In Sandy Hook plenty have died It was revealed that Lowry had lied Cyprus got bailed out With Mandela we were left in doubt The resignation of the Pope Lance Armstrong revealed that he did dope The revolution in Syria is not yet done Pervez Musharraf was not allowed to run Now Thatcher is finally gone The News of The World uncovered a don Oscar Pistorius had a shot Shakira gave birth to a tot China got a new leader Apple launched another reader JLS gave up Queen Beatrice handed over the cup Amanda Knox will have to do it again in court Dolours Price died up north The Swedish police found drugs in Bieber’s van The Harbaugh brothers fought it out for the Super Bowl The government introduced a household toll In Mali, the rebels lost ground Manchester United got re-crowned A situation in Algeria with a hostage In Love/Hate the character of...

Walter Winchester took a step behind the yellow line and into the safety booth, donning his safety goggles. The Range Rover had been prepped and it was currently reversing into position via remote control. Ahmadinejad, the crash test dummy, leered out the window at Walter. As the jeep reached the 200m mark of the pristine white hangar, the room was bathed in blood red light as the warning light automatically flicked on. With a roar, the Range Rover took off towards the solid steel-reinforced concrete crash wall at the end of the cavernous room. As the vehicle built up speed, so did Walter’s heart rate. They achieved synchronicity just as the vehicle entered the 20 meter danger zone. This marvel of modern engineering smashed into the wall with an ear-rending screech. As the beam of the sensory lasers was broken by the jeep, the 1,000,000 frame-per-second high speed cameras came to life, documenting the impact in hyper slow-motion. Walt, watching this unfold, felt that same shiver, that release, as the Range Rover submitted to the wall, not flinching when deadly shards of metal spitefully attacked the safety booth. Stepping out of the room, he approached the car with a tablet in his hand, making marks with his stylus as he examined the jeep. He nodded appreciatively as he inspected the interior of the car. The president of Iran peered out the window at him, the dummy mercifully unharmed albeit with the equivalent of broken legs. Not bad for 140 mph. Susan Winchester stood with her back to the open boot of a 2013 Range Rover as she smiled at customers, trying to will them over to her stall. Farmer’s markets were always the toughest to crack, especially in the organic rhubarb business. Her pleading...

The Ghost is an excellent, gripping thriller from Robert Harris. It follows the Ghost, a ghostwriter who is employed to “ghost” the autobiography of former British prime minister, Adam Lang. He arrives in Martha’s Vineyard and finds out the previous writer, Mike McAra, had attempted it but ended up dying in mysterious circumstances, apparently suicide. The Ghost finds the previous draft of the autobiography left by McAra and declares it a mess. He interviews Lang. Around this time, his subject is threatened with being indicted by the International Criminal Court, with the support of a former minister in his cabinet, Rycart. Lang goes to New York and the Ghost has a one night stand with Ruth, Lang’s long-suffering wife. The Ghost begins to uncover more and more information and he begins to fear for his safety. He drives away in one of Lang’s SUVs, having to drive through protestors at the foot of the lane to the house. He returns to the mainland and meets up with an old college associate of Lang and Rycart. The ending is explosive, and not even what happens initially when they return to Martha’s Vineyard turns out to be the climax, though it may seem to be. Harris for once leaves the best until last. The Ghost is Harris’ masterpiece. True, Fatherland has its moments, and Pompeii is memorable (thank you English project) but for me this is one of the best-reads over the past two years, in which time I have read a wide variety of classic books (and Dubliners). It deals with the loneliness...

People have asked me “How do you make games/movies?” a lot, as if such a question could be answered in one or two sentences. What do I say? You need to learn ActionScript, the coding language of Flash. You need to get the software. Don’t get me started on the amount of people saying “I DO HAVE FLASH” when they’re referring to the browser plugin that ALL browsers today have. There is no definitive way of making Flash. Hell, even I use what’s generally considered bad practice: I still use ActionScript 2.0 instead of AS3.0. Then it’s a matter of learning HOW to animate in Flash. I use basic tweens because I’m lazy. It’s like asking “How do I make medicine?” or “How do you fly a plane?”…What’s even dumber is when people pester me about this stuff without even doing a bit of research. No, DON’T use Google. Another question I receive on a regular basis is “How do you make a Website?” since I’ve coded 2 from scratch… Simple, buy a domain name, get hosting, learn HTML, JavaScript, PHP and CSS – then design the site, then code it using the aforementioned languages. (Or skip the coding and install WordPress, or some generic Forum software, but I think coding from scratch is more fun.) SIMPLE! Even the easy option takes SOME amount of effort that I can’t explain in detail using ONE sentence. People like to act like these things take no effort when they ask a question. Should I take it as a compliment that people think I make what I do look easy? Because that makes it sound like I make good Flash, which I assure you, compared to some of the masterpieces of old on Newgrounds, I make Family...

The death you choose defines you, but so does life. Imagine if you can storming up the beaches, Interlocking firing style, germanically impeaches Upon fresh flesh, embedded, leaded, shredded Until nought remains that’s not remains Of youth, uncouth now shamed and sullied, Blasted seaside war vacation, Boys with guns defend their nation? It seems so pointless. What better way to prove a point, And get most noses out of joint, Than to strap some Semtex to your back, Then find a crowd and for the craic, Explode, upon the unsuspecting Knowing you’ll be resurrecting, With virgins ripe and for the taking, What joy, this heaven’s of your own making. It seems so pointless. Glory, valour, honour, pride, Alas the poor old bastard died, Promises of things to come? He’ll find no virgins not a one. Do you believe “thy kingdom come?” The moment that you do opt out, It’s sad, but you’ll be forgot about, Life’s to live, you get but one, Enjoy it. That’s all……… Sorry, there’s neither rhyme nor reason....

How to react to bullying issues. First one must take a few steps to avoid being bullied in the first place here are a few: Avoid aggression and response to it. Try not to get involved in activities during which you are constantly harassed. Hang around with a few friends, whether in the school or the local park. NEVER attack the bully physically or verbally. A push in the schoolyard or someone calling abuse is not always bullying, especially if it’s a one-off instance. Since aggression is a common male thing, you should not take offense straight away and make it personal; instead, try to ignore him and don’t give him what he wants – that can be your response. He might say something bad about your family: this may cause you to make a nasty comment about him. The danger is that it becomes reciprocal: one day he gets angry, loses control and hits you: if he is a non-violent bully, he might circulate a rumour or verbally abuse you publicly. So, if the bully is a truck, try using another road. Remember that racism is illegal and should be reported to any figure of authority in school or even a policeman if necessary. Racism always twists into something nastier. Exclusion and separation are forms of segregation and racism so, if you are being excluded because of racism, you should report it. However it isn’t always racism. For example, if you are chosen last, maybe it’s because your soccer skills might not be what you think them to be, which can cause a misunderstanding. Currently, bullying people online isn’t easy to do as there are a lot of options that can prevent it. For example, if someone constantly sends messages that are not...

Running: the most natural form man has adopted throughout the centuries. Man was born to run, literally; it’s in our genes, our physiology. We needed to hunt, we chased down our kill for hours till it keeled over panting and exhausted. The first cave drawings were of us running – we were running experts. Yet why is it today that running seems less like Mo Farah striding out and comfortably clocking under 30 mins for 10k and more like a geriatric trudge? The mention of running is often followed by a groan. How did things ever get this bad? you may ask. Well, let me introduce you to our good friends at Nike and Adidas. Yes these guys have been telling us lies for years. See, there used to be a time where there was no such thing as the conventional running shoe; it’s more recent than you think, as late as 1964. A man called Bill Bowerman is to blame for fucking up your running. He began the craze by creating a new shoe designed especially for running. He claimed his shoe would guarantee injury-free running. At the time virtually everyone had perfected gait (technological term for running form); there was no such thing as orthotics because no one needed them; injury was an especially rare incident. Our ancestors fell for Mr Bowerman’s antics and they purchased the runners. The running boom during the 1970s spurred on the Nike Corporation’s success which contributed to making it the most recognised sports brand in history while in Europe a German company known as Adidas entered the market with the same mentality. Running shoes became more and more supportive with buzz words such as EVA, over-pronation protection and heel strike being bounced around. The general population...

I sat in the restaurant pursing my lips, bull-dog like, while I stared at the slim blonde at the counter, running her fingers through her hair while talking to a seventeen-year-old boy. To my left a brunette was gazing around, fiddling with her ring, as though wondering where her husband was now. As I thought this I looked at my watch. It was turned the wrong way round again; there was something that I had to remember. Scratching my nose I continued to take in my surroundings: there was an old man drumming his fingers along the steamy mug of tea. It was then that I realised that no one here was in pairs – we were all loners: single fish in a vast...

Modern Warfare 3 is an amazing game that is part of the world-famous CoD franchise. This game is an amazing feat of development on Infinity Ward’s part and is the most famous and best-selling first-person shooter out there. There is a lot of different talk out there with three franchises in competition (CoD, Battlefield and Halo, with Medal of Honor lagging behind). Quality-wise the game does OK, since it is just a slightly improved version of Modern Warfare 2’s graphics. The noticeable ones are the fire and explosion effects, which mean that ‘sploding people with an RPG/grenade is twice as satisfying as you watch the flames trailing out from behind them. I also realised anti-aliasing has somehow gotten worse as I have seen much less of it throughout the games; it’s still there though and it is good. So here is 7/10 for graphics. Gameplay is where the real problem lies. The gameplay really feels like a Modern Warfare 2.5 with new overpowered guns and even more overpowered perks and Pointstreaks (Yes, they have changed their names). The guns are mostly the same with new ones added here or there, with no real difference. If you use the old weapons you end up doing badly most of the time and being called a noob. Use an overpowered gun and you are called much worse things that are common in the CoD community. The maps are well done in shape but colours are bland and dull. A famous YouTuber named Aces gamer described the maps as: “Just a gray canvas, with a few burning trucks slapped on here and there, then a wall is just destroyed,” and there’s your map. So gameplay gets 4/10. In creativity I think Modern Warfare 3 achieves greatly with the...

Ode to my cousin – footballer, musician, multitalented, under graduated but overly congratulated. (also my favourite cousin with the same name as my son) You’re in a bad place. But staying all day in bed is your saving grace. Deal sleepily with the world while in your duvet curled. Think nihilistic thoughts at twenty while getting sleep a plenty. Don’t ever risk emerging before noon that dark filled world is best attested to un-vested and pyjamaed you, not soon but in mid to latish afternoon. Emerge blinking and unshaven to dusk’s familiar smile then plug in your play station for these late hours to wile. Bother not with thoughts of study, bloody, shoddy, fuddy-duddy, cruddy, bookish, rote, remote, words and thoughts that fail your boat to float. Centrifugal eccentricity for a student of chemical electricity, seeking notoriety and publicity – attempt eliciting lyrical sympathy for upper middle classic apathetic idiosyncranicity. (made up word) Roll out of bed Cause you ain’t dead Moan less groan less Shave then dress Your stuff is folded In the hot press Right next to you sister’s summer dress. Emerge blinking and thinking Not shirking, stinking and sinking. Now go live more....

Pump me full of soma, For I’ve got a teratoma. Shred my pleura open, Making sure my ribs ain’t broken. Tear and cut and rend and scrape. Clean me out from stem to nape. Watch and wonder at this rot Comprised of muscle bone and snot, Image and likeness of God it’s not. Me, I’d call up Ridley Scott. Patch me up as best you can I’ll be as brave as any man Faced with an uncertain fate The fear is only in the wait, Lying here I can envision Each clinically precise incision Lying here for my physician My life, the price of each decision. So pump me full of soma I’ve got a date with knives. Be thankful for mundanities Don’t wish away your lives....

People know the dog as man’s best friend. This might be because they are so lovable and energetic. A dog can carry out tasks that a human cannot do. Examples: The Dalmatian helps fire-fighters The German Sheppard helps the Police The Golden Retriever helps the blind. The types of dogs and quick facts: The Border collie. The Border collie is a very easy dog to train. It works on a lot of farms. Its average age is 13-16 years. The Jack Russell. The Jack Russell is a very adventurous dog. He hunts small animals into burrows, for example, rabbits. The Jack Russell’s average age is 13-17 years. The German Sheppard. The German Sheppard can be a very cross dog if not trained properly. He’s usually a guard dog. The German Sheppard’s average age is 9-13 years. The Labrador Retriever The Labrador was named after the Canadian island of Labrador. He retrieves tennis balls and small things. The Labrador is a great swimmer. He has a soft mouth which enables him to hold some delicate objects without breaking them in his mouth, like an egg. The Labrador’s average age is 10-12 years. Teaching your Dog Teaching your dog can be hard and easy, depending on the breed of dog. The collie is a very intelligent dog which makes him very easy to teach. I have a YouTube channel named MyPetsHD: {http://www.youtube.com/user/MyPetsHD/videos}....

In the beginning there was the AR, the Ancien Regime. This was a system that gave disproportionate power to the king and his nobles. They were the PC: the privileged classes. AR = PC Not everyone was happy: the Third Estate – TE – wanted a bigger slice of the cake. The Middle Classes – MC – belonged to the TE; they were educated and ambitious: EA MC = EA Because of a bad recession, the king called the Estates-General (EG) to raise taxes. Nobody liked this, especially the TE and the MC. They took the Tennis Court Oath (TCO); this meant they were going to fight for change. EG v. TCO The TE/MC set up their own, alternative parliament, the National Assemby (NA) which wanted a constitutional monarchy. (CM) Now there were two parliaments: the EG and the NA. The king outlawed the EG. The NA was the only game in town. NA wants a CM The National Assembly wanted guns to protect their parliament. The guns were in the Bastille. They stormed it. SOB = Storming of the Bastille Louis freaked out and tried to escape but he was caught. The NA became the National Convention (NC) and it wanted something new: a republic (R) NC wants an R The king is killed by guillotine. The NC goes all paranoid, with good reason: it institutes the Reign of Terror (ROT) which was run by the Committee of Public Safety (CPS). All suspected and actual enemies of the Revolution are either arrested or executed. Robespierre (Rob) did that, mostly.  The Directory (Dir) had Robespierre killed. ROT   Rob.   Dir. The Revolution calmed down a bit, and even inspired other countries, like Ireland. AR, PC, MC = EA,  EG v. TCO,  NA wants a CM, ...

In normal poetry, you’d expect predictability: love poems would be “soppy”, “full of flowers and chocolates and stuff”, rhyming; also, poetry is more often than not confusing, boring, dull. However, Heaney’s work makes you think. He uses unusual comparisons: in “The Skunk” he likens his wife to a skunk: Your head-down, tail-up hunt in a bottom drawer In “The Pitchfork,” a banal, everyday object is described as if it were some kind of futuristic spaceship: He would see the shaft of a pitchfork sailing past Evenly, imperturbably through space He is a master of description; take this line from “The Underground”: To end up in a draughty lamplit station In “A Constable Calls”, we get this about a gun: I sat staring at the polished holster With its buttoned flap, the braid cord Looped into the revolver butt. There is a strong sense of place in other poems like “The Tollund Man”: Out there in Jutland In the old man-killing parishes I will feel lost, Unhappy and at home. Work is a major theme in Heaney’s poetry. Work is an art, a skill, something that allows us to express ourselves, find ourselves, cherish our identities through passionate exploration of what we have inside of us: Inside, the hammered anvil’s short-pitched ring, The unpredictable fantail of sparks Or hiss when a new shoe toughens in water. Work attains mythical, religious proportions: Horned as a unicorn, at one end square, Set there immovable: an altar His subject matter can be extraordinary. He can write interestingly about the most ordinary of things. In “Sunlight”, he describes a “sunlit absence” and imagines that a water pump is an oven: The helmeted pump in the yard heated its iron There is a sense of warmth in the poem. The...

There are people who are adamant 9/11 was done by the United States government; there are those who claim the Boston Marathon bombing was done by the United States government. You name it, there are people who doubt it happened the way most people believe. Take the 9/11 attacks: we have people, including the (in)famous “documentary” maker Michael Moore, who believes the US government and the Bushes knew of the terrorists before they ever happened. Fahrenheit 9/11 shows Moore’s ideas, which, if we are honest, seem only half-baked and more biased than Nazi propaganda. Really, though, the latest conspiracies about the Boston Marathon are pretty sad. We have some people who claim the Chechens were framed by the FBI. This seems pretty nonsensical considering they hijacked a car, shot dead a policeman outside the prestigious Massachusetts Institute of Techonology. In the ensuing gunfight they injured more people. Yes, it’s unfortunate one was killed but at least he can do no more harm to society. The younger brother was caught in a boat. Let’s face it, if these guys were innocent they would have protested their innocence rather than shooting policemen and committing grand theft auto. So, what I say to these conspiracy theorists is this: do something better with your time; don’t tell us no planes crashed into the World Trade Centre; don’t tell us the Pentagon was blown up from inside; don’t tell us George Bush is a devil who came to wreak havoc on the world. People have had their lives ruined by these tragedies and more. Don’t make up these farcical fairytales to cover-up for the...

F1 is the short word version for Formula 1. I remember the first time I was introduced to it. I was watching a documentary on the best ever F1 driver (in my opinion): Ayrton Senna. After watching it I was smitten and ever since then I have followed F1. Some people think it is the most boring sport in the world next to golf and cricket (now they’re boring) but I don’t think so; it’s just magic! I would prefer a F1 race  to a golf or cricket game any time. OK,  to be fair, some of the races can be boring but the build-up and the start are quite interesting. Some will say, “That’s boring too!” Well here’s what you get to see: the F1 car being tuned; the tires being warmed; the crew checking that the radio system in the car is working; the steering wheel being tested; and my favorite part – that amazing roar as the engine sound test is done to see if all is working and making sure the engine is warm enough to race. I know this can be quite mean to say but I absolutely love it when the F1 drivers crash (only when they walk out of the crash). The best crash was Mark Webber’s of Red Bull. He and Adrian Sutil of Lotus were going around the final corner in The Monaco Grand Prix. Webber went around the bend first and as he was pulling back in on his racing line Adrian Sutil came behind him; Webber just saw him but it was too late. Webber clipped Sutil’s wing and Webber’s F1 car went flying over Sutil’s. Webber’s back wheel which was still moving at 210 km/h missed Sutil’s head by just 10 cm....

Deal Dialy, So, I had this blight idea of thleatening those Ovel the Rine. You know how? Of coulse you do! Waln them of impending nucreal wal, that I can nuke them in an houl and watch ’em get scaled. Rovely job! One catch though. We ale stirr getting aid flom those infidelrs acloss the Watel. Uncre tord me not to do anything lash, just a rittre dlirr alound the City. So thele ale the sordiels at six o’ crock in the night when what wourd happen? The rights went out. In Fleedom Squale! That shourdn’t happen! Fulthelmole, I had no access to that yoke the common man is banned flom. What do they carr it? The Intelnet I think. That meant no IntiPipe for me. Keept it cool Dialy, and untir next time! Naghag...

Liverpool played Chelsea at Anfield yesterday and fans, not for the first time, saw Luis Suarez bite an opponent. Liverpool were chasing an equaliser late in the game when Suarez bit off more than he could chew. The referee, not seeing the incident, didn’t punish the Uruguyan and he went on to score an equaliser well into injury time. 2010, while playing for Ajax, saw another incident when he got the munchies. That turned out to be his last game for the Dutch team; he was handed a seven match ban. That was the occasion of his move to England and he’s been with Liverpool since.   But he’s not a one-trick pony: he racially abused Evra last year. He also obstructed the ball to prevent his Uruguyan side conceding to Ghana in the World Cup quarter final. What’s clear is that he has an attitude problem; what isn’t too clear as yet is how he picks his victims: Otman Bakkal (PSV Eindhoven); Patrice Evra (Manchester Utd.); Branislav Ivanovic (Chelsea).   What’s interesting is that he escaped censure and added insult to injury by scoring against the oppositon in each case.      ...