ChickenFox's Xanga

GOODBYE FOR NOW

Mon, 05 Jun 2006 13:48:27 GMT

Quote of The Week: "Parting is such sweet sorrow"
- William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

I have a new blog, which is pretty much the final nail in the Xanga coffin. Yeap, I'm following Steven over to LiveJournal, something I've been meaning to sign up to for some time. A lot of my old Fanfiction.Net buddies can be found over there, and nostalgia can be a powerful decision-maker.

I remember a time when I could expect about 5 comments a week. A shockingly big deal, huh? Well, since then this site has fallen from mediocrity as I've fallen out of touch with people who seem to agree that Xanga is lame (Danielle, Eric, Josh etc.) However, for those few of you who still read this, you can find me at www.thepageoflegend.tk and now http://chicken-fox.livejournal.com/.

I'll leave you with a Shakespearean soliloquy, as I've been watching Withnail & I quite a bit lately, which I will attempt (and fail) to type from memory.

"I have of late, but wherefore I know not
Lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of excersice
And indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition
That this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory
This most excellent canopy the air, look you
This brave o'er hanging firmament, this majestical roof
Fretted with golden fire, why it appers no other thing to me
Than a foul and pestilant congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is man!
How noble in reason,
How infinite in faculty,
In form and moving how express and admirable
In action, how like an angel
In apprehension, how like a god!
The beauty of the world the paragon of animals
And yet to me what is the quintessance of dust?
Man delights not me; no, nor women neither."

Nor women neither.

- Chicken Fox, 05 June 2006

WELL, THIS'LL PUT A DOWNER ON YOU

Sat, 11 Mar 2006 14:51:26 GMT

Quote of The Week: "Then we'll be dead, yet still alive... Like Leonard Cohen!"
- "Neil" from The Young Ones as he realises a vampire is about to attack.

Got my results from the January Modules this week. They weren't awesome.

English Language: C
Business Studies: U

U!? What in the blue fuck is a U? I didn't even know we had Us.

Don't know whether I've mentioned this before, but I need an A in English Language and an A in Business Studies to get into the University of Liverpool. Fuck. Resit, here I come; so long, £60.

In other news, my uncle is in hospital with what must be his third stroke. He's also had multiple heart attacks in the past, and I can only pray that he pulls through this time. Any other prayers or just thoughts would be appreciated.

To top off the week, I awoke this morning to find not one, but two puddles of red (red!) vomit in my room. And this is not a Liverpool FC joke: I actually did throw up crimson sick.

I have come to the following conclusion: I cannot hold my red wine.

WE HAVE TITLES NOW?

Sun, 05 Mar 2006 21:10:55 GMT

Quote of The Week: I've been too fucking busy, and vice versa.
- Dorothy Parker

Wow, it's been so long since I updated, I'm pretty fucking sure that no one reads this any more. But here goes anyway.

Chicken Fox has started another novel! That's right, in between intense schoolwork, updating my website (www.thepageoflegend.tk) and deep philosophical thoughts you wouldn't understand, I'll be finding time to actually sit down and write something. In fact, it's already started: I have roughly 7,000 words down at the moment, which makes up the first two chapters and the prologue (gotta have a prologue).

In truth, I'm a little cautious about using the word "novel". Probably doesn't help that I was once called "a gay novel-writing faggot" when I spoke of my literary ambitions in public, but also as a teenager, it makes me sound like some pseudo-intellectual who's attempts to realise his aspirations are coming too soon. Which of course I am, but at the same time, this thing is primarily for my own enjoyment. If any of you want to read my efforts, that's fine. But I'm not deluding myself into thinking I'm writing the great British book here, or even anything that will get published.

The story? Well, it's a weird one. The original premise started as Metal Gear Solid set in a school, but as it's developed in my mind there is now a definite theme running through, and it has somewhat betrayed the initial concept. I don't want to give too much away, and in truth I can't anyway; Stephen King once said that writing a novel shouldn't involve a pre-emptive plot and is more like discovering a fossil than anything, so solid details aren't really at hand.

Regardless of what my "Currently Reading" would lead you to believe, I have just this week finished my reread of Raymond Chandler's first two novels. Between them and Stephen King's new Cell (which I thankfully haven't finished), I have to say I'm enjoying something of a renaissance period in my reading.

Chandler practically defined the hardboiled detective with The Big Sleep, but that's beside the point: his novels are a fuckload of fun and extremely witty. There may be one or two plot holes, but you have such a good time with them that you won't even notice.

Cell, on the other hand, is actually a twist on the Romero school of zombie cinema disguised as a King novel. Anyone who's seen Night of The Living Dead, Dawn of The Dead etc. will feel right at home by the second chapter, and anyone who loves King's minimilist but very effective style will be reveling in the book long before then. It gets my recommendation if you feel as if you need a good scare.

'Til next time, whenever the bollocks that will be.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Mon, 14 Nov 2005 19:48:45 GMT

Quote of The Week: Hay más tiempo que vida (There is more time than life)
- NathanVersus

It's been a funny week.

Well, not exactly funny. More like heart-wrenchingly eventful.

Firstly, I found out some really disturbing stuff about a good friend of mine. I'd never mention names or implicate anyone, but what I heard involved sexual assult... made worse by the fact that the perpertrator of this crime is also one of my closest friends, whom I've known for many years more. Truly sickening, but that just set me up for the next few days.

Last Thursday, news reached me of the passing of my former teacher and deputy headmistress, Mrs Nelson-Woods. Mrs Nelson-Woods taught me Biology for just over a year before breast cancer took hold of her, and she struggled on bravely for another year and a half before succumbing. I didn't know her half as well as I would have liked, but I always regarded her as an excellent teacher and disciplinarian, which earned her respect, fear (and hatred) among certain circles within the student body, as well as love. She was at Calday for over 30 years, and despite what anyone said, I know she always put the students first, and my lasting image of her will be of a still tough if uncharacteristically greying woman in her final few months, seemingly energetic and ruthless as ever as she instructed me to tuck my shirt as I got off the bus. That, and her ever-changing hairstyles throughout the years I was at Calday.

On Saturday, things began to improve for me as British sport enjoyed a red letter day. The English football team defeated ancient rivals Argentina, ranked the second best team in the world, in the best friendly match I have ever had the pleasure of watching. England also beat old enemies Australia in the rugby union, and in rugby league Great Britain overcame the New Zealand All-Blacks. Meanwhile, Andrew Flintoff bowled the hell out of Pakistan in the cricket.

Then, I was mentally struck down again. Late last night, while I was in the middle of a history essay, I discovered that Eddie Guerrero, the professional wrestler and one of my few inspirations, had passed away aged 38. The heart that had gifted him the charisma and courage to go out nearly every night and entertain had given up on him as he brushed his teeth in a hotel room, a week before many speculated that he was booked to win the WWE Championship.

This, unlike my teacher's death, was completely shocking and unexpected. Eddie had overcome his prescription drug problems four years ago and had been apparently teetotal ever since. I admit to my eyes swelling with tears as I read the news on WWE.Com, and was immediately moved to write a tribute to the great man, which can be read on www.ThePageofLegend.tk. He leaves behind a wife and three children, with whom my prayers and condolences reside, and one hell of a legacy.

I feel, for the first time in a while, emotionally drained. Too much so to think of an effective ending for this commentary.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Thu, 06 Oct 2005 22:46:06 GMT

Quote of the Week: Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true/Wanted a woman, never bargained for you.
- Robert Plant, Dazed and Confused

Saw Sin City at last, and was blown away.

As much of a fan I am of Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez blatantly does the following: matches Pulp Fiction in the blending of a trio of stories, shows Kill Bill how to do action and makes a superb and loyal adaptation of Frank Miller's yarns. While this might not quite be up to the level of Tarantino's famous second hit, were this a decade-long directing contest, Rodriguez would have just scored a last minute winner over his friend and colleague.

Now, Batman Begins was awesome for me, but Sin City pips it to not only best comic book film of the year, but best comic book film of all time. Yes, I too, am jumping on the movie's dick. And here's why:

Firstly, the film is presented superbly. There's not a lot I can say on the visuals in this motion picture that hasn't already been said, but the black-and-white look is not only a massive step forward but also, along with the script, a nod backwards to cheesy film noir and the crime novella that spawned it. The presentation does, it's true, lose the simplicity and downright grit of Miller's original artwork, but with isolated reds and greens stranded in such a vibrant sea of blacks and whites (oxymoron? watch the film), I'm more than happy.

Now, I say the script is "cheesy", but only because this has become synonymous with the sort of Chandleresque dialogue and analogies that send shivers down the spine in Miller's original graphic novels. In other words, just the sort of stuff that turns me on to Bruce Willis' last-day-on-the-job straight-edge detective or Mickey Rourke's vigilante avenging a dame. And who can so no to a stripteasing Jessica Alba!?

Rourke, by the way, was fantastic under the prosthetics as Marv (wonders will never cease). Not entirely truthful to the comics, but you'd have to be made of stone to complain. If the Academy Awards were real, I'd be right now putting serious cash on Mickey winning the Best Supporting Actor Award. And Bruce Willis entered his finest performance since... well, ever. As for Clive Owen, it was a nice, dreary attempt at acting, which suited the character of Dwight down to the ground. What casting.

So, if you're into sex, violence, comic books and sexy violent arthouse cinema, you need this film in your life. If not, then you need this film in your life. Buy.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 20:25:45 GMT

Quote of The Week: You can still go to France, mate, it's not too far, it's full of pricks and they hate fucking yanks as well
-- Robert Carlyle as "Felix DeSouza", The 51st State

Back from holiday, back to school.

A school infested by poorly-endowed twats of students, useless teachers and constant unnecessary and shoddy buliding work carried out by a team of surly eunuch builders. My best mate got out last week too, so I'm stuck with a handful of real friends and fairweather knobheads who would ditch me for the first brainless moron with a porno magazine (You know who you are. But don't worry, I'd do the same to you, tosspots).

The headteacher is a complete shit. He went on and on today about how our AS grades as a year group were disappointing. Apparently, it's all because we need to take 6th Form more seriously. Nothing to do with the fact the gargantuan prick let more people into our year than any other head in the history of the school, making it more like 15-20 a class instead of the 7-8 a class teachers were used to in years gone by, thus shortening the individual attention a pupil can get from their teacher. No, it can't be his fault. Feckless Pete Griffin lookalike.

This week has seemed like a year to me. I don't know how I'm going to finish up.

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Wed, 10 Aug 2005 23:02:17 GMT

Quote of The Week: Do all dolphins have holes in their heads?
- Jessica Simpson, "actress" and dumb fucking bitch

I have some good news and some bad news.

First, the bad news. From now on, I won't be updating this as often as usual, and that which I do post won't be as superfun as that you slavering bastards have gotten used to from me over the last two months or so. Deal with it.

The reason is that I'll be concentrating all my energy into a new website. That's the good news.

Yeap, good ol' Chicken Fox is moving up in the world. No more crappy Xangas or useless 'blogrings' for me: from now on, all my mighty opinions, articles and commentaries will be concentrated into one awesome webpage.

When can I sample this modern day coming of the Gods, I hear you ask? My answer is, don't blaspheme, you filthy heathens. It's on the Internet right now, awaiting your eager, piggy little eyes. Man, what are you waiting for?

Go there now!

Monday, August 08, 2005

Mon, 08 Aug 2005 19:23:05 GMT

Quote of The Week: The game says this thing is one of the 'Los Ganados'. Well, it looks like a zombie. Walks like a zombie. Trying to bite my neck, as is the tendency of zombies.

...Zombie, eat shotgun shell.
- Me, playing Resident Evil 4

The best part of three days spent in my lounge with the curtains closed, playing Resident Evil 4, living like a sunlight-allergic agoraphobic Goth, have made me fully appreciate the importance of going outside and socialising. Hopefully, I'll be doing some of that in the near future.

Still, three days well spent I say, as Resi 4 is the most awesome game on the Gamecube yet. If you wanted to sum up its greatness, you could say that it takes Wind Waker from behind and viscously penetrates its cell-shaded anus.

The party went alright on Friday. It was good to catch up and get smashed, but forgetting to buy Vodka for the ladies is a cardinal sin. Also, lying on my own kitchen floor staring at a cigarette I'm too drunk to smoke wasn't the highlight of my life.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a little bastard by the name of Salazar to kill. Tally ho, chaps.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Wed, 27 Jul 2005 19:44:36 GMT

Quote: I don't think it's nice, you laughin'. You see, my mule don't like people laughing. He gets the crazy idea you're laughin' at him. Now if you apologize, like I know you're going to, I might convince him that you really didn't mean it.
- "The Man With No Name", A Fistful of Dollars

Smileys. Emoticons. Little yellow freaks. Call them what you will: They're scum, plain and simple.

I despise Smileys, with every fibre of my being. I mean, what the fuck is the point of them? They're inconvenient, ugly and frightening, like L337 only in a visual form. And the name, "Emoticon", suggests they were invented to express emotion on behalf of the unseen user, for rarely are Internet conversations face to face. This is fucking ridiculous: whoever has an emotional spectrum so basic their facial signals can be represented by these most basic of cartoons shouldn't be using the Internet at all, because they'd be the sorts that start websites clogging the place with bullshit and talk about themselves and write Xangas.

To prove my point, let's have a peak at these so-called "Emoticons"...

The Classic
Okay, nothing too disturbing here. It's a jaundiced testicle with a face drawn on, but we've all seen those. Next...

The Sad Guy
This is what one uses when they're upset by something. But what exactly is this ball upset about? Well, he looks about mid-sixties with all those worry lines, so maybe senility's getting to him. And anyone who uses it.

Mr Flirt
Ah, we've all seen this dude. He pops up whenever your friend is trying either look cool or flirt with you. And come on, who could not be attracted to this sexy ball of yellow pus? I'm getting turned on already. He's winking at you, ladies. Rwoar.

The Silly Dude
What gets me about this one is it's used after someone has said something either really offensive or completely unfunny. Or both. But don't worry, this means he didn't really mean it. It's just a joke. Ha ha. I usually respond with a patronising "lol" or a punch in the windpipe.

Laughter Is The Best Medicine
What the fuck? Who laughs like this? Really, he looks like he's being ticked in the anus.

Mr Don't Mess
Woah, take a step back. He's taken offence to something you've said. Respond with The Silly Dude... or realise this is the Internet, and no one gives a fuck what you say. Offend some more.

The Censor
Now he's really pissed. See the teeth? That means he's constipated. Take a moment to laugh or pity him.

Clueless on the Keyboard
He doesn't really know what's going on, which is why he's resorting to Smileys. Probably because he's just taken a hit of weed.

Clueless and Silly
This is the demented lovechild of "The Silly Dude" and "Clueless". Usually utilised when one is halfway through a reefer. Mmmm, smell those fumes...

What the...?
"WTF" indeed. Stage 3: Now he's totally out of it, and no amount of coffee is going to bring him back. Best to keep him away from all balloons and give him a seditive.

The Shocked Kid
Crappy anime-influenced garbage. Anyone who uses this should be ridiculed even by other Emoticon users.

The Stunned Kid
You'll need to open your mouth a little wider for Bill Gates' cock, kid.

Mr Whatever
Whatever, maaan. Don't have a cow, dude. Sit back and stare at this guy in all his loserishness. He don't give a fuck.

Rough Day
It's been a bad day, pleeeease don't take a picture. The fact this is entitled "Bummed Out" tells you all you need to know.

They continually get worse. The only one I'll ever use is this one: , because it's what I would look like if I was an Emoticon. And even this is just a cash-in on The Matrix. Jesus, the more I think about Emoticons, the more angry I get. Fucking Emoticons, ruining my day. Little yellow bastards. I hereby declare A War On Emoticons. We'll fight them on the servers, and exterminate the fuckers. Anyone want to sign up for the Anti-Smiley Army, let me know and I'll send you information on how to create a hideous virus capable of raping the files of anyone who uses these shits.

And now for an assortment of messages I promised I'd give out during this post:

- Happy Birthday to Eleanor! Yep, my little sis is now 10 years old. You ever look at her the wrong way, and I'll keel haul ya through shark infested waters. Then kneecap you with a Winchester.
- Lucy totally rocks. She owns an evil budgie, which is probably planning to take over the world as I type. Good on it, I say. Oh, and the brunnette look suits her.
- Good luck to Steve, who I think is now in Basic Training. Though I've been opposed to most recent US Military operations, I can't wait to see him turned into a horrific killing machine of death.
- Happy Holidays, everyone who's broken up for the Summer
- "Ha, you're dicks" to everyone who's just gone back to school.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

Sat, 23 Jul 2005 23:23:10 GMT

Quote of the Week: I have come here to chew bubblegum and kick ass... and I'm all outta bubblegum.
- Roddy Piper as "John Nada", They Live

On July 2, 2005, potentially one of the greatest events in music history occurred: Pink Floyd, four of the greatest musicians of human existence, came together for a performance in front of millions world wide. Their playing was hardly classic: a twenty minute-odd tour de force was what they delivered, but it paled in comparison to their past glory.

What made this occasion so momentious is the fact it has started to raise awareness. Live 8, the event at which they played, was purposely created to make the world's population aware of the African crises and arguably succeeded in doing so; but more interestingly from a musical perspective, it has generated a reknewed interest from teenagers in Pink Floyd.

At least, it has started to. All around my school, Floyd are now regularly entering conversations about musical artists. Some, me included, have always loved them, some are now jumping on the bandwagon, and some are declaring their hatred for them and the music they represent. At the moment, though, I don't have a problem with any of the previous three situations: I think it was Oscar Wilde who said that there is one thing worse than being talked about, and that's not being talked about. Now, Floyd are at last once again being talked about.

In an age that has seen the rise of hip-hop and rap and when the average teenager has no comprehension of classic rock, this adreneline shot to the heart of the post-pubescent population is vital. Those who witnessed Floyd's late showing at Live 8 have drawn up mental comparisons with modern contemporary artists, even rock ones such as Green Day, and found the heroes of this age wanting.

Hopefully, this will inspire an exodus to more intelligent brands of music, the likes of which Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd churned out in the 70s and thrash proggers like Porcupine Tree and Dream Theater are performing today. Hell, I'll even settle for a couple of 13 year olds replacing the latest 50 Cent album with some Foo Fighters in their CD players: anything to get the future generation of potential musicians and music critics interested in stuff that takes years of skill to master and sounds all the more awesome for it. Even if Floyd don't stay together, at least a few kids will replace American Idiot with Dark Side of the Moon and say, "Fuck, I know which one took more talent."

But enough about things unrelated to me. It's finally the Summer Holidays, ending my school year and beginning six weeks of doing whatever the fuck I want. I woke up Saturday morning finally knowing how The Bride felt as she cried and laughed at the same time on her bathroom floor at the end of Kill Bill 2: bittersweetness at its most conflicted.

On the most sweet note, my birthday is rapidly approaching. As such, I'm planning my first house party in a full year, and like 12 months ago am open to your suggestions as to how to get my mother out of the house on August 5th. Make them good and original, and I won't have to hunt you through the woods at night.

Anyway, it's coming to that part of the post when I realise I've said far too much and am probably boring you immensely. Well, good. I hope you're crying. I'll love you and leave you, 'til next time.