What I should do, and what Payday 2 should really not do

So it's another year past, and now is the time for some serious reflection of what we've done, what we did but shouldn't of done, and what we should of done but didn't.

And if you're still following me after that mess of the sentence, now is also the time to look at things we should do in the new year... and what things we really should do but probably won't.

Unfortunately all this introspection has been interrupted by the that is what I've done is had about four Christmas dinners in as many days, which is quite frankly now starting to look like something I've done but shouldn't, whilst simultaneously making me realise what I should of done but didn't was eat less. Thinking on this subject a bit more, this puts me to mind that next time the season swings round is that what I should do is to eat less of the turkey / chicken / beef, and in all honestly that's definitely something I really should do but won't.

So while I'm absent of genuine thoughtful introspection, at least I'm being efficient.

Eh, close enough.

In my complete defence, I don't want to see another chocolate for at least the next... seventeen minutes. Now that may seem flippant, but considering I'm sitting waist deep in a pile of gifted chocolate it's kinda inescapable. I've been filing it away under the 'well, that's a flat surface' method and I am one sneeze away from a death via a chocolate avalanche. Which while this death is incidentally number seven of my top ten list of preferred ways to die, is not something I intend to do tonight. I mean, I've yet to see the new Sherlock, so that death can at least wait until later in January.

So with a lack of anything intelligent to talk about I'm going to waffle on about Payday 2 for a bit.

Now Payday 2 is a game where you play a bunch of organised criminals pulling various heists, from simple jewellery store robberies, to bank hold ups and more elaborate schemes: one has you steal a variety of sold paintings to add tiny cameras to the frames to enable you to see inside a penthouse apartment of a man you were paid to frame by planting somewhere in the region of half of Columbia's annual cocaine production in their personal vault. So it's not same-y, is what I'm trying to say.

It has one of the best weapon modification systems I have ever seen implemented in a video game, and you can also modify the masks that you wear as well for an added bonus. You also can level up with a variety of skills in different trees; I'm currently managing a blend of enforcer and mastermind. As an enforcer, I get heavier armour more damage and terror output, while as a mastermind I provide a variety of buffs to my team. I was originally attracted to the mastermind by one of it's skill descriptions, Stockholm Syndrome - civilians you have threatened have a chance to help you up if you've been downed.

My crew's plans normally blend between stealthy and brutal - the first twenty minutes agonizingly eliminating patrolling guards and security cameras before kicking down the doors and screaming GET DOWN ON THE FLOOR. GET DOWN ON THE FUCKING FLOOR. NO HEROES. NO FUCKING HEROES. I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL FUCKING KILL ANYONE WHO FUCKING LOOKS LIKE THEY'RE MOVING. AND THEN I WILL SHOOT TWO MORE FUCKING PEOPLE AS A LESSON. NOT. TO. BE. A. FUCKING. HERO.

That bit is admittedly a rather disturbing amount of fun. So all good, right? Eh... well...

Payday 2 is one of the most unfair, cheap games I have even encountered.

Once the stealth fails, at higher difficulties, you basically have to restart as there's no way you have enough firepower to blow away the five million police in riot gear that were chillin' just two minutes down the road. That's fine, no worries. However, some missions decide the Fuck You approach, like having a chance to spawn extra guards (whom you can only kill so many before the police gets automatically notified) in areas already cleared, turning a twenty minute prep into wasted time. And certain missions you can't even stealth, so you're fighting Bulldozers all the time who only go down when you've fired enough lead to physically pin them to the floor by sheer weight. Who can also spawn in cleared areas on stealth missions, for funsies. You're never safe - enemies can, will, and do just appear.

It doesn't feel fair, and you start feeling really cheated. You realise that in a lot of missions; success depends entirely on luck - will their be three trucks, or two? Will the escape van come here, or over there? Will the guard notice me this time, or will he not? Will there be a fucktonne of Bulldozers, or a metric fucktonne of Bulldozers? As you don't get paid until you do enough missions to get to the titular payday - and a few times now, me and a crew have played for hours failing repeatedly until everyone realises they aren't having fun. And I admit that while I'm not that good, everyone else on my crew is, so ham-fistedness ain't the issue.

So you quit. Wasting all your time with no payout. And as money is needed to do EVERYTHING in game that's painful. And rage-inducing. So you grind the missions that don't have the fun and interesting twists to them to get the much needed cash, because those twists, while original, isn't worth the unfairness.It doesn't help that I also feel the DLC is unfair - without the Gage Pack 1, you have no grenades, and most the guns in the Gage Pack are better and cheaper then any other equivalent, giving a pay-to-win vibe.

Right now it's a balancing act, and it's tipping into the 'why bother?' point, which is worrying, because it's definitely fun. So much to scream at people and out wit the police, cackling into the night. Tragically, that fun is dependant on the game's internal mood and chance. I worry that without some behind the scenes balancing and tinkering, this game will fall off my recommend list. Don't pick it up at full price, is what I'm saying.

It has convinced me however that on my to not-do list for next year, that I should never try to actually rob a bank. And the stats back me up here.




Payday 2 is available here, but check out the Steam Store for the holiday sales and Kinguin when out of season for a discount.

cock sex boobs - the filters are here to stay

Okay. Are we all sitting comfortably?

So remember when I absolutely exploded over the shit-for-brains scheme to ban all porn on the internet via the infallible means of filters? It's my most popular post bar Guns Of Icarus thus far, so some of you read it. Well, it turns out that after all that screaming and yelling the bill was sunk for it being laughably stupid yet horrifying. And so the world was a more sane, happier place.

Ha.

Ha ha ha ha.

It's funny because the world isn't that kind.

Because it's back. Oh, it's back. Instead of making a law about it, most of our internet providers have been leaned on to create their own bloody filters. So now let's have a look at this undemocratic filter applied to us...

Hmm, Ben Goldacre, what witty delights do you have for me today... ah.. er...

What.

Excuse me a moment. You know, I had this big 'I told you so' built up for the this, because that does mention sexual health, something I did say would be ended up blocked. I had a dance prepped and everything, which was very difficult to convey by the median of word. But I... don't want to do it any more. I failed to ever imagine that 'respect' for your sexual partner would be something necessary to get rid of.

WHAT THE ACTUAL SWEET FUCKING FUCK.

Oh, I made a tasteless joke instantly, telling my partner to get back in the kitchen until it was pointed out that respect could also mean not knocking your partner from room to room like a football. So I started out being not funny, and I was immediately one-upped to being depressed. Oh and look, the Edinburgh Women's Rape and Sexual Abuse Centre's website is blocked as 'pornographic.'

Welcome to the eve of 2014. We block information to not treat your loved ones like a human punching bag.

Or to rape them.

Oh, I could be kind, and point out that BT has changed said page.

No, BT, this doesn't answer my questions, you sick slimy shits.

I could be kind, and point out that this is opt out and you have to choose on start up so it's not imposed on you.

But no.

No. This doesn't deserve kindness.

This is absolutely abhorrent. Considering we have almost every person who was on 1980s television currently facing charges for paedophilia, you'd think we'd want plenty of sexual education out there. Nope. Nada. Zip.

It is disgusting that BT would think that this is something that anyone would want to block. It is disgusting that is anyone would want that blocked, that BT is happy to enable that. It is disgusting that after being called out on this callous shit BT is still offering it as an option.

I will never grant BT my business again. It's not much, but it's all I have.

Er, I should probably add a few lines about how awful it is to block homosexual related content, especially because many teens discover their sexuality may find little support from home or immediate friends, so the internet is a safe place to seek help. And that's true. It's just that there's a lot of rage up here, and it's having to fight for a place, and I keep coming back to the whole 'not rape' thing. But you can just consider some close-minded parents blocking sexual education content in an attempt to keep their children on the literal straight and narrow. How bloody charming.

Make no mistake, for all the smiling Davy boy does, this the person he is. This is the things he wants.

The sad thing is... among many sad things, admittedly, is that the original bill, the original start to all of this, had nothing to do with web blocks. That was tacked on at the end. It was originally about granting digital ownership rights. Yeah, that music in your iTunes library, those games in Steam, your Photoshop on you desktop? They'd be yours. Free to trade, loan or return, like any other physical thing you own. That would of been amazing, and sorely needed.

Instead the porn thing got tacked on, and torpedoed the bill. We now no longer have digital rights for our property. But we still have this fucking evil filter. And make no mistake, anything that would take education and banish it is, without any preamble, is evil.

It's not over though. Look at that list. What's that? Extremist websites are to be blocked. Extremists. What's extremist, anyway? We don't really have a definition. The hate shriekers? The dissidents? Is it The Guardian, constantly leaking documents from Snowden, if they're endangering intelligence agents, isn't that extremist? Best get rid of that criticism... These filters have moved so far beyond the supposed menace of porn, and this is what we have now. Freedom of information is no more.

Welcome to 2014. This is what my country does now.

My Christmas gift to you is an extension to Chrome that will bypass this horror.

Because fortunately, as despicable as my leaders are, they are mercifully inept.

Christmas gets in the way of all the nice things

Would you believe it, but it turns out - I am actually really bloody busy. It's almost like there's a big festive thing or season happening.

So. Er.

I have something in the works, it'll hopefully be out tomorrow. After that, I'll be intermittently updating until January. I have lots of rage and bile ready, so that'll be nice and Christmasy.

It's not work food unless it's more grease than protein

Well, clearly, with the death of Nelson Mandela the only thing left now to do is to look over his life, his achievements, the controversy, his place in the world and-

-wait.

I did a serious-ish post last week. So this week it's a silly week. Phew!

Oh thank god. That topic was going to require actual research and effort. And there was no way I was going to be able to handle the death of such a momentous person without seriously stepping up my game, so we'll pass on it.

Today we'll take about the weakness of work food.

You know, it should be something simple to get correct. You have workers. They get hungry. You have a place to serve them food. But I've never worked in a place where it's one hundred percent. The one I go to now is the best I've ever had, but there's still a couple of items on the menu I'd only suggest to the brave and foolhardy. They're also not the greatest regarding timing - you're free to specify when you'll turn up to collect your order, but they haven't quite mastered the knack of having it ready. They seem to believe when you turn up is right about time to start cooking, which is kinda defeating the whole purpose of ordering ahead of time. Not a big deal... unless, of course, it's eating up your break, damn it.

It doesn't help is that it's also expensive. You get to do the great weigh up - how many hours of work do I need to do to afford a coke and a sandwich? For those commuting by train, you could depressingly see half you work day vanish to train fares and food before you actually start making money. Hoi. Of course, even more saddening is the fact that while I whine about the price I'm pretty sure attempting to buy the same things in Tescos would cause me to spend the same, if not more, so yes, it's subsidized - but food is expensive and wages are low.

The cheapest canteen I every experienced was when I worked at a supermarket, because their was no way in hell any employee would accept even a moderate mark-up when they all knew the true value of the product. It was impossible to slip something past them, especially when everyone could list off a dozen quick and harmless ways a pallet of foodstuffs could be perfectly edible yet unsellable to the customers. Oh look, a pallet of biscuits fell over. Bugger. Not sellable now, they're all broken. Anybody want a biscuit, help me clean up?

One place I worked at had no on-site facilities bar a kettle and a fridge, which was meant to contain a Mars bar and a coke for the diabetics in case their blood sugar went dangerously low because going into a coma would hurt productivity. Well, I say meant, but often some mystery dudes got thirsty and the munchies and the fridge was more often then not devoid of the essential sugary life savers. You'd just have to hope your coma day did not fall on one of those days. It did however have a selection of milk; ranging from 'two more days until becoming cheese,' and 'two more days until reaching sentience and applying for a job.' Though in fairness that is every work fridge. It's simply not a work fridge without milk that's older then the building, actively trying to escape.

2009? Pssh. It'll fine for at least another week.

The best bit was that there was a couple of snack related options, with a small greasy cafe down the road. It was sort of place that decided that arteries were fuckin' pussies and declared war on them. The best bit was that if you decided you were done for today, you'd order something that contained sausages.

After consuming the aforementioned assuages, you wouldn't have to wait long. Twenty minutes later, you'd be gripping the porcelain toilet bowl so hard you'd leave dents as your body tried to flush it's innards out of every available orifice. After the screaming and sounds something suspiciously similar to water balloons bursting against the wall so fast enough to be fired by a machine gun, you'd slither along the floor to someone sort of in charge and mournfully and weepily announce that you ate the sausages. They'd sigh, and tell you to go home, presumably powered not by your own legs but by a torrent of repulsed food eaten fourteen years ago.

Somehow, somewhere, our group collective decided that this was worth it to bugger off home early, possibly giving credence to the theory that madness is contagious. They even tasted funny, yet still we all brought them. Personally I suspect the cafe was a front for the mob, getting rid of bodies for a profit. But they were so cheap! How could you turn them down?

Honestly, it's probably healthier for employees to drive forklifts into the walls then eat this stuff.

Considering it takes around twenty four hours for food poisoning to kick in, that doesn't even make sense. It's like the 'food' offended your body on some basic level. Admittedly, what made less sense was that we kept buying them. Though in truth this tangent is less about the inferiority of work based canteens and more the insanity of man. I hope that sooner or later, much like John Snow removing the pump handles to prevent further cholera, someone civic minded torched the place down for public safety. But considering the sheer amount or grease that cafe produced, it was one errant cigarette butt away from that fate anyway.

Another great one is the food van man. Or van woman. Whatever. They come around in a van, (duh) metal and possibly shiny, that open up their sides to reveal a cornucopia of food primarily designed to inflict heart attacks and workers going for just that little bit longer. Our original food van man had a van that was at first a sleek silver van but by the time I started work had developed a patina of filth thick enough to turn it grey. But he had a notebook to have tabs and served coffee hot enough to hopefully kill anything in it that, with a shot of Dettox for everything. For many people, that was enough.

My favourite moment is when we had a second food van man turn up at the same time as the original food van man. Only the second guy had a van that was clean. The lack of sludge coating was almost intimidating. The queue of people immediately shuffled over, and the first food man would glare hatefully at the second, not seeming to understand people who need coffee will drink coffee with grime on it, but not if they have options.

Everyday this would repeat. You'd of thought the first guy would recognise that competition is best fought by improving you game, but as this sales dwindled his van started getting even grubbier, which was sort of impressive in a horrifying way. Eventually, he wouldn't even get a queue when he arrived first - we'd all be waiting for the same who served his coffee sans e.coli, thank you very much. Victory complete, the second food man became our only food man, until he got wind of an impending site move and sold his van to another, who was blissfully unaware in a few months his biggest source of revenue was about to skip town. God bless you ridiculously savvy second food van man. You are a legend.

I should probably get back on topic, but all I can think about is the fact after what I've eaten, and what I've seen people eat, it is a miracle we're all still alive. Now excuse me...

I have a hankering for a sausage roll and chips.

So when do I get my 11% pay rise? I'm already paying for it, after all

Oh boy. So. In my country, we have a relatively new system of determining our Members of Parliament's pay. We used to allow them to vote for their own pay rises, which went on for quite the while before we all cottoned on to the fact that quite frankly that is one of the stupidest ideas ever. Of course, we as a country only coined this after the parliamentary expenses scandal in 2009 where it was discovered it shockingly turned out with no oversight on the public purse that people can, will, and did dip their hands into it freely and often. So in 2009 IPSA, the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority was created to administer MP's pay. And as was well forever and ever...

...until they just announced that MPs will be privy to an 11% pay rise. Woo!

Okay. That 2009 expenses scandal wasn't that long ago, and it's still fresh in people's minds as every know and again somebody claims something silly on expenses and the public gets all irritable at it. The public sector has been on an 1% frozen pay increase for a fair few years now, and will continue to be on it until at least 2016. And to top it all off, it has also been revealed that over half the people currently in poverty do actually have jobs. Really. It's almost like that whole "we're only in debt because of those jobless shirkers" mantra I've been hearing for ages in complete horse shit as it turns out that yes, the country has basically been suffering a colossal pay cut these last few years.

Could... could I get an 11% pay rise? I mean, Jesus, all I've ever been privy to is cost of living rises (which are weirdly enough always set below inflation) and those have never been in the ten's of percent. Look at me, writing a little blog on the internet. Do you think I've ever seen a pay rise in the ten's of percent? Ha!

My feet are cold because the heating's expensive.

I know how you feel, blanket dog.

The only good news thus far is that the current message is austerity and cutting costs, and there is no utter way any MP could accept this pay rise without looking like the biggest hypocrite and douche known to humanity. Unless your Sir Peter Bottomley, who thinks this pay rise is fine. And while I've put his name down here to display my dislike of that man, at least he's honest enough to say he wants the phat cash - as research from IPSA claim's that two thirds of MPs believe they're underpaid. Aw. Bless. So while many MPs are crawling out the woodwork to lament this pay rise, they've mostly be passing on the message discreetly about having more phat stacks, please.

I mean, seriously, what the fuck IPSA? Seriously? You ask a bunch of - for a lack of better term - employees if they want more money and because most of them said yes you shrug and went along with it? And then choose to go along with it hardcore? Really? Any normal work place would of had near enough 100% saying yes please, more wonga, the only reason it was as low as 66ish% is because you are taking to a group of people whom many of which are either independently wealthy or savvy enough to not ask for more money from the public coffers when the public are not cool with that. Probably because the public's feet are cold because they can't afford heating anymore.

11 fucking percent. 11 fucking percent! I'd kill a man for 11 bleedin' percent, which just goes to tell you how little I'm paid. Whilst Sir Peter Bottomley has been all for the pay rise, as least the defence seceraty Philip Hammond, has acknowedgely that asking the public sector to show pay restraint while not exercising it themselves is wrong. However there's been no leaders stepping forward to say clearly that their party will be turning the raise down, because many MPs want the pay raise, who have been seeing real wages fall admittedly - real wages triple the national average, but who's counting?

On the one hand, I want to sit here and attempt fairness by looking at MP's wages and debating the impact differing wages would have on social makeup. After all, the very reason a salary was introduced to MPs was to enable a more diverse Parliament, because before the only people who could afford to dedicate their time to serving in parliament were the rich, as everyone else had to get on with their day jobs, which at the time was probably something like blacksmithing, being a peasent or dragon fighting or something.

Dragon populations in Britain back then were much higher, with greater territories then today's Welsh and Scottish highlands. I'm alledgedly historian, trust me on this.

So I get that there's a point to the salary, a good point, even It's just that when people say a decreased salary will discourage middle class people from turning their hand at politics all I can say in response is good. If the (relative) low wage turns you off from serving the public, then clearly we don't want you serving the public in the first place. We'll pass it over to someone who cares about the public, not someone who's mostly concerned with the bottom line.

However if you are going to sell yourselves so completely and utterly on the notion of austerity, it is inconceivable to justify taking such a wage increase whilst simultaneously demanding that every one around you to tighten their belts. I will be monitoring, using the Freedom of Information Act is necessary, which MPs decide that the dough is too sweet to pass over. I will remember which of those that do.

Sigh. Maybe instead of bitching about politicians I should knuckle up and join them.

At least then I could put my heating bill on expenses and not have cold feet.

Garfield hates Mondays. I loathe them.

You know what's been really pissing me off recently? This:

Yes, because clearly that was Monday's fault.

Fuck you. Fuck you Garfield. You are a fucking cat. Like you understand how tremendously shitty Mondays are.

I work in one of those jobs where it doesn't even have the good grace to enter a stasis time-freeze when I leave for the weekend. No, because that would be bloody kind. When I leave, the job's still happening. Ticking away, over and over. Never ending. So a weekend for me starts to feel like instead of being my time, it's just time when I forced to watch things pile up without me, whilst I'm unable to influence it. I'd rather it just be my only a chance to release the tension by burning something down or playing too much Bioshock Infinite.

CAWCAWCAW MOTHERFUCKERS

God I wish I could spout crows from the skies on command. Work to do? CROWS. Credit card payment due? CROWS. Need to shave? CROWS. Too long line to wait? CROWS. Being unsatisfying in bed? CROWS. Quite frankly, the day they sell a potion on the street corner that allows you to summon an army of murderous carnivorous crows at will is the day society comes to a screaming halt.

Anyway. Garfield's hatred of Mondays.

So really, my weekend is basically less of a weekend and more of two plus days of work not done silently building up in the background, stacking up, over and over on the sly, until it comes crashing down in malicious glee Monday morning. Which would in an ideal world be my entire problem, and thus not really worth complaining about. But no! Work is a harsh mistress, who is not done with me. Because I work on the dispatch end of sales, throughout the day, I get to see my impossible in-tray fill even bloody higher due to sales still fucking happening, from those anonymous selfish pricks who keep my job afloat.

Honestly, I have no idea how people manage to work in retail. Whenever I see another sale come through on my already silly busy schedule, I bitch and whine and gripe like a champion. I am the ultimate 200 metre Bitch Fit premier. You have no chance against me. But I can do this in the privacy of my workplace, far away from customers. In retail, you're in the customers eye line and earshot. All the time! How? How do these paragons of saintly patience and infinite tolerance put up with the unremitting torrent of stupidity and busywork their customers spew? And when they're not bothering you with nonsense, they're messing up what was a pristine store. I know how I would deal with it. CROWS.

That shirt display was immaculate before you messed it up! RARGH.

Because customers are stupid. Please. When not at work, I am also a customer of many things. Believe me when I say we customers do stupid and insensitive things all the time as standard sodding practice. We should, as a nation, hell, as a combined species, preface any and all interactions to people behind the counter with an apologetic head bob at our ineptitude and time wasting...

...Unless you are facing people who work at PC World or Currys, because those companies take a perverse delight at hiring people how have no idea about computers. At all. Once I had a man attempt to sell me the malware which is Norton as he said that Microsoft wouldn't update Security Essentials. Er. Wut? Honestly, if you yourself don't know much about computers, bribe an eight year old with chocolate and get them to help you decide what to correctly buy.

It's become a thing recently to try to encourage Black Friday to migrate it's way overseas to here. Seeing that Thanksgiving is a made up fictional holiday, I guess it's fine because at least you get the day off and have too much food. I can support that. But Black Friday? The day of sales notorious for customer related violence? Fuck that. You can keep that tradition, America. Keep it, and we'll share with you the mysterious wonder of Boxing Day. You'll like it! It's a day when you roll around in your own flab, nursing a hangover after over-indulging on Christmas Day. It is honestly the best holiday ever.

What has Garfield got to worry about on a bloody Monday? No, I don't see his declarations as gesture of solidarity with a plebeian such as myself. It's like a politician claiming he understands that all those poor people are going to freeze to death and that's just not jolly well right, is it? Garfield is a overweight cat, living rent free and meals included, like a politician, living with amenities paid for by expenses. No. Fuck your attempt to connect with my woes.

It almost makes me yearn for the time I was unemployed, when days of the week ceased to matter. Why hate Mondays? It's just like every other day... Until you remember the poverty and the depressing shattering of self worth that unemployment brings. But hey, Mondays stop mattering! Yay?

My Mondays are shite. Of course, some people's Monday's are considerably shitter than mine because they have jobs which are actual serious business, or even legitimate danger or great physical effort. But, in absolute fairness, those people aren't me, and thus their problems are not my problems.

So, in summary, go clean your own balls Garfield. I have to go to work tomorrow.

Don't you start.

The Daily Mail freaks out. Again.

A lot of the time I'd rather find something, anything, else to talk about rather than politics and godawful media. However, I lot of the time I walk past the newspapers on the way to buy groceries, which means I will see the front pages, on average, about thirty times a week. You see, they're by the front door, so I see them twice, on the way in and on the way out.

Also I go nearly everyday, because everyday I have forgotten at least one very important thing. Also I go often twice a day, because every damn day I realise I have forgotten at least one very important thing and try to rectify it there and then, whilst forgetting about at least three other very important things.

Basically, I really need to start writing down a list.

So. The Daily Mail had a treat for me on Friday.

Aw, it thinks it's a newspaper!

It's a work of art. I love it. It's truly beautiful, like a Da Vinci made in smeared fecal matter. Let's take out our tweezers and dissect this bit by bit, yes? And make sure you're wearing adequate protective clothing and goggles, you wouldn't want to get any of it on you. And yes, this does mean I'm been diving in filth for your education and enjoyment. I hope you're sodding happy.

First of all, let's take a gander at those statistics they're happily bandying around. Now everyone, what I am about to say may shock you: sometimes, The Daily Mail isn't totally accurate when it comes to statistics. I know, it's painful to hear. Now, The Daily Mail is happily telling us that 82% of people in Britain don't want any more immigration from Bulgaria and Romania. Well let's start by mentioning there's an important distinction the the Mail has sadly omitted on those lines - that strictly speaking, its only 82% of its own readers who could be bothered to answer a poll. Or, according to their own statistics from a Harris poll, 82% of 1027 people. 841 people. If we allow ourselves the indulgence of hazy math again, Britain has a population of roughly 63 million. So, 82% of that is roughly 53 million. I am of the opinion that 53 million and 841, are very fucking different numbers.

Now I'll pass over that for now, because 4 out of 5 people saying their should be greater immigration controls... whatever. I don't care anymore. That could be true. If anything, I'm impressed that as low as four out of five people who read The Daily Mail who can be bothered to answer a poll want greater immigration controls. But let's look at the next two numbers they wanted to quote. Namely, that 85% of people believe that schools and the NHS cannot cope. Well for starters, I don't give a flying fornication that 85% of people believe that schools and the NHS cannot cope, because that's asking what people think, not what's actually the case. People believe in anti-vaccination, and 9/11 conspiracies. I mean, seriously, 47 million people believe Justin Beiber is worth following on Twitter. Lots of people believing in something doesn't make it right, it just means that's lots of people out there who are in the best scenario, are wrong, the worst scenario, are bloody idiots.

Let me just put this there and walk away.

Besides, if this is a real concern for the Mail and its readers, perhaps they should be pillorying the Tories to spend some money on the NHS, not set it up to fail with drastic budget cuts to justify selling it off. I mean, they're barely coping now, so it's not too much of a stretch admittedly to believe further increases on services would make them struggle, but I'd rather hear about senior doctors and administrators say how they can't cope. You know, people with actual authority and knowledge about their subject?

Next we have the stat about 'dem taking our jeebs! Please. 'Dem taking our jeebs! has been trotted out for ages. I'm so bored of it I can't be bothered to refute it. Why don't they blame the Irish for taking our jobs, let us come full circle in irrational blame? It's always curious how immigrants are simultaneously managing claim all our benefits yet take all our jobs. It's remarkably efficient, when you think about it.

What I think is most likely to happen is that we'll get immigration for Bulgaria and Romania, that is true. They'll work for a while, then some'll start going home. You know, exactly the same damn thing that happened with the Polish immigration we were bricking ourselves about last time. Only this time, instead of them leaving after the country has started getting a liking for Polish cakes and spiced sausages, we get to look forward to Romanian and Bulgarian delicacies they'll bring with them. I hear Bulgaria makes a mean yogurt, and Romania do some killer wines. Hell, our own immigration minister has said a mass influx isn't going to happen as guess what - Germany's looking pretty damn good now, showing off those curvy jobs and perky economy. And he's a bloody Tory! He should be whining and griping - nope, he seems to be wishing everyone would shut up so he could get some work down.

(You see, I'm perfectly able to be reasonable to people of differing political beliefs as long as they say things I agree with. That's, uh, fair, right?)

Besides, let's think logically here. Let's say you live in Romania, and don't want to work, and like sitting on your tush all day claiming benefits. Now Britain has opened up. Want to go there? Well, you could... but that would involve leaving all your family behind, your friends, having to drink shit wine, and having to deal with rude English people and a slashed benefit system compared to Romania's low unemployment and the sort of all encompassing government care that comes from a communist legacy. You're packing up and dealing with our shit. Yeah, right.

You know my deep, personal experiences with Eastern European people are?

That they're people. Some are arseholes. Some are perfectly nice. Others are a blend of both. Because they're just people. And far from being the criminal underclass that many people in the media would convey, they're just fucking people.

Last week, I was getting changed after swimming. Having just finished covering up the truly indecent bits, only leaving the indecently embarrassing bits, a man came over to me, with a very strong Eastern European accent. Don't ask we which one - I'm British, I can tell between our Essex, Yorkshire, Newcastle accents - Eastern European accents are a bit beyond me. In heavily accented tones, he asked if I had dropped a wallet, proffering one towards me. Mine was still in my pocket, the worn brown leather weirdly given way to blue, (perhaps suggesting that I overpaid for something that isn't really leather) so I said no. He shrugged and asked where we should give it in. I suggested the reception, and with a indication to his young son in the corner, he offered it to me to take up, as he was busy. I agreed, nearly walking out before remembering I should be dressed first, for fear of my pasty white near nudity horrifying onlookers. The owner the the wallet came in forty seconds later, and was pointed in my direction by the Eastern European bloke.

In about a minute of conversation, this random example of humanity had tried to return lost property, and in failing doing so, had inquired about appropriate course of action before handing it off to another as he had his own commitments. Then he directed the owner to his lost property, when given the chance. That's a far cry to what The Daily Mail would have you believe about people who talk and look different. AND! When playing with his son in the pool, he kept him well out of the adult swimming lanes, which is something I wish more parents did.

Okay, I'm only one example, but I've pointed out before, I'm more reputable than real journalists who get paid for a living. Besides, it's not like anyone is deigning to mention that, oh look, immigration often has a net benefit on finances!

In summary: The Daily Mail is awful, bears still shit in the woods, I have to go back to Tescos pick up some bloody milk.

Again.

EDIT: And yesterday, The Daily Express had a similar headline, only this time they used the much more accurate qualification that they had 150,000 of their readers who could be bothered to answer a poll who want greater immigration controls. So while I lament the continued demonisation of immigration, I will at least appreciate the more accurate statistical front page reporting.

And it's a bigger sample size, too! What fun.

Christmas commercials are inescapable as they are rubbish

It is very possible that it has entered the time of year we call Christmas. And by 'we,' I mean 'commercial retailers,' and by 'entered the time of year,' I mean 'for, like, two months, the fuck?'

I've begrudgingly allowed it to be deemed entering the festive season as I've actually begun my shopping, because if I start now I'll hopefully get it out of the way before the Christmas songs start. I mean, I understand that retailers want to set the mood so that I part with my cash, it's just that there aren't that many Christmas songs worth speaking about and after the fiftieth bloody time I've heard Jingle Bells or whatever entering a store and hearing it for the fifty-first time makes me want to turn on the spot and leave. It turns into an endurance match - can I complete my shopping before I have to set fire to everything in the attempt to make the warbling stop?

THERE'S NO SNOW IN AFRICA THIS CHRISTMAS BECAUSE IT'S ON THE FUCKING EQUATOR.

Once again, I look around my apartment glad of the non-existence of a television because already now I have subjected to Christmas adverts in passing. I thought I'd dodge them in their entirety this year, but going to the cinema subjected me to a round of Chrimbo themed product shills. And they're awful. Just awful. Recently the zeitgeist has been to have adverts tell some sickeningly sweet story designed to tug at the heartstrings - I don't care. I have no heart to tug on. The ad is about thirty seconds long. That's not really enough time to get me emotionally invested in anything. Well. Actually, if there was a thirty second clip of a tired looking person getting a hot item of food - soup, instant meal, caviar, whatever - and they dropped it, I would feel sad for them. That's the extent of my empathy. That looked tasty, and now you have nothing. Sucks, mate.

In an honest evaluation, if you've spend a minute or so carefully telling a story, what you've actually done is spent a very expensive minute not telling me about your goods and wares. You are probably banking on that the story catches the media's interest and they coo over it granting you lots of free exposure but now everybody's doing it you're shit outta luck. I've got a good idea for some wide ranging publicity. Shoot a puppy in the face in your ad. Boom. Instant controversy, instant exposure. Then after the screaming hits fever pitch reveal that you never shot the puppy, so it's all cool.

Now that I think about it, I probably should of mentioned you weren't actually going to shoot the puppy in the face first. Yeah.

I'd have more interest in a thirty second ad of a bloke yelling 'HERE IS MY STUFF. I SELL IT HERE. YOU SHOULD BUY IT HERE, FOR CHRISTMAS.' Maybe some variations: 'MY STUFF IS BLOODY CHEAP BECAUSE I KNOW YOU'RE ALL FUCKING BROKE AS SHIT' or 'MY STUFF IS FUCKING EXPENSIVE BECAUSE YOU'RE WELL OFF AND HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO EXPRESS EMOTION BAR THE GIVING OF EXPENSIVE BUT ULTIMATELY POINTLESS TRINKETS.' Nice, simple, to the point and not bullshitting you - retailers don't give one flying fuck about how your Chrimbo turns out. They just want you to buy their shit.

The one ad that truly earned my ire so far was Morrison's ad. In it, a cutsey gingerbread man sings a butchered version of Beauty and the Beast's 'Be My Guest.' It's kind of agonizing, the way it no longer flows anymore. For this to work, you're going to have to speak / sing these lines I'm feeding you out loud. Try not to do so in public, for fear of starting a spontaneous Disney sing-along.

Go on, mug it up. It's not like you had anything to work with in this train wreck.

Original line: 'tie your napkin round you neck, cherie, and we'll provide the rest'

Becomes...

Crappy ad line: 'tie your napkin round your neck <awkward pause> and we'll provide the rest'

That pause. That one word, those two syllables, cut out bring the song and the beat to a shuddering halt. It doesn't help that the ad's song sounds slower, crippling it with a lack of energy. Re-watching the song, in that pause, I fixed the broken bathroom lock, took out the bins, set up my pension, learnt carpentry, recommitted myself to taking up exercise by going swimming, fathered a child, got murdered in front of said child, and watched from beyond the grave my child deal with his crippling emotional issues by dressing as a winged rodent and punching dudes in the face. One word, two syllables. That's all you had to replace it with! THERE ARE MANY OPTIONS!

Besides, I don't like being reminded about Beauty and the Beast. That film raises too many questions. Like, where does that witch get off by cursing hundreds of innocent wage slaves because a ten year old bratty price was bratty? He's ten. He's a brat. That's sort of what ten year olds do. That, and isn't everyone lucky that the prince (and Belle, for that matter) was heterosexual? I mean, the curse clearly stated it could only be broken by romantically loving, and being loved in return, by a woman. Way to enforce a damaging hetero-normative worldview, bitch. What if the prince spent his off hours lustfully staring into his magic mirror watching Gaston work out? Well, in that case, you better off getting used to being a sapient plunger for the rest of eternity.

Admittedly, the man is pretty damn cut..

Gaston, the villain, inspires a whole town of ordinary people to charge into a terrifying beast's lair because he's been kidnapping their people - if Gaston had won, he's be the hero. Also, once again, the innocent house staff your be trapped for all time as scrubbing brushes. I mean, quite possibly Belle is suffering from a serious case of Stockholm Syndrome, but with the future of hundreds on staff on the line I could see why kidnapping her might seem like an justifiable action. Let's face it, it's very, very easy to twist the scenarios in this film and look at it in a whole new light...

Wait.

We appear to have got off topic.

Anyway, the sad thing is, even if you make a shitty ad just targeting my needless specific preferences, the thing is - it's basically inherently pointless. Because let's face it, we're all doing our shopping on the internet. It's like shopping on the high street, only they have what you want, plays only the music you want, is nice and warm, no crowds of people and is much, much cheaper.

The only downside is that you don't get to set anything on fire.

ALSO THEY MAY NOT KNOW IT'S CHRISTMAS BECAUSE STATISTICALLY THE MOST POPULAR RELIGION IN AFRICA IS ISLAM YOU PATRONIZING FUCK.

Roboroach: The scientific way to horrify people

Okay, so let's gets some science in here. This'll be good, because I'm basically going to take my vague and hazy style of writing and apply to something that really doesn't like being vague and hazy, except in the case of gravity at the quantum level, which officially has the stamp of 'fucked if we know.' Anyway, what I wanted to talk about today is... drum roll please! Is...

The RoboRoach.

"Excuse me, I should go. Somewhere, there is a crime happening."

So, a company called Backyard Brains has created this kit, which when properly attached to a cockroach, will enable you to rudimentally control said cockroach. How do you control this wonder, I hear you ask in terrified, terrified screams? Why, good customer, how the best things are done nowadays. From your phone.

Undead cyborg cockroach controller? We have an app for that.

Now, I do see, on the one hand, this is sort of fascinating. Here we have a product that let's you briefly control an insect, and it's very interesting - it raises all manner of questions and awareness about neuroscience, and as it's marketed towards kids, well, anything that gets kids interested in science is surely a good thing, right?

Right?

"...kill... me..."

You know, if this was done in a laboratory, I wouldn't care. It's a bleedin' cockroach. They're not sapient, there's loads of the fuckers, knock yourself out creating a cyborg 'roach army whilst learning about neuroscience. However, this is a product... for children. Hell, even before we get that far, this is a commercial product. All this, and more for the low, low price of $99! That's a little creepy.

What's more creepy is how you get the sodding thing to work.

• Okay, step one: Immerse your cockroach victim in icy water. Makes sense to stop it from scuttling off, not too weird.

• Step two: Use sandpaper to get rid of the waxy shell on top of the cockroach's head. Creepy factor starting to step in.

• Step three: Start gluing shit to the back of the cockroach. Not that creepy, it's not like the bugger has a camping rucksack to shove the chips in.

• Step four: Poke a needle in the thorax to insert a wire. Ew

• Step five: Cut off the antenna, insert electrodes. More surgery on living creatures. Why not?

• Step six: Repeat steps one to five until necessary numbers have been reached.

• Step seven: Name yourself the Cockroach Lord, and send you undead cyborg minions to punish the world that scorned you.

Yeah. I remember back in the day the kid who pulled wings off of flies was told off to prevent him growing up and cutting open his parents at night to see the squishy bits pulse, now we just market to him. Amusingly, I can make this whole things worse: This project that Backyard Brains got into for this was the result of a successful KickStarter campaign, so apparently there's plenty people champing at the bit desperate for this robo-army.

I'm admittedly surprised that there isn't a more expensive version with a tiny webcam on board for all your perverted spying needs. Or legitimate needs: let's say I haven't cleaned my flat in ages and I want to know if salvageable change is under the sofa, but I lack to drive to move the sofa without guaranteed payoff. Viola! RoboRoach with camera to the rescue!

Now, I would be remiss of my duties as a blogger if I did not mention that Backyard Brains have responded to criticism about using cockroaches like so and have addresses specific concerns on their pre-order page, including noting that we're not entirely sure that cockroaches even feel pain. Sure, that's fine, but guys: work with me here, this is bloody creepy, okay? I don't like cockroaches, and this feels like to me amateur animal experimentation for shits 'n giggles. I kinda want to throw around the word 'animal cruelty' here, but that's possibly too far, and puts me in mind of firebombing legitimate research clinics.

(And yes! Bloggers have duties. It many involves doing the bare minimum of research, dropping a typo every other line and being a raving loon.)

It's dismantling a living thing. Hmm. I mean, I'd murder cockroaches in a heartbeat, but. Hmm. Yeah, this is... a thing all right.

Of course, what's really the major concern is the tagline of 'the world's first commercially available cyborg.' Let's face it, with my wages, I'd dance for a pittance, making the RoboRoach a distance second.

... I have glasses and a watch, okay? THAT COUNTS AS BEING A CYBORG.

St Jude's day storm and useless scare mongering media - the usual

So as November starts, I have to remember if I'm writing a moustache this year or I'm growing out a story. Er. Or something. Most likely neither as either takes effort, and my latest attempts at writing a narrative story got about a thousand words in before I started to utter despise myself for having the audacity to believe that I'm a writer, and that I should go back to slinging filth on the internet, where I belong. Also I can't stand upper lip hair.

Now today I'd like to talk about the Big Ass storm that passed through Britain - called the St. Jude's day storm who not only has a holiday on the 28th October, but is the patron saint of lost causes. So with a name like that, and weeks of frenzied speculation from the media, you would expect the storm to be the Harbinger Of End Times.

It really wasn't.

The horror.

Now before I go into a giant piss off about this, quite frankly, disappointing storm, I would be callous not to mention that sadly around ten people have died due to the storm. Deaths before their time are always tragic, and our thoughts are with their families.

However, the callous part of me would like to note that around five people die a day on Britain's roads, so that's two days of road deaths. Ten people, according to some fuzzy math, would account for a day's worth of dead people due to falls. Some more fuzzy maths (which we can agree, is the best kind) would suggest that nearly storm killed as much as half an hour's worth of what heart disease does in this country.

What I'm saying is that this storm was a let down. I went into work expected chaos, murder, mutiny in the streets - feral humans wearing clothed fashioned like Mad Max in a desperate bid for survival. I've played Fallout 3 and Fallout: New Vegas - I was eagerly awaiting my new place as wasteland king.

Finally, all my hours neglecting my family playing video games translate into real world experience!

I expected my work place torn asunder under ravaging winds, and all I got was one tree and a branch in the road. And some wind. And the tree we ended up driving around. Basically, we got some vandalism on a national scale for a single night.

Some of the frantic media over-speculation has been leveled at them missing the infamous 1987 storm. Admittedly some of that fault lies with the Met Office, ie: The Actual People Who Should Know About The Bleedin' Weather, for not predicting the storm with accuracy. At least this time round rail companies let people ahead of time to not bother turning up for early morning trains, which was not only nice but probably prevented a few 'bored stupid at the station' homicides. 

However, I'm not entirely sure we can go with a media overreaction correlation with the 1987 miss, as that would suggest that Britain's media are capable of learning. 

Instead we look at that bad news sells, so everything is awful, though in truth it's not that bad. That 'five deaths a day on road' statistic I pulled up is getting lower every year, which is impressive considering the increases in traffic. Death by murder on my handy visual graph is missing - it's less than a thousand, yet represented on the graph is 219 deaths by 'Diseases of the male genital organs.' Ew. Also; I did not know you could die of theoretical dick rot. Now I know, and I am unhappier for it.

The problem with this rampant bigging up of bullshit is that it's got to the point where I'm not the only person wearily banging on about it. The more I - and everyone else - saw of the hand-wringing by the papers the more we started to stop caring about the storm. I overheard many conversations wondering if they was so little in the news that day that the storm was the only thing they could be bothered to cover. Continue on this path, by the time we actually need to listen to a genuine threat, everyone would of tuned out already. 

Journalists today are one of the least trusted professions, according to an IPSOS Mori poll in February this year - if you'll forgive me for referring to a survey with such a low sample size. Anyway, this poll, for what it's worth, gave journalists a paltry one in five belief they'd tell the truth - just above politicians, and considerably below a random stranger on the street, who comfortably was hitting over sixty percent. That's right, a random display of humanity ambling along is a superior news worthy source than a trained accredited journalist. Well done people. Well done.

Wait, strictly speaking, me, a semi-anonymous shlob on the internet is a viewed as a better source that a person who actually gets paid to write. Huh. Yeah. That's... concerning. And that taking into account that that by calling the people who work for the Daily Mail journalist's is somewhat of a stretch. Professional Shit-Flinger is a more accurate job description, though once again, for all my bitching - they're A.) Getting paid to do so, and B.) Getting people to pay to read it, so my name calling feels a little juvenile considering they're making money doing the awful things they do. Hell, I cant even be bothered to do basic SEO research that would get me read here, and here I am, screaming insults at them.

Sigh. I think this entire article may of been inspired by the fact the storm the news has been discussing recently, somewhat limiting what I can talk about.

Which of course, is a handy cover for the fact I've been playing Skyrim non-stop recently, which is also the real reason why I not participating in National Novel Writing Month.

Write a novel? DAMN IT I AM FIGHTING DRAGONS HERE.

Breakdown of my maths (and sources!):

Because I love you, I would never knowingly lie to you. So I'll quickly go over my own maths - I'm going off the National Office of Statistics figures, posted last year in November, handily promoted by The Guardian's own website, here: http://www.theguardian.com/news/datablog/2012/nov/06/deaths-mortality-rates-cause-death-2011#data and numbers from the British Heart Foundation, here: https://www.bhf.org.uk/media/news-from-the-bhf/bhf-facts.aspx

Falls deaths per year in 2011 = 3,885. Divided by 365, we get a healthy 10.6 deaths a day. Ah, heathly as in comfortably with 10, not, ah, you know. The dead people.
Heart diseases deaths per year (unknown year by BHF) = 159,000. Divide by 365, then by 24, and then by 2, we get 9 deaths per half hour, but that's what the term's 'nearly' and 'fuzzy maths' will get you. Admittedly, 2011 put the figure at 139,706, so that's more good news! Also, same maths put's it near enough at eight a half hour. Perhaps I should of gone with a whole hour. Ho hum.

Star Wars possible return to form? And I couldn't care less

Oh look, one of the original writers of the original trilogy of Star Wars is returning to write for the new Star Wars film. As a fan of Star Wars, I should be excited, right?

No.

I could not give less of a pulsating rat's testicle.

Also, he's involved, so expect so much lens flare you'll be forced to see it in 3D just for the darkening effect to avoid blindness.

And that, my friends, is evidence of the worst thing a franchise can suffer from: franchise burnout.

I was a good age for Star Wars. Obviously, I was not around for the original trilogy to be aired. However, I was a young boy when the remastered versions of the original trilogy came to the big screen, and I watched those, year on year, an instant convert. I had a steadily growing collection of the toys, had a few posters, and before I'd even got the toys I'd make intricate X-Wings and Darth Vader's out of Lego. When David Prose was on the radio, I called him up to ask about how they fought with the lightsabers - you see, I knew they were painted onto the film, and thus wasn't actually in the actor's hands, so I was wondering how they clashed sabers when logically they would have no idea where the sabers were at. He politely explained that they had these spinning bamboo dohickeys that were a right menace as they broke all the damn time. Later that day, I went to a fan convention he was at, and I had him sign a Darth Vader card I owned, which I still have somewhere.

This was before I knew that David Prose would sign anything, but hey, at the time, it mattered to me. Still does a little, in fact.

Linking Star Wars to my video game hobby, I've seen a fair few good to great games made by LucasArts, now a defunct studio. The Jedi Knight / Academy series, the Rogue Squadron series, and later, by Bioware, the first two Knights Of The Old Republic.

Of course, this happiness wouldn't last. I'm not going to give another lambasting of the prequel trilogy - far more talented individuals have already done so - but even back then I had hope. Genndy Tartakovsky made a fantastic Clone Wars mini-series,(which you must check out) but as the final prequel crawled in, I made a conscious decision to not pay to see it. I knew back then it wouldn't be worth it. Later on, I borrowed a pirated disk and fast forwarded it whenever it got too boring. I skipped most the film in the end, to weary to bother trying to engage. It broke me, broke my patience, broke my enjoyment of the whole damn experience.

This weariness wasn't exactly a new thing, as I had suffered it during Return Of The Jedi. Seriously. Knowing that the only reason bleedin' Ewoks were in that movie was to sell toys, and that the original concept had the fight be on Kashyyyk, the Wookie home world? Not only does the resulting fight make more sense, but how awesome would that of turned out? But no, Ewoks. Because the toys.

So many little things can burn out a franchise. Pushing to sell. Piss poor acting. Ignoring basic continuity. Flanderization of characters. Terrible, awful dialogue. Cameoing previous characters. An idiot director with no checks on his dross. Star Wars had it all. And when I felt it mattered to the people who made it, it mattered to me. It was art. Now, I see Yoda shilling phones. It's clear that Star Wars doesn't matter as an expression, as a story, as art: it's a soulless product. Boring. I'll pass.

Just... fuck you. Fuck you whomever thought of this. Fuck you with a rake. Fuck you with a rusty rake.

Now I've seen my fair share of beloved franchises become meaningless to me. Assassin's Creed has gone on a down slide as their incessant drive to produce annual title's has not only slowed the story down so much it becomes meaningless but by the time I can afford one the next one's out. I'm skipping Assassin's Creed 3, and going to try AC 4 when I find the money. It does help that not only did I feel that Connor from AC 3 was boring, but Ubisoft did as well and have quickly passed over him for AC 4. Passing quickly over the Mass Effect series, whilst I can say I brought even piece of dlc for the second game - I gobbled every piece up - I didn't for the third. While I could not get enough of Mass Effect 2, I could not stomach another second of heartbreak from Mass Effect 3. In fact, the only reason I brought any dlc for the third game was an attempt to purge the worst of the pain of the ending from my mind, but it never was like the second game, with me paying good money of useless cosmetic differences.

I may have brought this outfit purely to make stop her looking like a prostitute.

It's not just me. Hear about this one - audiences reacted positively to trailers of Devil until M. Night Shyamalan's name cropped up, resulting in derisive laughter? So what you're toxic, any publicity, right? Right? Ah, no. As we see films more and more nowadays trend to sequels, we also see the rise of diminishing returns. Whilst a sequel is seen as a safe risk, the reviews (and more importantly, the cash) starts to dwindle rapidly. So yes, make annual sequels, sell on your IP to someone else (I've belatedly remembered in fairness seperating George Lucas from Star Wars is only a good thing) and push the merchandise - but if you don't care, nor will your audience.

Overexposure, soulless shilling and being generally crap does in the most beloved franchises. Or, you could just try to make sure you respect your product and try to do a good job with it. But beware, by the time you grasp that concept, don't let too much time pass that the audeince just can't be brought back.

Oh, hey, another Pokemon game is out.

I DON'T EVEN SO CUTE WUT

Oh god shut up and take my money Nintendo.

Free schools and drunken shenanigans are both piss poor ideas

As I sit here, listening to the screaming of the brawling drunks in the street gently wafting up through up open window, I think to myself that I should really close the bloody window, or at least get that pistol crossbow assembled. I also am pondering over the more serious case of the coalition government falling out over the free schools standards thing, but the escalating battle is rather a distraction. I believe whilst it started over a man observing another in an offensively comedic fashion, it has since swept up in it's wake the various wrong doings and infidelities of several unrelated parties who have decided to pitch in. In many ways, it's a rather interesting parallel of the start of the First World War, as one minor event suddenly becoming the flashpoint for a variety of preexisting grievances given the excuse to be enacted upon.

What I'm saying is that I wish the fighting outside my window was as fun as this.

I mean, I understand (for once) where Nick Clegg is coming from. You have these schools, state-funded but not under any local authority control, who don't have to hire qualified teachers or stick to the national curriculum. Now, that to me sounds like a disaster waiting to happen - which is coincidentally my opinion about anything Michael Gove comes up with - and, well, it's not exactly a stretch to see where the Traitor King could see potential flaws in this initiative. I mean, strictly speaking, that theoretically means I could start a school with state money in my shed. This of course is a terrible idea. I'm a sort of anonymous bloke on the internet with a pistol crossbow. Also I'd probably just teach kids how to use said crossbow how to get anything they want in life. Also I don't have a shed. Also, I think the war outside has become a stalemate, further supporting my original comparison.

Of course, I doubt the First World War had amongst it's primary adversaries two assisting women alternating between shrieking accusations of the other being the guilty party of spreading venereal diseases to the aforementioned primary adversaries, and instructing the other to 'kick his fucking teeth in'. And I should know. I'm possibly a historian. In fact, this entire line of thought could merely be wishful thinking in hope that something resembling intelligence could be gleaned from this potential Daily Mail 'ALL YOUTHS ARE BINGE DRINKING MANIACS YOU SHOULD FEAR' headline. Perhaps I'm sounding elitist and arrogant in my lines of reasoning - but in my defense, after you've had the same scenario repeat itself under your window a couple of times it gets kinda boring.

Back to the actual news. Now, the Traitor King has brought up a sensible point that it's inherently a little pointless to have a national curriculum that not everyone has to adhere to. I've watched enough Doctor Who to spot the paradox there. It also strengthens his back-stabbing hands that this week we had a free school be absolutely lambasted by Ofsted for fucking up everything and to top it off, oh, look at that, discrimination and segregation of female staff and pupils. Well done Derby's Al-Mandinah's school. You suck so hard you got shut down. It managed to get the worst result in every bleedin' catergory. Wow. That's... that's a thing, alright. Achievement unlocked: You Suck At Everything (subtitle: Are you trying to fail on purpose?) I mean, even my fictional school in my fictional shed could probably get at least in one category  a 'bad' instead of a 'ruddy fucking awful' mark. It's almost like a lack of oversight and qualified personnel leads to royal fuck ups, and now I think the fighting has ironically stepped up to the 'falling over' stage.

It's not like they're even good at fighting. Whilst only occasionally watching sport, I watched the 2012 Olympics because it's always entertaining to watch phenomenal athletes at the top of their games do difficult things very well. In the same vein I have little patience for the Rocky films because he boxes so piss-poorly: 'I'll stand here and get twatted over and over until the other guys gets tired,' isn't exactly a visually engaging event in my opinion. Rocky's relevance is currently striking, as it's sort of the tactic being currently employed; swing fists randomly until opponent falls over. Of course, the alcohol merrily deadens the pain, simultaneously aiding in resisting falling over and assisting falling over, as hey, alcohol. And then all that's left now is the sweaty grappling and the rolling around. And unfortunately I don't even swing that way to grasp a modicum of enjoyment out of that.

"Well, my tactic will give you brain damage, but the important thing is that you'll be a winner."

I get even less enjoyment out of trying to understand where Education Secretary Elizabeth Truss saying that free schools greater freedom allows them to out perform state schools, where the freedoms free schools primarily seem to have and exercise is to hire people with no idea how to professional handle children and no need to keep to any expected standard of education. I just... what? What's the benefit? There has to be some logical benefit, but I can't see it. Sigh. Maybe it's about religious freedom, but the school in question seemed to use it's religious freedom to impose on other's freedom, so that's clearly not cool.

Tragically, what's worse than all this misuse of children's education is that I may just be having to agree with Clegg on something. Which is a bit rich of me complaining about that, as I high and mightily have declared I don't keep to any ideology because I'd rather go with what works, not what's already been decided, but hating on Clegg is inbuilt in me nowadays.

Fortunately, the little tikes outside seemed to have tired each other out, and are separating on the way home, perhaps aided by the fact there's few residents in this area who haven't wearingly dialed for the police by now. Not that they'd turn up for the next hour or two anyway; having a inebriated smack down in the gutter is practically a British national past time, and it gets treated as such - unless someone gets seriously hurt, which is hardly sporting.

I could shit on the free schools a bit more - of the twenty four free schools currently operating, another five are a single step above the aforementioned Derby Al-Madinah free school. Of course, I could immediately weaken my argument by mentioning that fourteen are 'good,' and four more are 'outstanding,' but hey, let me shit on something here. Let's not bring fairness into a good old fashion bitch fit. While it's possible the pilot scheme seems to be functioning (mostly) with a very small sample size, I still retain great trepidation over this scheme. It's overall about education children, about the forming of young minds, and it's something so important, so essential to our future the notion of anyone doing so without sufficient legal oversight fills me with worry. So all in all, in conclusion I believe I can heartily say...

I should really close the bloody window.