Quintumply

Hello again.  Jeremy’s party went swimmingly, if you wanted to know.  Which I assume you do, because from what you read, it was shaping up to be a corker.

He impressed several lady types with his mastery of the art of hanging pictures up, and with his dab-handery at the keyboard.  He picked up six numbers, but no names.  He shall be having a thrilling game of 20 Questions on the phone over the next few days.

Welcome once more to my now glistening blog, hopefully now to be better maintained than the only camel in the desert.  Does that make any sense?  Where are your trousers?  Does anyone know who that is in the background of that pic of me wearing the Shrek mask?

I am here to report, mostly, that the Beatles: Rock Band is joyous and spiffing.  When compared to other band specific games, such as Guitar Hero: Aerosmith, it simply glistens with delight and craftsmanship.  The opening cinematic is one of the best I’ve seen in recent times; it is so brilliantly stylised and completely typical of the Beatles ways.  It takes you on a journey through their career even before you’ve strummed, sang or thwacked something.  Simply marvelous.

Next on the agenda that only I can see (although, saying that, I can’t see it either.  I can see it in my mind.  It’s written on lined paper from a small notepad, and some of the writing is indecipherable) is drumming.  Drummles.  Dribble.  Boom boom tish.  Just Rock Band drumming, not proper drumming.  Who do you think I am, a famous drummer that isn’t Ringo?

I thought that getting the drum set for Beatles Rock Band would be the best time to try my hand at hitting things rhythmically, because Ringo’s drum beats are simple, but also functional.  They do the job.  Good for starting out on the drums, as there’s nothing overly complex to bend your forehead around.  As a result, I’m currently at the stage of Hard difficulty on the easier songs, such as Yellow Submarine and Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.  I can do Medium on all songs now, but I’d like to be as good at the drums as I am the guitar, which is Hard/Expert on all songs.  Thankfully, I have a week off work, and so I shall have plenty of time to practice.

You are now looking at the words I have typed.  This is applicable to the entire blog post.  Feel free to go back and read it again, having gained this knowledge.

Didn’t think you would.  You naïve little bag of poo.  Yay, I have the little double dots for above the i in naïve, because I am special and you are a sack of muck.

I don’t really mean it when I say you’re a satchel of excrement.  Thesaurus.  The dinosaur which helps writers come up with different words to better express what they are trying to convey.  Only thing is with them, though, is that they look over your shoulder all the time, and they breathe on your papers and spill your cups of tea and stuff.  Bloody things.  Glad they’re extinct, or I’d have to kill them all.  Luckily, their usefulness does not dwindle when they’re six feet under.

CHURN UP MY BUTTER AND CALL ME A YOGHURT, LOOK AT ALL THESE DAIRY WORDS.

Also, pull my trousers up and call me the king of the beavers, it’s gotten rather dusty here. Back in a second, internet, I’m just going to get my dustpan and brush.

[INTERLUDE]

Jeremy sighed a sigh of gods, and flomped down into his beanbag. Finally, after years of painstaking research and problematic interludes, the picture frame hung magnificently above the fireplace. A cup of tea and an hour of Spaced was not enough to celebrate his life’s work; Jeremy was thinking big. A party. Yes, he thought, this deserves the greatest house party in the history of mankind. A party so awesomely outrageous that it would surely disturb his hateful neighbours, the Kruftons. An evil chuckle breezed through the flat. Tonight, Jeremy thought, shall be a night of revenge. And with that, he reached for the-

[/INTERLUDE]

Chucking it down outside. Why did I go outside to get a dustpan and brush, you ask? Well, that’s where I keep it. Don’t give me that look, or any look that makes me feel stupid and alien. I have my methods, you have yours. Agree to disagree?  Lovely.

Deary me, I’ve really let this place get out of hand. The weeds are all up the sides, and the spiders are neglecting their cobwebs. They’ve given up, sick of their current abode and wishing for the place to be tidy once more.  Best get to it.  I’m not normally one for manual labour, and I shall continue this trend, as this is merely a fictitious illusion depicting the blog as my decrepit living space.  Don’t let my smoke and mirrors fool you.  Although saying that, if I were to live on my own, this would probably be the state it’d get in.  Golly.

So, Cillit Bang or Flash?  I’m thinking Cillit Bang, considering my wallpaper made entirely of copper coins.  They’re all crusty and brown.  They should be shiny.  Shiny like a the leg joint of a teen awaiting their exam results. Yes, Cillit Bang shall do nicely.  Crimeny, I have no cloth, or anything to apply the strange, foamy liquid to the scummy surfaces. Snarl. Back in a tick.

[INTERLUDE]

-phonebook. All of his friends and all of their friends were invited. Food? Pizza. Who doesn’t like pizza? Entertainment? Singstar and Guitar Hero. No more needs to be said. Booze? Jeremy peered into the fridge. Nothing but a can of Strongbow, a cider he doesn’t even like. NEED MOAR BEER, Jeremy thought. Music? iPod. This shall be fantastic.

The phone calls were made and the flat was prepared, albeit with an air of worry, as Jeremy wanted to impress his guests, most of whom he didn’t know.  With everything prepared, Jeremy sat and watched the clock, counting the hours until eight o’clock. Tick, and indeed, tock, so did the clock go.

[/INTERLUDE]

Crimeny, this isn’t looking good. There are no cloths to speak of in my inventory. I can’t do cleaning. Cleaning is for cleaners. I never wanted this. Huff and sigh. Oh shut UP Boris, I’m working on it. Sorry, the chief spider was having a bit of a moan. Sooner or later, this blog shall shimmer again, and I know just the man for the job. The cleaner from Black Books. Unfortunately, he is but a fictional character. I shall have to hire a boring, normal cleaner. How very dull.