Yeah...my profile thing. Awkward craziness ensues.
Real Name: Bailey
Username: BJAisgod (because he is)
Country: There's hills and it rains a lot. The occasional city. (England, just for clarification)
City: city? Pfffftt, I'm from motherfucking Penzance, bitches, I don't need no city.
Religion: I'm agnostic, but I went to a Church of England primary school.
Relationship status: single but pimpin' it.
Picture of yourself (optional):(Please use tinypic.com for this) yeah-no. I'm not on my computer and you kinda really don't wanna see my face.
Favourite musicians/bands: well...Green Day, My Chem, Rage Against The Machine, Biffy Clyro, Radiohead, Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, Thrice, Bring Me The Horizon, Slipknot, Metallica, Korn, Soundgarden, A Day To Remember, Bullet For My Valentine, The Misfits, GlassJaw, Elvis Presley (wut? I like Elvis, kay?), Rizzle Kicks, Eminem, Amy Whinehouse, Avenged Sevenfold, Enter Shikari, Blink-182.
Favourite movies: ah, fuck. The Nightmare Before Christmas, Die Hard, Kill Bill, Moulin Rouge, Grease, Psycho (or anything by Alfred Hitchcock), STAR WARS, The Scilence Of The Lambs, any superhero film (except Spiderman, he can suck my dick), like, loads of shit I can't remember...
Favourite TV shows: DOCTOR WHO, Mock The Week, The Inbetweeners, 8 out of 10 cats, The Young Ones, Fresh Prince of Bel Air, the awkward moment when I don't watch anything but Doctor Who and comedy, SKINS! Ah, there ya go. That's about it, really. Does tennis count as a TV show..?
Favourite Books: Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell, Carrie, Gerald's Game, The Shining and Insomnia by Stephen King, Harry Potter, David Copperfield by Charles Dicken, The Catcher in the Rye by J.D.Salinger, and way too many more to list off the top of my head.
Heroes: Batman, Billie Joe Armstrong, my best friend Una, Stephen King, Winston Churchill
Bandoms you write for: My Chemical Romance...
Pairings you ship: Frerard, Frickey, Waycest (puts shields up to maximum), Bray? Fuck knows. For four guys, there's a hella lot of ships, I swear.
In your opinion, what is the best story on Ficwad you feel you've ever written? Errr, Mister Cigarette because it's my most recent one and it when green.
Your favourite authors on here: Jeeezzz, errm, fuckloads, I've blanked.
Your favourite fics on here: waaaay too many to list.
Ficwad authors you think have cool personalities (optional): like, everyone on here seems pretty bitchin' (thats a compliment, btw) so imma just say everyone.
Recording of yourself reading part of a fic (optinal): (Pleasae use vocaroo.com for this) I can't, I'm not on the computer. Though my mum once told me I should do audio books when I'm older because sometimes I sound like Stephen Fry, which I took as a compliment.
Sample of your writing:
It was cold. Like, really fucking cold. So cold, Frank had to go back into his shitty apartment to grab another jacket before leaving for work. He didn't even have to walk, he could drive, but the amount of time it would take to get his ancient car to work in weather like this, it wouldn't be worth it, so he walked.
Jersey was really fucking ugly at 8:13am on a Saturday, Frank decided. The aftershocks of Friday night were still very much present - sick at the entrance to an alleyway, crushed beer cans on the side of the pavement, the occasional splattering of blood. He briefly wondered whether there were any street cleaners in this city, but then decided they were probably amongst the fucked and wasted on a Friday night anyway.
He could never really see the attraction of getting so drunk you couldn't stand up. Yeah, he drank but, not in the way most people do.
It was still only just getting light as Frank kicked a beer can across the pavement, the office in sight, and he decided he hated December. When it wasn't Christmas, of course. It was just so fucking cold and everyone was always banging on about the holiday. He was so impatient, he just wanted it to hurry the fuck up and happen already.
The office was a lot warmer than the icy winter air and when he entered, Frank felt slightly stupid in his four layers. He removed one of them as he moved over to his desk, avoiding the eyes of his pestering colleagues. He didn't like this place at the best of times and it didn't help that there was a rumour going round that he sucked Harry-from-marketing's dick. He wouldn't go anywhere near any part of Harry-from-marketing, even if he was paid, or drunk, or both.
He sighed as he sat down and removed the next of his layers, still not sure exactly what his job was even though he'd worked here for the best part of a year. The little cubicle and annoying chatter and fucking stupid rumours had kind of got to a point where Frank nearly liked them, as strange as that seems.
jazz hands. yeah. I suck