and offline, simply because when you meet someone for the first time offline, it's usually cordial and if you meld with their personality well then you can make something of it. When you "know," someone online and then meet them offline there's a bizarre series of expectations to live up to - the politics of text based communication are pretty different to talking face to face and finding out whether you have actual chemistry. When people present a version of themselves online, the temptation is to be careful, deliberate and consistent in that vision, but in real life, people behave differently in different contexts. Because online the only space you have to get a sense of their personality is in their posts, it's weird to see what they add to the vibe of a meeting when they're not talking, and are part of the "furniture" of the interaction, so to speak.

Stress and annoyance are different though. I feel as if I'm persistently annoyed at something or another, but I handle stress really poorly. I just get a bit depressed and end up starting into space, or if I'm stressed in company the opposite will happen and I get quite hyperactive and make a lot of jokes. I think it's a response to fear.

I figured it out when my childminder's daughter showed me her cooch in the shed behind her house when we were 10.

After that joke, I wouldn't be surprised if it's your sole mate.

If you're having trouble, just remember that there's no such thing as a soul mate

I rarely ever have cool dreams where interesting things happen that would make a cool story. Instead I get trapped in worlds where the physical laws are all fucked up and the same shit happens again and again and again. One dream I'll remember forever was when I had a really bad throat infection. In the dream, I was sat on my grandads veranda trying to swat away the rotating, disembodied head of Elijah Wood, but it felt like my limbs were underwater and I kept on missing, while he kept on saying "Gandalf?" in a really puzzled ether addled voice. Another time, I was in stirrups and a saddle and a doughnut was riding me through the neighbourhood I grew up in, while lashing me with a riding crop. Again, I think this time my nervous system was under duress because I'd fallen asleep after drinking two cups of coffee. Anyone who thinks that dreams are premonitions, or extrasensory in any way, are fatuous, gullible imbeciles whose mawkish palaver should be actively shunned at all turns. Fuck off, it's people like these, whose borderline schizophrenic tendency to see nonexistent patterns, is what is responsible for everything from Tea Party nuts proclaiming that Obama is a communist, to religious zealots proclaiming to see the virgin Mary in a piece of burn toast. I wish evolution had selected these daft fucks out of the gene pool.

I always think that's really funny. Manufactured, production line individualism. Individualism that's sold to you from a high street store front, your image and your conception of yourself producing an irony so thick that it colours everything you say with goonish hilarity. Nobody really wants pure individuality anyway - if only they'd admit it to themselves. Everyone wants to see a piece of themselves immortalised in another, so they can affirm themselves, and see that part play itself out in alien circumstances. Individuality as eccentricity is such a romanticised, juvenile trait peddled in Thora Birch films and 90s nu metal, when really what people want is to feel connected, and to feel like you have stake in the events around you. It's when that fails that people retreat into this idea of individuality over all else, because it's all they've been left with.

The only musical I can remember watching and not immediately gagging at is Little Shop of Horrors.

@jayseven Half Nelson is a good ass movie. Watch that shit.

I already have a Spotify subscription, but I also have a bunch of vinyl kicking around (some of it from kickstarters I funded)...and I like the physicality of it. Don't think I'll bother right now though, since a good quality record player needs a lot of monetary input.

Oh yeah. This is embarrassing, but the final episode of season 8 of Scrubs. It was pretty much the show that defined my teenage years, and the end evoked everything at once, years later. It was great.