Sunday, 25 December 2011


The time of happiness and goodwill has gone on long enough, and needs a decent refreshing dose of cynicism to crush everyone's spirits. Not that I plan on complaining about Christmas, with the possible exception of everyone's drug-like addiction to a TV spot involving a gaudy LGV containing thousands of litres of tooth rotting soft drink, which is tiresome mainly for the hypocrisy of the large number of teary-eyed fans who then spout onto social networking sites about how people are "forgetting the true meaning of Christmas" (which is of course, consumerism and mass-marketing).

That paragraph aside, I generally quite like Christmas. There are plenty of minor niggles shared by (probably) a large number of people and voiced in an amusing manner by Michael Mcintyre in some stand up or other: just as he performs about every social peculiarity.

Thanks to a delay in my timetable resulting from the fact I have a life, I should now also note that I don't mind New Year either, especially when it includes embarrassing quantities of German explosives and a despicably cutting look at the previous 365 days by Charlie Brooker (a man I'm convinced deserves to be a world leader more than Nelson Mandela ever did).

So instead of insulting our arbitrary temporal celebrations, here's a new years resolution aimed at most of the Facebook generation: stop taking pictures of your face next to another face.

Yes that's right- in our digitally saturated culture the average clueless peasant has long had at least a flimsy grasp on how to operate a camera, and with ever increasing storage densities on things like SD cards we're now finally at the stage where pointless mug shots of grinning idiots on their social network profiles now vastly outnumber their own brain cells. Clearly their nights out are so uneventful and joyless their only wish is to remember how they used to look once-upon-a-time before age kicked in and robbed them of what modicum of attractiveness and worth they used to have.

If someone wants to explain to me exactly the attraction in cataloguing the fact that you still have stuff on the front of your head each and every time you engage in social interaction, please write your answer on a postcard, addressed to my blog, and post it with £50 in cash.

Merry New Year.


Wednesday, 30 November 2011

A handy print-out guide to Some Important People

Because I feel like insulting some people. Let's start with the main players in today's UK strike action and go from there.

Brendan Barber (Union Leader): Chubby communist twat who speaks like his brain has been replaced with porridge.  Hobbies include insulting anyone with money.
David Cameron (Prime Minister): Shiny-faced aristocratic bellend who thinks he can run a country. Particularly enjoys alienating the international world by being pretentious.
George Osborne (Chancellor): Satan-spawn who scientists believe is the very personification of malevolence.  Look at the evil in those eyes.
Ed Milliband (Leader of Opposition): 12 year old work experience student who pretends he knows politics.  Party trick is looking like a gormless prick.
Ed Balls (Shadow Chancellor): Scary faced android whose job it is to ensure the opposition has a reason to disagree with every economic idea ever. Also- in case you missed it- his surname is 'Balls'.
Tessa Jowell (Who knows?): Job hopping melty-faced dinosaur who stands as a steadfast supporter of hypocrisy and relationships with money laundering parasites. 
Lord Monckton (Professional Arrogant Dick): Invented a puzzle box and then decided the entire world needed to hear his racist, homophobic, climate-change denialist verbal diarrhoea. Ought to be quarantined for being so bug-eyed.
Michelle Bachmann (American): American pseudo-Nazi wench; born angry because she wasn't Sarah Palin. Gets huge kicks out of being closed-minded and calling everyone a socialist.
Galactus (The World Eater): Eh. He's not so bad.

That'll do.


Sunday, 27 November 2011

The Past, The Future, and nothing in between

I'm watching a sharply dressed man holding a stick telling me it's going to get cold in the next few days.

There's more sharply dressed people telling me there are strikes which will definitely spell the end of society, and yet more sharply dressed people explaining how some famous folk have died, how the economy is screwed, and how cancer is causing global warming.

It seems that the negative-news contagion (thus far confined mainly to the Daily Mail) is spreading across journalism. At least the TV-licensing lady seems upbeat about us handing over money to twelve thousand BBC managers (and some important staff too).

After a study involving myself and my brain, I've come to the conclusion that what we need is more Tomorrow's World. Or New Scientist. Or something. You ever watch Tomorrow's World? Bet you can't remember a single moment where Peter Snow seemed unhappy about some amazing new potential invention that we could be seeing "within the next few years!".

Nuclear cars. Someone, somewhere, decided this was a good idea.
Sure, it's really easy to spend hours bitching about how it used to be better in some fictional, idealised 'good old days' when people actually met in person instead of expanding their social interaction via social media. These were the times when kids weren't distracted by their iKindles and their FacePods and people had pleasant family time and board games and played catch in the garden and bicycle rides and trees and flowers and happy storyfuntimestuff.

Rather than working yourself into a frothing rage over the (entirely fictional) saccharin past; why not read a bit about how we'll have cured the world of every possible physical and social ill in the next ten years? Let's look forward to the (still) imminent development of personal jet packs, flying cars, fruit loops that can fill out or tax forms, little fairies that eat greenhouses gases, and glasses that make ugly people look like Pippa Middleton.

Who knows? The time may even come when electronics are glued directly into our brains? That way we could engage in meaningless virtual time-wasting and procrastination (such as blogging) without ever getting out of our sweat encrusted beds? We won't even be aware that we're all fat, flabby blobs of wastage which could just as soon be minced up to feed livestock.

Yay future.


Monday, 21 November 2011

Shove it in my face

Dear The Internet:

I've been your friend for some time now, but thought I'd help you out with something I've come across. We all have our foibles, but few of them fill me with incandescent rage as much as this.

You know those videos we like to watch on the web? You know how you periodically have adverts pop in at the bottom or (at worst, but increasingly often) force us to sit through some guff about a new hair mower or lawn comb? These things do not make me want to fork out money for a product I don't need, they make me want to brain someone with a brick.

People can be a thick bunch, but how often have you honestly sat in front of your favourite weekly video clip and thought (just as you click play) "Damn! I don't really want to watch this video, I want to think about buying home insurance in case my house explodes or plunges into the sea".

Intrusive adverts: imagine getting hit in the face by this car. THAT'S YOU, INTERNET. THAT'S WHAT IT'S LIKE.

What's even more infuriating is when you have to watch the same advert for every single keyboard-smashing video you click on. Adverts like this are like shouty angry weasel-children with ADHD; popping up on your screen every 2.5 nanoseconds to cough up some puss about a crap toothbrush that now wiggles in four dimensions to help scrape all the enamel off your teeth.

Here's another one that makes me wish I had the power to implode peoples' skulls just by hating them enough: you'll have just clicked on a link, when suddenly you hear a cheery voiceover and some background music blaring out of your speakers about why your excrement will feel better if you eat yoghurt; and there's no immediately obvious source for this aural assault. Frantically you search the page for the impostor, and often find it buried at the bottom in a tiny flash-player advert which starts automatically as soon as the page loads. Worse still is when it's opened in a new, hitherto unnoticed, window cunningly concealed behind the news article on a serial killer which you actually clicked on.

"Going forward, we can offer blue-sky thinking to apply leverage to our markets in a synergistic, seamless and diverse portfolio of business solutions"
What's most worrying is that somewhere in a posh office in London is a room full of suits wrapped around some people who think this kind of intrusive shit is a good thing. Picture it: amidst a torrent of meaningless business-speak involving too many uses of the word 'synergy' these robots decide that the best way to market their brand is to hurl it forcefully in the face of their target demographic (and every other demographic, just for good measure).

Here's an idea to introduce this kind of unwanted product-peddling into other media: insert spring-loaded stamps into magazines and books with your company's logo on it. Then, when someone opens the literature: SMACK. They get a 20mph logo stamped onto their head in permanent ink. I'm sure they'll remember it after that. If you make it poisonous so it kills them, you'll even get news coverage.

One other thing, Internet: stop distracting me from my degree.

Yours Sincerely,


Saturday, 22 October 2011

Dead Dictators, Pointless Protests, and Awful Alliteration

Great hollering badgers! It's about time for another prosaic piece of pointless prose.

Funny thing is I wrote this title weeks ago and can't remember for the life of me what I was actually going to comment on. Presumably something about Muammar "Meltymeltyface" Gadaffi and his new hobby of being a corpse.

NHS treatment finally killed him
I also appear to have had the intention (I hate second guessing my past-self) to make some cutting comment on the Starbucks sipping camping fad which has kicked off in the middle of London. In case you're living under a rock, or you only watch news about things that are making some tiny iota of difference, a bunch of very keen Millets enthusiasts have been trying to break the record for World's Most Protracted Tent Show outside Jesus's London residence. They've been at this game for some weeks now since the trend spread from america like a particularly virulent form of flu, and; in a demonstration of the efficiency of self governing anarchy; have decided after several months that they do actually have a few demands which all centre around looking at the City of London's finances.

Given that the majority of these people seem to be self proclaimed anti-capitalists, I'm imagining a financial report will be to them as silver is to a werewolf, and there will shortly be a neat pile of communist corpses littering the grounds of St Pauls. At any rate, that's what they're demanding and since we've long seen the efficacy of protests, I'm sure the powers-that-be (sorry Jesus, I meant the ones in the City) will acquiesce.

Small groups of committed people, and asteroids.
Right- now that I've given a pithy summary of literally everything important going on in the entire country, you can continue about your evening safe in the knowledge that you've become a little more educated. I do perform a service, you see. Society as a whole has had some kind of collective seizure and decided that anyone with enough money to afford Tesco's Finest needs to be immediately shaken upside-down until relieved of all their change. Better put back that black forest gateau you hedonistic piece of human sputum. 

In an entirely un-planned link which ignores the adjective in the blog title preceding the word 'Alliteration', I enclose the below, since the happy campers seem intent on re-enacting the film from which it is taken. Enjoy!

-Neo "Ideas are bulletproof" phlegm

Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villian by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengence; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose, so let me simply add that it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.

Blimey! Those bankers are bloody buggering bastards. 

Monday, 10 October 2011

The World Today

Wow- a shiny new blogging interface. It feels like Christmas came early in an orange colour scheme.

Whilst it's unusual for me to do a geography-based rant, I've been part of a number of conversations recently centering around how depressingly few countries there are which I'd genuinely like to live in. When you start taking current-affairs-following to an almost addiction-like level you begin to realise that the wonderful cultures and interesting people you learned about in widdle baby school are almost certainly corrupt autocracies run by a deranged dictator and his fifty seven illegitimate offspring.

Let's have some examples so you don't mistake this for a bout of xenophobic paranoia.

My sister recently did a school project on India. Here, they at least had the decency to include slums as part of the teaching. Far from being a rich culture of colourful clothes and the Taj Mahal, it might be more accurate to think of it as the land with a wealth-gap the size of the Universe and who's most notable feature is a prominent quantity of diarrhoea.

"Indian culture is rich and diverse and as a result unique in its very own way.
All people are alike and respecting one another is ones duty."

Slumdog Millionaire (despite having a lead character with as much charisma as a bowl of porridge) does a pretty good job of summing this up. Watch that film and tell me you'd really like to live there. YOU personally might have enough money to employ a few of the local plebs and live a comfortable life. Let's just hope you have a gaping void where your conscience would otherwise be.
Note the similarities

China would be no good. All the history, scenery and tasty food in the world won't change the fact that you're going to get arrested for so much thinking of the letter 'd' together with 'e', 'm', 'o', 'c', 'r', 'a', 'c' again, and 'y'. [Apparently that also rules out 'car comedy', 'a mercy cod', and 'cry me a doc']
"Chinese people are peaceful, hardworking and easily contented. They respect elders, love children and are patient with their fellows. Chinese in general are reserved and humble. They believe in harmony and never look for confrontation."

South Africa's full of murderers, Brazil is full of kidnappers, France is full of the French, and even the USA is curiously backwards, at least in the southern states. Who'd have guessed there'd still be areas of the developed world where you're frowned upon for reading George Orwell? These are the back waters where the hard-line Republicans will cry murder if you mention the word 'evolution'. Fairness dictates that these anti-science types be deprived of everything produced as a result of the scientific method, reducing them to cave-dwelling homeopaths with large art collections. 

You're cordially invited to a bonfire celebration in New Mexico. Bring warm clothes, marshmallows, and unholy, godless literature like Harry Potter. 

Don't get me wrong I'd love to visit pretty well all these places for a holiday; but there's a big difference between sight seeing for two weeks and having a job and a family somewhere. You're lucky enough (unless my readership extends orders of magnitude further than I could hope for) to live in a country where you can avoid getting electrocuted by the police, live with someone the same sex, read communist literature, moan on the internet about immigration, and post pictures of the Prime Minister with a willy drawn on his head on your favourite image sharing site. 

Next time you feel like moaning about the state of the economy, the government, or how much of a prat your bus driver is; just remember it could be so much worse.

Then moan anyway. If you stick it on a blog, people might even read it.


Thursday, 8 September 2011

Returning from a month long sabbatical

As a great man once said, I'm sorry for the delay.

My 6.5 readers must be positively furious at my sluggishness in producing another posting for you to feast on with your semi-sarcastic-literature loving brains. Working in a public-facing job certainly gives you a new perspective on life: one filled with the vacant, dopey grin of your average prepubescent science centre visitor rampaging around the venue with all the restraint of an angered mammoth, gleefully crashing into exhibits and thumping exposed buttons and levers with whichever bit of their anatomy is most convenient; before thundering off towards their next target when the machine they've just assaulted doesn't function correctly because it's now broken.

A mammoth skeleton. I'd be pretty damn angry if I was dead.

Such experiences, whilst certainly drawing a degree of my aggravation, apparently do not lend themselves to immediate blogging: and instead take some time to digest and form into coherent thoughts, lest this monologue descend into thirty five paragraphs of obscenities and death threats.

I plan shortly on writing to His Grand Awesome-hatted Holiness The Pope directly, in order to inform him he is looking for saints in all the wrong places. True saints are those that can confront one of these Tasmanian devils with a cheerful smile and kind words, day in; day out, without so much as thinking of braining them to death with a sledgehammer. All power to them.

Anyway, I hope to follow up with some more lengthy posts in the coming weeks. I have a certain TV game show squarely in my sights: which I feel wins the award for "Most Inane Piece of Drivel Ever Excreted From Simon Cowell's Production Company"- a prestigious award indeed. No prize if you guess what it is. Or what colour it is.

See you soon.


Sunday, 10 July 2011

The News Of The World - In Memorium

Since you're reading this, you probably have the mental aptitude not to require the watery drivel disguised as 'news' that was, until today, offered by 'The World's Greatest Newspaper'. Anyway, since it's topical, I have ventured forth for you, and collected information from their very own website so you don't have to go there yourself. Here's a little summary of what was covered on the final day of publication of this bastion of journalistic integrity.

See? I'm offering a useful public service- going on their website so you don't have to. Now I have to go and wash my eyes out with soap.


Wednesday, 15 June 2011

After a lengthy absence

Well, my election special received so much aplomb that I've had to take a short sabbatical to let my ego-swelling down. My fingers are now deflated enough to once again operate a keyboard, and I feel the best use of my newly recovered tactile ability is to raise issue with something which annoys me, and I'm sure a lot of other (more) level-headed people. Strangely it doesn't even pertain to the teaching I've once again taken on, although that is certainly a near-endless source of brat-related antagonism.

Once upon a time, I triumphantly left my dress shoes at home, and required something respectable for my feet which would compliment my incredibly sharp looking dinner jacket.

Sharper than this. AND my head isn't made of wood. 
A jaunty car journey later, I had arrived at the cavernous citadel of retail that is West Quay- a shopping centre designed by people who think that people need commodities in the following ratios:

Relative use to a human being

Now shoes are pretty high up on this list (which could be titled "The Anorexic Female's Guide To Shopping") so one might expect that it'd be relatively easy to find some which met my (as usual, totally unrealistic) list of criteria:

1. Not too expensive. I consider 'expensive' to be anything where I could buy a decent mobile phone for the same price, basically. Actually I consider 'expensive' to be anything more costly than breakfast.
2. Black
3. Loafers of a decent shape. Sort of....
Not to be confused with the more delicious but less wearable 'Loaf'
I went through five pretentious, loud, stuck up, overpriced shitshacks before finally finding a perfectly decent pair for a modest £35 at M&S. Apparently I've stumbled upon a pantheon of high street clothing (and indeed shoe) shops who pride themselves on employing tubby GCSE-failures as staff which they then soak in tar and roll in their stock room until they're suitably adorned in a visual sick-bag of clothing and scarves.

If you're not yet salivating at the stylistic possibilities these prime specimens are offering, consider next the artificial environment created to tantalise your senses and get your wallet fingers twitching: namely one where gaudy fake gold trim, retro wood and rope fittings, loud thumpy 'music' and glitzy plastic signs and pictures take precedent over, say, actual clothes. Or price tags. This is sort of what I imagine Hell would be like if the interior design was handled by Gok poofing Wan. Very few places outside theme parks feel so fake. The tans of the patrons don't help.

By the time I was contemplating suicide, I had been in a number of these cesspools masquerading as retail outlets, and found a grand total of ONE shoe which matched criteria 2 and 3 in paragraph 5 (subsection 1) above. It cost £100. I do wonder if they've ever sold any. If so, there's clearly a target audience out there with the shared brain capacity of a fungus who are willing to throw money away in exchange for a sensorial assault and prolonged exposure to fat retards. I may have mentioned this previously (see 50% of all the blags I've ever blagged).

Compared to this M&S not only felt sane, reasonable, clearly labelled, unpretentious, well staffed, well stocked, and altogether reassuring: it felt like heaven. I don't really have much brand loyalty so don't consider this an advert. It's just that apparently a run-of-the-mill clothes store that does good sandwiches meets my approval more than any overdecorated fashion chain.

This is what I got when I Googled "M&S heaven"

Consider this a challenge, then. If you honestly believe I would miss out by spending the rest of my shopping days in Bhs, M&S, and other budget-y, down to earth stores then I would like some proof. Find me a clothing item so overwhelmingly awesome that it's worth the audio-visual rape and testicle-shrivellingly expensive price tag and I shall buy you a Coke.

In the meantime Abercrombie and Fitch, Jack Wills, Jones The Bootmaker, Republic, and all their chic little friends can take their stock and ram it firmly up their noses.


Sunday, 1 May 2011

Referendum Special

In a confusing and word-filled world, one blogger has the balls of steel to lay down the facts for you- the intelligent public. Yes that's right folks: this is the one place in the entire universe where you'll find the collated facts from both sides of the argument that will let you make a well-informed and carefully considered random decision on the future of the voting system in the UK, and therefore the well being of the 

Because that's just how important it is. I've flipped a fair, unbiased and politically neutral coin and it's told me sternly to start with the 'No Campaign'. Or as they're popularly known:


So what are the key points on this side of the political fence? Let's lay out the facts about this so-called 'Alternative Vote' which the so-called opponents to democracy have dared to suggest will be right for our so-called country.

That's right you poor bastards. This system of voting is so ridiculously expensive it'll cost an average of TWENTY FIVE BILLION pence. This is because voting would only be able to take place on brand new multi-quintilliion gigaquad quantum touchscreen voting implementation devices. 
You wouldn't spend money on a massive cake instead of your dying son would you?
Would you?
Well that's what this is. AV is killing children. We don't need computermabobs. We need Hospitals, Libraries, Spaceships, and Computers.

See this?

This is science. PROPER REAL SCIENCE. And AV is worse. SO much worse. Look at this smart guy. He's smart and he's totally mindfucked by this shit:
WHAT THE HELL??????????

If you think of elections like a race, would you let the last person win? That would be insane right? Well that's what the Alternative Vote system would safeguard. The ridiculous rules ensure that the combination of the party with the lowest share of the highest alternative choice of vote automatically becomes the lowest high vote party in the system.

Do you want some nutty right-wing nazi party in power? I thought not.

So are you happy with our government now? Well with AV, because the idiots in the general public can't agree, we might end up with more of the same government we have now. Every time we have an election the politicians will just throw all the votes in a massive bin (marked 'Rubbish') and then have a massive game of spin the fucking bottle to decide who gets power.  Like, literally. I asked them. It's true. 
And let's be honest: the last people we want to trust with important decisions about the country are the politicians. Because they're arseholes.
See that? Cocks! It's funny because it's offensive!
In conclusion, AV is a disgusting crime against our country and you must join us to stop its spread. No to AV is supported across the galaxy by businessmen, pensioners, plumbers, farmers, Jews, police officers, theatre producers and Jesus. Join them in their campaign of righteoususness®

And now for the other end:


Before you start reading this, you'd better not be on the 'No' campaign. Anyone who even considers voting against this is a degenerate and an enemy of freedom. Only a Nazi would get in the way of this sort of progress.

This, is Boris McBritsoldierguy:
Poor old man =(

He fought in all three World War Twos, and died for his country. He told us that every time he's ever voted in a General Election, his party hasn't won. Ever. Not once. This is the disgusting legacy of First Past The Post voting, where our veterans are being denied the very democracy they fought for. How ghastly. Sickening even. And all manner of other words.

AV is the only way we can absolutely guarantee that old well-meaning war heroes get their vote recognised.
Did you know?
.... that when our young men enlisted in the war against fascism, they actually signed an oath promising: "To fight for our country, our people, and the Alternative Vote system"?

Your member of parliament is typically a lazy fat shit who doesn't care about you or your children. But under AV, they would have to work harder. Why is this? Well the reason is complex and involves scary concepts like numbers and explanations, so here's an easy way of visualising it:
How much more patronisingly obvious could it be? Don't just sit there: vote for real stuff. 

In case you hadn't noticed, every single council in the UK is currently ruled by extremists; Nazis, Communists, and evil Thatcherites. This is because FPTP gives people no choice: if they don't want the Tories, Labour Party or Lieberal Democrats in power they have to employ evil tactical voting tactical tactics. What's that I hear you ask?


This is why the BNP are currently in charge of everything and we've seen a massive rise in racial superhate megadeathcrime. True. You know any black people? Best start saying goodbye to them. 
Unless you vote AV, that may be the last newspaper he ever reads.
If you vote 'no' on AV, you're basically encouraging people to murder black people. That's why the KKK have thrown their weight behind Cameron and his satanic cartel of evildoers. Do you want that?
Do you? Do you want that? Is that what you want? Is it? ISIT?? ISTHATWHATYOUWANT? THINKWHATYOU'REDOING!!!!!

Basically, when the day comes, just think with your head, and vote however you think is best for the country. Which is blatantly a yes for AV. SERIOUSLY GUYS THERE ARE SO MANY REASONS! WHY ARE WE STILL LOWER IN THE POLLS? 



Well there we go. I've spent literally a long, boring couple of hours typing out this shit so that you guys can make the most sensible opinion of your lives. Just vote the right way (whatever that is) else God will kill all the people you love. With fire. It matters.

As much as death.

Which is a lot.


Monday, 25 April 2011

Definitely not about Easter

I have a confession to make. I don't know if there's any kind of significance with the Christian festivals going on and my need to repent, but the time has come that I can suppress the urge no longer. I must make this clear. It is this:

Justin Bieber doesn't really bother me.

Shocking right? Here I am, ranting away on the interslice, and I can't even come up with a good tirade of abuse to fling overhand at the floppy haired little twat. Now to qualify my otherwise out-of-character statement, I shall begin by saying this confession isn't nearly as shocking as admitting that I like his music [although if I did admit to such a crime, I would direct you in the direction of this]. I don't. But I don't particularly hate it any more than the insipid soup of spit that constitutes the latest chart hits.

Just looking at the website I can see at least three songs that I think are infinitely more offensive to Music than a skinny jean toting something-teen year-old warbling into an autotuner. Three of the top 100 songs have the word 'fuck' in the title. That's not to say they aren't decent songs (they aren't though), but if people are prepared to get outraged enough about Bieber, surely they'll be equally pissed off with this unseemly use of expletives in song titles?

Basically no. That would be missing the point. The people who spend night and day on their computers coming up with this sort of thing:
are probably doing it for a number of reasons, none of which are for the betterment of music in the world. Sucks to be you, you boring bastards: spending your life (ironically) dedicated to someone you self-admittedly wish would die and be gone from this life, lest his squeaky voice invoke in you such an uncontrollable rage you accidentally murder all your friends using a hacksaw and a length of cheese wire. "But Judge!" the defendant cries, "it was all that Bieber kid! His very existence is so unbearable I felt I had no choice but to embark on a dismemberment spree!". 

Partly, this is all down to personal preference. As I said, I don't like the kid. I don't like his music, his floor-cleaning haircut, or his legions of fangirls. A good friend of mine said her reason for disliking him is primarily because he represents a nobody who, through money and marketing, has reached industry-standard fame whilst retaining now outstanding qualities at all.

I completely agree. I just can't seem to get angry about it. I don't think anyone should really.

To put this in some perspective, I propose examining a few reasons people want to saw him into eight hundred and thirty little meaty cubes. I haven't done any prior research to this, but I'm sure I'll find some decent examples. Let's explore this avenue.

The Hair
Honestly? In my week working at a school I would guess that roughly 70% of boys upwards of about 14 have exactly the same cut. [Insert old-man voice here] It's just what the kids have nowadays. Personally I think it looks like a poofy dead animal smeared on his scalp. On the other hand, it looks far less crap than the likes of this:
He's from some band called the Polar Monkeys or something. I hear they're popular. He looks every bit as much of a tosser as Bieber, and I'm guessing no-one's ever threatened him with death because of it. Finally, let's not forget these two pricks.
I feel dirty for putting this up. See? These are some truly repulsive homo-fucknuggets.

The 'Hip Hop' image
I'll be honest, this is not something I'd heard of complained about before. Some people seem to have it in their sparsely occupied brains that the kid is trying to be the next Snoop Dogg because he's done some vaguely hippity-hop tunes. Then there's tirades of abuse about how he's basically a 'wigger'. Well, as I said, I'm not saying he isn't. But then...
From House of Pain
He's called "Slug"... That's er.... ''well'ard''?
And of course:


Can't Sing
Well I'm sorry- but no-one can make that judgement because no-one's ever heard him without an autotune, correct? Actually no. I found this video (watch at your own risk) of him doing a live session, and he's (whilst cringe inducing) not out-of-key. So whilst you can hate on his music all you like, don't ever accuse the little weed of being tone deaf. He can probably sing better than you (unless Susan Boyle is reading this, in which case you owe me a fiver). I'm not going to give a specific example of a different, less controversial star singing badly because you can look for yourself. Off the top of my head, Katy Perry fans should watch her live performance of 'Firework' on X Factor last year. Or don't. You'll wish you hadn't.

He's Idolised
This is slightly baffling. I guess the average 4chan user finds it intolerable that there's a young man out there who has the 12-15 year old girl fanbase almost exclusively to himself as their sole lead-singer and heartthrob. Why? 

Possibly it's jealousy. Which raises interesting questions about their tastes in females...

In terms of even-less-deserving human stains have we forgotten every Jade Goody and Jordan out there who have literally no use in society, no redeeming features, no reason to exist, no personality, and not a single IQ point between their entire population? These people get frontpage coverage for managing to evacuate their bowels unaided and would serve mankind better after being puréed  into a form of plant-food. 
All I can think is.... shame?

As is so often the case with these ramblings, I've lost interest in my own subject matter by writing about it. As a closing thought, I propose that if you've been affected by anything you've read here, consider just ignoring Justin until he (inevitably) fades into obscurity. You're not big, or clever, for picking on a 17 year old Canadian pillock when there are far more deserving scumbags to be hated out there.

Or in the words of the intro track to the Offspring album 'Ixnay on the Hombre':

"Aaaand if it offends you,
listen to it."


Friday, 8 April 2011

A week in writing

Well haven't I had the most schizophrenic personality this week? Yes I have. That was rhetorical. You can't answer me directly: I'm typing. What the hell did you think this was- a conversation?

From the dizzying tiger-blood highs of (brace yourselves) teaching successfully, to the alcoholism-inducing lows of boredom, boredom, boredom and losing things, of all the weeks I've experienced in my life, the last seven days have certainly been one of them. But fuck. I'm not here to talk about my life (see various previous blogs) but to, hopefully, mildly entertain you; the remarkably resilient reader; with useless advice and cutting word-bullets. I may cheat a bit, and use some recent occurrences as framing devices, but I promise it won't be the insipid garbage spouted by the likes of this.

First let's share some wisdom. Sharing is good. Ask Gadaffi (n. A generous Libyan dictator currently running the largest High-Velocity Bullet Donation Program in all of Africa). Here goes: Kids are idiots.

Well... some of them. Which is obvious really. Whilst apparently drooling over how cute little Johnny-Toddler is, everyone's really secretly thinking how dumb kids are. How stupid. Look at him... eating his bib, puking on Mum, burbling like a drunk hobo... he must be monumentally thick. From teaching for a week in a secondary school, it seems some young 'uns never grow out of this, and wear their idiocy on their sleeve as a mark of pride.
You wouldn't catch Einstein getting baby food all over his face.
Far be it from me to dictate that there should be some kind of minimum IQ for people. That's ridiculous. But some of these guys just don't care. They're self centred, entitled little gits who think society is a tit to be sucked on until they die of liver failure at age 25. And they're proud of this. It's probably not even their fault, but it's hard to feel sympathy when you see them twatting their classmates with textbooks for shits 'n giggles. Anyway- that's more or less all I have to say on that. There are obvious points for discussion like how there are also quite a few genuinely (surprisingly) intelligent, witty, funny, nice students at the school I just worked at. Also there's the question of why the trouble makers are in their current state (professionally called the 'Who Fucked Up?' question). But this isn't a sociological forum. Go have clever dialogue elsewhere. I'm going to rip into something else.

Actually I've decided I can put a positive spin on an otherwise quite worrying story. Nothing too topical mind: there are exactly four hundred quintillion bloggers out there finger bashing about Lord Charles of Sheen or how nuclear power is clearly dangerous because Europe is in constant danger of Mag 9 earthquakes. So let's go with this story:

For the lazy among you, the headline readeth thusly: "New York set to be big loser as sea levels rise". Very briefly, my polarity shifting attitude to this delicious little news slice is because at long last, the land of Hope and Burgers- refuge of the climate sceptic; and user of around 25% of the world's energy and home to less than 4% of the world's population- has got a reason to get down to some greenpeacing. Because if they don't, some New Yorkers will drown. This is the only way they're ever going to get the idea. Apparently knowing that half the Pacific islands will disappear isn't enough- it has to be brought home. It worked in WW2, right?

The next step. Pay attention nature.
Lastly and probably leastly, I have a literally vital* piece to say about time wasting. You know- what you're doing reading this, and what I'm doing writing it? That stuff. Time wasting benefits you in a great many ways. It makes you a stranger person: in my case, a person who knows pi to 50 decimal places, the names of every country in the world, and who has read extensively on the difference between a Fajita, a Burrito, and a Taco† and conclusively decided that hell... Old El Paso dinner kits may not be too authentically Mexican but at least they make some damn sense. On the other hand, I find that being bored is joint bottom of my list of least-favourite-feelings along with: being unable to find things, and being forced to listen to that fucking 'Friday' song. I despise, loathe, detest and hate boredom with an unquenchable passion that would make a psychologist kill themselves and all their children.

This ludicrous overreaction is due mainly to the fact that I listened to some well-intended advice a little to carefully, and now tend to analyse every waking moment to see if I'm wasting time. Do lots of people do this? Do you feel slightly dirty if you're watching TV for more than 12 seconds? Do you feel you have to reserve those less exciting activities like videogaming until you're older than Tutunkahmun and can barely walk or piss anymore? Apparently the thing I've soaked-up most from all the tidbits of info in my younger years is that doing something unproductive is a phenomenal waste of potential and you should immediately be sent to the circle of Hell reserved for the 'sloth'.

Kids, if in between beating the everliving shit out of each other (or in rare cases solving Fermat's Last Theorem) you happen to stumble across this pointless piece of literature, take this away from it:

Live life to the fullest: make every second count: be passionate in all that you do.
Unless you just feel like chilling out. As an idea, new Dr Who starts soon.

Neo "Get the hell off that computer and do something useful" phlegm

*For 'vital' read 'unimportant'
†Have you ever read about this stuff on Wikipedia?
Taco: "a traditional Mexican dish composed of a corn or wheat tortilla folded or rolled around a filling "
Fajita: "any grilledmeat served on a flour or corn tortilla. "
Burrito: "a type of Mexican food. It consists of a wheat flour tortilla wrapped or folded around a filling"
Why don't we just come up with three words for 'sandwich' and export it to North America? 

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

The Big Epic Advert Hating Rant Part2- The Sequel

I hesitate to call this 'the conclusion': for there are many putrid and hateful advertisements out there which deserve ridicule, and I would hate to leave anybody out. I got a nice amount of suggestions for this one: thanks for everyone's input. If you sent me something saying "I love this advert!" and it ends up below with the piss taken out of it... well... you've only yourself to blame.

The Graham Norton award for Hideously Disturbing Campness
Some of the less easily concerned among you might find this funny. I would ask you to take a good hard look at your life. Here is a company who presumably pays eleventy billion dollars a year to some sweaty marketing executives who decide the best way to advertise their product is with a character less likeable than Adam Sandler's testicles, sexually harassing his fellow male colleagues. Smooth.

The Spaghetti Bolognese Award for Things Nearly Everybody Loves but which I Hate
The YouTube comments for this next pick would have you think you were about to watch something so artistically masterful that Van Gogh would've immediately hurled himself off a building with self-hatred at never being able to accomplish such greatness. The reality, I find, is a pathetically cute advert doing nothing to sell its intended product and introducing a dog who apparently likes watching your daughter through her bedroom window.
Then again, the average YouTube user has the IQ of a potplant.

The Andrew Lloyd-Webber's Face Award for Creepiest Shit
Hey you! Yeh you! You big shiny member of our target demographic! I think I know what you want. You want some mineral water! You know what encourages drinking mineral water?
Utterly deformed, badly animated, babies.
Yup. I'm thirsty now. I warn you, this is one of those things you wish you could un-see.
The worst thing is it goes ON. You think it's finished but OH NO! We hired this 16 year old college kid to do our animation and by god are we going to get our money's worth.

The Piers Morgan Award for Narcissism
Personally, I think perfume companies should give up on adverts. You can't possibly convey a smell through the television anymore than I can convey punching Beyonce in the face through the internet: which is a real shame because that's the overwhelming desire I'm left with after exposing myself to this nauseating visual depiction of the unwashed singer making camera-love to herself. I say we disfigure her.

The Frankie Boyle Award for Political Incorrectness
I personally find Paris Hilton about as attractive and likeable as a face-full of malaria. But it's ok: because we can mock this disfigured person instead.
Dear God in heaven...

The John Prescott's Anus Award for WORST EVER THING IN THE UNIVERSE EVER.
This really does need no introduction. If you haven't heard of this, well.... I envy you. In fact, if you've not heard of this, don't watch the video below. Lead a happy life, safe in the knowledge you never exposed yourself to the vilest, most sickening, hateful pile of breakfast-cereal based garbage in the history of mankind. Never before has an advert drawn such universal hatred and derision. Never before, and hopefully, never again.

Ah! My brain! My braaain!
Skip to 0:23 if you fancy a disturbing close up of the little twat's crotch =/

So there we have it. The end of part 2. If you enjoyed this, please feel free to spew your ideas at me and we can continue the flaming well into the future.