Sunday, 1 November 2009

YouTube follow ups and Fancy Bloody Dress

I did promise a while ago that my YouTube political-commentary career would take off at some point. Clearly it's been a bit slow going. My world domination plan has taken up a good portion of my time; but mostly I can't really be bothered.
Anywho, a friend of mine came upon some real gems whilst pointlessly looking through terrible rap videos on our favourite vid-sharing website. This little exchange took place on a video of one of Lethal Bizzle's songs:

laurablabs (2 days ago) 0 Reply
learn how to spell you fucking retard! people dont listen to this because they think they are gangsters dont get me wrong im sure a few fucktards do but dont generalize and get a life!

binstig (2 days ago) 0 Reply
Agreed! Or should I say ... "agreaad!!"

iwatchseries (1 day ago) 0 Reply
thats the whole fucking point you cumbucket
and you generalize saying i have no life because of my opinion?
get a dick in you and stfu bitch

danners2003 (4 days ago) 0 Reply
dunno think its scratchy

iwatchseries (4 days ago) +2 Reply
POW in2 ta moms pussyHOOO

I particularly enjoy that last little addition. Oh by the way, in case swearing offends you, the preceding post contained bad language and should not have been read by young children, pregnant women, sensitive men, or anyone without a sense of humour.

Here's another one. Similar video, similar exchange. Reproduced for you in glorious technicolour:

themini500 (21 hours ago) the white kid is dapp

herecutiegirlkat (21 hours ago) Dont Dis Dappy!

prokhan17 (13 hours ago) if he was in my hood he would get his ass kicked

ElReyRemy (11 hours ago) I piss on your hood,, internet gangster.

Leq001 (4 hours ago) That's a nice one "I piss on your hood" Hahahaha way to represent fighter spirit man

If anyone comes across any particularly satire-worthy examples of human idiocy on YouTube or any other site, please send them to me and I'll stick them up here like mouldy human skulls on parapets: to deter would-be perpetrators.

The second object of my affection this fine miserable sunday after-morning, is something which has bothered me for some time. I feel this may offend a good deal of people I consider friends, so I begin with a warning:

Never take anything I say seriously, ever.

Formalities now resolved, I can begin my tale of hatred.

Yesterday, was Halloween. If you didn't realise this, you either live in a cave in the Scottish Highlands in which case you haven't got a computer, or you were too immersed in World of Warcraft to notice in which case you should seriously consider self immolation (look it up. There are lovely pictures). Halloween, in it's beautiful obscure, modern, capitalist way, requires people to dress up and go to parties and similar social events. Dressing up is now down as one of my least favourite past times in the entire Universe, narrowly out-edging Bear Wrestling, and gargling Jellyfish.

Simply put, we have here a unique scenario where people are actively encouraged to dress as diabolically stupidly as physically possible, then go somewhere with a vast number of people to show everyone how utterly retarded you look. Sometimes, if you're REALLY lucky and go out to a club, these people won't be dressed up; and will therefore have a perfectly normal and worthy moral high ground from which to cast over your saggy plastic accessories with disapproving eyes and quietly muse whether you're supposed to be dressed as Han Solo or a well-presented tramp.
This obviously applies to more than just Halloween. Frequently, in a blistering fit of thick-headedness, people will decide to throw fancy dress parties for no apparent reason- or under the guise of a Birthday. I think in reality, people like this have a malicious agenda to make you go and spend money (which you don't want to spend) on an outfit (which you don't want to wear).
Once you reach your selected venue for self-humiliation, having spent £874 on safety pins, stupid hats, fake guns, wigs, robes, chains, swords, nipple tassels, goggles, bed sheets, fake blood, fangs, headbands, stickers, glitter, face paints, shower gel and a scouring pad (for removing the face paints), masks, and a little note from the doctor that explains that you aren't an escaped mental patient, honest; [deep breath] THEN you get the honour and pleasure of realising that inevitably, someone's done a better job than you.
Think about it: at every fancy dress event, there will be at least one person who stands head and shoulders above the rest in terms of costume skills. This person spent that little bit more to buy a REAL wig, or a proper biker's jacket. This person can walk around, smug in the knowledge that everyone else's efforts look like a joke next to them.
If you go to parties that average, say, 50 people, then even if the relative effort of costume making is evenly split (which it isn't), you only ever stand a one in fifty chance of actually being Johnny Looksbetter. Every other time it'll be someone else on whom the spotlight falls; and every one of these times, no matter how hard you convince yourself that you like your costume and you think it was the best you could do, a tiny festering little feeling in the back of your head will be yelling subconsciously to you "your outfit's crap!", just because one person killed a real wolf to make his mask. Suddenly the three hours you spent looking for fake blood because everywhere in Southampton had sold out seems like a waste of time (not that I'm talking from experience.......).
As I draw to a close, I can hear, far off in the future, the insufferable cries of socialites telling me that I don't understand: that dressing up is just a bit of fun: that maybe if I joined Dress-Up-Society I'd enjoy myself: that I'm denying a part of me that yearns for this kind of silliness.
I put to this moaning bunch of moralistic common-sense haters, that it is YOU who is denying yourselves. The little childish voice in me is quite happy with the odd game of laser tag, or falling out of trees, without having to parade myself around like a mentally-deficient sideshow freak in an outfit that would make BrĂ¼no look as dignified as the Queen. You people who truly believe you enjoy this sort of idiocy, should take a good hard look at your lives and identify properly the moment when society ingrained in you the sense of longing for fancy dress.
Then think that all the money you spend on outfits could just as well be spent on more alcohol.

You can thank me later.


Ps: Awesome party last night. But while I thought I liked my outfit then, fate has kicked me squarely between the legs by showing me this morning that fake blood doesn't come off. I'm destined to be crying blood forever.