What I will be doing for the foreseeable future.

So feel free to expect even fewer updates here if you want, I don't really give a fuck.


Damn, that's a nice rug I've got.

Hmmmm.

Unfortunately, E.S Armstrong, the owner/operator of this particular ScatterGum franchise has been far too busy obsessively trolling the Get Huntley Off Facebook group to make any new posts, wash, eat, talk or write about himself in the third person, go outside or buy any great new stuff. In lieu of any actual new updates you will have to console yourself with this unfinished thing he found under some damp towels in his kitchen when he was searching for leftover Subway scraps.

Have fun!

"I was a socially awkward child. This caused me to grow into a bitter and slightly misanthropic adult gifted with a massive mean streak. Subsequently I’ve not had many serious relationships. It’s probably for the best though, about three years ago I gave my heart to a wonderful and beautiful woman from New York, I loved her to pieces and she loved me, three years ago I was certain I would spend the rest of my life with her, three years ago we were talking about living together, marriage, children and what we’d call our pet monkey..
Three years later I’m living the rest of my life alone, in my flat, with only my XBox 360 for company, I’ve not even bothered to name it. Three years later I find out that many psychologists and therapists in New York are convinced that going out with me should be considered a recognised form of emotional abuse. Like I say; it’s probably for the best that I haven’t had many serious relationships. I’m not a very nice person.


This isn’t some mawkish attempt to garner sympathy and I’m not turning into some self regarding weakling like that soggy mitten guy off of Scrubs and that terrible “the Shins will change your life” Garden State movie.

I’m telling you this because I don’t care about any of that junk in the opening paragraph. Because I’ve kissed television lovely Anna Friel.

And I’m going to tell you how I tricked her into it.


Like most of the world’s best stories this one begins with a pleasant Summer Sunday evening drink with my best pal and chum David. Because we are a couple of cultured bastards we were discussing our respective times spent in various entomological societies and women off the telly that we’d like to go all squelchy and spunk up on. Like I say, we’re a couple of cultured bastards. Cultured. We were sitting outside near some bushes and our in-depth and insightful and ultimately cultured discourse over whether it was Gavin Henson’s spunk what had made Charlotte Church so fat and whether My Name Is Earl’s ex wife was worth chucking one right up was interrupted when David noticed that there were many nasty looking bugs crawling all over the bushes, all over the pub table, all over our pint glasses and all over us. David had one of them right next to a suspicious looking stain on his face that was right next to his mouth. The nasty looking bug was chipping flakes of the suspicious looking stain off of David’s face with its mandibles, and letting them waft away to the wind like crusty confetti. It was a beautiful scene man, these were some ugly, yet helpful little beasties."

Proof That London is Full Of Wacky Student Tossers that Would use the Word "Ledge"

You utter cunts:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/7380947.stm


Oh, and fuck you humanity:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/7381633.stm


Five point three percent? Five point three? You utter, utter fucking cunts.

Training, Day Five.

Amusing story involving late night running and a rape alarm to follow.

Fags smoked: 1.5
Booze comsumed: One glass of red wine.
Women inadvertantly terrified: 1
People you've called a cunt since quitting smoking: 5
Where does it hurt: My shins.
Are you scared: Not as much as I was.


It's getting easier. Might have to make things more difficult next week.

Training, Day Three.

Miles ran? About 3
The Time it Took You? Too fucking long.
Cigarettes Smoked Since Starting Training? 1.5
Alcohol Consumed Since Starting Training? Fuck all.
Where Does it Hurt? Mostly everywhere. Except my balls.
Did They Send You Nurses? No, because they are cunts.
Are you Afraid? Yes.

Training, Day One

Send nurses...
Send many nurses with soft hands.
For the love of god, one of you send me some nurses...


*Edit/Update* Don't send any nurses, I'll kill them for their cigarettes/ the contents of their hip flasks.




*Further update* Send nurses. with soft hands...

You Are a Runner and I Am My Father's Son.

For as long as I can remember it's been an amibition of mine to die childless attempting to do something really pointless. Mostly because I want to deprive future generations of my awesome DNA. I'm a bit spiteful, you see.

Anyways, because it will probably kill me and because I'm a fucking idiot, I signed up for the ballot to enter the 2009 London Marathon today.

This could be an interesting experiment, currently I can't get out of a chair without going into a coughing fit that sounds like someone has stabbed a dog with enphysemia in the lungs while giving it a good shake, by next year I have to be able to run for four plus hours.

I'm spending the rest of today saying goodbye to my two true loves; fags and booze. Tomorrow I start training.

It's going to be painful.

I'll mostly be turning this thing over to being my boring-ass training blog for the next year. I'm sure it'll be so exciting for you to read.