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  • Retardation in the UK (London Part 2)

    Posted on August 11th, 2009 Cibo 4 comments

    I learned two things this week:

    1) I really suck at counter-strike. Like man, my reaction time blows, probably from all the punches to the head or something. I am actually through obsessive enough to create an experimentation regiment using several online reaction tests and charting the data in excel to insure I can creditably argue I suck based on physical disabilities so I can get a “handicap gamertag”. (Not joking, I’m thanking some god my reaction time is getting better.)

    2) Learning British accounting is like dealing with anything British, shit is all fucking different when it just doesn’t need to be. Furthermore, all that stupid shit is completely fucking over your day. FOR FUCK’S SAKE WHAT IS UP WITH THE THREE COLUMNS ON THE FUCKING BALANCE SHEET!!!? I ALREADY HATE ACCOUNTING AS IS! AND NOW I HAVE TO RELEARN THE WHOLE FUCKING THING AGAIN?

    Now these annoyances are probably not enough to make me go out of my way to write a post, but Scritty was kind of enough to call me a fag and I strongly suggested I should hurry the fuck up. As such, I’m writing part two of London time.

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    Thursday

    After a bright an early 12PM waking to the TV alarm, we had lunch again at the Indian place across the street. I’m pretty sure the Eastern Euro chick was hitting on me but I’m like completely ignorant to picking up on hints from girls. I’ve had people check out my facebook page and go “Dude that girl was totally into you.” “Really?” “Yeah, retard.” “Oh, ok…” Too bad I didn’t figure it out till after the trip but that’s so like me.

    Thursday, we were going to Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. Let me frame the idea in a way that communicates the lulz. It’s a British dude talking about what it’s like to be an America. Granted, Madame Tussaud is a fairly international operation at this point with locations in New York, Vegas, Berlin, etc but at the least, the London one feels like a British person talking to me about what it is like to be an American. It would be like if I was telling people what it would be like to be British, which would also be lulzy.

    Arriving there in the afternoon, the line was pretty damn long. Obviously the museum owners knew this would happen since they were kind enough to have the wax sculptors there talking about what it was like making the figures and hired performers to help you kill time. I was watching this one mime girl go about acting all weird and shit. Like walking up to kids and scarring the shit out of them. I started thinking, because I can’t turn this fucker off, “What type of person seriously does this for a career?” I narrowed it down to nymph, exhibitionist, or dissociation sufferer. Could I be wrong? Maybe. Do I care? Not really, because it beats staring at a wall.

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    This was before the line got really bad.

    Fast forward 50 mins or so with me ending up staring at a German’s back as I talked with dad about how London’s economy will probably rebound faster than LA’s since we have Riverside and San Bernardino fucking things up for us, we at last reached the entrance.

    Going to back to what I said earlier, the museum is trying to convey an American vibe yet it just feels a little off. The first thing you see when you enter is a Hollywood party which in reality is a Vegas lounge party. Then, you see like all the stars but you seem them in poses I’m not sure really suit them. That and there’s like a fuck load of people taking pictures with American celebrities in a way that makes an LA native cringe. Also, no words can describe a scene where you have German kids doing the Moon Walk with the Michael Jackson wax figure. The staff even let them borrow hats….

    There were a lot of British wax figures too since it is in Britannica and all. A lot of the figures were cricket and soccer(football) stars. I’m still trying to figure out cricket, yet every time I watch all I do is rofl. I mean these guys are wearing polo shirts throwing the ball at the ground to bounce it while the hitter has like an ass spanking paddle and wearing storm trooper shin pads. They hit the ball and everyone is like “ooooooohhhh”. Then, everyone really goes ape shit crazy when the ref holds up one finger, which I assume means like one point or something. It’s like a gayer version of baseball essentially (which I hate too).

    During the week I was there, the Brits were getting their ass kicked by the Aussies in the Lords of Ashes tournament because from what I could ascertain from our friendly bar tender, “everyone plays cricket better than we do”. It was a big deal to them since I assume the tournament was one of the major cricket events. The Brits seem to be having the same problems as the Americans are having in baseball in regards to not getting its ass kicked by the Asians. Though I do believe the Brits came back and won it avoiding a national catastrophe equal to the US losing the gold in Basketball in 2004.

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    Crisis averted guys, cricket is back on console for 2009!!

    Anyway, it was kind of cool the museum had paired up with your random faceless corporation to give away prizes at a few game booths. The section with the soccer stars had some game exhibits. Being somewhat contrary to most Americans, I actually know soccer fairly well and having played it for like 8 or so years. Now, since my dorm is in Chelsea and because it has a fairly decent football team, I was genuinely trying to win the soccer jersey they were giving out to those who could kick a penalty goal.

    The booth was set up as a goal post with a movie screen behind the net. You had to shoot the ball where the target was displayed. So the guys in front of me had targets like on the ground straight ahead, ground left, ground right. They all missed since they sucked. Me, I get the fucking target that’s on top right part of the goal post. That is the hardest area to place a shot to as a right footed kicker. Even then I barely missed. Fucking pole, such bullshit.

    Cursing and thinking about how all easy targets were wasted on the little fucking kids, I continued on towards the end of the museum where all the Europeans were dick riding the Obama wax figure. From here the Museum leads to the generically named “Chamber of Horrors and Scream” where actors jump out random places like Knott’s Scary farm. I basically just side stepped most of the actors as they ran towards me. I really don’t know why people freak out when the actors announce they can’t touch you beforehand and they’re just waving a stupid hand in front of your face. Alas, people react to what’s in front of them, even when they say otherwise.

    Despite my bitchings, I would still recommend the museum. Because it’s lulzy at the least, and epic at the most when you see Europeans trying to pretend they’re American (or at least the British version of American). Plus, it’s fun and educational for kids and adults who have the mental age of 12.

    Next, we went to the home of Sherlock Holmes. There’s isn’t much to talk about. It’s built like a modern Japanese style building where it’s small in width but goes up like 4 or 5 floors. Though I will note someone was a douche bag for putting the toilet at the very top floor.

    Last thing we did Thursday was head to Camden Town. Pretty cool place. It’s like a Venice Beach, Harajuku kind of thing. It’s an area set aside for all the crazy fuckers so they are kept away from the general population at large. You get all sorts of people dressed up in punk and goth garb along with the stores all selling those styles. Additionally, this is the place where one would go to service all of one’s cannabis paraphenial needs. It also was the place which sold the same 50 or so T-shirts designs in every fucking store but at different prices. But, some prices were pretty decent so I ended picking up a couple.

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    It’s almost like an anime convention. Look there’s the fat chicks!

    At that point, I was getting a might peckish, and I started looking for a place to eat. Now, with my attention focused, I was carefully surveying all the food stands for suitable meals. Seeing as I had basically eaten meat pies, Indian curry and fish and chips for most of the week, I was looking for something a little lighter. Perhaps something Japanese, they have to have those in London right? It quickly became apparent that there were no reasonable priced, good quality Japanese restaurants, let alone Japanese in London. What you had instead were a bunch of Chinese people hawking sweet and sour pork or mu shoo chicken with a sign saying, “Japanese Food” and asking me, “You like Japanese? Here, chow mien”. Well, if the Chinese can violate copyrights for everything else, I can guess they can lie about being Japanese too.

    Dude, quit being a pussy, that’s totally Sashimi.

    Thoroughly disgusted by the food offerings, we went to eat at a pub. I thought it was a normal pub like any other. I was looking through the menu, the bar tender then leans over and kisses a male patron. My trusty trauma filters blocked that out as I continued to flip through the menu; my focus steadfast on food until dad was like:

    “I think we’re in a gay bar”.

    “…….”

    “……”

    “Oh….”

    “But dude, check out this picture for the sausage and mash, it looks badass.”

    And had my sausage and mash I did. Along with my Longbow Cider while looking out at the many dudes tonguing. But goddamnit, I was hungry and that sausage and mash was fucking badass like I thought it would be.

    After finishing the meal, but before heading back, we had a nice conversation with a lesbian couple from Dusseldorf. They too couldn’t understand the Londoners, so I guess it’s not just me. With that, we took the tube back to the hotel and crashed.

    Friday:

    Anyway, we had decided to stop by the school again to pick up some T-shirts. To me, T-shirts are like gold since I’m very picky about what crap I advertise in front of my chest. At any one point in time, I rarely have more than 15-20 wearable T-shirts. So whenever one dies from various things: really fashionably out of date, washed by mom, ripped up from stupid shit like doing ju-jitsu in a T-shirt, it’s a rather significant loss (5%-6.66% of the total Cibo T-shirt population). So, I took advantage of the fact I was going to a new school to add a few more T-shirts to the dugout rotation.

    I don’t know what it is about the Brits, they either love understatement or they have an inferiority complex. Once I saw the T-shit with the words, “Probably the best College in the World” I knew I was fucking buying it right fucking there. To Americans, the concept of “probably” is incredibly foreign. To us, we’d just fucking say “X is the best Y in the world” even if we didn’t believe it. It doesn’t matter if it’s a 15th tier school that’s unaccredited, under investigation for corruption and the bank is repo-ing the equipment, we’re number one! Maybe the “probably” is communicating the idea that they’re so good that the whole idea of “probably” is for politeness. However, it could also be that they’re allowing for the chance they could be wrong and are giving themselves the opportunity to drop the argument and run like a bank heist gone wrong. Who knows, it might be one of those things I never understand. Like for instance why Germans have one fucking door on their showers.

     

    I’m sure those Germans loved cleaning up all the water on the floor.

    Once done dropping off all the shit we bought, we headed to the Tower of London. Everyone at the historical sight was a +20 year military veteran with at least a master sergeant ranking. Here’s the thing, I’m really not big on tour guides; it just conflicts with my way of doing things. But, I highly recommend the tour guide here, the dude was brilliant. Our tour guide shared many things with us: stories about polar bears being given by the King of Norway as a “present” to not get their asses kicked in, then said polar bears dying of cholera in the shit-filled moat ( “Damn polar bears!” I exclaimed in response); he counseled kids on lowered expectations and accepting being failures since “you only fall over reaching for the stars kids”; finally he gave advice about how the soldiers guarding the area might be wearing bear skin caps but they still carry standard issue assault rifles so please feel free to annoy them. Oh, and he asked audience to please talk with the Royal Chair Force guards because no one else did. He even spoke the Queen’s English so I could understand what the fuck he was saying too!

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    “…much like management consulting today, someone was paid a lot of money to tell them they were idiots”

    After the tour, the beefeater noticed my dad’s T-shirt and asked him what these “Bears” were. I quickly replied in dad’s place, “It’s your standard mascot of an extinct animal.” “Right’o, at least people are consistent with their stupidity.” I think I could get used to these Brits. Overall, I really enjoyed the Tower and I highly recommend it if you like history and/or sarcastic Brits.

    For the last part of Friday we wondered over to the City from the Tower. The City of London or Square Mile is a financial district which is part of the London metropolis. Or more succinctly, it’s like New York’s Wall Street. The City has a rather fascinating government structure since its electorate is comprised of representatives from corporations. I digress, they’re still cliché abusing douche bags who hate their soul-crushing jobs.

    Because my dad was a big pussy about the rain, we took shelter in some of the pubs there. All the people there were looking to get shit faced as fast as possible before going back to work again. The suits were talking with co-workers from work, whom I’m pretty sure they hate since they were doing that laugh where you pretend the joke is funny when it’s not. Looking at this shit, it’s quite clear they’re trying too hard to come across happy. It’s like reading through the McKinsey website. Well, can you blame them when working like 80 hours a week?

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    Come on, let’s look a little less “I drink two 40’s in the morning” and more “I’m overdosing on the coke I cut in the bathroom.”

    But anyway, being much like the guy who refuses to dump in a public toilet, dad refused to eat with these douche bags so we ultimately went back to the pub across the street from the hotel to eat. There we were greeted by our friendly neighborhood barkeep who we told our story of the City to. The bartender cheerfully replied, “Sometimes it’s nice to listen to the cliché bastards just to laugh at the sad sacks”. You know, I may have some fun in London come fall.

    Saturday

    Nothing of note, I hung out at the hotel bar since dad got sick that day. I spent most of the day checking out British TV. If anything, British TV is worse than Japanese TV which is pretty hard to do (at least Japan has midnight anime). The main sports channel “Sky TV” (owned by News Corp/ Fox) was faced with the predicament of having to choose between showing the Ashes cricket tournament or some major Golf tournament. They had to keep switching back and forth between the two. What? Having to choose what sports to run on ONE sports channel? That’s shocking to me. Shocking I say. When I can turn on any random sports channel and they have the two same sounding sports announcers using the same serious sports caster voice when talking about ANY sport, no matter how retarded the “sport” is (hey, I’ve seen Warcraft pvp tournaments on ESPN 2), this concept of choosing between the top two national sports events for one channel is incomprehensible to me.

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    Fuck yeah, it’s the OOOO-CHO baby!

    That and the rest of the day the TV broadcasters had all these news stories about Swine Flu. Again wha.? Someone came up with these bullshit numbers saying that if the estimates hold true, 65,000 Brits will die from Swine flu. What? You do know there’s a vaccine due in a couple of months, right? And we have anti-viral drugs, right now? I would really like to see this report and look at the methodology here. Let’s be reasonable here, there will be people who will be susceptible to a sickness and those who will be immune, usually following a normal distribution, stats 101 shit here. This is why I hate reading population reports and survival statistics from non-creditable organizations because too many people extrapolate on questionable numbers and/or use biased samples. That and people assume trends will continue indefinitely e.g. the last Japanese will die in 150 years. Relationships aren’t always linear you tards!!! WE HAVE PARABOLAS! PARABOLAS!!!!!!!

    bad stats

    Sunday

    This being our last full day in London, we had lunch at the Turkish restaurant where we ate at when we first arrived. Food is still amazingly good. LA should have more Turk food, we have Lebanese and Greek restaurants but no Turk. Shit is pretty good man. I’m sure it’ll sell well in Santa Monica with its pretentious inhabitants.

    That aside, we went to the underwhelming Piccadilly Circus. You in essence go to the statue, take a pic and go “what now? Oh, look there’s a gift shop”. Said gift shop is full of Eastern Europeans who seem offended that someone wants to buy something. You try to buy a souvenir in a manner much like Oliver Twist asking for portage, “Sir, can I please buy this?” and immediately you are cast with suspicion. Some stare downs take place, coming to the conclusion you just are some loser and not his boss, he then rings up the product with service one would expect of a nation that is a piece of shit, and you are now the proud owner of some overpriced crap. Next, take in the scenery of the Greeks protesting about being butthurt from the Turkish occupation and you’re done with the area. Right, let’s get the fuck out of here chaps!

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    I’m texting this bitch a smiley face and L, Oh… fuck this shit, I’m going to just call her.

    Hitting our final pub, I ended up feeling like I was dying of something again, of which I’m not really sure of anymore, and back to the hotel we went. We slept, packed and got the fuck back to LA the next day.

    And I am back in hell so all’s wrong in my world.

    Side notes:

    • I should say I did find 2 Japanese restaurants but these were not affordable. They were like $40-$45 a dish. Not sure if they were actually run by Japanese either, sooo… yeah.
    • The beefeater referred to Henry VIII as a “gint”. I assume it’s something like an English douche. More research must be conducted!

    And as promised, here is my shitty Haruhi statistical analysis. I really need to pirate buy SPSS since excel sucks at multiple regression. In any case, I stand in amazement at how KyoAni has gotten people to watch a new season with damn near zero new footage. They’re either epic trolls or genius retards.

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    FALCON PUNCH!

    Laters

    ~Cibo

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    4 responses to “Retardation in the UK (London Part 2)”

    1. Despite owning spss, I don’t seem to be able to get ahold of the fucking software.

      Sigh…

    2. NOT ON TOPIC:

      Do you play BlazBlue on xbawks? I think I’ve seen you around.

    3. Mostly Street fighter 4, MvC 2, and Super Turbo. But I’ll be picking BB up this week since it looks pretty sweet.

      ninba2tard is my failbox tag.

    4. Thanks for finishing the trip story. You could be a tour gide (of sort) yourself, hehe

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