All The Small Things

Who liked Blink 182 when they were younger? Just admit it - I know they're terrible now, but like Stevie Wonder before them, we shall not judge their earlier brilliance on their later awfulness. Who adored the song by Blink 182 that went 'Shit-piss-fuck-cunt-cocksucker-motherfucker-tits-fart-turd and twot'? I ask because this song directly relates to what I'm about to talk about - how awful we were as children.

I had a conversation recently with a girl at work about all the things we used to do for fun back at school, and as pants-shittingly fun as they were back then, when I look at them through my wisened eyes, I see just how dark, twisted and sick we were as children.

For example, we used to have an ongoing sort-of game where you would walk up to your friend (keep in mind we were 10) and as casually as possible say 'You dropped your gay card' before pissing ourselves with laughter when the poor victim looked. That's not delightful and innocent and full of wonder; I genuinely believed that this made them gay and I genuinely thought that was so Shakespearean in its unfortunateness that it was worth spending the rest of my break hurting myself laughing so hard at them. What the fuck mini-me?! If I was to do that now I would get stared down with such fierce disgust and disapproval from my peers that I would probably end up in the foetal position crying and begging for forgiveness. Not cool young me.

We played another game called blue murder where you get split into two teams. One team thought of a word and divided out the letters between them and the other chased them down and mercilessly beat the ever-loving shit out of them until they gave up their letter. If the entire word was guessed before break was up then the now possibly infertile team lost. Admittedly, this still seems like fun to me, but if they ever needed proof that the Lord Of The Flies was an accurate portrayal of tiny minds then I think we've found it.

I personally told a girl who I knew had a severe peanut allergy that I would ram a peanut down her throat (I can't remember why), I stole £2 from a friend snatch-and-run style just for the shits and gigs of it, and when I got caught calling a teacher drunk behind her back (keep in mind that I'm 10, I may as well have been saying she had a prom-night dumpster baby to Hitler) I said lied about a friend saying it with me just so I wouldn't have to take the full force of the punishment - I was the god-damned Antichrist!

This is where Blink 182 comes into play. That song signifies how degraded, depraved and disgusting we were as children - we liked it purely because they swore. We liked making fun of gay people because they were different, and we liked blue murder because it was full-on, brutal, unabated violence. Children are evil and should be treated as such. Sure they will do the odd cute thing like call a 'butterfly' a 'flutterby' - but does that really make up for the chaotic sado-masochistic stream of sewage spewing from their dirty, evil little minds? If they are anything like I was - and I'm sure most of you were - then I don't think it does.

Dont forget to click 'Join This Site' at the side or 'like' the Passive Aggressive Release Facebook page so that we can band together and keep a watchful eye on the 'Child Menace'. Also, if anyone wants to confess to the atrocities they committed a child please put it in the comments section!

Grand Theft Dido

Who remembers the original Rayman game? If you're like me you have only fond memories of that little scarf wearing scamp, lots of bright colours and funny characters - this memory is a lie planted into our minds by Ubisoft to keep us paying for this bastard of a game nearly 20 years later.

I spent an hour last night (from 0110 - 0210 no less) trying not to smash the living room up in a fit of rage reserved for people who have just received a jumbo-steroid-enema because of the infuriating impossibility of (this is an actual level) punching a space-housewife in the face enough times to kill her whilst she used pots and pans to blow me up. It was at the point where I began to wish that the controller wasn't wireless so that I could use the chord to strangle the life out of the nearest living thing to me that I had an Epiphany.

A few years ago when people were blaming Grand Theft Auto for making people think it was acceptable in real life to pick up hookers, have sex with them in your car, pay them and then blow them up with a bazooka before casually reclaiming your cash and doing the wanted level down cheat, they were only half wrong. Grand Theft Auto is probably the least likely game to cause a murder. Personally, when I play GTA and slaughter tens of thousands of innocent bystanders whilst listening to Dido and eating Dairylea Lunchables, I feel calm. I have released my anger, much the same way as a stress ball would help with that. This does not mean I condone snipering off paramedics when they come to revive your victims in real life, that's probably not okay; what I'm saying is that I am less likely to lose my shit and pick up an Uzi after GTA than I am before.

Ray-fucking-man, however, is a completely different god-damned story. I get no satisfaction from doing the same level eleventy-thousand times before finally winging it only for some bitch-fairy godmother to grant me slightly faster running powers. Punching a housewife in the face loses its horror when it's a cute little yellow dude with floaty fists and a cheery disposition on a quest to save pink fluff-balls that's doing the punching. This game is the destroyer of worlds and as far as I can see has only 2 purposes: to create rage-infected monkeys or to make a super-Hulk. Other than that it should be avoided at all costs.

I for one will ground my children if I see them playing Rayman, taking all their games off of them apart from GTA because I will sleep easier knowing that they have exercised their anger with me by grenading a police station before getting some sleep.

Don't forget to follow me if you agree children should grow up knowing how cool a bazooka is!

Saturday Night Fever

I work all weekend, every weekend - this is not through choice, but necessity. It means that I don't usually go out on a Friday or a Saturday night because there are few tortures worse than dealing with the retard fuck-wit public whilst struggling through a suicide-inducing hangover (being within 10 feet of a spider is marginally more traumatic.)

I am not bothered by this at all. Saturday nights consist of fighting through an ocean of dolled-up trolls for hundreds of hours at a time just to get to a bar that is staffed entirely by people who do not want to serve you, only to be charged £10 for a drink that you then end up spilling over someone as you claw your way back through the crowd. This person subsequently starts a fight with you and wins. Now repeat until drunk enough to not feel the cold (this is actually an essential survival instinct designed to stop people freezing to death in the mile-long taxi queue to get home.)

What does bother me is when people ask if I'm going out at the weekend. Every single "No" that I have to dispence results in pity. I could explain why I'm staying in every single time I'm asked, or I could accept the pity and move on, neither of which are very good options. I know that whoever asks means no ill-will towards me, they're being friendly, polite, down-right nice in fact... I don't care - fuck you.

This can apply to lots of things. Let's say it's summer and you're allergic to dairy. Everyone you're with goes to the ice-cream van and gets ice-cream, but you get gummy bears. You are suddenly bombarded with "Why didn't you get ice-cream hypothetical person?" every single day, for the entire summer. You would completely lose your shit after a while, regardless of how aware you are that the person is showing genuine concern for your mental health (because ice-cream is amazing and anyone who thinks otherwise has non-functioning taste buds.)

What I'm trying to say is that if you ask me if I'm going out this weekend out of sheer kindness and I repeatedly stab you in the face, it's not your fault. You were just the straw that broke the camels back, and I am truly sorry in advance.

Enjoy your weekend.