WTF?

So I haven't blogged in a whole week and now I am blogging and still no epic dinosaur story. Unfortunately moving out of my house and applying for jobs has meant that I have had no time to blog or finish the dinosaur story. However you will be glad to hear it is nearly finished.

Anyway today's blog is a WTF post. And that has a double meaning. Clever, huh? I'm going to write about a couple of things I've seen that deserve a WTF award (and make me question the sanity of the human race) and also the WTF stands for the fact anyone reading this will be asking themselves this by the time I finish. I apologise if I make you're brain hurt!

Firstly this: (I am referring to the toys not the rather busty lady in front)

Despite the obvious horn what exactly have do Unicorns and Narwhals have in common? And since when have they been locked in some kind of legendary epic battle with each other for the last millennia? And they have magic battle horns. Why? They say that computer games and TV are encouraging violence, well what about this?

And they didn't really think this through, did they? Unicorns live on land and Narwhals in the sea. How do they have epic battles? And plus Narhwals live permanantly in the Artic where I don't think there has ever been a unicorn sighting. Then there is the obvious fact that UNICORNS DON'T EXIST or at least it's unlikely that they do exist anywhere other than my head.

My second WTF award of the day goes to a product from the Kings of WTF JML.

Now I get that it's to make bumps or something in your hair. But it might just be me but it seemed like a bad choice of name. When I first saw it I thought it was two different words and one of them wasn't 'bump'. Yes, I read 'bum pits' which sort of turns them into more of a painful torture implement. Owwww.

Ok it really was me, wasn't it?

Oh well moving swiftly on.

Something to distract you and make you forget I ever said anything.

CAKE!!

I got a cupcake stand for my birthday so I just had to make cupcakes. Mocha flavoured ones with coffee buttercream frosting to be precise.

I always though Hurling is what you do at the end of a night out not the start...

I return! After a weekend (and a bit more..) off from blogging. And I return having made a discovery.

Basically I have been away (as in away from my trusted sidekick Daisy the laptop) celebrating my birthday. First the parentals came to stay and they have a car so there was much Gower exploring to be done. And then Monday was  my 21st birthday and I went to see the Cardiff Doctor Who (maybe I'll do a Dr Who post tomorrow) exhibition with the best friend and then the evening was filled with drunken antics and discoveries and yesterday I was too hung over to blog about anything other than a desperate need for chips.

Anyway the discovery. Hurling. And no not the chucking up kind of hurling. I mean as in the crazy Irish sport. We sat in Walkabout downing large amounts of alcohol whilst watching the muted TV which made the game seem even more bizarre.

It seemed to be a mix of every sport and activity going. First of all here is the goal:

As you can see it incorporates both Rugby and Football into one set of goal posts. They seemed to score different amount of points for scoring it into either the football goal or managing to lob it over the rugby goal. It all seemed to resemble football in the fact they could kick the ball. It mirrored rugby and  sumo wrestling in the violent tackles. Hockey, tennis and baking in the bats they used:

Next to the stick you will see a picture of a wooden spatula commonly used in cooking. Notice the similarities? 

I also have a feeling there are some quidditch similarities for instance the Golden Snitch. There must have been one and they must have caught it when we weren't looking because it appeared that the team with the least points won! The scores seemed to be displayed to two decimal places so the game finished with Waterford (or Watford as we didn't find out what WAT stood for until the game ended) with 0.16 points and Clare (Clapham) with 1.13 points. Now after some deduction we decided that the points on the left hand side meant goals scored into the net and the score in the right meant goals scored in a rugby style (or indeed vice versa). You needed five football goals (or another number; five just sounded good) to get one rugby goal so therefore the score on the right was worth more hence why Watford was able to win the game despite seeming all behind like the cows tale. 

The game also ended resembling A and E after on a busy Saturday night. 

Now as for rules. Apparently there are some. But I choose to believe that once you've got past the scary pictures of the pitches and stuff all it says is there are no rules. As far as I can tell it was one big free for all using any method from any sport possible. I bet you could even get snooker and basketball in there somewhere as well. Or maybe you just need to have drunk 6 pints of Guiness to be able to understand! 

Antz

Ok ok I left a glass in my room over night, so sue me.

In my defence it was 2am and I'd had enough trouble stumbling to the kitchen to get the drink and wasn't about to go back. I didn't really see how it could cause anyone any offence. I was very wrong. Somehow the ants seemed to see it as sufficient provocation to launch a full scale attack on our house.

I awoke to find thousands of their soldiers swarming over the glass and parading under my door and up the bookcase. But if the ants thought I would give in and let our house be taken easily they were wrong. I grabbed the glass and ran out of my room, down the hall, through the living room and in to the kitchen, squealing all the way. Well wouldn't you when faced with million of these:

I dunked the glass in the sink and turned on the tap full blast. I then returned to deal with the stragglers with a hot damp cloth as that was the best thing I could think of at the time as I was pretty sure neither Cillit Bang nor Weed Killer would really do the trick. Upon returning I found that dealing with the stragglers might need a bit more than a cloth. This was a full blown invasion. The ant army had set up camp all along the hall and advance parties were already being sent out all over the house.

It was scary. There were so many of them. We didn't stand a chance. They laughed at my wet cloth. 'Ha ha,' they sneered, 'You can't win. We will be victorious.'

There was nothing for it. Reinforcements would have to be brought in. The ants must have partied as we left the house. I imagined them drinking and jeering about 'weak humans who don't fight back.' But once again they were wrong.

I returned several hours later ant traps and spray in hand. 'Is that it?' they laughed as ant traps were strategically placed.

'Right no more Miss Nice Guy!' I cried as I pulled a can of ant killing spray from behind my back. My finger poised over the trigger. 'This is your last chance. Leave or die.'

They ignored me.

With a cry of 'Take that you little fuckers!' My finger hit the trigger and a fine mist of toxic gas rained down on the battlefield.

This story concludes with this message to all ants: STAY OUT OR DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH

Also I have to admit the dinosaur story might not be ready for a while. But maybe if you're lucky I'll let you have a sneak preview.

And now an amusing aside: It's no wonder we didn't fancy finishing our drinks in Starbucks.