King of the DIRTY DIRTY DUBSTEP.

And a wub wub here...and a
wub wub there...

You may love him. You may hate him. You may disagree with his 80’s style haircut, odd look and post-hardcore past, but sweet Christ if ever there was a step by step “How to become a dirty dubstep God” feature in the world of How to’s…Skrillex is definitely staking a claim to author being one of the fastest rising names in the world of dubstep (and planet gofockeennuts).

I recently had the pleasure of seeing the epic wave that Skrillex has created and basked in the ‘WHATTATHEFUCK’ is this? Normally my personal taste doesn’t delve into the world of laptop generated sound and ‘one man and his beatbox lyrics’ that Radio 1 so happily spits out each and everyday (yes you, Fearne ‘I would be fit if not for the face’ Cotton), but when I listened to the sound that passed through my speakers the first time I listened to Skrillex, the drop in First of the Year (Equinox) was so massive, so epic, so huge that it unfortunately killed my dog…and I don’t even own a dog.

After this experience I wanted to learn more in the ways of the dirty dirty dubstep, and heard more of Skrillex’s creations. This infatuation grew and so when the opportunity came to see him live, Valentine’s Day no less (I applaud every non-loved up couple there), I could not pass up. The sound is indescribable. The set so outrageous, you feel like you’re having an outrageous trip on the biggest pile of drugs you could muster together -insert Whitney Houston joke here-. I suggest every one of you reading this to ride the fattest, juiciest wave of music out there at the moment. Your senses will be literally dry humping your brain so bad you’ll be shooting rainbows out your arse…

At this point you’re probably thinking ‘this Lads talking horseshit’. And you would be correct to an extent but so would you if you had 140 decibels performing the reach around on your eardrums for 2 hours straight with no breaks. At 22, Skrillex, real name Sonny Moore, is carving a career that looks extremely bright, playing daily shows across the globe to hundreds of people, mind-fucking each one of them, one by one. To sum it up, this was a comment on one of his YouTube videos

“The last time something dropped this hard, Japan surrendered…”

Need I say more?

Clue...no...just no

It was once a favourite pastime of mine but, as of lately, I have realised the complete inefficiency and farcicalness of something I once held very dear to me… the game of Cluedo. Now I hate having my childhood pleasures ruined for me just as much as the next person (I really feel for the children of the 70s and 80s who now feel betrayed by one Mr George Lucas, and for the kids unlucky enough to have bought those jelly aliens who have since found out that you can’t actually make them have babies if you rub their backs together and/or put them in a fridge…not sure who the hell invented that myth anyway, it’s a rather bizarre way of impregnating someone.), but I feel it is necessary that everyone realises just how ridiculous this box full of deception is.

Let’s start with the actual concept of the game. The players assume that Dr Black is dead and that it’s up to the six characters to discover who the murderer is by guessing a person, a weapon and a room. Let me stop you right there. Basically, these people have turned up to some sort of dinner party and, on finding their host dead, rather than calling the police, decide to throw out random speculations as to who’s murdered the unfortunate bastard that lies before them. They have taken it upon themselves to catch the murderer as if they’re the upper class versions of Dog the Bounty Hunter. Surely to take the law into your own hands you must be better qualified than the police? But no, instead our detectives are a camp professor, an army Colonel, a vicar, a decrepit maid and…well whatever the hell Mrs Peacock and Miss Scarlett do for a living.

Now let’s take the method of deducing who the killer is. Each person takes it in turns to state who/what/where and then asks ONE person if they have ruled out ONE of these suggestions. Firstly, it’s a bit selfish not including everyone else and secondly it’s rather inefficient. Why not pool all the answers together to discover the murderer? That way Mrs White can get back to fixing that lead pipe under the sink (Personally I think Dr Black got what was coming to him if he continued to drink his tap water whilst having lead pipes leading to his sinks, did he not know that lead is poisonous…stupid man). It is one of the most pointless methods of solving a mystery. In John Carpenters “The Thing”, Kurt Russell’s character lights each persons’ blood sample with a flame to find out which one of the Antarctic team members is the creature posing in humanoid form, whereas in Cluedo, the party guests whisper into each other’s ears, blindly hoping that they’ll eventually catch this master criminal. And all this is going on whilst the corpse of their host rots on the floor of one of 6 rooms (speaking of which, if he’s died in a certain room, surely that was the room he was murdered in. It doesn’t take Hercule Poirot to figure that out).

The list goes on. The itinerary of weapons is ridiculous. It’s as if someone just walked around the house and came up with a list of things which could possibly kill someone…although I don’t know who came up with the candlestick (probably that senile Mrs White). Have you ever tried killing anyone with a candle stick? And why just those people? Why not anyone else? Some anonymous killer could be halfway across the world (which is the Equator) by the time those six morons have stopped pointing the finger at each other. It’s after playing this game that I worry that the Plums and Mustards of the world have the potential to be in charge of our country (The day I see David Cameron in a purple suit and glasses, I’m emigrating halfway across the world…to the Equator). When I someday have children myself they won’t be mindlessly guessing about murderers or forcing sticky aliens to have crazy refrigerated sex. No, they’ll be engaging in proper pastimes...like Monopoly.

Saint Valentine...he's a rascal

"Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same". Oscar Wilde

Once the hassle of the overhyped Christmas is over, the men of the Earth can happily return to the routine that fills the gap between birth and death. But before you can say, “do you still have the receipt?” that day that every man dreads comes around all too soon. You can’t avoid it, for everywhere you turn; the dreaded pink heart shapes of emotional blackmail start popping up… What day I hear cry? Yep you guessed it. It’s Valentine’s Day fuckers…

Don't drink and fly kids.

When men rule the Earth again (real bearded, Viking looking, hair on your palms and eyeballs type men), what was once called Valentine’s Day will be a day far more beer and meat orientated and less emotionally crippling for the weak willed. When we were cavemen, a heartfelt act would be killing a sabre tooth. When the Vikings came, a day celebrating love was punishable by death. Nowadays it’s all about the love (damn you hippies).

If there was one day of the year that all men wish would they could hibernate for 24 hours, it would be this one. Why? Because get it wrong and you may as well get your mother-in-laws cat and wipe it on your arse whilst chanting verses from Justin Bieber’s Autobiography. (On a sidenote, how on Earth does that kid have a biography already? “What would you say are the highlights of your career Justin?” I use career extremely loosely “Umm…puberty?”) Forget this day and you will find it very difficult to live down and will inevitably lose every battle with your spouse until the day you decide that that WD40 in the shed should be drunk before it goes off.

Then of course there are those who have yet to delve into the world of relationships. As if everyday wasn’t enough of a struggle to not throw the toaster in with you whilst in the bath to cure the crippling loneliness, the evil companies of today (yes I’m looking at you Costa and no I don’t want a heart shaped biscuit with my Mocha Frappuccino, I make my own at home using my tears as the secret ingredient) continue to press the idea of love and companionship so far into our retina that each time you blink you will be able to see a teddy bear holding a heart. Bring on the DIY laser eye surgery.

But fret not, for there is an incentive. At this time of year, for no apparent reason (scientists believe it may be lunar activity) the female specie of the Earth feel slightly gooier on the inside and therefore this day can be put on par with that of a birthday. Yes reader you guessed it, milk the cow in the right way and you are sure for a bit of rough and tumble.

Go forth and make the most of what surprisingly falls in favour of the male specie. But for the love of –insert religious figure here- don’t start with card linked below…

http://img17.imageshack.us/img17/4837/524629324375a003797ke2.jpg

The Internet was never designed for this! Or was it? Lets say no.

“I’m just a man, standing in front of a camera (connected to the internet and subsequent millions of potential viewers), with my balls out, asking him to love her…”  Notting Hill

Maybe that’s wrong. Haven’t seen it in awhile…

Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, I, the humble narrator have recently embarked on a journey of discovery. A mislead and somewhat disturbing journey to the world of the Chatroulette.

Actual image of the first time I went
on Chatroulette #badparenting

Let me begin by explaining the concept of what was once an idea in the back of the mind of a lonely programming youngster. The idea was to get people connected through the medium of web camerature. You randomly get put with someone of equal boredom, doing the same thing as you, trying to fill that gap between birth and death, and voila! You are both meant to embark on a journey of self discovery coupled with satirical humour about life and its pleasantries. But all does not go according to plan. For some devilishly sly old rascal thought “I know what would make this experience better for everyone who randomly gets coupled with me! My old man balls! Times Man of the Year, here I come!” This then, fused with the pain of not being able to flash ones package in public anymore and thus, the Chatroulette of today was born.

And whilst it isn’t myself that stands in front of said webcam with said balls out, it appears to be every other person that pops up randomly after clicking next. Again and again. Ball after crinkly ball. And before long after clicking next 20 times and seeing another pair of past their heyday, wrinkly old man balls, you begin to ask yourself..."How has my life gone so tragically wrong that I sit, in my room of hopes and dreams, clicking on my computer to see people who feel the urge to get their very own Dr Johnson out for the humble public such as myself?" Its like unsuspectingly pulling into a famous dogging area of Yorkshire at night time and uncontrollably flashing your headlights in an almost sci-fi esque, brain controlled manner. You know its wrong, you know you’re going to see more Wang than a Chinese phone book, but deep down in your heart, we the humble viewers believe that somewhere, somehow, for some unexplained reason, the beer drinking, Call Of Duty playing, sex reliant, wonder woman of our dreams will pop up unexplainably and begin conversing with us about anything and everything. Telling tales of times gone by, leading to the ultimate relationship we’ve all been searching for. Our soul mate that makes all the bad stuff disappear and someone who would rub a cold Budweiser over our foreheads on a warm summers day of watching the money trees grow.

But ultimately you just end up with more old man balls…

Here are a selection of the delights of the heartwarming Chatroulette:

http://www.buzzfeed.com/awesomer/the-24-best-chat-roulette-screenshots-nsfw