Sunday, 29 April 2012


My mid-twenties, like Mr. Osmond's scrotum, were an absolute bag of wank.

Click pictures to enlarge
And I like that song too, so just imagine what I'll do to you if you don't get me my money!

"Aren't you a little young to be making jokes about the Osmonds?"

Are we not the same age?

"It would lack imagination on your part if your split-personalities were all the same age as you."

Yeah, I suppose. 

Wait, personalities? As in more than just you?



Anyway, I suppose the gone-off nougat filling of my middling twenties wasn't a total tote-bag of toss, but some problems did arise which vastly reduced my ability to function as a realistically unrealistic person.

The first thing to happen was that I had to move back in with my parents for a spell, and ended up putting loads of weight back on (having been an obese child), as a result of sandwich sandwiches. And yes, I am talking about sandwiches with a filling of other sandwiches.

Oh eck, this is the wrong sandwich picture innit. 

I didn't realise it then, but there's a fairly direct link between my physical health and some fairly fun mental issues, including:

  • Anxiety 
  • Depression, and
  • Delusions

The word 'anxiety' undersells it to a point though, as I'd describe it more as an overwhelming feeling of dread.

"Could you illustrate dread as some sort of amusing cartoon, to keep the mood light?"

Well, I bought a book on cartoon facial expressions, and this is what it told me to do for dread:

How I'd describe it though would be that it was like sitting in the mouth of a T-Rex, constantly filled with the notion that the jaw could clamp down at any moment, and eventually getting to the point where you wish it would just happen already, so that you don't have to worry about it any more.

And it's not good, when something as simple as catching a train carries with it the same level of stress as that an undercover FBI agent will experience at a Mafia initiation ceremony. 

I do have pictures, but the feds asked me not to use them in case I blow little Tony 'meatballs' Configlio from the Bronx's cover.

Then there was the depression, which I think was largely brought about from being anxious and tired all the time, and the delusions, which I still don't really want to talk about, in case someone tells me:

"Oh no, that wasn't a delusion, that was actually happening."

So clearly I am much better now!

"If it was all just from a lack of being healthy, why not just be healthy?"

Ah, well, you see, I also had another problem which was running concurrently, which was that I felt tired all the time. I mean, like unusually tired. Like waking up some days and feeling like I'd run a marathon when all I'd done the day before was walk to the shop to buy glitter, glue and a Curly-Wurly so that I might vajohnson myself tired.

Those images are too risqué for this website, but you can see my top ten vajhonsoning tips here.

I couldn't really work out why I was so tired, so frequently, which led me to self-diagnosing myself with the following:

  • Chronic fatigue syndrome,
  • some sort of zombie virus,
  • iron deficiency,
  • gypsy curse,
  • the vapours, and
  • diabetes

Diabetes was promising, mainly because I had most of the symptoms. I got quite excited actually, thinking:

"Yes, this is it! I'm gonna get diagnosed with something, and they'll just give me some drugs, and all will be well!"

But I didn't have diabetes. Which was, you know, good I suppose?

Except that, if you don't have it, but you do have most of the symptoms, what is the difference really?

Eventually though, I worked out what was causing my fatigue...

and it was pretty shit really...

"What was it? Perhaps some sort of wasting disease?"



No, not AIDS...

"Sleep jogging?"


Basically, I've just got flat feet...

Like a duck.

Taken from here.

Yes, so now that I have the knowledge of what makes me so tired, I am able to look after myself better, mainly by wearing running shoes when I have to walk long distances and doing loads of stretches.

"So you were mentally raped for four years because of inappropriate footwear?"


Although I'm sorted now, I do worry that there's a mallard out there with the feet of a human, going through what I did but in reverse.

I thought I was the bees knees after I drew this, then I saw this incredibly similar picture on Facebook two days later. Is the internet stealing me brain? Yes. It is.

Thursday, 26 April 2012

Becoming Shafthauer

As my fashion sense is Seventies Vintage, I started thinking:

"I could buy a brown leather trenchcoat!"

As in something like, but not exactly like, this:

Although the seller of this item (who is a woman, with breasts, a beautiful necklace, and slender, attractive legs) has chosen to model this coat herself, it is definitely a man's item of clothing. 

And I should know, because I've accidentally bought enough women's coats to now know the difference. If you think that's a joke, check this out:

I was young, I was skinny, I was completely devoid of balance, and I had a penchant for accidentally buying women's clothing. And yet the women, still they were not into me.

Already way off point!

Anyway, the second thing I thought, after perusing through some of the said items of clothing, was:

"My god! I could be the German Shaft!"

And I could be!

I will be...

And there can be only one!

The lightning of the immortals strikes my funky bratwurst

Although my inherent Germanity is well documented in another post, I'm not mad, and I realise that becoming the German Shaft will require more than just proclaiming myself to be so and buying a coat.

No, it will require these things also!

1: A Change of Name 

I need a name that says 'Shaft', that also says 'Germany.'

Can you guess what I'm going to go for?

That's right:


There are also a couple of unexpected bonuses to that name.

The first is that 'Hauer,' although a German name, is also the surname of a Dutch actor named 'Rutger.' If you don't know who Rutger Hauer is, he's the bad ass in all those amazing films, like 'Blade Runner,' 'The Hitcher,' and 'Hobo with a Shotgun,' which features the breathtakingly vulgar line:

"Say hello to Mother Theresa for me when she's finger banging you in hell."

The second thing of note about the name 'Hauer,' is that it's German for 'chop,' which leads me neatly into part two of my plan:

2: Learn Some Sort of Martial Art

I can't change my name to something that means 'chop' without learning some kick-ass kung-fu now can I!

Also, setting myself up as the Continental Shaft does kind of imply that I know how to Tango.

3: What Hair (Hauer?) Do do I Adopt?

Well, I can't grow an afro. 

Hmm, actually, I kind of can, but as my hair is the opposite of afro hair (in that it's ridiculously straight rather than ridonkulously frizzy), I end up with a bit of a weird one, like the severely spiky monstrosity that I'm currently sporting:

Yes, that rarest of all hair cuts, the straight afro, or 'strafro,' as people would call it, if anyone other than me had one.

So what route should I take with my do?

I could go for a Kraftwerk type cut?

Undoubtedly German, but I can't be bothered paying for, or sitting through, haircuts. 

When I was younger, I hung out with hairdressers, and my idea of getting a chop was that I paid five pounds and then sat watching 'The Simpsons,' and smoking a joint of weed ganja. The idea of regularly paying premium poundage, in a place that I have to travel to, that probably isn't playing animated comedy, is simply unacceptable to me.

Mmm, the German cut would look good on me...

Yeah, so I'm just gonna grow it long again I think? Long hair was pretty regular in Germany when I used to get over there a lot, and it's easy to do. You just do nothing essentially.

For ages.

4: Learn How to Speak Fluent German

Obvious really, and something I should be doing anyway, seeing as I frequently refer to myself as being German.

5: Fight Crime

This is possibly the most important of them all! 

Shaft was a bad ass detective. He shitted fuck up. If I'm going to commit to this, I'm gonna have to get my fists dirty. 

Dirty with the blood of bad guys.

But...  err...  how...

How am I supposed to do that?

Whenever I've been burgled, the police have always just popped round the house and then chortled at the idea of catching anyone. And if the police have no idea of how to find evil doers, how am I supposed to do so?

One idea is that maybe I could cause crime, on the sly, and then turn up at the last minute to stop it?

There's a nice little bit of symmetry to that, because it's what Samuel L. Jackson did in 'Unbreakable,' and he also played Shaft's nephew, in the 2000 re-boot, which was also called 'Shaft.'

So what I'm thinking is, I hire some goons to rob some expensive stereo equipment, but I send them to a chemical factory, and then, after they get covered in corrosive chemicals as a result of my malicious instructions, I turn up and beat the semi-living piss out of them?

"Wow. That sounds so efficient."


Because I'm not Shaft.

I'm Shafthauer baby.

I'm Shafthauer.

Monday, 23 April 2012

So far this week... Scrambled Brains

I'm struggling with much uni work at the moment, as I've previously mentioned, and I'm not very good with my brain being pulled in several directions at once

Click on pictures to enlarge

This is what happens when I take my wig off

"Are those goblins circumcised?"

Yeah. They were Jewish, I think.

"Oh, what fun. Did they use Yiddish words like 'schlep?'"

They did, but seeing as what they were schlepping was my exposed think-organ, I wasn't really in the best position to extract humour from the situation.



Anyway, before I allow my brain to be dragged in yet another direction, I shall get on with proceedings.

Yes, so, to feel like I have one less thing to do, I've decided to write a load of blog posts all in one go, and then publish them at three day intervals over the coming weeks. This means that what I'm posting won't really about stuff that's happened to me, as I'm not really going to be doing anything, other than uni work, but they will be something at least.

This post covers some of the last things I managed to do before I drowned in an estuary of essays anyway...

One thing I did this week was attend a workshop entitled, 'The Art of Blogging.' You can probably tell, as my blogging is at least 23% better than it previously was. It was run by Kate Feld, who runs The Manchizzle, which has interesting titbits about the city, as well as an impressively extensive list of it's bloggers. She's also involved in The Manchester Blog Awards, which will be running later in the year.

Oh, and it was very, incredibly good!

One thing I got from it was a sheet entitled 'Ten things NOT to do with your blog.' 

And although they all seem like good, practical advice, I shall now attempt to do as many of them as possible in one blog post:

1: Start it... and then forget about it. Ideally update at least once a week

Hmm, but I'm posting right now...

Feld 1 - Shafthauer 0

2: Make lot of spelling and or grammar mistakes

Like, I wood ever: do/ possible- not forever at all.

Feld 1 - Shafthauer 1

3: Write something that could be considered private or hurtful about someone else

My friend Carl looks terrible in shorts.

Feld 1 - Shafthauer 2

4: Go way off subject

Seeing as my posts generally veer between grim reality and pictures of Stalin battling octopuses on stilts, I'm not really sure what I could write that wouldn't fall somewhere in between those two things

Feld 2 - Shafthauer 2

5: Copy something someone else has written

I'm copying this list of things to do from her... 

So yeah...

Feld 2 - Shafthauer 3

6: Publish photographs by/of other people without permission

Gadaffi selfie - permission to use not granted.

Feld 2 - Shafthauer 4

7: Ramble on... and on... and on. Posts should be about 300-500 words (stretched to 700 for more literary posts)

I'll have to check the word count when I'm done...

Oh yeah, it's definitely over 700 words, and I don't even really have any sort of point to make!

Feld 2 - Shafthauer 5

8: Publish posts without hyperlinks

Rats, I hyperlinked her blog already. Also, this.

Feld 3 - Shafthauer 5

9: Don't have unrealistic expectations. It takes time and effort to build a community of reader.

If I don't have a thousand followers by this time next week, I will literally kill myself.

Well, maim myself anyway...

Or scratch the back of my hand perhaps?

Hold my breath for twenty seconds maybe?

Hold back a sneeze?

I don't know, but it's going to be disproportionate to my situation, and that's for damn sure!

Feld 3 - Shafthauer 6

10: View blogging as a chore

I do enjoy it...

Feld 4 - Shafthauer 6


"Well done, you've managed to create a self-indulgent post that does 60% of the things one of Manchester's best loved bloggers advised you would make poor reading for the few people that actually read this."

Oh yeah....


I don't even know why I talked about it in terms of it being a competition really...

Still though, I did fucking win!

This is the second re-used drawing in this post, but they have both now been coloured in at least...

In other news, I have submitted a film review to the film review blog to 'Screen150,' which can be viewed here.

Screen150 is a blog on which reviewers enter a review of no more, and no less, than 150 words, with a picture that is in some way unique to them. And it's very good, which is probably why it won the Manchester Blog Award last year!

Apparently that's how you spell the word which is pronounced 'segway.'  
Fancy innit?

And finally, a short story of some considerable and repugnant horror:

I woke up the other morning and donned a pair of socks, which I found on the floor. 

"Curious," I thought. "One of them seems to be damp, whereas the other is not."

When I realised why that was, I quickly removed it, before dejectedly washing my foot and shin in hot, soapy water.


  • Using a sock for sock-function 1, after using it for sock-function 2.
  • Leaving my dentist alone with The Segue Donkey, knowing full well that he stank like... whatever it is that donkey's eat
  • Purposefully making this post 60% wrong.


Socks straight in the wash afterwards. I don't care how much I just want to lie there and cuddle...

Friday, 20 April 2012


I was submitting a picture for something earlier on, and I didn't think black and white was gonna cut it, so I downloaded some free design software (which is amusingly called 'GIMP'), and I coloured in the shit out of it.

It was quite easy too, which has led to me making the following decision:


"Yeah? What's that mean then?"

It means that I'm gonna colour the pictures in. Using computers. Obviously.

"You've gone really pretentious since you found that pack of water damaged Van Gough postcards in a bin at work."

Okay, let's not get into this again.




To show off the fantabulous, miraculous use of colour, I have decided to illustrate some of my favourite characters from this blog.

Using colour!


First up is the site's resident dictator, Stalin, playing a tense game of chess with the tentacle that lives inside Dennis Rodman's rectum:

"Wait, so in all those other pictures, Stalin's military commander outfit was pink?"

I don't know! He's certainly wearing pink here though.

"Maybe he's trying to soften his image, you know, after having done all them genocides and that?"

Mission accomplished in my opinion.

"Definitely. You can't try a guy for war crimes when he's wearing the shit out of a tight pair of salmon trousers like that."

Not at all.

And now this!

Shrivelled-Up Slug Boy!

"He's greener than I thought he'd be."

Yeah, definitely.

"He looks more like a cucumber that's been angrily swilled around inside Katie Price's rancid muff than a slug."

That image.... 

....I did not need.

But this should wipe away the brain gunk!

Zombie-Cyborg Charles Darwin!

"Now he's less green than I expected."

Oil of Olay. I got him some for Christmas.

"They make moisturiser for zombies now?"

Well, for corpses. They use it to freshen up the stiffs at the undertakers.



and now, last but not least, my little illustrated self:


"So it doesn't take you that long to do this?"

Well actually...


  • Making a design choice that does, when you're working on more than one picture at once, actually take considerably longer.
  • Being taken in by Stalin's tactful stylings.
  • Not getting that corpse Oil of Olay while it was on 3 for 2 at Boots.

It does take longer, but look how good they look! Professional almost. As if I'm someone who's getting paid to draw bad pictures, rather than someone who's doing it for ulterior motives which have yet to be revealed...

Yes, so the colour stays! 

It may take me longer to post, but you have start making an effort at some point. Seeing as I'm OFFICIALLY in my late twenties now, I think that time has come.

"Ha ha! Cum..."


Bang goes my maturity epiphany...