An Englishman in New England

An Englishman in New England

Work like no-one's watching, dance like you don't need the money, and hurt like you've never been loved.

All About The Englishman


Be informed
Be entertained
Be perverted
Confess, sinner
Things fall apart. The center cannot hold.
Change your perceptions. They're lame.
I have a dream.
I am Jack's imaginary friend
Don't think. Just Grow.
For all your multimedia needs
Rehabilitating Mr. Wiggles
Filthy Lies
Hey! You make me throw up a little!
The Framley Examiner Personals
From the creator of 'Grow'
Fura Neko games!
This man is everything I hope to be, artistically
Tokyo Plastic 2.0h!

I love free speech. Talk to me.


December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
December 2004
March 2005


Belle De Jour
C h a p e l . P e r i l o u s
Another Girl, Another Planet
Robber Rabbit

currently. . .

[Playing] Oh, holy Halo 2, Xbox
[Reading] War of the Worlds
[Songs of the Moment] Freelove Freeway, Ricky Gervais/David Brent & Noel Gallagher (The Office), Let Me Love You, Mario
[Movie(s) of the Moment] Before Sunset

highlight reel

Pussy Perspectives
The Laid List
Liquored Up and Lookin' Fer Pussy
Orphan Rampage
The Office and David Carradine
Urkel's Calling
A Wee Turtle's Head
Non-Event Horizon
The Illusion of Time
Born To Run
Bush Humor
Fiendster: The Anti-Friendster
Crusoe and the INS
Peak Oil
Smile for me, Mona
Spin the bullet bachelor party
Spin the bullet part II
Heaven and Home
Heal the world

Atom Feed me, Seymour

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Tuesday, May 4

Urkel's Calling

Being stuck in pseudo-unemployment land (population: me, and declining rapidly) does have its perks. I'm not just referring to the sleeping in, pottering about in my sleeping shorts/whatever beastly leather thing M has made me wear the previous night, or catching up on the latest Passions saga.

I've had the chance to really sit down, excuse myself from the daily grind of money-earning, and think about what it is I want to do. In a recent conversation with Those Who Spawned Me, they reminded me of a startling fact - in 20 years of toil, not once had either of them woken up looking forward to dragging their caffenated asses into their cubicles/offices/meetings. Not once. In 20 years. If my mental calculation serves me right, that's over 7000 days of wanting to eat a bullet in a very public and emotionally scarring manner to the onlookers. If my mental calculation makes it two for two, that's a lot of bullets, scars, death and mopping up to do. It's a wonder I'm even here to write this.

I like to think that they endured such a hardship so that I might not have to, and instead find fame and fortune by answering my calling. Well actually, my other calling, since my career in porn was brutally grounded before it really got going. I'm talking about graphic design. But I'm not talking about any old graphic design. I'm thinking I'd really like to be in videogames.

Videogames and I go way back, back even before my eyes crapped out on me, and I was forced to go to school wearing glasses so thick my teachers kept insisting I put the binoculars down. Hell, I've been playing them long enough to remember when they came on audio-cassette tapes and floppy disks, before migrating to the robust cartridge and finally their hi-tech CD incarnations. And now I'm here, wondering why I denied that I wanted to make games for so long.

It must be because of The Look. The one they used to give me that you'd normally reserve for a guy you caught having a quick one off the wrist in the furthest pew from the altar. "For shame" The Look used to say, "We thought you'd have grown out of that by now".

Luckily, I learned to ignore it and post fantabulously high scores while nodding modestly at the gasps of my equally digitally-obsessed friends/nerds.