Nothing frustrates me more than sensationalists who can, and do, dream up entire stories from the tiniest molescule of bullshit that falls from the celebrity 'ring'. It seems to be a feminine thing to give a toss about remotely famous people's lives, at least judging from magazines such as 'Heat' and 'the Bella' as well as television programmes like 'Loose Women'. I don't care for those things (don't give me that look), but sometimes these stories happen to make their way through my mind forcing it to question its own existance.
So, why should anyone care about Denise Welsh's fling with Mother Nature or that Holly Wiloughby has stubbed her toe on a sparrow? The answer is quite simple, nobody should care. A giraffe can think of far more interesting articles in a mere 15 seconds. These people who are opening up (much of the time, in more ways than one) to the press and the media don't know enough about anything, other than getting their baps out and bitching about the Brit Awards, to be considered interesting. They complain about their dieting, hair and bowels as if it marks the outbreak of a nuclear war... and it does my tits in.
The next time Andrea McLean wants to whine about her Christmas being "hell" due to a row with her partner, send her 'round to a council estate where Christmas is about as real as Santa Clause himself. The more I see and hear about these ferile excuses for stories, the more I'd prefer to never find love and devote more time to gouging my eyes and sawing off my ears.
You know that TV show, '60 Minute Makeover'? No? I didn't think so, it's basically a show where some unsuspecting prick has their house redecorated by a team (well actually it's more like an army) of experts in an hour as a surprise from friends and family whilst a couple of hysterical and dimwitted designers mill around asking stupid questions and generally getting in the fucking way.
Unfortunately, I managed to witness a recent episode where the team ignored the clock and ploughed on in "extra time". At the rate they seemed to be going I fully expected them to need a penalty shootout in order to finish the job, but they managed to seal the tie 13 minutes into ET. Correct me if I'm wrong, but is this not false advertising? Surely if they balls it up like that they should have to present what they have managed to accomplish within the time limit, otherwise it's just cheating and the programme should be renamed '60 Minute Plus Extra Time If Needed Makeover'.
During the episode, to my horror I heard the most ludicrous question, given the context, that I have heard in my lifetime. Having arrived home to a surprise gathering of friends, family and the 60MM team, Carol was visibly shocked and happy (and hackett). An idiot female presenter then asked 'how shocked are you?' to which 'very' was the reply. Believe it or not, that isn't the question I'm referring to as the next question was 'did you know any of this was going on?'
Now I'm no expert, but a) the programme would be completely and utterly screwed if she had a vague idea about possibly having some new cushions on the sofa as the element of surprise is the entire point, and b) the presenter had just asked her how shocked she was and the answer was 'very' and was written all over her face before she even squeezed out of the car. I suppose that's not much of a clue though...
'The Voice' recently debuted on our screens as singers took to the stage in an attempt to impress 4 judges and make their way through the rounds hoping to reach and win the final. Does that concept sound familiar? I'm going to assume that's a resounding 'yes', because it does... 'X-Factor'! Except it's different. Instead of plucking from a bunch of faceless members of the general public, 'The Voice' is more concerned with nurturing and progressing talent as opposed to finding it. As a result, the majority of the entrants are of a high standard already and in need of their big break. The other difference is that contestants are judged primarily based on their vocal skills, hence the title, and their "image" takes a back seat.
Taking those differences into consideration, it's still like any other reality talent show, ie shit. True, it is much better in terms of talent and holds no intention of humiliating anyone who enters, but generally it's the same old bullshit story where the main characters are, in fact, the judges. Which brings me to the sole reason 'The Voice' fails to beat the talent-shows-are-shit curse... the judges.
At least Tom Jones can say he has been there, done it and bought the entire range of apparel, the other 3 have barely been around for a year. I loathe Jessie J with a passion beyond Christ himself. Everything from the way she looks through the way she talks, walks and sings to what she stands for just does my head in. Watch this...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60ROwaX0pcQ
To me, there are points in that performance where her voice just decays into sounding like a pig being boiled alive in a cauldron for the Wicked Witch of the West's home-made soup she's been keen to serve up for Satan himself. The hypocrisy is that while Jessie J is cheered and applauded for coming across like a transvestite wizard being molested with a sickle, the contestants are ridiculed for singing ever so slightly out of key. In my opinion, the live shows are waste of time because, as that video proves, being a successful "recording artist" doesn't require a good live performance, it requires mass production, ferocious tastemakers and a solitary number one hit song.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand, the other judges are Will.I.Am, who I believe is gunning for the lead role in the African answer to 'Robocop', and Danny O'Donoghue from soft rock/hard wank group, The Script. Both have as much of a right to judge talent as I have to blow up Glasgow. I'm sorry 'The Voice', it's a no from me.
Rant on.
Thursday 29 March 2012
Tuesday 27 March 2012
Topcunt, hyperactive kids (aka kids), everyone's an online weather reporter...
Having aimlessly sauntered into what I can only describe as some sort of cartoon-celebrity-hell of tourism, otherwise known as Topman, it didn't take me long to realise that I would no longer be purchasing clothes from there. In fact, I'd sooner skin my dogs alive with a potato peeler and wear the resulting fur before sticking the rest of the carcasses in the oven for tea. I used to like Topman because it sold satisfactory clothing at a reasonable price, now the prices seem to have trebled and the stock looks more like an advert for cuntidge than I ever imagined was possible.
Really though, what is Topman's designers' obsession with putting place names on every solitary item of clothing? New York, Paris, Chicago, San Fransisco, Tokyo, Los Angeles, Ibiza, you name it, they've got it covered. What's next, Ayrshire? It's like a knitted tour around the world with Mickey Mouse's irritating face staring at you the entire time like you've got a television on your head that's stuck on the Red Hot ten minute freeview... and without the fun.
Topman and Topshop's main purpose now is to allow all the dillusioned youth of today to dress up like wannabe pop stars and pretend they live in exotic places even further from their actual reality than fucking Narnia. To be fair, I'm sure they're going through a difficult period in their life where they all think "you know what would be cool, if we all started wearing the exact same thing and looked like, the kid-vermin, One Direction!". Yes, that would be "cool", then what?
'Then what' exactly. They'd simply find something else for the wide-eyed companies to fill the shelves with. Something along the lines of three-quarter-length dungaree-chino's with a hood on the left knee and a patch on the arsehole. Generally, whatever looks the most retarded at the time. I think it's time to accept that watching the follow up to our generation makes the inevitable armaggeddon, apocalypse or whatever in Jesus' pissflap you want to call it, all the more bearable.
Speaking of youth, fast forward another generation, which in the current scheme of things wouldn't take long, to all the toddlers running around like desperate Wiley Cyotes looking for something else to throw at, speedy twat, Roadrunner. I can't stand children from the age of 3/4 onwards until they become, more or less, some form of adult. Babies are ok, it's the way people interact with them that get's on my wick - talking to them in pigeon English and equiring to whether or not they noticed the "wee doggy" on the TV, it makes me cringe just thinking about it. I'd love to find out the proper scientific answer as to why people insist on saying anything to something that doesn't even know it can see yet as if they are speaking with a bloody Cuttlefish.
Toddlers baffle me. They never ever seem to run out of energy, it doesn't matter where they're going or why, they always have to run as fast as they can getting in every other person's feet in the process. I reckon if they were sent to a gas chamber and told they would certainly perish, the first words to spew out of their mouths would be 'race ya!' One time, as I recall, a toddler was scrambling towards me, like Usain Bolt trying to catch his windswept Lottery ticket, and did so until I unintentionally kneed him in the face knocking him to the ground. The little boy cried his, probably blood-shot and deranged-looking, eyes out in the new found comfort of his lice-filled father's arms. I'm not going to lie, it's definately in my top ten best feelings ever!
British social networkers are almost in a genuine frenzy regarding the good weather we've been getting recently. Some are babbling on about it so much that I'd fully expect them to emmigrate to the sun at some point in the future... one can only hope.
As far as I'm aware, there aren't many blind people with an inability to experience the phenomenon that is temperature in the world, thus I don't see why people are consistently broadcasting online weather reports of that which is happening at that precise moment. 'It's sunny outside!' Is it? And there I was covering my eyes incase the black plague made an unwelcome return out of nowhere, turns out it's the sunshine I'm protecting them from. Thank you for that life changing intervention.
If I was making excuses for people not noticing the weather, it would be that you're a complete hermit who has a phobia of daylight. If it was for people putting reports on Facebook, it'd be that you can't really see what nonsense you're typing due to the glare bouncing off your smartphone screen into your rechid eyes.
Rant on.
Really though, what is Topman's designers' obsession with putting place names on every solitary item of clothing? New York, Paris, Chicago, San Fransisco, Tokyo, Los Angeles, Ibiza, you name it, they've got it covered. What's next, Ayrshire? It's like a knitted tour around the world with Mickey Mouse's irritating face staring at you the entire time like you've got a television on your head that's stuck on the Red Hot ten minute freeview... and without the fun.
Topman and Topshop's main purpose now is to allow all the dillusioned youth of today to dress up like wannabe pop stars and pretend they live in exotic places even further from their actual reality than fucking Narnia. To be fair, I'm sure they're going through a difficult period in their life where they all think "you know what would be cool, if we all started wearing the exact same thing and looked like, the kid-vermin, One Direction!". Yes, that would be "cool", then what?
'Then what' exactly. They'd simply find something else for the wide-eyed companies to fill the shelves with. Something along the lines of three-quarter-length dungaree-chino's with a hood on the left knee and a patch on the arsehole. Generally, whatever looks the most retarded at the time. I think it's time to accept that watching the follow up to our generation makes the inevitable armaggeddon, apocalypse or whatever in Jesus' pissflap you want to call it, all the more bearable.
Speaking of youth, fast forward another generation, which in the current scheme of things wouldn't take long, to all the toddlers running around like desperate Wiley Cyotes looking for something else to throw at, speedy twat, Roadrunner. I can't stand children from the age of 3/4 onwards until they become, more or less, some form of adult. Babies are ok, it's the way people interact with them that get's on my wick - talking to them in pigeon English and equiring to whether or not they noticed the "wee doggy" on the TV, it makes me cringe just thinking about it. I'd love to find out the proper scientific answer as to why people insist on saying anything to something that doesn't even know it can see yet as if they are speaking with a bloody Cuttlefish.
Toddlers baffle me. They never ever seem to run out of energy, it doesn't matter where they're going or why, they always have to run as fast as they can getting in every other person's feet in the process. I reckon if they were sent to a gas chamber and told they would certainly perish, the first words to spew out of their mouths would be 'race ya!' One time, as I recall, a toddler was scrambling towards me, like Usain Bolt trying to catch his windswept Lottery ticket, and did so until I unintentionally kneed him in the face knocking him to the ground. The little boy cried his, probably blood-shot and deranged-looking, eyes out in the new found comfort of his lice-filled father's arms. I'm not going to lie, it's definately in my top ten best feelings ever!
British social networkers are almost in a genuine frenzy regarding the good weather we've been getting recently. Some are babbling on about it so much that I'd fully expect them to emmigrate to the sun at some point in the future... one can only hope.
As far as I'm aware, there aren't many blind people with an inability to experience the phenomenon that is temperature in the world, thus I don't see why people are consistently broadcasting online weather reports of that which is happening at that precise moment. 'It's sunny outside!' Is it? And there I was covering my eyes incase the black plague made an unwelcome return out of nowhere, turns out it's the sunshine I'm protecting them from. Thank you for that life changing intervention.
If I was making excuses for people not noticing the weather, it would be that you're a complete hermit who has a phobia of daylight. If it was for people putting reports on Facebook, it'd be that you can't really see what nonsense you're typing due to the glare bouncing off your smartphone screen into your rechid eyes.
Rant on.
Friday 23 March 2012
The XXX-Factor, everyone's drawing...
It seems as though every celebrity has to be "exposed" these days, whether it's a sex tape, a candid photograph or a revealing tabloid headline like 'Katie's gran is an escort!'. There is a school of thought that suggests our beloved celebs are purposly releasing sex tapes and the likes in order to retain/reclaim the spotlight or for some sort of financial gain. I don't know about you, but the only reason I'd expose myself to the world is if it meant the demise of celebrity culture, Facebook adding a 'couldn't give a llama's left bollock' option on status updates, the banning of high-res animated adverts on websites that force you to wait at least a fortnight for the page to load, the hijacking of the Virgin Galactic flight and that I could have anything on this planet, for the rest of my days, free of charge.
The most notable releases include the likes of Tulisa Contostavlos and Hulk Hogan, which goes to show that we can expect to see 'Being N-Dubz: Uncut. Uncensored.' sometime soon and Hulkamania is indeed running wild on at least one person. Of course, I'm joking about the 'Being N-Dubz' show, the Tulisa tape is actually a promotional advertisement for 'The XXX-Factor' in which contestants audition and fuck the judges whilst people vote on who looked like the best shag. In the auditions, contestants sodomise inflatable dolls as they are judged and decided by an esteemed panel of the usual pricks. It is the live shows that will truly showcase their talent as they will have intercourse with the judges themselves with the first week being 'Anal Week'.
Fellow N-Dubz member - and I use the term "member" insultingly - Dappy claims that the man in the Tulisa sex tape is, in fact, his other fellow "member", Fazer. Which brings me to my next point; one thing that strikes me - fortunately for me, not literally - is the size of the man's penis in the video. If it is Fazer, then I can see where he got that nickname as I would be pretty "fazed" if I had that branch throbbing in front of my face. Tulisa doesn't seem to be bothered, however, as she gobbles it up like it's a chocolate swiss roll. Although, there is a moment at the beginning where she clearly expresses some sort of discomfort after having it slapped on her face. I'm having trouble escorting that image from the premises of my mind and can't help wondering how Tulisa is not lying on a hospital bed in a coma.
Here's a special present for anyone who is now a bit curious...
The most notable releases include the likes of Tulisa Contostavlos and Hulk Hogan, which goes to show that we can expect to see 'Being N-Dubz: Uncut. Uncensored.' sometime soon and Hulkamania is indeed running wild on at least one person. Of course, I'm joking about the 'Being N-Dubz' show, the Tulisa tape is actually a promotional advertisement for 'The XXX-Factor' in which contestants audition and fuck the judges whilst people vote on who looked like the best shag. In the auditions, contestants sodomise inflatable dolls as they are judged and decided by an esteemed panel of the usual pricks. It is the live shows that will truly showcase their talent as they will have intercourse with the judges themselves with the first week being 'Anal Week'.
Fellow N-Dubz member - and I use the term "member" insultingly - Dappy claims that the man in the Tulisa sex tape is, in fact, his other fellow "member", Fazer. Which brings me to my next point; one thing that strikes me - fortunately for me, not literally - is the size of the man's penis in the video. If it is Fazer, then I can see where he got that nickname as I would be pretty "fazed" if I had that branch throbbing in front of my face. Tulisa doesn't seem to be bothered, however, as she gobbles it up like it's a chocolate swiss roll. Although, there is a moment at the beginning where she clearly expresses some sort of discomfort after having it slapped on her face. I'm having trouble escorting that image from the premises of my mind and can't help wondering how Tulisa is not lying on a hospital bed in a coma.
Here's a special present for anyone who is now a bit curious...
Now, admittedly I can understand if you wish not to continue reading after that image, but I'm going to go ahead with my next topic anyway.
Everyone's obsessed with this 'Draw Something' application for gadgets. To me, it's like hangman for illiterate pictionary fans created by former co-presenters of Mark Speight. Seriously, the day that I consider drawing something onto a phone so one of my equally bored friends can guess what it is using the letters provided I will cut off my own cock and literally fuck myself to death. Draw Something is an app for something you could do with a pen and paper, but people say it's good because you can play with people whilst sitting in your own homes respectively, how lazy and unsociable can one get? Some apps are good, such as Angry Birds, but I couldn't go outside and start grabbing pigeons to throw at the nearest pig sty, thus it is a good idea for an app.
One of the most irritating things is when people post screenshots of a game they are playing on their facebook. Nobody wants to stare at your utterly shit drawings on that rediculous game topped off with a caption saying 'haha try guessing this one' or words to that effect even though you know yourself that you've drew a rubbish clue deliberately to make it more difficult. Either that or you're just absolutely hideous at art.
However, I decided to try the app and I thought it'd be appropriate for you to guess my reaction...
Rant on.
Wednesday 21 March 2012
Stobs-un-well...
I recently reailised something that, perhaps deep within my thought process, I pretty much knew already, but it somehow still hit me like a roundhouse kick from a metal coated Chuck Norris. Stobswell, Dundee, is the grimest, stupidest, most spine chillingly horrid place this planet has to offer. Stobie, as it's known more commonly amoung the humanoid vermin that patrol those streets, it seems is the epicentre for all the junkies, whores, slashers, thieves, NEDs, alcoholics, tramps and any other morbid species of ill natured so-called "humans" you'd care to mention, they're everywhere in that scheme. I'm aware there are many other dives which are home to similar species of prick, however, you'd be forgiven for attempting to launch a full-scale investigation to find one normal person in Stobswell and that alone would be enough material for an entire new series of any detective programme.
Seriously though, if it's not the self-proclaimed YSB (Young StobieBoys Bastards) mulling around newsagents like gormless, tracksuit-wearing grim reapers who have exchanged their sickles for bottles of Skittles, it's the crack oriented junk mongers from hell shouting the £1million question on everyone's mind, which is 'DAVIE! DID YOU GET YER METH PRESCRIPTION!?', from one end of the scheme to the very opposite. You never quite feel secure walking those streets in fear of being, in some way, molested by a whithered alkie who probably views having a bath like most others would view going on a magical fairytale adventure of epic proportion.
If all that wasn't terrible enough, a new sex shop has opened in Stobswell called 'Playful Secrets'. I don't know precisely how long it has been open, but it can't have been long because I pass that area frequently and haven't noticed it until a few days ago. Stobie already has a kinky store, the aptly named 'Desire', so why open another... there!? I'm assuming, despite a lack of knowledge, that there are maybe 3 or 4 sex shops in the whole of Dundee, half of them are in Stobswell. Jesus wept, this is the last place we need a sex shop in, let alone another. Worst case scenario is increasing their will to breed and reproduce more little beasts who will carry on the mink legacy. I fear that it could lead to a countrywide epidemic if we're not careful.
Rant on.
Seriously though, if it's not the self-proclaimed YSB (Young Stobie
If all that wasn't terrible enough, a new sex shop has opened in Stobswell called 'Playful Secrets'. I don't know precisely how long it has been open, but it can't have been long because I pass that area frequently and haven't noticed it until a few days ago. Stobie already has a kinky store, the aptly named 'Desire', so why open another... there!? I'm assuming, despite a lack of knowledge, that there are maybe 3 or 4 sex shops in the whole of Dundee, half of them are in Stobswell. Jesus wept, this is the last place we need a sex shop in, let alone another. Worst case scenario is increasing their will to breed and reproduce more little beasts who will carry on the mink legacy. I fear that it could lead to a countrywide epidemic if we're not careful.
Rant on.
Sunday 18 March 2012
Paddy power, online football fans, Fabrice Muamba reaction...
For those who didn't know - possibly due to premature death or mild retardation - yesterday was St. Patrick's Day. If you don't believe me, look at your calander and you'll witness his name on it... well, some of you will. Anyway, as is tradition, almost every Scot (yes, SCOT) took to the streets, bars and clubs last night in celebration of a Saint who is widely known to have very little to do with this country.
So, why is it every year all the citizens of Scotland give it laldy over St. Paddy? Answer: we're all ill minded pricks. Some more than others, of course. People waving Irish flags everywhere like it's Norma Jean's underwear that they found under their pillow, wearing guinness hats whilst ordering bottles of Peroni at the bar and generally Liver Dancing around like acid-injected phlem when somewhere around 15-20% of them are actually Irish. I know you're probably thinking 'come on, Marc, they're just having a good time, let them be'. Where are they on St. Andrew's Day, in the house sipping Irn-Bru Sugar Free? I'm afraid us Scots have it all in reverse, instead of celebrating the Saint of our own country we decide to celebrate that Irish shit.
It frustrates me when folk tell me 'och, it's an excuse to get pished!' As opposed to the other 50 weeks in the year that you were/will be paraletic? Why do you need an excuse all of a sudden and is it necessary for it to be an Irish-themed excuse in Scotland? If you knew about Chinese New Year we'd all be fucking doomed.
Facebook is rife with apparent football fanatics. There are some who rabbit on about teams/players constantly but have hardly felt a stadium seat against their arse cheeks. There are some who go to games consistently, although I'm surprised that they manage to witness any action with their noses firmly pointed to their touch-screen smartphones the entire time giving people, who would only be vaguely interested if they were locked in John Krammer's house and it was on his TV, a near play-by-play commentary over Facebook.
Reaction to good results is equally distressing. Incidentally, it's hard to tell what constitutes as a good result when the team in question is Dundee United. On the subject of D. United, this term that online fans keep using - 'we are United, we'll do what we want' - couldn't be more pathetic if it were voiced by members of the cast from TOWIE. You mean you can do what you want simply because you support Dundee United? If that was the case, maybe Tanndice would actually recieve a near capacity crowd for once, followed by as many crimes as your calculator could count.
I was watching the Tottenham - Bolton match where Bolton player Fabrice Muamba collapsed due to a cardiac arrest. Nobody likes to see or hear about things like this happening to anyone, let alone a gifted footballer on live television. However, as much as I hate to see this happen to such a genuine and talented human being, some of the reaction and statements have tickled my ranty bone.
For example, 'this puts football and everything else into perspective'. What perspective is that, football is more dangerous than rocket propelled drag racing? This is a classic 'come on, milk the piss out of it' statement. Send your condolances, wish him well, but don't come out with amateur philosophical lines like that perticular gem, it doesn't help Muamba... only your likes, comments or subscribers count. I have to laugh at all the religious comments too, I'm sorry. 'God is in control now.' No he is not, Muamba's body is in control you freak.
Rant on.
So, why is it every year all the citizens of Scotland give it laldy over St. Paddy? Answer: we're all ill minded pricks. Some more than others, of course. People waving Irish flags everywhere like it's Norma Jean's underwear that they found under their pillow, wearing guinness hats whilst ordering bottles of Peroni at the bar and generally Liver Dancing around like acid-injected phlem when somewhere around 15-20% of them are actually Irish. I know you're probably thinking 'come on, Marc, they're just having a good time, let them be'. Where are they on St. Andrew's Day, in the house sipping Irn-Bru Sugar Free? I'm afraid us Scots have it all in reverse, instead of celebrating the Saint of our own country we decide to celebrate that Irish shit.
It frustrates me when folk tell me 'och, it's an excuse to get pished!' As opposed to the other 50 weeks in the year that you were/will be paraletic? Why do you need an excuse all of a sudden and is it necessary for it to be an Irish-themed excuse in Scotland? If you knew about Chinese New Year we'd all be fucking doomed.
Facebook is rife with apparent football fanatics. There are some who rabbit on about teams/players constantly but have hardly felt a stadium seat against their arse cheeks. There are some who go to games consistently, although I'm surprised that they manage to witness any action with their noses firmly pointed to their touch-screen smartphones the entire time giving people, who would only be vaguely interested if they were locked in John Krammer's house and it was on his TV, a near play-by-play commentary over Facebook.
Reaction to good results is equally distressing. Incidentally, it's hard to tell what constitutes as a good result when the team in question is Dundee United. On the subject of D. United, this term that online fans keep using - 'we are United, we'll do what we want' - couldn't be more pathetic if it were voiced by members of the cast from TOWIE. You mean you can do what you want simply because you support Dundee United? If that was the case, maybe Tanndice would actually recieve a near capacity crowd for once, followed by as many crimes as your calculator could count.
I was watching the Tottenham - Bolton match where Bolton player Fabrice Muamba collapsed due to a cardiac arrest. Nobody likes to see or hear about things like this happening to anyone, let alone a gifted footballer on live television. However, as much as I hate to see this happen to such a genuine and talented human being, some of the reaction and statements have tickled my ranty bone.
For example, 'this puts football and everything else into perspective'. What perspective is that, football is more dangerous than rocket propelled drag racing? This is a classic 'come on, milk the piss out of it' statement. Send your condolances, wish him well, but don't come out with amateur philosophical lines like that perticular gem, it doesn't help Muamba... only your likes, comments or subscribers count. I have to laugh at all the religious comments too, I'm sorry. 'God is in control now.' No he is not, Muamba's body is in control you freak.
Rant on.
Friday 16 March 2012
Stand by your murderer, spot kick illusions...
A woman has decided to "stand by her man" despite him committing the murder of his book-keeper ex. Admittedly, at first I thought this was an article regarding a belated prequel to the film 'I Married An Axe Murderer', but, needless to say, that idea turned out to be false. According to reports, the man had been a junkie and an alkie before becoming a murderer. Talk about climbing the proverbial ladder, the next step would probably be serial killing, ala Jack the Ripper, and eventually culminating in turning Scotland into a dictatorship, recruiting citizens and encouraging them to hit up drugs until their arms resemble swiss cheese, drink until alcohol substitutes for blood, all before ordering them to invade England whilst swinging axes like they are tennis rackets and their opponent is Rafael Nadal.
An article in The Sun suggests that "experts" say 'footballers may miss penalties because they suffer from a mental illusion that makes the goal seem smaller' - quite possibly the first time someone has used the term 'mental illusion' to describe a goalkeeper (the obvious reason for the target seeming smaller). Apparently, the target will seem smaller when they have a poor game and bigger on better days (when the keeper is cought between the eyes by a sniper). 'Successful players may be able to trick their mind into thinking the target is bigger than it really is'. Using my own logic, if I thought the target was bigger than it really was I think I'd miss more often due to the fact that I'm aiming for a point on the goal that doesn't even exist. No?
A short entry which tells me it's a decent day today.
Rant on.
An article in The Sun suggests that "experts" say 'footballers may miss penalties because they suffer from a mental illusion that makes the goal seem smaller' - quite possibly the first time someone has used the term 'mental illusion' to describe a goalkeeper (the obvious reason for the target seeming smaller). Apparently, the target will seem smaller when they have a poor game and bigger on better days (when the keeper is cought between the eyes by a sniper). 'Successful players may be able to trick their mind into thinking the target is bigger than it really is'. Using my own logic, if I thought the target was bigger than it really was I think I'd miss more often due to the fact that I'm aiming for a point on the goal that doesn't even exist. No?
A short entry which tells me it's a decent day today.
Rant on.
Wednesday 14 March 2012
An ice cream Kony at the London Olympics 2012...
Kony 2012. A near 30-minute YouTube advertisement created by charity, Invisible Children, to raise the awareness of African war lord Joseph Kony. A sound plan? If you enjoy retro rebellion, sort of.
I may come across as a complete sociopath at times, but I actually oppose abducting children and starting your own army of death. Cops and robbers, ok. Cowboys and Indians, fine. Joseph Kony went slightly beyond a pale of rice however with his game, Innocent Families and Soldier Kids. To cut a 28-minute story short, Kony pretty much abducted Ugandan children and trained them as soldiers to systematically torture and kill their own families for his own psychotic amusement. You thought Frankie Boyle had an evil sense of humour?
The thing is, nothing has happened in Uganda involving Joseph Kony in about 6 years. I'm not suggesting he shouldn't be captured, but why not bring this shit up when it was actually going on? That's like me going to the police and telling them someone stole my bike in 2006. Ok, on a far grander scale I'll give you that, but you see my point. Also, the majority of donations sent to Invisible Children don't even go towards helping countries suffering from poverty, war, disease and the likes, it goes towards horse shit like this...
http://www.youtube.com/embed/N6QWdVD4zsc
If you ask me, that's just providing Joseph Kony with another torturous weapon. It's like 'High School Musical' if it were written and directed by Bob Geldof.
The 2012 Olympics are becoming a bit of a throbbing waste of a pain in the cunt. Billions of pounds worth of public money for the sake of an amateur sports day that lasts a fortnight, Jesus fucking wept. What bothers me the most is the organisers' obsession with the impossible dream of actually topping the opening ceremony held in Beijing, I'll tell you why that bothers me...
1. Yeah, right.
2. I don't understand why the opening ceremony gets more time and money put into it than the entire reason the Olympics even exist... the sports. Who could give a gypsey's left nipple about the opening ceremony? I couldn't, even if it didn't require surgical knowledge and extreme caution. I'd sooner book a room at Quintin Tarantino's 'Hostel' than see the Spice Girls and Girls Aloud performing the same show... or at all to be fair. The only way the opening ceremony would have anything remotely to do with the actual Olympics is if a black man came onto the stage, stuck a needle in his arm and injected liquidised money into his system before shouting "THIS WORLD IS OURS!" and sprinting back down a tunnel painted onto the wall like the Road Runner from Looney Tunes.
Rant on.
I may come across as a complete sociopath at times, but I actually oppose abducting children and starting your own army of death. Cops and robbers, ok. Cowboys and Indians, fine. Joseph Kony went slightly beyond a pale of rice however with his game, Innocent Families and Soldier Kids. To cut a 28-minute story short, Kony pretty much abducted Ugandan children and trained them as soldiers to systematically torture and kill their own families for his own psychotic amusement. You thought Frankie Boyle had an evil sense of humour?
The thing is, nothing has happened in Uganda involving Joseph Kony in about 6 years. I'm not suggesting he shouldn't be captured, but why not bring this shit up when it was actually going on? That's like me going to the police and telling them someone stole my bike in 2006. Ok, on a far grander scale I'll give you that, but you see my point. Also, the majority of donations sent to Invisible Children don't even go towards helping countries suffering from poverty, war, disease and the likes, it goes towards horse shit like this...
http://www.youtube.com/embed/N6QWdVD4zsc
If you ask me, that's just providing Joseph Kony with another torturous weapon. It's like 'High School Musical' if it were written and directed by Bob Geldof.
The 2012 Olympics are becoming a bit of a throbbing waste of a pain in the cunt. Billions of pounds worth of public money for the sake of an amateur sports day that lasts a fortnight, Jesus fucking wept. What bothers me the most is the organisers' obsession with the impossible dream of actually topping the opening ceremony held in Beijing, I'll tell you why that bothers me...
1. Yeah, right.
2. I don't understand why the opening ceremony gets more time and money put into it than the entire reason the Olympics even exist... the sports. Who could give a gypsey's left nipple about the opening ceremony? I couldn't, even if it didn't require surgical knowledge and extreme caution. I'd sooner book a room at Quintin Tarantino's 'Hostel' than see the Spice Girls and Girls Aloud performing the same show... or at all to be fair. The only way the opening ceremony would have anything remotely to do with the actual Olympics is if a black man came onto the stage, stuck a needle in his arm and injected liquidised money into his system before shouting "THIS WORLD IS OURS!" and sprinting back down a tunnel painted onto the wall like the Road Runner from Looney Tunes.
Rant on.
Tuesday 13 March 2012
Techno-habits, and a British way to protest...
Modern technology is wearing me down, like a budgie pecking and clawing at one of those bird seed cylinders. Some things are undeniably useful [to me], such as my iPod and broadband, however, every high tech item's reputation is left in tatters when it starts performing unnecessary tasks or simply ceases to process what you asked it to. It may be a cliche, but all good things, it seems, do come with downsides. In the case of technology, all good things should come with a huge warning sticker emplying that a desire to tear your own windpipe from your neck is a likely possibility.
Take the very piece of high tech equipment I'm using to type up this blog, a Windows Computer, for example. Computers are one of the most important pieces of modern technology to be invented and I, admittedly, cannot live without one. It has multiple uses, but every now and again (more often than necessary) it will turn on its user and the system will start throwing errors and updates at you like a rioting Tottenham resident on powder, AKA a Tottenham resident.
The crime that stands out most [to me] is 'Windows Updates'. When that message appears in that small, rectangular box in the middle of your screen - 'New Windows updates are installed, your computer will restart in: <enter value> minutes' - it is the second most irritating thing you can experience, close behind a harsh ear infection. What do you mean it will restart in minutes? I never asked for these updates, I don't remember you asking me for my permission to install these updates, what the fuck are you doing to me here? It was working fine before you brought up the issue, you always try to "update" my system when I'm in the middle of something too. It becomes the PC's sole intention to cause distress and make the user's next few minutes a living e-hell.
Is this how Bill Gates thanks people like me who have put money towards his zillion dollar foretress he aimlessly farts about in? If I recieve another one of these vile excuses for a message, I will pay that four-eyed twat a little visit and shove his computer so far up his anal canal that the "Windows" on his nerdy fucking face (his spectacles) start displaying the very same message.
Protesting was, once again, the order of the day yesterday as protesters took to... a Church lawn? To this point, I still have no idea what their mission was or what they were trying to achieve, all I saw were signs saying 'Occupy Dundee' and some tents with some scruffy looking citizens hovering around like terminally ill animals trapped in some sort of enclosure.
Which brings me to my point, when did tents all of a sudden become so popular in the sport of protesting? I first noticed it at the St. Paul's Cathedral protests of not long ago, the line between protesting and camping is not as clear as I once thought. What a cold and calculated plot, camp the government into submission, the nasty rebels. I imagine if there were to be an "uprising" in the UK many people would be at home watching the events unfold before their very eyes before uttering to their partner 'good turn-out at Glastonbury, eh?'
Rant on.
Take the very piece of high tech equipment I'm using to type up this blog, a Windows Computer, for example. Computers are one of the most important pieces of modern technology to be invented and I, admittedly, cannot live without one. It has multiple uses, but every now and again (more often than necessary) it will turn on its user and the system will start throwing errors and updates at you like a rioting Tottenham resident on powder, AKA a Tottenham resident.
The crime that stands out most [to me] is 'Windows Updates'. When that message appears in that small, rectangular box in the middle of your screen - 'New Windows updates are installed, your computer will restart in: <enter value> minutes' - it is the second most irritating thing you can experience, close behind a harsh ear infection. What do you mean it will restart in minutes? I never asked for these updates, I don't remember you asking me for my permission to install these updates, what the fuck are you doing to me here? It was working fine before you brought up the issue, you always try to "update" my system when I'm in the middle of something too. It becomes the PC's sole intention to cause distress and make the user's next few minutes a living e-hell.
Is this how Bill Gates thanks people like me who have put money towards his zillion dollar foretress he aimlessly farts about in? If I recieve another one of these vile excuses for a message, I will pay that four-eyed twat a little visit and shove his computer so far up his anal canal that the "Windows" on his nerdy fucking face (his spectacles) start displaying the very same message.
Protesting was, once again, the order of the day yesterday as protesters took to... a Church lawn? To this point, I still have no idea what their mission was or what they were trying to achieve, all I saw were signs saying 'Occupy Dundee' and some tents with some scruffy looking citizens hovering around like terminally ill animals trapped in some sort of enclosure.
Which brings me to my point, when did tents all of a sudden become so popular in the sport of protesting? I first noticed it at the St. Paul's Cathedral protests of not long ago, the line between protesting and camping is not as clear as I once thought. What a cold and calculated plot, camp the government into submission, the nasty rebels. I imagine if there were to be an "uprising" in the UK many people would be at home watching the events unfold before their very eyes before uttering to their partner 'good turn-out at Glastonbury, eh?'
Rant on.
Thursday 8 March 2012
Holidays, and Lisa's milk...
I went to Thomsons yesterday to get myself some travel insurance for a trip to Malia later this year. I'm not your typical young, clubbing adrenaline junkie, does that mean Malia is not for me? I like a drink and I like having a laugh, so I'm not exactly going to jump at a holiday to Uganda am I? I may not be down with the kids, and I may not be a perticularly "entertaining" episode of 'Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents' - in fact, if my parents were to spy on me, they'd probably be nagging me to get their money's worth, but I can have a bloody good laugh. I don't see the point in these people who spend so much money to go abroad for a fortnight and can't remember a fucking thing about it when they get back. How was your holiday? 'Amazing!' Really? Give me some exciting stories then. 'I can't remember anything'. Sounds like a brilliant waste of bloody money! I'm all for having a good time, getting pissed and all that, but it can't be fun passing out and waking up the next afternoon with a skull crushing headache wondering why there's blood seeping all over the bed from your arsehole. There's having fun, then there's assisted sexual suicide.
The insurance booklet is a fun read and highly recommended to any book lover. Here are some of the things I am covered on:
Funeral expenses abroad - £1,500 - doesn't send out a very pleasant message to travellers does it? 'Enjoy your holiday, but keep in mind you might snuff it and your corpse will need to be disposed of!'
Personal accident - £30,000 - as opposed to what? An accident is an accident.
Personal liability - £2,000,000 - two million quid for "losing" your friend who you are responsible for? Easy money, they'd be half way to the ground before they realise their parachute has been tampered with.
Hijacking - £1,500 (£100 per day) - I'd really like to know how many times companies have paid out on this one. Someone's severed hand appears at the reception from the wreckage clutching the documents between the index and middle fingers.
Avalanche or landslide cover - £100 - 'cover' may not be the best choice of word in that scenario. 'I was in an avalanche.' Were you covered? '... we probably shouldn't rule that out.'
Hole in one (golf) - £150 - who added that in, Phil Mickelson? Also, according to Axa, you're more likely to be cought in an avalanche or landslide than get a hole in one, so they give you an extra £50 for the latter... kicking me where it hurts, my golf skills.
Catastrophe - £600 - interesting that a hijacking, avalanche and landslide don't qualify as a catastrophe, you must have to be in the middle of a mass genocide or something.
Saw an advertisement on a board outside Tesco yesterday which had a photo of a woman holding, what I assume was, her new born ear buster (baby) along with the slogan 'which milk is second best after Lisa's?'. This was news to me, I didn't know that Lisa's tit juice was the nation's number one. Are there Lisas at every supermarket standing at the dairy isle with their baps out whilst happy go lucky customers help themselves to a plastic tumbler as they enter the store before using Lisa as some sort of living, breathing, milky vending machine? If it's semi-skimmed you're after, is there a Lisa with green nipples? Makes me wonder.
Nice one.
The insurance booklet is a fun read and highly recommended to any book lover. Here are some of the things I am covered on:
Funeral expenses abroad - £1,500 - doesn't send out a very pleasant message to travellers does it? 'Enjoy your holiday, but keep in mind you might snuff it and your corpse will need to be disposed of!'
Personal accident - £30,000 - as opposed to what? An accident is an accident.
Personal liability - £2,000,000 - two million quid for "losing" your friend who you are responsible for? Easy money, they'd be half way to the ground before they realise their parachute has been tampered with.
Hijacking - £1,500 (£100 per day) - I'd really like to know how many times companies have paid out on this one. Someone's severed hand appears at the reception from the wreckage clutching the documents between the index and middle fingers.
Avalanche or landslide cover - £100 - 'cover' may not be the best choice of word in that scenario. 'I was in an avalanche.' Were you covered? '... we probably shouldn't rule that out.'
Hole in one (golf) - £150 - who added that in, Phil Mickelson? Also, according to Axa, you're more likely to be cought in an avalanche or landslide than get a hole in one, so they give you an extra £50 for the latter... kicking me where it hurts, my golf skills.
Catastrophe - £600 - interesting that a hijacking, avalanche and landslide don't qualify as a catastrophe, you must have to be in the middle of a mass genocide or something.
Saw an advertisement on a board outside Tesco yesterday which had a photo of a woman holding, what I assume was, her new born ear buster (baby) along with the slogan 'which milk is second best after Lisa's?'. This was news to me, I didn't know that Lisa's tit juice was the nation's number one. Are there Lisas at every supermarket standing at the dairy isle with their baps out whilst happy go lucky customers help themselves to a plastic tumbler as they enter the store before using Lisa as some sort of living, breathing, milky vending machine? If it's semi-skimmed you're after, is there a Lisa with green nipples? Makes me wonder.
Nice one.
Monday 5 March 2012
"I want to be a celebrity!" and FAKEbook...
Ok, after people trying to lodge a number of spanners into the works, to be honest, I'm struggling to work out whether it's the people or the spanners that are tools. Anyway, back to business... or rantness if you prefer.
As many people know, we are in the midst of a dark age. I'm not talking about the economy, as molested as it seems to be. I'm not talking about the possible outbreak of World War III, as unbelievably fun as that will be. I'm not even talking about the arrival of Toms "shoes", as rediculous an excuse for shoes they really bloody are. We are living in an age where everyone wants to be famous... for being a cunt. Yes, those final four words are vital in this rant, because of course we all want to be famous. I'd like to be a famous writer, musician, or comedian, unlikely any of those will happen - the possibility of gaining a career in one of those fields is good, but to be famous for it is a different thing altogether. Many people would like to be famous actors or actresses, but would probably settle for mild success. You see, people were usually famous for displaying a very high level of talent, but now it seems any prick can be famous so long as they are idiotic enough to make an absolute fuck of themselves on national television. 'The Only Way is Essex', 'Geordie/Jersey/Jakey Shore', and 'Big Fat Gypsy Wedding' are prime examples of a hideously moronic form of "entertainment" that has warped the minds of many youngsters. In 'TOWIE', you're talking about a bunch of inbreds who probably don't have enough words in their vocabulary to explain what made them famous. How difficult can it be? They only really need 'fuck' and 'all'. No, gone are the days where you had to be an elite athlete, a god-like genius, or simply brilliant at your art/craft in order to be famous... apparently the requirements have turned upside down and you now have to be an elite wanker, a dick-like bastard, or simply pish at everything to be considered "famous", and now all the kiddies have cought wind of that and are now proceeding to be fucking idiots. What an absolute joke this planet has turned out to be.
Humans wanting to, pretty much, BE other humans has seen a sharp increase in the past few years. It appears that more and more people, mostly female, want to walk, talk, and look like celebrities who already exist. I remember laughing when I saw so many people with red hair after Rihanna dyed her hair red, what in the fuck was that about? Your hair was fine before you went and did that, but now that Rihanna has red hair that means your hair is a piece of shit now does it? Did you think that if you dyed your hair red that it would make you look like her? If you did, you have proven to the world that you are stupid. Dye your hair all you want, but you will never ever be Rihanna. For a start she's not fat as fuck like some of you. Her skin colour is REAL, it's not squeezed onto her from some kind of toothpaste tube. You need to stop trying to be other people and be comfortable in your own skin, some people will like you and some people will hate you, that's just the way it goes I'm afraid. If you want to carry on dressing up like every fuck nugget that prances onto your TV screen then you go for it, knock your pan in, but know that you'll only be serving me and a host of others a big fat barrel of laughs.
I think Facebook should change it's name to Fakebook, if only to get across a point. You see, what a lot of users don't seem to be grasping is that everything about Facebook is fake. If you really thought that you had 500 friends, you are retarded, let me remind you of what a friend is. A friend is a person you know very well and someone you are comfortable spending time with on a regular basis with the feeling being mutual. It is someone you interact with in flesh and blood every other day and share with them real experiences and make memories you will take to your grave. Let me remind you what a friend is not. A friend is not some random fud who decided to click a make-believe button saying 'add as friend' and then "like" a couple of virtual status updates, photos and the fact that your relationship is complicated. That, believe it or not, is someone who is so discontent with their real life that they seek a better one in the fantasy world of the internet, nothing more and nothing less. You don't have 500 friends, you have 500 morons, some of which you've never met who have chosen to add you randomly, some of which you have met once or twice who just happened to remember your name for the sake of boosting their own numbers, and some of which you do know, but don't even like.
Another reason to switch to Fakebook, is that the network is just an opportunity for some people to be the dickhead they can't be in real life. People's attitudes change over the internet, some get tougher and cheekier, others get flirtier and more revealing in the shadows of the world wide web, all because they don't have it in them to be themselves in the flesh. They try to make themselves seem better than they are by making shit up to gain undeserved attention from anyone interested. Some people even started to copy my idea of 'facebook status ranting' to get attention, the funny thing is they're not very good. I predict that a lot of people's facebook passwords are "imlivingalie".
Nice one.
As many people know, we are in the midst of a dark age. I'm not talking about the economy, as molested as it seems to be. I'm not talking about the possible outbreak of World War III, as unbelievably fun as that will be. I'm not even talking about the arrival of Toms "shoes", as rediculous an excuse for shoes they really bloody are. We are living in an age where everyone wants to be famous... for being a cunt. Yes, those final four words are vital in this rant, because of course we all want to be famous. I'd like to be a famous writer, musician, or comedian, unlikely any of those will happen - the possibility of gaining a career in one of those fields is good, but to be famous for it is a different thing altogether. Many people would like to be famous actors or actresses, but would probably settle for mild success. You see, people were usually famous for displaying a very high level of talent, but now it seems any prick can be famous so long as they are idiotic enough to make an absolute fuck of themselves on national television. 'The Only Way is Essex', 'Geordie/Jersey/Jakey Shore', and 'Big Fat Gypsy Wedding' are prime examples of a hideously moronic form of "entertainment" that has warped the minds of many youngsters. In 'TOWIE', you're talking about a bunch of inbreds who probably don't have enough words in their vocabulary to explain what made them famous. How difficult can it be? They only really need 'fuck' and 'all'. No, gone are the days where you had to be an elite athlete, a god-like genius, or simply brilliant at your art/craft in order to be famous... apparently the requirements have turned upside down and you now have to be an elite wanker, a dick-like bastard, or simply pish at everything to be considered "famous", and now all the kiddies have cought wind of that and are now proceeding to be fucking idiots. What an absolute joke this planet has turned out to be.
Humans wanting to, pretty much, BE other humans has seen a sharp increase in the past few years. It appears that more and more people, mostly female, want to walk, talk, and look like celebrities who already exist. I remember laughing when I saw so many people with red hair after Rihanna dyed her hair red, what in the fuck was that about? Your hair was fine before you went and did that, but now that Rihanna has red hair that means your hair is a piece of shit now does it? Did you think that if you dyed your hair red that it would make you look like her? If you did, you have proven to the world that you are stupid. Dye your hair all you want, but you will never ever be Rihanna. For a start she's not fat as fuck like some of you. Her skin colour is REAL, it's not squeezed onto her from some kind of toothpaste tube. You need to stop trying to be other people and be comfortable in your own skin, some people will like you and some people will hate you, that's just the way it goes I'm afraid. If you want to carry on dressing up like every fuck nugget that prances onto your TV screen then you go for it, knock your pan in, but know that you'll only be serving me and a host of others a big fat barrel of laughs.
I think Facebook should change it's name to Fakebook, if only to get across a point. You see, what a lot of users don't seem to be grasping is that everything about Facebook is fake. If you really thought that you had 500 friends, you are retarded, let me remind you of what a friend is. A friend is a person you know very well and someone you are comfortable spending time with on a regular basis with the feeling being mutual. It is someone you interact with in flesh and blood every other day and share with them real experiences and make memories you will take to your grave. Let me remind you what a friend is not. A friend is not some random fud who decided to click a make-believe button saying 'add as friend' and then "like" a couple of virtual status updates, photos and the fact that your relationship is complicated. That, believe it or not, is someone who is so discontent with their real life that they seek a better one in the fantasy world of the internet, nothing more and nothing less. You don't have 500 friends, you have 500 morons, some of which you've never met who have chosen to add you randomly, some of which you have met once or twice who just happened to remember your name for the sake of boosting their own numbers, and some of which you do know, but don't even like.
Another reason to switch to Fakebook, is that the network is just an opportunity for some people to be the dickhead they can't be in real life. People's attitudes change over the internet, some get tougher and cheekier, others get flirtier and more revealing in the shadows of the world wide web, all because they don't have it in them to be themselves in the flesh. They try to make themselves seem better than they are by making shit up to gain undeserved attention from anyone interested. Some people even started to copy my idea of 'facebook status ranting' to get attention, the funny thing is they're not very good. I predict that a lot of people's facebook passwords are "imlivingalie".
Nice one.
Statement: Another explanation as to why I rant...
Jesus, I feel like I've explained this so many times and still I am forced to explain it again and again. There are people who just don't understand me and the things that I say, I honestly don't blame them some of the time, but they imply (directly or indirectly) that they are somehow better than me because of that. For the umpteenth time, it has been brought to my attention that some folk just can't stand me or my rants (or both). This is my response.
I can't remember when I started "ranting", I have a vague idea of why I started but no specific details. Basically, a number of things influenced me to pick at the bones of matters that the people in question will quite easily shrug off. There were many influences that made me want to tell people exactly what they DON'T want to hear and simply tell things as they seem. Some of these influences are very real and truthfully piss me off to my very core, others are genuine, successful people to whom I look up. The main thing that attracted me to moaning my tits off was the world around me. This isn't just me, I guarantee everyone bitches about something, big or small, in every day of their life. I was at a point in my own life where I had too much time to think, my own extreme place where things are exactly like the "welcome sign" in my first blog post. Facebook tipped me over the edge in that respect, some of the things I see people say and do on there is utterly pathetic, and so I used that to my advantage and started letting people know what I thought about it amoung the other countless anoyances I experience day after day. The first human influence was critic/writer/comedian Charlie Brooker, I love his analogies. He tought me how to be clever when describing things and tought me how to use my initiative in how I convey each and every point in order to get the best and most unique material I could muster. Welsh comedian, Rhod Gilbert, is another bloke who has contributed a thing or two. From him, I learned to choose my subjects carefully and learned how to go "too far" but still be as effective when getting my point accross. Yes, without being introduced to these people, my rants wouldn't be the same, but make no mistake, I took it and made it my own. Everything you read in these blog posts, status updates, tweets, notes, books, whatever, all of it is 100% real and from my blackened heart. Every thought, analogy and idea is my own, no question.
In regards to my "anger", I suppose I have to admit that I do get really hacked off a lot of the time about stupid and inane stuff. It isn't all a performance to try and run away with the spotlight tucked under the wing of my jacket, but there is an element of deliberate exaggeration and sarcasm involved. You hear it everywhere - "sarcasm is the lowest form of wit". Really? Knock, knock jokes must be sending people to A&E where you come from then! "Nurse! Please help me, my sides are going to need about a million stitches! Honestly, the blood started making a right mess when Ivonne A Tinkle came to the door!". That sentence and made-up quote right there is the essence of every single one of my rants. Exaggerated, sarcastic and analytical - making the minor, major. I also concede that there is an attempt to make people laugh, the only reason for that is that I enjoy making people laugh. I generally enjoy complaining and going into a rage about the little things, it's fun but it doesn't make me start to like those things any better.
Another thing is that when I criticise a person's behaviour, I mean that too. If I think that anything you've said or done is stupid, I won't hesitate to let you know because I don't believe it is done enough. I'm not saying I'm perfect and that my way is necessarily the right way, I have a voice and I'm just not afraid to use it. I can instantly tell when people are not up to the mark mentally to understand what I'm saying, that's ok, but when I get childish remarks from people it just makes me laugh. They never fail to contradict themselves unknowingly, I contradict myself sometimes but most of the time it is deliberate to give a certain effect. People moaning about you moaning, talking shit about you talking shit, it's hilarious man. That's the other thing that motivates me to keep the rants coming.
Lastly, there is a re-occurring theme amoungst folk who read, or have read, my rants, which is that because I type some of the most pissed-off paragraphs you're likely to read, it means I am like that 24/7/51/365. Hahahaha! You couldn't be more naive. If you've ever met me, you'll know I am not angry all of the time and that, although I might seem like a dick at first, I'm actually a nice bloke. Apparently, a 300-400 word rant about TV show, This Morning, makes me "hard work" and unlikely to get a girlfriend. That's my point, I might get angry about stuff more than anyone really should and state it like the sarcastic dick I can be, but that doesn't make me any less kind, generous, loving and happy towards anyone who I think deserves it. I don't understand how anyone managed to arrive at that hideous assumption.
Hope that's answered any gripes you've had about my ways, now fuck off.
I can't remember when I started "ranting", I have a vague idea of why I started but no specific details. Basically, a number of things influenced me to pick at the bones of matters that the people in question will quite easily shrug off. There were many influences that made me want to tell people exactly what they DON'T want to hear and simply tell things as they seem. Some of these influences are very real and truthfully piss me off to my very core, others are genuine, successful people to whom I look up. The main thing that attracted me to moaning my tits off was the world around me. This isn't just me, I guarantee everyone bitches about something, big or small, in every day of their life. I was at a point in my own life where I had too much time to think, my own extreme place where things are exactly like the "welcome sign" in my first blog post. Facebook tipped me over the edge in that respect, some of the things I see people say and do on there is utterly pathetic, and so I used that to my advantage and started letting people know what I thought about it amoung the other countless anoyances I experience day after day. The first human influence was critic/writer/comedian Charlie Brooker, I love his analogies. He tought me how to be clever when describing things and tought me how to use my initiative in how I convey each and every point in order to get the best and most unique material I could muster. Welsh comedian, Rhod Gilbert, is another bloke who has contributed a thing or two. From him, I learned to choose my subjects carefully and learned how to go "too far" but still be as effective when getting my point accross. Yes, without being introduced to these people, my rants wouldn't be the same, but make no mistake, I took it and made it my own. Everything you read in these blog posts, status updates, tweets, notes, books, whatever, all of it is 100% real and from my blackened heart. Every thought, analogy and idea is my own, no question.
In regards to my "anger", I suppose I have to admit that I do get really hacked off a lot of the time about stupid and inane stuff. It isn't all a performance to try and run away with the spotlight tucked under the wing of my jacket, but there is an element of deliberate exaggeration and sarcasm involved. You hear it everywhere - "sarcasm is the lowest form of wit". Really? Knock, knock jokes must be sending people to A&E where you come from then! "Nurse! Please help me, my sides are going to need about a million stitches! Honestly, the blood started making a right mess when Ivonne A Tinkle came to the door!". That sentence and made-up quote right there is the essence of every single one of my rants. Exaggerated, sarcastic and analytical - making the minor, major. I also concede that there is an attempt to make people laugh, the only reason for that is that I enjoy making people laugh. I generally enjoy complaining and going into a rage about the little things, it's fun but it doesn't make me start to like those things any better.
Another thing is that when I criticise a person's behaviour, I mean that too. If I think that anything you've said or done is stupid, I won't hesitate to let you know because I don't believe it is done enough. I'm not saying I'm perfect and that my way is necessarily the right way, I have a voice and I'm just not afraid to use it. I can instantly tell when people are not up to the mark mentally to understand what I'm saying, that's ok, but when I get childish remarks from people it just makes me laugh. They never fail to contradict themselves unknowingly, I contradict myself sometimes but most of the time it is deliberate to give a certain effect. People moaning about you moaning, talking shit about you talking shit, it's hilarious man. That's the other thing that motivates me to keep the rants coming.
Lastly, there is a re-occurring theme amoungst folk who read, or have read, my rants, which is that because I type some of the most pissed-off paragraphs you're likely to read, it means I am like that 24/7/51/365. Hahahaha! You couldn't be more naive. If you've ever met me, you'll know I am not angry all of the time and that, although I might seem like a dick at first, I'm actually a nice bloke. Apparently, a 300-400 word rant about TV show, This Morning, makes me "hard work" and unlikely to get a girlfriend. That's my point, I might get angry about stuff more than anyone really should and state it like the sarcastic dick I can be, but that doesn't make me any less kind, generous, loving and happy towards anyone who I think deserves it. I don't understand how anyone managed to arrive at that hideous assumption.
Hope that's answered any gripes you've had about my ways, now fuck off.
Sunday 4 March 2012
What Do You Mean "We Can't Say 'Black Bags' Anymore"?
'It's political correctness gone mad!' There's a phrase that is thrown about from time to time, one that I agree with, except... I don't really.
What is political correctness? To me, it is a tool which is used to surgecally remove every ounce of humour, freedom, and, above all, humanity from our day-to-day speech. A sick and perverted tool used only by rechid, bastardly people who can't seem to allow the rest of Earth's population to have a mind of their own and use it as they see fit - the sort of people who are offended by the mere existance of oxygen. Seriously though, you can't breathe without someone going into a strop about it. Apparently, you're not supposed to use the word 'midget' because midgets find it offensive, why, what's offensive about it? It's just a bloody word. At first I thought they preferred 'dwarf', but then I thought if they didn't like 'midget' then they're not going to be too crazy about being likened to the seven deciples of Snow White, are they? People would think they only have seven names to choose from when they have babies, some of which are just names of human emotions and feelings. Either way, what's the difference? You've swapped one word for another, that's the humiliation over with now is it? Nobody's going to walk past and say to themself, or whoever they are with at the time, 'look at the size of that' are they? Much of political correctness revolves around opression, especially the racial type. I can't say I've ever wished bad things on anyone due to their race, skin colour, or religious beliefs, but I think the race card is played more often by "coloured" people than every Playstation console ever made combined. If you're living in Britain and are born from a different race, it is racist if a company denies you the opportunity to work for them based on your country of origin and/or the colour of your skin. However, it is NOT racist if they deny you employment because your skills, experience or attitude is not suitable. Whether you're Polish, Pakistani, Romanian, Indian, Chinese, Korean, Spanish, French, German, South African, Ethiopian or British born and bred - if you're not good enough, you're not bloody good enough. Get over yourself, companies aren't built to care about your family history, your circumstances or where you come from - they are built to do a job and make profits, that is it. The whole thing came to a head (at least in my mind it did) when someone informed me that I couldn't say the term 'black bag' anymore. 'What? What do you mean 'We can't say 'black bags' anymore'? It's not a fucking green bag is it!?' They said, without a hint of irony, that it was because "black people" found it offensive.
I think I have found a reasonable solution to the problem. If people are offended by the term 'black bag' then I can't help but wonder how the bags themselves feel about the situation, so, I propose a press conference to be held at all local rubbish depo's around the country to give us a right good insight into how the bags and their human colleagues feel about the alegations that the bags are black and how it is affecting the atmosphere in their everyday lives. Going by what has been said already, I imagine they would be quite upset about the situation and we may be looking at an official trial at a Sherrif Court to gain some sort of justice for the bags themselves and everyone else who has been wrongly affected by this malicious verbal atrocity. To avoid this escalating to unprecidented levels of animosity, I have more propositions planned to ensure this doesn't become problematic in future. I have visions of an advertising campeign for billboards, television, radio, newspapers and magazines encouraging people to unite and see the error of their ways using the slogan; 'Black-out!" How can we be so judgemental in assuming these bags are black when they are quite clearly a really, really, really, really dark grey colour? We should be ashamed of ourselves for not thinking about the feelings of those we are refering to and anybody else involved with them on a regular basis. The only stumbling block I have come accross, however, is arranging a suitable alternative term for the bags. The closest anyone has come to a replacement term is 'bin liner' but there are two things I don't like about that one. The first thing is that it sounds like it could be the name of a new terrorist threat from the middle-east who's strategy invloves planting C4 into/onto wheelie bins and detonating them on collection day. If anything that's going to cause more offence. It also sounds like it could be the name of a bloody ship that the lorrys dump all the rubbish, from around their allocated areas, on to be taken over to Japan where it is rounded up and used to create nuclear energy - not a great advert for democracy.
All sarcastic ideas aside, I think foreigners are slamming down the race card more quickly and more often with every passing minute of every passing day. It is pissing me off now to the point where I would be considered "racist" myself simply because I refuse to let my own race be bitch slapped by a minority of foreigners who think they can enter a country and change every street, every law, every business, and every person to whatever THEY want them to be. Well, it doesn't fucking work like that, if you want to live here then fine, but don't sit and whine about how we live our lives and the laws and standards we have set for ourselves, and don't dare try to change them.
It's one thing to seek equality, but seeking an advantage is something else entirely.
Dick heads.
What is political correctness? To me, it is a tool which is used to surgecally remove every ounce of humour, freedom, and, above all, humanity from our day-to-day speech. A sick and perverted tool used only by rechid, bastardly people who can't seem to allow the rest of Earth's population to have a mind of their own and use it as they see fit - the sort of people who are offended by the mere existance of oxygen. Seriously though, you can't breathe without someone going into a strop about it. Apparently, you're not supposed to use the word 'midget' because midgets find it offensive, why, what's offensive about it? It's just a bloody word. At first I thought they preferred 'dwarf', but then I thought if they didn't like 'midget' then they're not going to be too crazy about being likened to the seven deciples of Snow White, are they? People would think they only have seven names to choose from when they have babies, some of which are just names of human emotions and feelings. Either way, what's the difference? You've swapped one word for another, that's the humiliation over with now is it? Nobody's going to walk past and say to themself, or whoever they are with at the time, 'look at the size of that' are they? Much of political correctness revolves around opression, especially the racial type. I can't say I've ever wished bad things on anyone due to their race, skin colour, or religious beliefs, but I think the race card is played more often by "coloured" people than every Playstation console ever made combined. If you're living in Britain and are born from a different race, it is racist if a company denies you the opportunity to work for them based on your country of origin and/or the colour of your skin. However, it is NOT racist if they deny you employment because your skills, experience or attitude is not suitable. Whether you're Polish, Pakistani, Romanian, Indian, Chinese, Korean, Spanish, French, German, South African, Ethiopian or British born and bred - if you're not good enough, you're not bloody good enough. Get over yourself, companies aren't built to care about your family history, your circumstances or where you come from - they are built to do a job and make profits, that is it. The whole thing came to a head (at least in my mind it did) when someone informed me that I couldn't say the term 'black bag' anymore. 'What? What do you mean 'We can't say 'black bags' anymore'? It's not a fucking green bag is it!?' They said, without a hint of irony, that it was because "black people" found it offensive.
I think I have found a reasonable solution to the problem. If people are offended by the term 'black bag' then I can't help but wonder how the bags themselves feel about the situation, so, I propose a press conference to be held at all local rubbish depo's around the country to give us a right good insight into how the bags and their human colleagues feel about the alegations that the bags are black and how it is affecting the atmosphere in their everyday lives. Going by what has been said already, I imagine they would be quite upset about the situation and we may be looking at an official trial at a Sherrif Court to gain some sort of justice for the bags themselves and everyone else who has been wrongly affected by this malicious verbal atrocity. To avoid this escalating to unprecidented levels of animosity, I have more propositions planned to ensure this doesn't become problematic in future. I have visions of an advertising campeign for billboards, television, radio, newspapers and magazines encouraging people to unite and see the error of their ways using the slogan; 'Black-out!" How can we be so judgemental in assuming these bags are black when they are quite clearly a really, really, really, really dark grey colour? We should be ashamed of ourselves for not thinking about the feelings of those we are refering to and anybody else involved with them on a regular basis. The only stumbling block I have come accross, however, is arranging a suitable alternative term for the bags. The closest anyone has come to a replacement term is 'bin liner' but there are two things I don't like about that one. The first thing is that it sounds like it could be the name of a new terrorist threat from the middle-east who's strategy invloves planting C4 into/onto wheelie bins and detonating them on collection day. If anything that's going to cause more offence. It also sounds like it could be the name of a bloody ship that the lorrys dump all the rubbish, from around their allocated areas, on to be taken over to Japan where it is rounded up and used to create nuclear energy - not a great advert for democracy.
All sarcastic ideas aside, I think foreigners are slamming down the race card more quickly and more often with every passing minute of every passing day. It is pissing me off now to the point where I would be considered "racist" myself simply because I refuse to let my own race be bitch slapped by a minority of foreigners who think they can enter a country and change every street, every law, every business, and every person to whatever THEY want them to be. Well, it doesn't fucking work like that, if you want to live here then fine, but don't sit and whine about how we live our lives and the laws and standards we have set for ourselves, and don't dare try to change them.
It's one thing to seek equality, but seeking an advantage is something else entirely.
Dick heads.
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