Acting, badminton, chatting, drawing, eating, fixing things, going to the gym, hanging out, ice hockey, jerking around, karate, learning, meditating, nothing, origami, paintballing, quarrelling, reading, singing, TV, under-achieving, videogames, web development, xylophone playing, yachting and zebra-stomping. Woohoo, I did it! I actually found an interest for each letter of the alphabet. I rule...

Phone Booth, The Matrix, South Park, Napoleon Dynamite, Scarface, Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within, Lord Of The Rings, Harry Potter, The Breakfast Club, The Phantom Of The Opera, White Noise, Team America, Midnight Express, The Piano, Quadrophenia, Sophie's Choice, Blade, Scary Movie, Scream, Nightmare On Elm Street, American Pie, American Werewolf In Paris, Holes, The Exorcist, What A Girl Wants, Princess Diaries, 10 Things I Hate About You, Gone In 60 Seconds, Swordfish, Uranium Pearl, Meet The Fockers, Around The World In 80 Days.

Anything written by me. And I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by that guy. Tucker Max, I think his name is.

My Website
TeenInformer.co.uk

Well what can I say about me? I'm your average teenage guy I guess. There's a billion of us out there. I'm no more special than anybody else.

Aww, who am I kidding? Of course I'm more important. Much more important. I'm the best fucking guy in the world. What makes me so good? I believe it. I am honestly the biggest-headed person I know. I think everything I do is fantastic, everything I say is hilariously funny but also meaningful, everybody I grace with my presence is privelleged. I'm arrogant, self-centered and very cocky and I love it. I truly believe I am the best thing since sliced bread (and probably before that as well - there's nothing special about sliced bread. All you need is a knife, dumbass). Why am I this way? Because it beats being a fucking loser and constantly whining about how I'm nothing and everybody should feel sorry for me because I've had a rough life. I haven't had a rough life. Starving Africans have rough lives, not depressed emo fags who enjoy depressing music and cutting themselves.

As you've probably noticed, I ramble and rant a lot. I have an opinion of pretty much everything. Normally I hate this in a person, but I do actually do research before I form an opinion. If somebody asks me why I hate George Bush, I can say "it's because he's a pompous arsehole who actively supports homophobia and believes in giving tax cuts to the rich". Not "because my friend Tom hates him too".
In fact, rambling and ranting on virtually everything is the subject of my first book (yes, bitches, I am writing a book). If you ever saw that site named Show Me The Monkey (and if you didn't see it, where the fuck have you been for the last year? You missed Internet history), I wrote it. You'll remember my rants on everything. Well, I've written more. Only this time they're in a book. Like, a book with pages and everything. More details on that when I can be arsed to actually find out when it's due to be released. Thus far I've written about thirty pages, but several of them are pictures of my P.E. teacher burning alive. I don't like my P.E. teacher.

I've been told I'm very carefree for a teenager. I agree. I honestly don't care about most things, although school work and my fianc?e Ellie are both very important. I don't give a rat's ass about most things, but the things I am actually bothered about I do perfectly.
Speaking of Ellie, yes, I am engaged to her. Yes, I asked her to marry me. Yes, I gave her a ring. Yes, I went down on one knee. So many people ask those questions. I would've thought it's quite obvious. There's only one way for a guy to propose to a girl. They give her a ring, go down on one knee and ask her to marry them. If I'm saying I'm engaged, I must have done all of those things. Stop asking.

Another thing I've been ranting a lot about lately is football. I really don't give a toss. Wow, so Rooney will miss the world cup. Well poor fucking Rooney. Excuse me while I wipe away the tears I am crying because the guy is too wussy to play football with a broken ankle. Maybe now you'll go and find a sport you're actually good at. May I suggest you take up knitting? I mean, the guy looks like a dirty big gorilla sat on his face. He's an ugly fucker and he can't play football. Makes you wonder how he got through secondary school.
Big Brother also gets on my tits. I don't care about poor Pete who has Tourettes Syndrome. It's not cute, it's fucking irritating. I'm glad I don't know anybody with Tourettes. I'd be swearing back at them. Anyway, Big Brother sucks because nothing actually happens. It's a bunch of people pretending that they're acting exactly the way they would be acting if the cameras weren't there. Big Brother fans - here's an idea for you. Instead of watching other people live their lives, get off your fat ass and go and live your own.

I'm also a stand-up comedian. It's hard work because your legs start to hurt after a while (lame joke. Sorry). If you're organising a party and want someone side-splittingly funny, call Jimmy Carr. If you can't afford Jimmy Carr and want to get the next best thing, call me. I'm funnier in person, honestly.

Let's see, what else do I do a lot? Oh, I get drunk. Not very easily, but when I go to parties, I get hammered and I love it. I do silly things when I'm drunk. My friend Martin actually has a video of my arguing with a stop sign. I thought I was winning until I decided to kick it, breaking two of my toes in the process (you can actually hear the bones crunch on the video. In retrospect, it was quite funny. At the time it fucking hurt). And who could forget the magical evening that was New Year's Eve 2005? Four parties, arguing with a fat girl, nearly being thrown up on and peeing in a plant-pot were just some of the fun activities that occurred that evening. I'm not your average thug-style drunk. I'm a happy, "argue and do silly things" drunk. I love life.

So if you think you can stand talking to me, go for it. I love meeting new people. Although be warned, if you don't type properly, I will rip the piss out of you and then refuse to talk to you ever again. It's not difficult to type properly and not look like a twat. I manage it just fine. You can too.
Enjoy life. Or don't enjoy life, if you're one of those depressed emo losers I mentioned earlier. Go cut your wrists if you must. Just don't bleed on my shirt.

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