Politics, lies and their making. Sorta.

Well, shit. It took me a bare three weeks before I broke a self-imposed rule: keep politics out of the blog. You do not talk about politics in the blog. Yet barely into it I have a hissy fit about a couple of papers with blatant politic slants and thus mostly outing my own leanings. Whatever. I mean, not only am I talking about politics which will certainly alienate people because they're wrong (and vice versa, to them, I'm wrong) but I am talking about British politics, a tiny island in the grand world. So even less people will care. Oh well. Go big or go home. Let's roll with this.

The Lib Dem conference has passed/still/continuing/I stopped paying attention. But I care. I care in the way of the scorned. The way when passion switches to hate. Ask me 'bout Mass Effect sometime. Back in the day, I, like many others, believed that the Lib Dems were different. That they would change things. Then they got in power and pissed over everything they ever said. But that's bigger, sadder, older rant.

What is morbidly funny to me today is that Nick Clegg's ticket at the time that he was the politician that didn't break promises or lie (heh.) I mean, he even went on Youtube to say this. Which, ya know, was perhaps a mis-step considering his later decisions, because dear lord do we like to call him on his shit. He got so annoyed at us not getting over his lying, treacherous ways he released a a song to apologize. I think.

So. The conference. He promised things. Promised things he didn't even bother to elaborate on, like the tax thing he was waxing lyrical about without pinning anything down, and you know what? That's fair. Originally I was angry he couldn't find the time in his intense schedule of making the tea for the Cabinet to actually write anything down, but you know what? I bet he couldn't be bothered. And why not? It's not like he'll be relevant after our next election. His party will be facing the sort of electoral devastation you could only normally get by standing on a platform of mandatory puppy rape. See that adorable inny-out ear? Mandatory rape hole. They are, without joke, that popular right now.

But I, the eternal modest, humble fine person that I am, have decided to forgive him his transgressions (of which there are many) and extend the proverbial olive branch. If he can't find the time, or be bothered to write policy, then don't worry Cleggster. I got your back. I've got your policies. Oh, they won't get you re-elected. I'm not a gorram wizard here. There's an inevitable slide to crap for you. But I have twenty policies, well thought out and considered, from the whole range of important voter topics such as; the environment, crime, immigration, economic, the lot. These policies are the best policies you could run with, considering you'll never have to worry about implementing them - not that was a real concern anyway. Just like I will go big or go home, why shouldn't you? So here we go. Get up on that stage, and say it nice and loud:

1. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally punch each and every person that blocks you in aisle in the supermarket. You know the guy.
   
   
2. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally mow your lawn. And by your lawn, I mean as long as you're called Derek. Fuck everyone else.
   
   
3. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally look the other way whilst we, as a nation, deliberately misplace our credit card bills.
   
   
4. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally suck you off. I mean, I've had practise, I know I'm pretty good. Not as good as Jeremy Hunt, but to be fair, that man can suck the chrome off a hubcap. It's actually rather intimidating.
   
   
5. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally find God and ask him what is up with women getting multiple orgasms and men just one. We have the penis, we're in charge, why should they get all the fun?
   
   
6. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally give every girl between the ages of three and twelve a unicorn. You heard me. A fucking unicorn. Kids, bug your parents to vote for me, or you'll miss out on a UNICORN.
   
   
7. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally make Twilight not happen. Or Michael Bay, to be decided in a referendum at later date.
   
   
8. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally spend the rest of my life standing just off to David Cameron's side, tweaking his nose and calling him 'adorable' whenever he tries to speak.
   
   
9. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally vomit on the Queen at lest once a day, in public, and any visiting heads of state.
   
   
10. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally authorize the nuking of Denmark. That'll teach Sandy Toksvig.
    
    
11. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally do your taxes in the special way us rich people and corporations do that prevents them from legally paying taxes.
    
    
12. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally lick Obama's face. Okay, fine. I'd do that even if I wasn't elected.
    
    
13. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally stop people going bald. Or fat. No, new idea. I will personally make sure everyone is attractive all the time ever. I'll put any rebelling mingers in death camps.
    
    
14. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally will repeal the Law of Gravity.
    
    
15. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally staple Norway onto England to create a new, anti-EU.
    
    
16. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally use my ENGLISH VISION to identify every illegal immigrant before shipping them to Australia.
    
    
17. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally start a fire and jump in it.
    
    
18. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally show you the heat. You know what I'm talking about, ladies.
    
    
19. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally find your keys.
    
    
20. If elected, I, Nick Clegg, will personally outlaw re-introduce the workhouses. No job? To the workhouse! And by workhouse I mean government brothel. It'll be fun!

See? And you thought I was bitter.

Comically missing the point

It strikes me that my last post was somewhat... excessive in targeting The Sun. It's true. Oh, they're still a rancid turd of a paper, but in all honesty, I feel a little guilty attacking that paper when sitting next to them, completely clear of my anger, was The Daily Mail and Daily Standard / Express.

The problem The Sun had is two-fold; for starters, it had been pissing me off a lot very recently. The gloating boast of 'yuck yuck, we got exclusive pictures of a bloody Cole and Will.i.am,' and their self-congratulatory falsehood of' 'we're posting Prince Harry's naked arse in a stand for FRRRRRREEEEEEEEDDDDOOOM,' just really got on my tits. So yes, it got both barrels. However, the second fold is that the reason they are pissing me off is that I am reading them more nowadays. At work, we get a batch of papers to choose from. I gravitate towards The Daily Mirror because it sort of aims at my political leanings better then anybody else - okay, fine, it's missing, but it's kinda in the right direction and it is at least seeing the target if it squints - and after The Mirror the next in line? It's The Sun. Because of the bunch on offer, it's the best of a crappy bunch.

At least until they start bringing the i in.

So yes, I'm reading it more often, and in exposing myself to it I get more rope to string it up with. But the other two? The Mail, Express/Standard? I don't read those. No. I cannot read those: as in, I cannot physically read those.

(Yes, I am treating the Daily Express and Daily Standard as a singular entry. They are practically identical, and I stopped being able to distinguish between the two a while ago.)

I can't express how much The Daily Mail is a depressive nadir of waste. The Daily Mail has five stories to tell you: Everything is terrible, something is about to give you cancer, everything used to be better, health/safety/political correctness GONE MAD, racism. And in fairness I'm not even sure there's five stories in that, as you can crunch it down some to 'everything is terrible, it used to be better before health/safety political correctness went MAD. I can't get through a copy without tearfully stringing myself up off the light fixtures whilst sharpening a razor blade. It's only saving grace is that these five stories are often done to the point of ridiculous parody and you can have a nihilistic laugh at everything. I remember one story and the write-in follow up (which is always a risk, does hilarity or horror await?) The story was that a pagan policemen had successfully applied for certain pagan holy days to be counted a holidays. Nothing innocuous really I thought. Legitimate religion, legitimate holy days, move on. The written public responses was delicious. So. Much. Screaming. Apparently it was un-English, a disgrace, and all that was going to happen is that they let a known Satanist be a policemen to murder and rape children (in that order.) Never mind that Christianity is a foreign import  (dear God don't let anyone at the Mail hear that) or that paganism was here first , that it does not equal Satanism and wait, what was that last one? Gah.

When we get to the Daily Express/Standard, I have less to say, because while I find the racism in The Daily Mail funny at a point of parody (remember, they were the guys who when Nick Griffin went on Question Time and everyone took the absolute piss of him - they came out with 'how dare you make fun of him! I mean, make him look sympathetic' - no, no one felt that other than you) the Express/Standard is racist beyond parody. They break Poe's Law, it's so bad. The greatest invention to them was white people who weren't English so they be racist towards white people without having to resort to class-ism. In attempting to read it, my eyes close shut in self defence. If I use my right hand to pry an eye open, the left hand punches myself in the nuts. If I soldier on, crawling onwards clutching my bruised testicles with one trembling hand forcing open a streaming eye, my forehead will slam itself upon the floor and send me into blissful unconsciousness. The headline's alone are enough to sicken me, let alone it's actual content.

So I can't really criticize something I can't bring myself to read. The Sun suffers by being just good enough - eh, no, let's not say that, not shit enough - to edge it's way off the bottom of my list of things I'll tolerate reading. Actually, that means in all technicality, that means I personally rate The Sun higher then Dan Brown. Huh. Of course, while my exposure is extremely limited, I still go out my way whenever passing to check out the MaExSt (that's a portmanteau now) headline's. It's sort of like passing a open dumpster full of bile, broken glass and hate on the way to work. It's annoying, sure, but fascinating to me that after all this time it's still there. Fascinating to me that's it's still tolerated. Fascinating to me that people still like it. Fascinating to me that people pay to jump into the dumpster and swim in it every day.

Though in truth I probably give the Mail a free pass because I can't be too brutal to a paper my grandparents read. It's hard to dismiss a whole segment of the population in a overly judgemental wave if, yah know, that includes people you actually like. And then the realization that the whole judgemental shtick is the MaExSt's thing.

Then you hear there's going to be a Hangover 3 and all of a sudden you realize it's okay to judge again.

While we're privileged enough to have many newspapers, they can still suck

So my intention was to have every entry with a fun little sketch I pulled together that is... somewhat related to the post in hand, but then GIMP happened. Or GIMP 2. Whatever. I hate it. I swear Adobe made it to encourage you to put down money for Photoshop.

Anyway.

I hate The Sun.

No, not the giant radioactive orb. The Sun. And The Daily Mail. And The Daily Mirror. Hell, actually, pretty much every newspaper in Britain. I know I should be grateful that we have an abundance of nationally syndicated newspapers, but I long, I long, for the day when the internet finally kills them. Incidentally, you may notice the oddity of The Daily Mirror up there with the more traditional, ah, 'right wing'? Frothing mad insane? Anyway, I hate it for being so poor at criticism that it actually make we sympathise with the David Cameron. I mean, there's legitimate criticism, of which I have a truck load of for the man, and The Daily Mirror decides it's better off criticising by the median of cruelty and cockdickishness.

But I'm getting besides the point. I wanted to criticise The Sun after all. For a blissful month, our papers have been on best behaviour. The Olympics and the Paralympics have been a mercy, preventing them from shouting their normal obscenities. Black muslim immigrant? Clearly that dirty bastard should go back to... no, wait, that's Mo Farah, he's brilliant and an inspiration to us all! Hey look, a disabled person? That filthy lazy scrounging... no wait, that's the brave Ellie Simmonds who's overcame incredible odds to be here! They've been forced to treat their usual punching bags as actual human beings and it's been brilliant. And because so many have won medals they've had to fill page after page going over the winners that they haven't had room for the usual garbage. I once shared a thought from Charlie Brooker to my friends that it must be awkward going home after a long day working for these papers knowing that all you've done all day is make the world a worse place when I was countered that for all my anger; there is a market for it, that no matter my rage, people clearly want to buy it, and all these papers do is reflect a general mood or ideas. So for this last month I guess I could take it as not as the papers getting better but perhaps us getting better.

It was too good to last. A little while ago (and I'm in two minds whether to display the front-page here but then I couldn't find it after ten minutes so meh) Cheryl Cole and Will.i.am had a car accident. I know this because of the front page photo taken just after they crashed, streaked in blood, distressed and shocked at the wheel. I mean... no. Just no. Don't do that. That's morally repugnant, you assholes. I don't know what's worse: The fact this was the front page, the fact that after witnessing this crash a bunch of photographer's first instinct was not to help but to take pictures, the fact that they actually was a buyer for the pictures, or the fact  that in retrospect, seeing that The Sun brought and published the photo's-on it's front page, mind-made those crapsicle photgraphers decision to not help and take those pictures completely logical and right. Rrrargh. And it's not the worst they've done! Last October on the very day they had it, their front page was the bloodied and very dead body of Gadaffi, looking down at from news shelves everywhere! That's what I wanted to see! That's what children wanted to see! And oh my god The Sun made me do a 'think of the children' complaint!

I think I prefer it when they are just shite. Like today. Front page news? And Murray had a pee before winning the US Open. Well done. Quality journalism there. Then again, it's not like they could big up the opening up of the Hillsborough disaster files. Ship sailed on that one.

I'm not going into the culture or celebrity photos. The classic 'look how drunk they are' shots, which bore me. For starters, who cares? Secondly, even my Facebook photos show that photos taken when you're not expecting them so you're mid-blink make you look hella drunk. And I don't drink. It's the tabloid's equivalent to the internet's funny animal pictures. Then there's the worse nip slip/underwear/accidental nudity bullshit. I. Er. What. Ergh. How do I put this? Simply? Clearly? Fine. Here we go.

That is not cool guys.

Not cool.

In the least.

In the words or Tim Minchin, 'that is not your bum to exploit.'

But here's the great bit; they'll never go away. They to have websites. The papers may die, but they're on the internet now. They've won. They're immortal.

Now I depressed myself and as a non-drinker, there's no alcohol in the apartment.

But there's Listerine. God old Listerine. It's minty burning will dull the pain.

Under construction

Totally what I look like.

So I came to a realisation a few months ago. If your head is pinned against a surface by a women and an instruction given whilst she idly twirls an instrument just ever so slightly out of your eyeline then that instruction gets absolutely followed. It gets followed the hell of it.

There's real potential here. Got a drug problem? Smoker? Kleptomania? Unquechable desire to suppress gay people's rights? Then my patented method will fix it! We'll pin your head to the table, have a women look you in the eye and say;

'You need to be less of a dick'

...and blam! Problem fixed. Hell, that may be the way to actually improve myself.

I suppose a little bit of context may be needed. A few months ago there was was a mysterious pain in my lower jaw... which then later developed into full blown agony. Yep. Wisdom teeth plus an absess does not a happy combo make. Now my teeth are both bad and good. Bad as they are crooked as fuck due to me passing over a brace when I was younger (bad plan) but good - they're all there, all intact, no fillings. So I was pretty confident that the emergency dental appointment would pass quickly with a thumbs up from the dentist.

Where she pinned my head to the chair, looked me in the eye, picked up what can only be called a 'device' and said 'You need to floss more.'

In my head, I could imagine my Libido walking in to a frantic inner personality conference...

Libido: Guys, why haven't I been called up here?

Me: Wha? Kinda busy here!

Libido: No seriously, we have here one, no two attractive women, clearly knowing what they want,  you're pinned to a table...'

Me: That doesn't do anything for me!

Suppressed Side: Yes it does!

Me: Shut up!

Inner critic: God we're pathetic.

Libido: I'm just saying we are checking a LOT of check boxes here on your personal kink list yet I've been relegated to twiddling my thumbs over here whilst Fear, Inner Critic and Suppressed Side hog all the glory!

Me: A.) You are practically up here 24/7 so a brief time out is probably good for me and 2.) We're in a dentists.

Libido: What?

Me: They're dentists. They're holding a dentist thing. It stinks of antiseptic in here.

Fear: Wanna see my check boxes?

Libido: No, we're good. I'll go back to the corner. Urgh. What it that? A hose? A sucky hose? What's that do?

Me: Christ I don't want to know.

Fear: It's to suck the blood/saliva out the way when...

Me: I repeat; none of us want to know.

Fear: I HOLD THE COUCH I WILL SPEAK NOW.

I'll be honest with everyone (literally, the one person who turned up) here. I have a habit of starting but never finishing personal improvement stuff. Gym memberships, additional qualifications, skill practising (as you can see by my lamentable 'art' up there) last for a few months or days before boredom sets in. But now? Months in and I floss. I get nervous if I've yet to do it. Between my teeth shine if you cared to get close enough to look. And my discipline is holding strong. 

Because she pinned my head to a table. God bless you, random dentist.

Tapping on the glass

Hello?

Anyone here?

Of course not. I started a blog. No one is here. I'm shouting into the abyss, except this abyss records everything and will one day cost me my job.

So.

A blog huh? This looks terrible. This was a terrible idea. Should of kept my barely-literate posts to Facebook, where the only people reading then were a carefully vetted selection of people and my mum. Ah! And that's why I have a blog. Because of the awkwardness of having her pop up when 90% of my note content was jabs at my own sexual incompetence, which ranked as nearly as bad as my spelling and grammar.

And this colour scheme! Bleh! I'll fix that. Sometime.

Look, if by chance a random person stumbles upon this, check back here in a week or so. If it still looks like this, go back to whatever it was you were procrastinating with, and move on. If I've messed around enough, then well, I'll try to be funny here.

Bugger me. It looks like a building site here.