At work we had a computerised safe system which automatically did all the mathematics for you, and told you where you'd gone wrong if you entered some stuff incorrectly and caused a banking error.
It's pretty fucking sweet.
Unfortunately, last week it broke on us.
So we've been banking everything by hand, counting everything, doing the sums and totalling it all up to make it all balance correctly and leaving it so the next manager can efficiently do their job.
Out of the 4 managers, me included, only 2 of us have been doing this correctly each day, getting all the sums right and making it basically, easy as 1.2.3 to do.
So, me being me, became the cocky little asshole about it.
"Are you sure you can do the safe today? There's more money than you're used to doing"
"Sure I can! I've got it right whenever I've touched it! I'm fucking magic"

Today.
No.
I finish my 13 hour shift, to be confronted by a lot and I seriously mean A LOT of cash.
Far, far too much for my poor, unfortunate brain to handle.
So I've totally dicked the safe up.
Which doesn't make me very happy.
After almost 3 hours wrestling with numbers, entering everything different ways, getting different outcomes, none of which even remotely like the number I'm meant to get.
I gave in.
I stopped.
I wrote a note, full of anguish and self hate, for tomorrows manager, that I just couldn't do it.

What Fallout: New Vegas has made me realise about myself.

Revenge is a dish best served by a sniper, and lies.
If you give me a nice house to live in, and an army of robots, I'm pretty much your best friend.
I'll fuck anything that moves.....then kill it.
I'm probably a racist.
I can't keep friends, they either leave me when I kill their entire family, get blown up to dust or leave me when I get a giant death ray.
I love my dog more than anything else on the planet, ever.
I have a slight obsession with collecting toasters and garden gnomes.

Okay, so anyone normal would notice when you totally change.
I mean, I can change my hair colour, and look a little younger, or a little paler. Depending on it's colour.
But as for complete structural changes to my face......because I dyed my hair?
That's a bit extreme.

It makes me wonder just how fucking stupid people are on this website.

You know when something smells so bad, you can taste it in the back of your throat?
Well yeah, that's my home-made soup in the kitchen I've left for a week and has deffo gone off.

So I'm hiring a maid!

Would you like to work for an abusive drunk?
Would you be able to put up with my constant, over the top behavior?
Think you can handle my needs?
No, I don't mean sexually, I mean....oh fuck it I can't even be bothered.

You're all boring!

I was going to send this poor, sexually confused boy on some blogging site I'm on, some advice on how to deal with his parents and their "it's only a phase" phase. Which, any gay/bi/purple with yellow spots, person will tell you, they all do. Except mine, but mine are weird.
But I decided I couldn't be arsed.
So came and wrote a diary entry about it.
That's my story.

Oh yeah, also, I was gonna do this big long diary entry about me, so maybe you'd be able to get me a bit better, and understand my life.
Then I snapped out of it and realised I don't give a fuck.
I could be a labradoodle for all you know.
Which is how it's staying.

Wait, before I go. I hope you have cancer.

As sitting on Facebook, and going to work, is hard enough at the moment all whilst pretending I'm okay with what just happened.
I'm not gonna be around for a bit.

"To live, and not to breath. Is to die, in tragedy."
Not one of their best albums I guess, but a line that really spoke to me.
Yep, I did just out-gay myself with Greenday.

Anywhore.
I forget.

I completely fail at being King or Queen of Albion.
I need my Doctor, my Advisor, my Albert <3

Another Boyfriend diary, YAY!
He's really rough.

FIN

Side note: die.

Are you a resident of the UK?
Do you wish you could meet your favourite UK based Faker?
Does it make you have the sads that you can't without it being sorta weird?
Well here's your chance!

Here at The Fake UK Meet Up I have made it possible to meet your favourite Faker, without worry of a restraining order.

Simply go onto the page, add your name and some input into what we should do, when we should do it.
Shit like that!

FUCKING SIMPLE!
YAY!

I hate passworded wiki's.
How is a guy meant to perv on amature porn if you losers put blocks on it?!
Oh wait. I've got the internet.
Carry on.

Also, Boyfriend comes over, leaves all his clothes and messes my sheets.
So I have to do laundry, lots and lots of laundry, which I hate.
If he didn't give me head almost constantly, I'd be angry.

What was I doing? I've been on this page for like an hour trying to figure out what I wanted to put in my diary.
Okay I masturbated, which killed like half an hour.
But still, whatever.

Anyway.
Maybe to tell you about the Queen giving me money?
That was pretty awesome.

I forgot.
God damn ebola meds.

I spent my Fable 3 fund on ebola meds.
Note to Fakers: ebola is shit, and makes you feel bad.

....or gay-man flu. It's like 1000 times as bad as man flu.

Jesus Halloween, hurry up and coooooooome.
I'm so fucking excited!

I'm shaving my hair for it.
This is how much I love Halloween.
My hair hasn't been shorter than shoulder length in 8 years, and I'm shaving it.

To be fair, I've had it for 8 years.
I'm sick of it.
It's been through a lot with me, and it'll be like losing a friend.
Except it's my hair.
It's one of the things Russell made me promise never to do, cut my hair off and keep it black.
Well, it's about time I stopped hoping he'll come back to me, and do what I want.

It's getting cut off, and when it's grown out all the dye, I'm going back to red.

I have broken my pinky toe. My life is now not worth living.
loljk I'm not a pussy.

So, my rant for the day is why are there a stupid abundance of slutty, up for sex gay guys in porn.
Literally thousands, but never any who just wanna fuck?
Seriously.
I mean, I get hit on more often than people think. I'm secretly really out going. But, most of the time it's either by fucking nutters, old guys, or straight guys who think cock teasing is hillarious.
Side note: I set my friends on you. I tell them, him, go over, give him a boner, get him to think you're gonna let him pound your pussy into mince meat, then leave. That's what he did to me.
They always do it, it's fantastic.

Anyway, it's the same thing! Except I wanna pound you until you're mince meat. But you don't go that far, because you're straight. I even had one dude, we were making out for ages, then when I'm all "Wanna go fool around?" he's all "Uh, sorry, I'm straight, I'm just really drunk and friendly."
They never found the body.

Plus, why is everyone so much hotter when you've got a boyfriend?
Seriously, today I was like "Seriously, Comendant, that guy is so yummy" and she just hit me and pulled a gross face. Because apparently he looked like a car accident victim.
Side note: I have a boyfriend, he's called Jim.

Also.
I'm on shit loads of meds to stop me dying from cholera or whatever it is I have at the moment, and I am so fucking stoned.

Ah, [L'il Porkchop]
Never have I sent you a message, and probably never will because I'm shit at replying, so there's no point.

But this is my Diary to tell you, and other Fakers that [L'il Porkchop] literally makes me laugh out loud.

Which is more than you retards do.
Except the obvious exceptions.

Top 10 Reasons Why a T-Rex Make Shit Barmen.

1- They're basic lack of knowledge of the English language. Yeah, yeah "Rawr" means "I love you" in Dinosaur. But it's taken them, what? Billions? Of years to teach us that? It doesn't make good conversation when you can't aptly order your drink.

2- They're fucking huge. You'll need a pretty damn massive bar to fit them in.

3- They have tiny, ridiculous arms. The beer pumps would have to be up by their arms, miles away from a human who wants the booze.

4- They basically can't do math or work computers, so the whole payment thing goes to shit right away.

5- What the fuck do you pay a dinosaur? Meat? Money? Do they even use currency? What would they buy with it?

6- Dinosaurs suck at writing a CV or an application form. So, they'd find it really hard to get employed in the first place, it's hard to find an employer who goes by word of mouth.

7- They're incredibly emotionally unstable. Because of their tiny, ridiculous arms, they can't give each other good cuddles to ease the pain of heartbreak/hitting your head on stuff/being rejected by that popular bitch in school/shit like that. So they've grown up having to put all their pain and anger inside them and it sorta fucked them up.

8- How do you get a uniform that fits a fucking Dinosaur. They're expensive for humans.

9- They have tiny brains, to match their tiny, ridiculous arms. So it's hard to remember what the fuck it is they're doing, and can only remember one drink order at a time, so serving a group of people can take up too seven days.

10- They're basically killing machines. Who will stomp, destroy and mangle with they're huge, devil mouths anything that comes near them. Which isn't very customer friendly.

I hope this helped you realise, employing T-Rex's isn't very good for business!

The new addition to my current, and ever growing, selection of animals is a parrot called Toby.
He's so much cooler than you.

The family go on holiday to Spain on Monday.
I learned of this a week ago.
They've had it planned since June.
Did I get an invite?
No.
The ONLY child of theirs to have a job and have moved out.
I should be first priority!!

Well.
Coke orgy at my parents house anyone?
I wanna see how many people can fuck on my Mom and Dad's bed at one time before it breaks.
I don't give a fuck how gross that is.
I want to be sunning myself, on a nice beach somewhere hot.

......

Okay. I'll come clean.
I wanna get fucked up in a country where they don't care if I get hammered and piss in the pool.

I'm in a vile mood, so have a diary entry instead of some real interaction from me!
Yay!

I hate cleaning.
I have a huuuuuuuuge bedroom, downfall of a 300 year old house.
Cleaning it takes hours, and effort, and by the time I'm done, I do not want to clean the rest of the house at all.

On a side note.
Work sucked today.
On another note.
When does it not suck?
On another, another side note.
My Henry hoover looks like he's done a few tours in Afghan. Poor bastard.

To conclude, here's a quote of the day:
Em - "But he sounds like he has an accent. He might be hot!"
Me - "Brown person accent? Because we all know you're determined to fuck a guy from every continent on Earth to solve the world peace issue"