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.