Whattup dogs. This is Joshua
Cannings, most of you may know me, a few of you from Lancaster University will not. I've been asked to write a guest blog, and been given free reign to write about whatever may pop into my balding head of mine. I'm unlike Liam Quinn, in the sense that I hate writing about politics, recent events, or the current economic climate, I prefer to write about what matters to me, as the main thing that I matters to me, is, well, me. So let's get the shameless plug out of the way, if you enjoy reading offensive material, sentences that only pass for jokes in a structural sense, and the ramblings of a mentally ill 20-going-on-40 year old, then click away to this link forthwith;
http://lifeinaglass-house.blogspot.com/If you don't, then it's probably best if you stop reading, and come back for the next harebrained half-baked political post.
Well then. It's been an interesting, if you're idea of interesting is having throat
that's feels like its been
Cillit Bang-ed, a headache that hurts as much as a sandy foreskin and bowels as leaky as the capital of Haiti. I'm always ill before my birthday, it's become a sort of rite of passage, Karma levelling itself out before the long weekend of
debauchery that occurs every year around November 15
th since 2006, when I was deemed old enough by my extremely lenient parents. I've been extremely lucky when it comes to family, we all share the same dark humour, and always trey to make the best out of a bad situation, declaring that the possible side-effect of 'being unable to ejaculate' due to the tablets I have to take, 'would save me money on condoms'. Now this would
embarrass many children, but after a few months, nay, years of this, it becomes second nature, and learn to embrace it. So now, aged 20, I speak openly with my Mum and Dad about every subject under the sun, for both comedic and therapeutic effect.
I'm currently a third of a way through of No Shave November, which is a small challenge me and my friends do, which involves strangely enough, not shaving throughout November. I wear a, what I myself and only myself it seems, a fashionable goatee, of which I've had for round about a year now, and forgetting to shave it on the turn of November means that I now have a goatee on my beard, making me look like that I haven't shaved for 2 weeks. Now, I haven't shaved for two weeks. But without this little goatee shadowing itself through my beard by being longer than the rest of my facial hair, means that it looks accidental and not intended, meaning that I just look like a hobo, and not a man trying to try out a new look. The absence and awkward length means that I can't trim it, which ultimately means that for the next 20 days I'm set to look like Barry George when he left prison, or that guy tramp in Blackpool that always mopes outside
HMV and Boots in Blackpool.
My appearance bothers me, now this may come to a surprise. But I cannot do anything with my hair. I hate it short, and I'm far too young, and even though I look 10 years older,
that's still far too young to try out the
shaven-headed look. The current length of my hair is, like my beard, that awkward period between needing a cut and too short to be
considered fashionable. Or as fashionable as a teenager who is Number 2 on the Ludwig Balding Scale (a great article in The Guardian Website told me this last week) can be.
Currently
there's 52,000 students, lecturers and
bandwagon jumpers protesting against the increase of university fee's and the idea of scrapping various bursaries and loans and whatnot. I'm fully against the increase on fee's but I'm also dead against the protests in London. I don't think the protests can be deemed acceptable, when the chance of riots, injuries and in extreme cases, death, can occur. Take the G20 protests in London in '09. Ian
Tomlinson was a passer-by who was not even protesting, when a member of police, pushed him to the ground in an act of cowardice, and, at risk of being
backlashed, a lack of communication and feelings of anxiousness on the
policeman's part. Mr.
Tomlinson later had a heart attack in the same area, and later died. The G20 protests were mostly peaceful, I dare say much more peaceful than what will happen today, and the risk of having a repeat of such an appalling death is not a gamble I think is acceptable to take.
A quick look on The Guardian website has this from Paul Lewis, who has fled from the scene and violence broke out;
"Fires burning, eggs thrown, windows smashed, activists with scarves around their faces barricaded into the marble-clad lobby after exchanging punches with police, all to the chants of 'Tory Scum'. It feels like the 1980s here at
Milibank Towers.
Baton shave been used but police have been subjected to a constant barrage of missiles, and at least two officers have been injured.
Protesters have also managed to break a three-metre high window at the front of the building.
I can't see this calming any time soon. Someone has just turned up with a drum and bass sound-system. Police have also drafted in their riot squad, the Territorial Support Group. Helmets and full riot gear are out."
Good work guys.
Anyway, lets end on a high, with a shit joke. I hope I've been up to the usual high standard. Have a lovely day lemmings.
You can't rob a bank with a joke but you can silence a hooker with a gag.
Love and BBQ Rib crisps that taste weird.
Jc x
