Confronted with the beep beepy noise, then the yellow light, some clicky sounds and back to flashing red. I stared at my PS3. I know what the yellow light of death is and to say I'm not happy is, well an understatment of Godzilla proportions. Not only has the solder melted inside my PS3 my copy of Modern Warfare 2 is stuck in the drive like a fat fucking Floridian in a Disneyland turnstile. So no more trash talking citizens of the world whilst trying to shoot them in the face. I only got around to playing it a couple of weeks ago and was loving multi player like a crack whore loves smoking the pipe wearing one shoe and an Ill fitting bra, maybe a strange hat too. I phoned Sony to tell them my PS3 is dead and I want it fixed. "They want 130 fucking pounds off you" my inner voice shouted in my head. The offer didn't seem so bad when they explained I would recieve, the next day a brand new 160 gig machine. My Modern Warfare 2 disk will take 6 weeks to return to my loving arms "is it going to walk back itself then" I asked? "Sony will take apart your machine and check the fault, which takes 4-6 weeks." I took it apart and put it back together in about an hour, although had no luck retrieving the disk. So how many machines are fucked out there? More than Sony are letting on I guess, unless there is only one tech guy checking the dead PS3's inbetween huffing gas and melting solder in those tiny ovens which it seems is all it takes to fix the problem with most machines.
The Ballard of gay Tony is taking up my limited free time at the moment and Liberty City is still as awesome as ever and Rockstar continue to be something Great Britain should be incredibly proud of.
Selling a house with no chain should be easy. Well it turns out it isn't thanks to the buyers solicitor. I can't wait for this albatross to be lifted from my neck. Completion should be done by the middle of next week a whole month after the original completion date, which is good because I'm fed up paying the mortgage for an empty house.
This post was originaly going to be about a Ginger family who think that it's ok to get £43000 a year in benefits to support their 7 Ginger kids after their dad gave up work to sponge off of me and the rest of this countries tax paying citizens. I lost the magazine which the story was in so I am unable to shame these fucking lazy cunt parasites by name. They make me sick, not just because the mum was a massive fat ugly bucket cunt beast but because they blatently championed their right, for me to pay for them to do nothing but churn out pathetic flame haired spunk accidents. The cherry on the top of this cake is that this palid faced blob monster wants 7 more humans to drop out of her gargantuan gash for us to pay for. Steralise this pointless lardy mess now and castrate her sperm chimp husband. I have a friend interested in selling tickets and making a public specticle of it. I would consider this a fantastic day out for all the family.
- Posted with indifference.
