Sunday, 2 March 2014
Hello there everyone. World Of Crap has a brand new shiny website over here at www.worldofcrap.co.uk. You should go there, all the cool people are there already. Staying here would be a bit silly, really. You will be redirected there in a few moments.
Wednesday, 19 February 2014
I've been a busy bee, I'm moving this blog over to a hosted site. This is only really so it's easier for me to arrange my old stuff into categories etc. While I'm moving it over I'm giving the archives a bit of a tidy up. I'll let you know when I'm done; it should only be another couple of days or so. The address won't change, it will still be worldofcrap.co.uk. Probably the only noticeable changes will be a new menu bar, and a lot more shitty art that I did in Paint. I'll keep you guys up to speed on the Facebook page. In the meantime, here is an interesting and educational article.
Monday, 3 February 2014
Well, that's half an hour of our lives we won't get back. Last night me and the mister had a bout of ennui, and decided to play this -
We'd bought it from a charity shop in Wales a couple of months ago, but stuff kept getting in the way and we never got round to playing it. Eventually, after putting everything we own into alphabetical order, watching every episode of The Foster And Allen Show ever made, and sterilising all our cutlery, we had to face the sad truth – there was nothing else to do but play this game.
We settled down with the various bits and pieces, safe in the smug knowledge that at least we weren't out vandalizing bus stops. We clung to that thought as the game went on, because we needed to feel something good about playing this game.
According to Board Game Geek, “Dream On is an exciting new board game that answers the age old question 'What do my dreams really mean?' The game provides over 1000 dream interpretations derived from the works of the world's most prominent dream analysts."
Here is the bored, I mean the board -
Even the board looks like it's going to sleep.
Also included are a load of interpretation cards, which we'll get to in a minute. Note that someone enjoyed playing this game so much that they went to the trouble of going out and photocopying a few million of these cards. This was presumably around the time of the game's launch in 1992, so the chances of them having a photocopier at home would have been slim. That means they would have had to go out, find a shop with a photocopier, and pay 10p a copy. This game does not deserve that.
Now then – the rules!
I think the general aim of the game is to be able to read people's minds. Let's see -
First – all the players select a piece and place it on the START square. We're all over this shit so far.
Now then. The person selected to be the 'dreamer' (in this case, the mister) selects a card and reads one dream aloud from the card.
This is the card he picked -
The dreamer reads the dream out, and the other players have to write what they think is a convincing interpretation of it.
This is what I wrote -
Then all the players apart from the dreamer vote on which they think is the correct/most likely interpretation.
Hang on, wait, what? How are we supposed to do that with only two players?
Then we spotted this -
Fuck. A whole four minutes wasted. Also, the adults thing is questionable. Never mind, we are nothing if not belligerent. So we decided to continue playing, albeit with slightly tweaked rules.
Are you asleep yet? If not, well done. I am.
Then the mister hit on a bright idea. The dreamer reads a dream out, then we both write down an interpretation of it, so together with the interpretation on the card there are three different interpretations. Then the dreamer reads out all three, and the other player has to choose the correct one.
Spot the flaw in that plan.
What is the point of me writing anything down on my card? I'm going to know that's not the correct answer. Nevertheless, we played with these rules for a while, and I kept choosing my own interpretation just to piss the mister off.
After roughly half an hour, here's where we were on the board -
By now we were so bored we were actively trying to lose, just so the game would stop.
After a while we even gave up on that and just started writing down dreams we'd had (real and imagined) and what we thought they might mean. Here are some of them -
Then we had to decide whether to carry on playing or to hit ourselves over the head with a sack of bricks. Luckily, it was time to go to bed before we could decide.
Like this post? Try these -
Saturday, 1 February 2014
I know I talked about the internet in part 1, but I'd also like to mention a few specific websites as we go along with this series. And if you think that's cheating – it's my blog, so there.
1 Kids TV channels
I will take you through the current listings labelled 'kids' on my Sky Plus box, right now, at 6.00pm -
Some Dreamworks shite
Scooby Doo and the cyber chase
Sam and Cat (I know about this – it's two shrieking teenage girls having wacky japes)
NEW – Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Hulk and the agents of SMASH (not the mashed potato brand)
Liv And Maddie
Sofia The First
Jedward's Big Adventure
In The Night Garden
Franklin And Friends
Scooby Doo and the cyber chase (+1)
Fireman Sam (new version)
Ben and Holly's Little Kingdom
Family fun time and rhymes
In The Night Garden
Harry and his bucketful of dinosaurs
Sabrina the teenage witch (the cartoon series)
The mysterious cities of gold
Sam & Cat
Jedward's big adventure
I think I can stop there, because I've come to the end of the kids' channels. My god.
Our equivalent – Saturday morning tv -
Oh, it's Saturday, there's no school, yay! So do we lie in bed, scrolling through our iPads and scratching ourselves? No! Of course we don't, because it's 1990 and iPads haven't been invented yet.
We spring out of bed like an eager young lamb, and immediately head downstairs to commandeer the tv before our older sisters/parents can get to it. Because, dammit, this is the only day of the week where we get to watch shows aimed at us – viewers who haven't learned to use a knife and fork properly yet.
It's only for a couple of hours, so everyone else in the family can just shut up and find something else to do. Me, I have to dedicate these precious hours to Phillip Schofield, Roland Rat or similar, as they 'gunge' people and introduce American merchandise spin-offs that will fill my brain with colours and sounds.
BIG SHOPS -
Nowadays you can get everything everywhere. Want a battery operated spoon? Primark have some. Want some leggings? PC World has a sale on, what are you waiting for?
I must admit, as a person rapidly skidding towards middle age, it's a relief to be able to get everything I need in one converted warehouse, rather than having to trudge round so many shops that I need a 'coffee break' in between.
Ok, I guess I've never been a big fan of shopping. But even I never dreamed that one day you'd be able to go to one building and get all the things on the following shopping list -
box set of Steven Seagal movies
You can get all this from my local TESCO EXTRA BIG FUCK OFF HYPER SUPER FUN HAPPY STORE. What you can't get is someone to come and assist you when you have an 'unexpected item in the bagging area' yet again.
Our equivalent – shopping
“Oh, I just need to pop to the butchers, then Farmfoods, then the opticians, then Topshop and Miss Selfridge and H&M and New Look and then I need to go to the chemist...”
I was not a fan of being dragged round all these shops. Even now, when everything I buy is for me, I like to have it in one handy package. Ok, maybe my life would have been improved had we had these SUPER FUN MEGA HAPPY STORES in our lives. I give up.
Blame and claim culture
Did you chip a fingernail at work? Or did you sit down on the loo at work and momentarily experience discomfort because the loo seat was a bit cold? Even worse, did someone wilfully injure your feelings by calling you a 'div' at work? Sue those bastards! Phone our hotline now, and we'll get you millions of pounds!
Disclaimer – we will not get you millions of pounds. We will get you up to and including five hundred new pounds, of which we will take up to a hundred percent.
Everyone everywhere is scared of everything. Even I have days where I don't want to leave the house in case a meteor falls on my head, or in case a terrorist comes up and tries to do terror at me.
But when I was growing up, getting injured was not a career. It was a vocation, at best. We did not expect to have our clumsiness rewarded with money. That's what clowns and Eddie The Eagle were for.
Now, if you're short of money and don't want to ring WONGACASHNOW4U, you can simply claim you were tripped over by a member of Al Qaeda, or that someone looked at you funny, and all your financial problems will disappear!
Our equivalent – looking where you were fucking going
You know what used to happen if you fell over in the street? Everyone would laugh at you. Certainly they wouldn't offer you money.
Of course, work accidents did happen, and they were generally quite serious, but back then people tried to avoid getting injured. They didn't like being injured, what with the pain and all. Getting injured was seen as a bad thing, not as an equivalent to winning the lottery.
When I was growing up, if you tripped over in the street you were unlucky, or a div. If you broke a nail or had your 'feelings injured' while at work, then you were a fucking crybaby, and didn't deserve the fucking job in the first place.
By the way, I wrote these last paragraphs on the toilet. Just thought you'd like to know.
Wikipedia/IMDB/Yahoo Answers (especially Yahoo Answers)
Killer of pub conversations about... well, anything really. But especially about “Oh, who's that guy from that thing, you know, he was in Morse that one time...)
Nowadays, one self important fuck in the group will casually tap away on his iPhone, and declare -
“Richard Fucknuts, born 1968, was best known for his work in 1990 drama series Impotence Clinic. He went on to be a spokesman for...”
At which point everyone punches him.
Our equivalent – finding things out
If you're like me, you have a mental list of 'oh, I must Google that when I remember.' These things never get looked up, because we're too busy doing important things like looking at porn or playing Candy Crush when we're on the internet.
Before the days when you could Google anything, you had to put some work into finding things out. You had to read books, visit the library, even (shock horror) talk to other people and ask them. This was a good way to acquire knowledge. Certainly better than just going on Wikipedia, and here's why.
As for Yahoo Answers, I refer you to this.
Thursday, 30 January 2014
Before we begin, congratulations to Andrew Lee, who has become World Of Crap's first Twitter follower! See? It can be done, you just have to pull your fingers out and follow his shining example. I haven't really got on with Twitter in the past, but like a woman deaf to her friends' criticisms of her new boyfriend's drug taking, wife beating ways, I am convinced it's going to be different this time round.
Anyway, on to today's topic.
You know why I love Lazy Town? Because when I watch it, I get an overwhelming feeling that I'm doing the right thing by sitting on my arse eating chocolate. I have no desire to be like these rubber headed cretins, with their sports candy and their 'exercise is fun' delusion. Admittedly, I don't think the show is aimed at 30 year old, sherry drinking underachievers, but still.
Long time readers will remember my first Lazy Town post, where I present Robbie, the cake eating, gym avoiding grinch as the show's real hero. And I stand by that assertion. All Robbie is trying to do is lead a normal life, free from screeching bloody kids and having to eat fucking 'sports candy'. Lazy Town usually follows Robbie's attempts to achieve this normality, as he goes to insane lengths to rid the world of overzealous aerobics instructor/Errol Flynn tribute Sportacus, his concubine Stephanie, and the above mentioned rubber headed cretins. Today's episode is no different. It is entitled 'Sportafake', and by watching it we learn that Robbie makes a better Sportacus than Sportacus ever could. That's how rubbish Sportacus is.
Here is the link for watch along – LINK
We begin with a scene involving Miss Busybody acting like these women. The mayor, having no balls of his own, surreptitiously tries to build a pair out of wood while fixing Busybody's fence.
SHIT! The head flies off his hammer, landing... fuck knows where, we don't see for now. The scene abruptly shifts to our hero, Robbie, cursing the fact that Stephanie has wandered into his eyeline. If only he hadn't been using a magnifying periscope, maybe he wouldn't have accidentally spotted her from his house underground. Oh Robbie, you so silly. I'm not sure what Robbie is really looking for – a rare breed of squirrel? A Wimpy bar? A woman wearing those leggings that you think are proper leggings but in reality are just thick tights and you go around with your bum exposed without knowing?
Ok, he's pissed off because Stephanie is absent mindedly throwing some kind of hoop about. As Robbie quite rightly states - “It's a lovely day to be lazy!” Yes it is, and as such, Stephanie should be in the park with the rubber headed cretins, drinking cheap wine and trying to cadge cigarettes off passing strangers. Robbie has every right to be angry.
See, this is my main problem with Lazy Town. Robbie clearly has the kids' best interests at heart, and as such he wants them to have a normal life full of beer and fun, instead of compulsory aerobics and apples. He wants them to live. Sportacus just wants them to have toned glutes, whatever glutes are. I think it's your arse.
To this end, Robbie has erected a 'No Playing' sign on the street, but it gets knocked down by... you guessed it, the hammer from earlier.
“FUCK” shouts Robbie.
He goes into a lament about how life was ace when people actually listened to him. This soliloquy is a masterpiece, but since he's underground and there's no one around to listen to him, he has to provide his own applause afterwards.
We cut to three of the rubber headed cretins – Pixel, Ziggy and Trixie – doing what they're actually supposed to be doing on such a hot day. They're lying there on sun loungers, shooting the shit. With no desire to do anything. That is the correct way to be. Then, of course, Stephanie has to turn up and shit in everyone's hats by insisting they play 'catch', the most pointless game known to man.
Oh good, it's Sportafuck. He surprises everyone, including and especially me, by immediately sitting on a sun lounger and going to sleep. Maybe I misjudged Sportacus – I assumed he'd immediately take boring Stephanie's side and insist that the gang all start doing jumping jacks, RIGHT NOW.
Oh for fuck's sake. He was just joking. My head banged on the keyboard when I realised this. I think I need a glass of wine. It's already taken me an hour to watch three minutes of this episode.
And now all the rubber headed cretins are dying to play catch, despite having dismissed the idea thirty seconds ago. But when Sportafuck turns up, they're so eager to net some brownie points they practically jizz in their pants. They all fancy him.
After a bit of filler in which the aerobic arseholes play catch, we return to Robbie, who is ranting about the fact that no one ever listens to him, only to Sportacus. He decides it must be Sportacus' moustache that compels them to listen. I agree Robbie, I think it is the moustache, along with the promises of free sex and money.
Robbie's genius plan is revealed – he is going to dress as Sportacus so he can boss the kids around for himself. Because if five children do what he says, then he'll be able to go back to eating cake in peace. Why couldn't he just do this anyway? Because shut up, that's why.
There follows a brilliant 30 seconds where he takes the piss out of Sportafuck's moves before having an asthma attack.
We return to Miss Busybody and her minion, before Stingy turns up and starts announcing that he owns everything in the manner of 'Murica.
Meanwhile, the cretins are still playing catch, when Sportacus receives an urgent message (a tweet?) that 'shomeone'sh in trouble!' He fucks off on his sportaladder.
While Sportacus is busy fucking off, Robbie decides now is the time to implement his plan. He bounces over the wall (what wall?) hoping the kids will think Sportacus has just been the victim of a Doctor Who style timeslip, and has gone from up in his airship to right next to the kids in 0.5 seconds flat. -
Oh my god, the kids fall for it. This lowers my respect level of them to, well, below zero, because it was at zero before.
For some reason, Robbie does an impression of Popeye for a while. Then he fails to know the rules of Catch, which lowers my respect level of him. But only for a bit.
Meanwhile, the mayor falls out of a tree. I don't know why.
SportaRobbie cracks and demands that everyone stop playing, right now. Then he issues his version of the ten commandments. The first is that they shall eat bubblegum. Wait, why is bubblegum forbidden? It's not bad, it's certainly not fattening. Possibly Sportacus banned it because
(wait, I was nearly not going to add this part as it's too rude. Fuck it.)
because Sportacus wanted to not tire his friends' mouths out, because he wanted them to use their mouths for other things. Now I am ashamed of myself.
Moving quickly on -
We cut to Stephanie writing in her diary -
Sportacus isn't acting right. By now he'd have given me at least three sexy looks, but so far – none! OMG! That trixie is such a bitch, with her rubber face and her pigtails. I hate her. Why haven't I had a period yet? Also, I thought I'd share some more of my poetry on Facebook, but so far no one has liked it, despite me posting it 76 times. I hate the world, and I hate my parents for dying and making me go live with my rubber headed uncle. I hate him, even if he is the mayor, he just DOESN'T UNDERSTAND ME! And why won't he let me dye my hair brown? He says it's because I'll never get a job later in life, but if an employer can't see that I'm a non-conformist, that's their problem. I don't want to be some puppet for a fat cat. Sportacus, why aren't you texting me back?”
Meanwhile, the real Sportacus is helping the mayor to build his shit wall, because the mayor 'won't get any sex if he doesn't finish it'. Sportacus is such a fucking do gooder. But then Sportacus is called away to a real emergency, involving Stephanie being a whining bitch. Again. Some of the rubber headed cretins are bullying another of the rubber headed cretins. Sportacus steps in -
As it turns out, he takes the side of the bullies, because Ziggy was daring to eat more than his fair share of bubblegum. Sportacus decides it was perfectly reasonable for the bullies to hold Ziggy upside down in order to extricate the offending bubblegum. Like they would have wanted it, after it had Ziggy's spit and god knows what on it.
No, they make him spit it out, but it's not enough, so they make him vomit up the bit he's already swallowed. At this point, Trixie claims she doesn't want it any more. I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.
The gang make friends and immediately start playing basketball, despite having forced one of their number to throw up only seconds ago. I really hope Robbie steps in soon. Meanwhile, the mayor is still building that wall. I don't give a shit about this, so I assume you won't either.
Oh god, 'someone's in trouble' again, so the real Sportacus fucks off to help. It's the mayor again. Sportacus builds the mayor's fence for him in a matter of seconds, which makes us wonder why he didn't do that in the first place. Then he goes away. He's a bellend.
While real Sportacus is off in his airship eating apples and doing god knows what, Robbie is back, offering the kids a bag full of McDonalds. Predictably, Stephanie looks pissed off at the thought of anyone enjoying themselves ever -
The rubber headed goons all view this as the heaven sent opportunity it is, and immediately start nomming the goods. Only Stephanie remains tight-anused.
Robbie turns up while (it sounds like) the mayor and Busybody are having sex, and knocks down their fence.
Meanwhile, the real Sportacus turns up and demands to know why they're all fat from burgers. The gang tell him that he gave them the burgers, and to stop being such a dick. Stephanie, despite having eaten a load of burgers herself, isn't happy at this, and goes crying to her uncle. Her uncle, as usual, is useless, being infatuated with Miss Busybody. Stephanie wants to know why Sportacus isn't the man she fell in love with. Then, unexpectedly, the mayor comes out with a gem that resonated with me -
“Sometimes you just have to speak out, even if no one wants to hear it.”
Story of my life. Still if the mayor of Lazy Town decrees my personal philosophy to be a good one, then I shall carry on with it.
Then Miss Busybody shouts him and he runs away, yelling “I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!” This is a kids' show.
He trips over a skateboard and some stuff happens. Oh dear, he's spilled her drink.
Sportacus turns up again, relishing the chance to stick his nose in everyone's business.
Then Robbie turns up, so we have the age old problem of 'these two look the same, but which one is the real one? Robbie finds this amusing and decides to make the real Sportacus do some ballroom dancing, for reasons never explained -
Then they do a weird version of 'Bop-It', before the mayor comes along and asks “Which one of you is the real Sportacus? This, I'm convinced, is what inspired Magnus Scheving to write the series in the first place. He's been aching for a scene in which all his followers could stand up and yell “No, I'm Sportacus!” Sadly, the only other person claiming to be Sportacus isn't filled with self sacrificial reverence – he just wants people to think he's Sportacus so he can go back to eating cake.
The Sportacuses have some sort of aerobics competition to determine who is real. The the mayor suggests the town should keep them both. Wrong. You normally have one too many Sportaci in your town.
Then Stephanie suggests a race, because the real Sportacus would obviously win that.
The race begins, and the real Sportacus is obviously winning, until Miss Busybody gets sent somewhere on a skateboard, I don't know. What, do you expect me to have actually watched this episode properly?
A ha – the real Sportacus abandons the race in order to save Miss Busybody. I see.
Oh wait, I don't. Turns out everyone is foxed by Robbie winning the race, and they declare him to be the real Sportacus. Only Stephanie is unconvinced, and she speaks out, as told to previously by her rubber headed uncle.
“No, don't send him away, I love him! And all his insistences that I'm too fat and that I eat too much, and all his bullying me into exercising more, despite the fact that I'm 12. I love him!”
Everyone else buys this, and Robbie is rumbled. Robbie tries to play the legal angle, stating that whoever won the race was the real Sportacus, but he is foiled by the rubber headed cretins pulling his mask off, in a display of supreme irony,
We end with Miss Busybody pulling the poor mayor out of the friendzone by rewarding all his hard work with a kiss. Maybe, if he grouts her tiles, she'll let him bum her, I don't know.
Tuesday, 28 January 2014
This is not going to be one of those annoying 'OMG THIS STUFF WILL MAKE YOU FEEL SOOOO OLD!!!!1111' posts. No. This was just a discussion between me and the mister, over things we couldn't live without, but somehow managed perfectly well without when we were growing up. Which makes us feel, like, sooo old!!1
I am basing this on a British childhood really, because my American readers will have had some of these things around since they can remember. Then America decided that they wanted to inflict their crap on other countries, and slowly the rest of the world caught up.
Because I have a list longer than my arm, I'm going to split this post into several parts, because I do need some me-time you know, to sit there drinking red bull and watching Antiques Roadshow.
1. The internet
This is maybe not such a given, because a lot of you young scallywags assume the internet has been around since 1798. No. I didn't have my first glimpse of online until 1995, with the help of Netscape Navigator -
Ok, hands up if you remember any of the following things – getting 3000 free AOL CDs in the post/whenever you buy anything ever, the dial up music, Geocities, waiting ten minutes for half a picture to load (and not just because of all the advertising), your sister buggering up your conversation with 'manicsfan83' because she selfishly decided to make a phone call. No? Then you lose!
Our equivalent – Teletext
Shut up, this had all the features of your so called internet; we were quite happy with it back in the day. It had endless loading times, celebrity gossip, and fake psychics. Ok, it didn't have porn, but sometimes you could squint and pretend that Bamber Boozler, host of the Channel 4 Sunday Teletext quiz Bamboozle, was a nudey lady. Not that I ever did that, but I'm sure you could if you wanted.
2. Mobile phones
My god, the day I got my first mobile phone I felt like such a badass, and an important badass at that. It was a big Motorola brick, but still quite modern because it had texting on it. Much like a word processor of old, you couldn't see the entire text in one go; you had to scroll through each word from left to right. So if you realised you'd made a mistake at the beginning, you generally couldn't be arsed to go back.
No one ever phoned me as I had no friends, but it didn't matter. I would still have a fine old time choosing my ringtones just in case I got a wrong number or something. And then I upgraded to this bad boy -
Allow me to play you the song of my people -
Unless, of course, you could work the 'composer' feature, and then the world was your lobster. I got really good at using the composer, and ended up being able to make any tune on request. But my favourite thing to do was to bash the buttons on the composer for ten seconds, then have whatever godawful noise came out as my ringtone.
Our equivalent – The phone -
You know, the phone? The actual phone that households have? That has an area code? Where, if you ring and there's no answer, you just assume they're not in, not that they hate you? That.
Also, BT phone boxes. Great for making prank calls (like when you phone someone's house and just blow a raspberry down the phone), useless for making actual calls as they were all crackly and cost about a pound a go.
3. The Lottery -
It could be you! Tip – it won't be. But when The National Lottery started in 1994, every single person in Britain was convinced it would be them. So we went mad buying tickets, in a frenzy akin to something out of Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory. And all workplace/pub/playground discussions were immediately wiped out and replaced by 'what we'd spend our winnings on'.
We still have the Lottery, but recently the ticket price has doubled to £2, and hardly anyone plays it any more. Sometimes we have a flutter though, because quite often you do get three numbers up, which these days will net you a cool £25 – not to be sniffed at.
Our equivalent – The football pools
Typically run by Vernons or Littlewoods, the idea was to correctly predict the scores of all the upcoming football matches of the week. My childhood was filled with my parents talking mysteriously about something called a 'score draw', or a 'no score draw', and putting ticks in little boxes, which a man in a hat would then come round and collect. I can't remember how much you could win on the pools, but it definitely wasn't millions. It might have been enough to retire on, if you just ate tins of beans and never got your hair cut, I don't know.
4. Netflix, Love Film etc -
Bored of everything on TV? Can't find anything to watch? Then I suggest you stop taking those drugs you're on, since they've clearly turned you into a mental. There is always something good to watch since TV on demand was invented. For a mere fiver a month, a household can watch almost any film or TV show ever made with the touch of a button. Very Jetsons. Especially now that Youtube on your TV has been thrown into the mix. Now it seems inconceivable that you might have to flick through the channels to 'see if there's anything good on', and hope you haven't missed the start of it.
Our equivalent – going to the video shop
This was a big thing, generally undertaken when the family was all together on a Friday or Saturday evening. As our family consisted of my parents, my two teenage sisters, and a fat, whining me, numerous rows over what to rent were guaranteed.
The proceedings would start with my parents casually saying, “Oh, there's nothing on TV tonight, let's get a video.” Magic words to me. Immediately my young mind would be filled with thoughts of the entire Hanna Barbera collection, or perhaps The Little Mermaid. Naturally, the video would be my choice; those peasants I lived with wouldn't be given a say.
It hardly ever turned out like this. I wanted something with no more than two dimensions, my sisters invariably wanted either a horror movie or Road House, my mum wanted anything to do with Coronation Street or Brookside, and my dad wanted something about a war. Any war. Or about Hank Marvin. Because of this inability to agree, the family generally ended up renting something nobody wanted to watch, probably not even the people who starred in it.
Then there were those times where, when I'd been really good, I won a trip to the video shop just for me, where I could pick out a video of my choice. This was where I got silly, and all thoughts of Hanna Barbera went out of the window. I would choose something like The Fly, and my parents would get all pissy and make me choose something like The Happy Unicorn.
Well, that's it for part one. I'll probably write part two over the weekend, just so you know and aren't endlessly pacing up and down crying “But when will she write it? When?” Now you can relax.