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MY FRIENDS
I bet you're quite surprised to see this page, aren't you? I know I was, because
I don't remember writing it, but that's another story. I think you're
surprised because you didn't expect a miserable bastard like me to have any
mates. But you'd be wrong, because I have loads. Far more than I can think
of at any given time, in fact. Here's a selection of them. And most of them have
photos. So that you can feel like you know them even better. And at long last they're
in alphabetical order (by surname), so if you're here you can find your entry more
easily. Hurrah, eh kids?
Naz, as he's often known (mainly due to it being almost infinitely more pronouncable when drunk than his real name), has a car which is frequently far colder inside than out. This feat of conjuring has baffled many of the world's leading scientists for several months. At one point, a fortnight ago, they thought that they had almost cracked its secret, but then the battery went flat, and all of their effort was wasted. Ah well.
One with no photo. Still, things can only get better, eh? Anyway, Helen carries on that fine tradition among women which makes them believe that I don't like them the first time I meet them. Obviously my aura of pure sexual energy scares them. Or maybe it's because I'm always sarcastic..... nah, couldn't be - must be the sexual energy. Whichever, it's safe to say that at least 75% of the women I've ever met in a social setting have felt this way, but later realised that I didn't. The fools.
Never go to the cinema with Cameron. Whenever you do something quite unusual and bizarre happens. Such as having women trip over you while you're sat in your seat, or having them ask you if you've set something on fire, or having them offer you a Polo, which they claim they were never going to give you
anyway. I think he just has a wierd effect on women actually, which would explain a whole load of things.
One of the two women who are on my course at uni (but hey, what did you expect for computer science?), and one who can often be seen rushing around the university on a ridiculous caffiene high. Either that or wearing short skirts and tight tops when she goes into the computer rooms, no doubt causing embarrassing (ahem) "outbursts" from the socially (and sexually) retarded outcasts who spend their every waking moment in there (and yes, I did mean "waking"). Zoe also believes what I've written
about her to be grossly mis-informative, which is nice.
Occasionally (and somewhat mysteriously) known as Torquemada or Boon. He's a chemistry student who's engaged to Helen Davis (somewhere down the page). But you don't want to know that, do you? You want to know of his bizarre fetishes, his unusual sexual habits, his personal quirks (some of which are
illegal in several American states). Unfortunately I don't know them though, so if you wish to learn of this man's depravity then you'd better ask him yourself.
Tremor, as he's affectionately known around these parts, is a world class drinker. When you go to university you expect to meet some people that are able to guzzle their ale, but Andy really does outdo all expectations. The positive aspect of this if you're ever looking for him you know where to try first - a bar. Any bar'll do.
Small, yet imperfectly formed, Matthew has the amazing ability to get overly drunk and amazingly hyper-active, after drinking only a small amount of beer. He can usually be found laughing alot, and looking like an underage girl at the local seedy "alternative" bar on Friday nights, because this is where he has the most success at receiving leery remarks from drunken sailors.
Mr. Boguszee... Bogozeff.... Boguchef... *ahem* Paul is an unusual man (and I'm not just talking about his surname here) (which is pronounched bogoschefski if you're interested). By day he claims to be a mild mannered chemistry student, but at night he turns into a mild mannered chemistry student. Oh. Ah well, that's that sketch knackered then, back to the drawing board.
Neil knows a lot about computers. No, scratch that, he knows A LOT about computers. Possibly even A LOT. If you want to know something about computers, Neil's your man. If, however, you want to know about sea urchins, Neil would probably not be the best person to talk to, as his knowledge of ocean-dwelling balls of spikes is somewhat limited.
Technically speaking, I shouldn't write anything nasty about Nat, seeing as how she's my girlfriend, and she probably has
waaaay too much ammunition to use back against me. For a start she knows the size of my .... Anyway, I think that's enough
of that. The real reason that I wouldn't write anything bad about her is because she's wonderful and nice. There,
that comment should get me some sexual favours.
Sarf Landan boy Bo is a master of not getting up until at least twelve thirty. Often at night. The fact that he still manages to take a degree in history tells you a great deal about the amount of work required. A dedicated party-animal, Bo can often be found in a club somewhere, drunkenly chatting-up women. All
of them. At once.
According to Aj and Zoe, Malcolm is rapidly "turning into" me. Whether this is a good thing or not is still to be discovered, but it probably isn't. Thankfully it gives me someone to talk to during the increasingly long and boring practicals which I am
forced to endure, even if we do turn the rest of our group slowly insane because of our incomprehensible ramblings.
The fiancée (I think that's the right version) of Richie, and stereotypical girl (i.e. she likes Disney movies, especially the green aliens from Toy Story, she has a deep desire to own a Tamagotchi, she likes "cute things", and she has breasts). Her other hobbies include being
a teacher of children, laughing at funny jokes, and stuff.
"Mr. Gent is occasionally bent" was my entry about this young chap when I first created my homepage, and to be quite honest I can think of very little extra to add to it. For anyone who remembers, it turns out that he wasn't kidnapped by aliens after all, and had just "forgotten" to e-mail all of his friends. For half a year.
The second, and final, female on my course, and another one of those ridiculously energetic party-animals. In this particular photo you can see her using some of the highly dedicated software on one of the obscenely expensive and hi-tech
computers in one of the department's state-of-the-art computer labs. She's checking her e-mail, if you were wondering. Oh yes, and she doesn't tend to wear glasses any more, as she's gotten herself some contact lenses.
A really quite phenominally clever person, albeit one with no computer-gaming skill whatsoever. No, really, she'd probably get killed in The Secret Of Monkey Island (note to non-gamesplayers: You cannot be killed in Monkey Island). She's studying law at Leeds university, which is bad enough, but to top it all off she likes Star Trek. Urk.
Being the international man of mystery that he is, it's difficult for me to write things about Phil, due to the secret service's close guarding of any information about his personal life. What I can tell you, however, is that I just made up that whole last sentence, and that Phil lives, and works, with me - the lucky fellow. He also has rather fine tastes in music, although his continued insistance that Dungeon Master is a great game is somewhat baffling. Not to mention wrong. For those of you who are interested Phil's got his very own website, which is available for perusal here
A goth. Which should tell you all that you need to know. Except that for well over a year he's been writing fabulously
insulting things about people in the university newspaper. For this alone he deserves a mention. What a guy.
Tim likes his sports, and can often be seen playing football, basketball, and pool, although not usually all at the same time. His job during his year in industry consisted almost entirely of watching his computer play with itself, punctuated only by brief moments of watching it being disk imaged. He can also pride himself as being a man whose car is not as cold as Naz's.
I don't know why I'm writing this, I really don't. I can almost certainly guarantee that Chris's never going to read it, as his technical understanding of such "computery" things goes little further than being able to switch on his calculator (and even that's only after he's read the manual twice). Never mind, since he's never going to read it I can write all sorts of things about his really quite fantastically small penis. Or is it? OR IS IT? Or is IT? Etc.
One of the (possibly fifteen) lads on my course who are bearable and un-spoddy in any way. Except that they do computer science. Obviously. A total petrol-head, don't be surprised if you see him doing things that are in some way related to racing. And cars. And whales. Although I'm not sure whether that last
one's right.
Uncle Monkle Funkle Carbuncle. As we once called him. Only once, mind you, because it took too long to say. A worthy young lad who showed me the joyous ways of Carmageddon and mIRC, and who is in no way whatsoever involved in supplying illegal (and intoxicating) chemical substances to persons under the age of sixteen. It was a set-up, Guv'nor, society and Johnny Foreigner's
to blame.
Well, what can be said about Inga? Probably quite a bit, but I don't have time for that. I'll just say that she also goes by
the name of "Miss Kiki", and let your imagination provide the rest. Anyway, you can visit her
"Entertainment Emporium"
here. Be warned, because it's not what you probably think it is, judging by the title.
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