Filthy

I haven't posted over Christmas, although that doesn't seem to have damaged the number of hits I've had. Hope you all had a lovely Christmas. And what comes after Christmas? Why sales of course!

Have you seen Currys' sale adverts? You should have done - there are bloody loads of them. They're all based around Alexa, the 'Head of Sales'. I've decided that Alexa is a filthy depraved bitch, largely due to the advert that you can view thanks to the advert viewing thing below:

I'm not sure I've ever seen such a short advert so packed with innuendo. I mean it doesn't start well with her saying "a good workout" in a slightly suggestive voice, but at least she's talking about something abstract. It all goes downhill from here. We get told about "top-of-the-range Dysons - with extra tools!". Lord knows what extra 'functions' those tools will allow Alexa to perform with her new Dyson. It doesn't bear thinking about.

The advert ends with Alexa repeating her slogan with a shifty look on her face: "If it's not really low, I don't want to know". I hope for the sake of human decency as a whole that Alexa does not apply this mantra to all aspects of her life. Particularly her sex life. "What's that? You want to have ordinary, regular sex? On a bed? You don't know me very well, do you? Remember: if it's not really low, I don't want to know. I want you to smear me in piss and shit and get a Premiership football team to come and roast me whilst a tramp injects me with cheap heroin. That's me. That's the real Alexa."
"But... um... I'm not sure I... I... I think I'm going to go now."
"No! No, wait! Oh. He's gone. Oh well, I least I have White Lightning. I'll always have White Lightning."

In other news, 70 people have joined a Facebook group. Yeah, that's right. This is news apparently. Or at least it is according to the Daily Mail. Look: link.

Mobile phone users are protesting after their network ditched a well-spoken middle-aged woman as its official voice - and replaced her with the "matey" tones of a much younger woman.

Then, further down:

Already, more than 70 people have signed up to [a] forum, called Bring Back The Original Orange Answerphone Woman, on the internet networking site Facebook.

On it, Ms Gibson's voice has been described as "squeaky", "matey", "annoying" and "patronising" and one customer asked: "Is it unnormal to be this irritated by a voicemail voice?"

I think you'll find it's 'abnormal'. And, to be honest, yes it is. Seriously, is this all it takes to get in a national newspaper these days? Because I'm pretty sure I could conjure up a 70-strong group on Facebook. In fact there are lots of groups on Facebook with more than 70 members. Here are some: 'The Anti-Daily Mail Coalition' (9002 members), 'The Daily Mail really are a bunch of fucking twats' (6692), 'Fuck the Daily Mail!' (607), 'Daily Mail Hating Feminazis From Hell' (241) and 'I'd rather chew my own nipples off than buy the Daily Mail' (111). I wonder if we'll be seeing a story about those sometime soon in the Mail...

Not So Amazing

A crazy chain of inter-blog influence has led to this post. I began by writing a post about TellyAds Top 20 TV ads of 2007. Then Jon, after reading that post, did his own post about his own personal top ads of the year. His worst ads of the year were the ones for the iPhone. This lead to me thinking "oh, I'd forgotten, I was going to a post about one of those ads". And that led to me writing this post.

Anyway, here's the particular ad that offended me.

There are lots of reasons to hate the iPhone ads, such as the grating background music, the general patronisingness ("This is your e-mail" - well holy shit, I've never seen e-mail before, what a revelation!), the list goes on and on.

The reason that I hate the above advert is that about twenty seconds in when the guy says "endless entertainment" you suddenly realise (if you hadn't already) that the guy doing the voiceovers is an insincere tossbag. It's as if, at that point, the guy makes a conscious decision to lurch into self-parody and actually starts reading the script as if it were a pre-school story book with lots of pictures, trying to create as much of a (false) sense of childish wonder as possible.

I also hate the way these adverts try and make the 'phone' aspect of the device seem like a bit of a novelty, shoving it at the end of the ads. "Ooh, look, it does calls as well, aren't we wacky electronics people?" No. No, you aren't. It's a phone. That's what it's for. Oh well, maybe one day Apple will invent the iBrick so that someone can smash it into the face of Apple's head of marketing. Over and over. Until he dies.

Google Excitement

Ever since I've starting getting an increasing number of hits through Google searches I've developed a new hobby kind of thing: copying the search keywords people have used so that I can see where I am in the searches. It's quite exciting, but a bit sad. Searching for "best fucking christmas ecard" will see me appear on page 3 (page 3 - teeheehee!). I don't know why you'd be searching for that, let alone scouring through several pages of results, but there you go.

"Bt advert cast 2007" does a bit better - I'm the second result. I quite like the little sampler that comes up too: "Cast your vote! Vote for PASTA, you mindless consumer drones. Watch. What next, David Cameron appearing in an advert for big bags of heroin?" That should draw people in. If they're searching for totally perverse things like "bt advert cast 2007". The freaks.

I'm pretty pleased with my placing for "gary barlow weblog" - I'm the fourth result, right under a BBC website. Go me. I'm the first - first! - result for "satanic christmas e-cards" of all things, and third for "satanic e-cards". Why people are searching for such things I do not know. Search for "advert ocean finance pool" and I appear in both second and third place for some reason. I'm third and fourth for "astrologist justin topper". Search for both "mars advert (lights turning on)" and "mars light advert" and I'm at the top.

I've already mentioned the whole "gays are evil" thing below, but additionally, my other blog, Voicewatch is on the first page of results for "zoos are evil". As with the whole "gays are evil" thing, the little sample sadly makes me out to be a rabid homophobe: "Evil Gays Defile Zoo - Those gays have a fucking nerve, eh? Not only do they perform sinful acts with each other, they - get this - have parties in zoos as..." Lamentably you have to click on the link to realise that I'm taking the piss.

So that's my latest obsession. It could be worse I suppose, at least I've not started collecting model trains. Or making matchstick models. Or kneecapping innocent people. Because all of those things would be bad.

XXXmas

Apparently it's not Christmas unless you've got a load of attractive young women dressed in Santa-outfit-themed miniskirt/dress things cavorting around your house. I refer, of course, to the video for the cover that Tony Christie did of Slade's "Merry Xmas Everybody". What a misogynistic old pile of shite. Lookie:



Ugh. The bit that really pisses me off come around the 02:00 mark. Ooh look, now two of the attractive young women are pillow-fighting over a random mediocre-looking working-class guy! What a likely occurrence! I'm assuming Tony Christie came up with this video. Tony Christie is old. Yeah: ewww! Pervert. No wonder he looks so fucking cheerful. He probably feels like God. "I want tits in Santa outfits!" "Um... yes, Mr. Christie. Right away."

The weird thing is the end, where Christie randomly decides to leave the party and fucks off down an alleyway. It's a bit suspect. Tony pauses for a moment before walking into the alley as if checking that an unspecified someone was there. I mean... well I'm not going to beat around the bush, it looks as though Tony's fucking off to have gay sex in an alleyway. Cue cheap innuendo involving a reference to someone's 'Way to Amarillo'. That said I don't know why someone would deliberately insert (ho-ho!) a reference to themselves having gay sex in an alley at the end of their music video, so maybe I'm a bit off the mark. Maybe he's making a bit of a cry for help or something? I don't know.

Well... that... kind of ended on a random note... So... um... yeah. Merry Christmas and shit.

Tellyads Top 20 Ads of 2007

So Tellyads has sorted its Top 20 ads for 2007. Look: link.

The Cadbury Gorilla being at number 1 is fairly predictable. I don't think it's a bad advert but... I don't get what people find so great about it. "Ooh, a gorilla... playing the drums! How zany!" It's just... I could come up with a ton of ideas like that. All you have to do is come up with some random bits and bobs and throw them together. How about... an anthropomorphic duck... shooting a shrew... in the kneecaps... with a banana...? And there you go, an advert for banana smoothies or something, just like that. I should work in advertising.

There's a fair bit of shite on the list. Some misogynistic tat advertising Lynx is at No. 2. The biggest abortion of the lot, however, is at No. 17. Yes, it's a BT ad. A fucking BT ad. Ugh. It's the best man one, where the guy uses the Internet to come up with a best man speech. Why does he bother? He's a cunt. No matter what he says, everyone will secretly be thinking "ugh, this guy's a knob". He's probably already fucked off every single member of the audience by constantly babbling about BT's twatting home hub at every solitary social event he's attended for the past God-only-knows how long, fictional bastard that he is. Ugh. Ugh. If BT do an advert where a gas fault burns the BT family's house to the ground, with them inside, then I guarantee it will be next year's No. 1. Go on BT, do it. Do it for me. Please? Please?!?

Revenge of the Evil Gays

I was having a look at my site stats a minute ago and noticed that I got a hit through someone searching on Google for "gays are evil". Unsurprisingly, I was slightly concerned about this. Maybe I'd been sleep-posting 'gay hate' material or something. I decided to investigate. It turned out they'd been sent to this post about Christian Voice bitching about a gay event at a zoo. I went on Google and stuck "gays are evil" (without parentheses) into it to see what happened. Turns out the post is right at the top of the second page of results. That's pretty high.

The bad thing is that all you can see from the search result is the heading, "Evil Gays 'Invade Zoo'", and this bit of text: "I kind of thought that Britain, although flawed, was a reasonably nice place to live. I mean someone stole a parcel out of my front ..."

That's really bad. I mean it looks as if I continued and went:

"I mean someone stole a parcel out of my front yard - but at least they were straight! Then I remembered that gay people existed and that gay people lived in Britain... and then I changed my mind and decided that Britain was a shithole - and we all know what gays do with shitholes!!!111one"

My real name's in the URL of this bugger too. People are going to think I'm a right homophobe. But then... they'll only see that if they search for "gays are evil", and you'd have to be pretty homophobic to search for that... except... I searched for that. But I was only checking... I... I'm not a homophobe... am I?

The answer is "no", by the way.

Special Relationship

You have to wonder about some of the people employed by the Daily Mail. Specifically, the guy who writes its games reviews, James O'Brien. Take his review of Super Mario Galaxy, which begins:

"Anyone with a passing interest in video games must, at some point, have engaged in a relationship with Mario."

Um... 'kay. 'Relationship'? 'Engaged'? I mean... what does this mean? Do we want to know? I'm slightly frightened. Apparently:

"As with any... the relationship with the fat, little Italian plumber will have had its highs and lows"

I kind of worry about the quality of Mr. O'Brien's interpersonal relationships, after all, he's just described someone who, in his own words, he has been "engaged in a relationship with" as 'fat' and 'little'. That's not very nice. No wonder there've been 'lows'.

I can't imagine his wife would be very happy being called those things. There again, he's probably not married, just in a civil partnership with a cardboard cut-out of Mario he stole from a shop. After all, despite being 'fat' and 'little', he does have other qualities. Like being a plumber. I bet he earns shitloads when he's not off saving princesses.

The Return of Cainer

Well I'm at home now, and that means that, once again, I have to tolerate the Daily Mail. So, once again, I'm exposed to the evil of Jonathan Cainer. Here's the start of today's 'scope for us Leos:

When my children were younger, they had a favourite theme park ride. They each got to sit in a little car with a steering wheel to turn and a horn to honk.

Um... OK. An irrelevant but seemingly benign anecdote. But next...

They felt as if they were in control of their vehicle. Only they weren't. The whole thing was being pulled along a track. For them, ignorance was bliss.

The horoscope was starting to seem increasingly suspicious. Why would Jonathan start lecturing us about 'control'? Maybe... just maybe... Jonathan is brainwashing people using mind control...?

None of us minds living in a fantasy when we feel good, but none of us likes to give more energy than we must to an unnecessary worry. This week, something is bugging you. There is no need to let it.

Ah... and now it all comes clear. Jonathan Cainer's evil plan for world domination has entered its implementation phase and he has begun to use mind control against the nation... but his technique has not yet been perfected, and the people can sense that something is wrong. Cainer's horoscope is trying to throw us off the scent! Or... or maybe... just maybe... I'm being slightly... ever so slightly... paranoid...

High School Horrible False-looking Bastard

Well, my Christmas holiday has started and so I will hopefully start to post around once a day again (if I ever did). Anyway...

I hate Zac Efron. I don't really know anything about him. I've never seen any of the films he's been in, and in fact the only time I've ever seen him in anything other than a still image is in adverts and the time that he randomly appeared on the Lotto draw programme. But this lack of knowledge is irrelevant - I'm the guy that walks down the street thinking: "You're a twat... you're a twat... cunt... you look acceptable... bitch... twat" towards random passers-by, as if I were some sort of archangel sent by God to sift through people as a prelude to Judgement Day. In case you hadn't guessed, I like to judge people. And quickly. We live in a time-poor society - why waste time doing silly things like 'getting to know people' before you decide whether they're total bastards or not? Anyway, I, judgemental bastard that I am, have decided I do not care for Mr. Efron.

He looks weird. I really do not understand how any human being could find him attractive. I mean... all the bits are in the right place... the eyes... the nose... the mouth (although I don't know of many people who do actually look like a badly assembled Mr. Potato Head), but somehow it all just looks a bit wrong, a bit like an alien masquerading (holy shit, I did actually just manage to spell that right without using spellcheck) as a human using some sort of crazy latex mask, like Planet of the Apes... but with humans. He looks like some sort of children's doll.

I can't imagine him having any sort of personal life. I just imagine the 'film people' packing him away in a crate after each film and keeping him in storage until the next one. He'd just lie there staring at the wall of his wooden box in total darkness with his horrible dead eyes. Occasionally he'd sleep and have dreams, dark dreams of agony and despair. Maybe they'd be like a My Chemical Romance video. I wouldn't really know. The only one I've seen is the one for that Black Parade song and that was a load of pompous arse. Mind you, I'd look like a bit strange if I had that crap in my dreams.

Anyway, I'm really just rambling now. Hope you readers have a happy Christmas. Unless you're Zac Efron. In which case, whilst I would not want to wish you a cheerful festive season, I would perhaps express a hope that your 'people' will decorate the inside of your box. Fair is fair.

Burger Bother

The packaging for my Birdseye beef burgers helpfully suggest that I "BBQ [them] from frozen".

Well I say helpful... it's the middle of December. So not very helpful at all then. The stupid twats.

More astrological madness

I wasn't even going to post today, but look: two whole posts!

Anyway, I ended up stumbling onto the Daily Express website and decided to check my horoscope while I was there. Would "Britain's best astrologer", Justin Topper, a crazy-haired bastard be up to the standard of dastardly Daily Mail astrologer Jonathan Cainer?

Let's have a look what my 'scope said:

You don't seem too bothered by your surroundings today. If anything, you should have more space to develop a relationship, and even plan a trip. Make the most of it, because there is no such thing as a free ticket. In fact, you're better off not moving.

This is just insane. I'm constantly bothered by my surroundings, that's bollocks. Everyone cares about their surroundings, it's why we don't live in houses with massive piles of shit piled in every room. And I'm somehow supposed to develop a relationship and plan a trip without even leaving my chair! Madness.

I wonder how many people agreed that they were "better off not moving" today and instead decided to sit around in a massive puddle of their own piss. Well considering Justin's audience is Daily Express readers, probably a surprisingly large number...

Some exchanges

In a shop:

MAN: Five pounds of top-up please.

SHOP GUY: That'll be five pounds please.

No shit.

On the Wall of the Facebook group "Jeremy Clarkson should be Prime Minister":

Alex Camponi:
Jez is the man. He can have my sister - and she's fit too

Greg Coward:
u just called ur sister fit?

I fear for humanity.

Family Fucking Fortunes

What's that Vernon Kay? You're from Bolton? Really?

NO FUCKING WAY!

All-star Family Fortunes. With Vernon Kay. What an abortion. Is it any wonder the traditional family's fucked? Is it? Eh?!?!

tellyAds

Sorry about the lack of recent posts. Um... it's not good. Anyway...

If you're a long time reader of this blog, you'll know I often post links from tellyAds, a site that has streaming version of lots of television adverts. Well tellyAds are running a 'best of 2007' vote with a fairly big shortlist: look at it here.

But look at that list. There are some shit adverts on there. The Head and Shoulders Mickey advert - why the fuck is that there? It's one of the worst adverts of the year!

There's that Aero advert with the muscular guy, a totally random advert which basically goes 'OMG!!! BUY OUR PRODUCT! WE HAVE A SEXXXY MAN ON OUR ADVERT!!!!1111'. It's an advert for fucking morons. If you bought an Aero because of that advert I demand you have yourself sterilised as soon as possible.

There's an Argos Christmas advert which automatically loses for me because they started broadcasting it in fucking October! October! That's just wrong. That's like having a hysterectomy before having kids (and then thinking 'Oh... shit. I want a baby!')

There's a perverted boy who likes sniffing his sofa (don't worry, he'll soon graduate to glue and the odour of lap-dancer sweat).

There's Victoria Wood whoring herself out to Wal-Mart. There's a fucking BT ad with that fucking man and his fucking family (where's the advert where they all die from carbon monoxide poisoning?).

These adverts aren't good. They're shit. Shame on you tellyAds. Shame!

Clearasil

This has to be one of the most incompetent adverts I've seen: link.

First there's the tragically poor over-dub. The guy with the lighter coloured hair sounds like a random 35-year-old man. This is not good. Is he some sort of paedophile in disguise?

Then there's that weird finger-mouth-pop, which I don't understand. Maybe the light-haired guy saying "don't go stealing all the girls now!" is meant to be some kind of ironic joke because they're both gay and the mouth-pop is meant to be some kind of weird display of love? I don't know. But then if the advert was some kind of Brokeback Mountain for people with spots, then why do they keep going on about girls all the time? Unless they're horribly in denial then my theory doesn't make any sense. So just what the fuck is that weird finger-pop meant to be? I'm sure if we lived in the European mainland it would make sense. Damn Clearasil and their poorly localised adverts!

Finally there's the weird bit at the end with all the girls stroking the guy's face. There are many things wrong with this:
1) I'm pretty sure few females find Clearasil use alluring.
2) What kind of conversation would lead up to that situation? "Hey girls, I've been using Clearasil! Stroke my face, bitches!" "OK!" - Yeah, exactly, it's not going to happen, is it?
3) Isn't a load of people poring over your face with their hands just going to make it more likely that you'll get spots again?

Honestly, this advert is fooling no-one. People really aren't stupid enough to believe that Clearasil makes them really attractive. The fact that the advert's clearly been made for another market and has just had a lazy over-dub slammed onto it doesn't help either. Bugger off, Clearasil.

Coke FUCKING Zero

If there's one series of adverts that I absolutely, utterly despise then it's this one:



That's right, it's the adverts for fucking Coke Zero. Where do I even begin?

The whole thing seems to bring up memories of 1930s/1940s fascism (not that I was alive then, but, y'know collective memories). What's going on with the main guy, who's like a cross between a blackshirt and an Ayran wet dream? What's going on with the first guy he meets up with, who bears a passing resemblance to Adolf Hilter? The crowds and the big banner at the end look like some kind of Nazi rally. It's fucking weird.

And it's not just the appearance of these sub-normal looking freaks that bothers me, it's what they're saying as well. I swear the marking people who created this went "what demographic are we aiming at?", and came up with "Daily Mail readers". Ugh. Why are all of their problems so irritatingly tedious and trivial? "[What about] workmates - without the work!" cries one. Yes, that'll work in our consumer capitalist society you absolute fucking moron! I mean seriously, does that guy have shit for brains?! Work isn't great, but it's better than the alternative - living in a cold damp cave, smeared in your own shit, finding food and then beating it to death with a big stick, all because society basically doesn't exist. Stupid twat.

And if they aren't bitching about work then they're bitching about women, in a desperately misogynistic fashion. "Girlfriends - without five year plan", "bras - without the fumbling"... I bet the writers were longing to include something like "women - without the ability to say 'no'" or some such bollocks. I mean let's be honest, most of the men on that advert looked and sounded as though their interactions with women exclusively revolved around: 1) looking at a screen, 2) frantic masturbation, and 3) dying inside, bit by bit.

But it doesn't end there, they did follow-up adverts as well (the fucks). Here's one of them: link. It honestly makes me despair to think that a young man would actually give so much of a shit about someone playing 'somewhat loud' music in their 'car'. Twat. I occasionally have nightmares where that guy goes "what if all good things could come without the downsides? Like this country - without the black people!" Well, I don't really, but if I did then that'd be the kind of bollocks he'd be coming up with. The knob.

But, sadly, the ordeal still isn't over. They did more adverts with fucking Wayne Rooney. Witness. Mind you, I'd quite like to see spiky metal balls become a part of football. I'm sure there's a joke about footballers' sexual shenanigans there, but I can't be bothered to make it.

So there you go, pretty much the worst advertising campaign ever. At least unless they start trying to flog Fanta with images of starving African children with AIDS being decapitated by piano wire. The bastards.

Demonic Castle

I got an e-mail today from an online import CD store about a random Japanese clothing label. The press release bit made me chuckle though:

Deorart is a gothic and gothic/punk fashion brand known for its appearances in popular visual kei magazines. Conceived for the concert club, Deorart clothing presents alternating dark and light facets for an edgy, stylish look.

Imagine a demonic castle where each room is draped in either skeletons or angels--this location lurks in the hearts of their designers and serves as the source for their designs. Just look at Deorart's angel-wing logo for proof.

Demonic castle? There isn't really anything I can add to that.

HMV Compendium

I'm getting sick of various HMV-related posts clogging up the blog, so here they are, all put together:

Sunday, 21 October 2007 - HMV Again...

I got another e-mail from HMV today, this time with the subject line: "Nobody puts Sunday Film Club in the corner...". What are HMV going to do if I do put it in the corner? Beat me up? Kill me?

If I keep getting e-mail from them with bizarre/threatening headers I'm going to unsubscribe from their mailing list. And what will HMV do then? Probably just not send me e-mails about offers any more...

Monday, 22 October 2007 - Yet More HMV

Another day, another bizarrely headed e-mail from HMV. This time the subject header is: "Table Tennis: We loved it so much we wrote an essay!"

Good for you, you sad tossers.

Friday, 26 October 2007 - Even More HMV

Got another e-mail from HMV today. Subject line: "Welcome to your first Christmas newsletter".

It's. Oct. Fucking. Tober.

Ugh...

***

Anyway, that's the lot. I'll leave you with a thought - imagine how pissed off HMV would have been if they'd been called HIV - and then HIV was invented/discovered/whatever. Oh, the rebranding costs!

Random Shite

I just got sent an e-mail from HMV with the subject line: "Go all the way with Jonny". What? I... I don't even know who Jonny is. Why the fuck would I want to go "all the way" with him? That's... that's just wrong. Ugh.

Anyway, I was just watching a bit of that Leave Us Kids Alone on BBC3, and one of the parents said of their teenagers: "He's like a one-man idiot". Um... what? How... how does that work? Are idiots normally Siamese twins or split-personality sufferers or something? I... I don't understand.

Oh, also today, I went into a lecture to find that someone had left an big empty bottle of vodka stuff on the floor:

That must have been a fun lecture for somebody.

Oh, and some news hot off the press - tonight a man wandered into our front yard and cut the wire off the discarded freezer lying there. He then wandered off with his prize. Bizarre.

Shark Kids

I was going to make a horribly offensive joke comparing this incident with Steve Irwin's death. I actually wrote the post but chickened out because it was just a bit horrible and not actually funny. But then I glanced at the website again and noticed something weird.

As you may have noticed, the site I looked at was the Newsround website. But if you look at the column on the right, you can see this:


Seriously, how many stories of shark related violence does a kid need? We've got enough problems with kids without them trying to happy-slap sharks. I wonder how many kids have been unable to sleep after going on the Newsround website, crying that 'the sharks' are going to 'get them'?

Looks the like Daily Mail has been right all along, the BBC are evil fucks.

Not So Secret

I didn't really know what advert I was going to 'do' today, until I went on the tellyAds website and saw this face gurning out at me:


That's right, it's Nadine Baggott from those Olay adverts. Apparently she's a 'Celebrity Beauty Editor', whatever that is, although for someone holding such a position she has a very ugly surname. Anyway, here's the advert: link. I think she needs a deed poll, not pentapeptides.

Anyhoo, I have some 'beauty secrets' I'd like some answers to:
1) Why does Ms. Baggott's job apparently consist of her watching people have their hair done, or at other times simply grinning at random people as if she's doped off her tits on heroin? Surely no-one in their rights minds would pay someone to perform such unnecessary tasks (especially if she is doing heroin, that's some expensive stuff).
2) Why does Ms. Baggott constantly move her head around in a disconcerting manner when she's speaking?
3) Why does Ms. Baggott constantly have that smug look on her face as if she's doing something great for society and the world in general when all she's doing is whoring some face-cream? Perhaps she likes to imagine that she builds wells for the kids dying of thirst in Africa. Well you don't, you bitch.
4) Why does Ms. Baggott's life take place entirely in split-screen? She's not on 24. And if she is then they've really let it go to shit in the 6th season.

So yeah, answer me those questions 'Nadine', you irritatingly unnecessary woman.

Gosh, I'm so full of anger today...

Evil Gays 'Invade Zoo'

I kind of thought that Britain, although flawed, was a reasonably nice place to live. I mean someone stole a parcel out of my front yard last week, but at least I don't get bombed/raped/stabbed every time I leave the house.

But anyway, apparently I've been wrong about Britain. It turns out we're living in a 'nation of pain' populated by evil sinners with 'a Government in rebellion'. People don't take marriage seriously, children are encouraged to be sexually promiscuous, everyone is drowning in a sea of crime, the walls in our hospitals are smeared with the shit of the damned and (gasp!) there are men who do it with each other! Where did I uncover this terrible reality? The website of Christian Voice, a not-at-all-unreasonable-oh-no Christian group who think that everything has gone wrong.

Thing is, everything hasn't gone wrong and pretty much everything that Christian Voice says is a big bag of shite. Now, Christian Voice have a pet hate, and that pet hate is gay people, or 'homosexuals' as they unceasingly refer to them. And if there's one thing that they hate more than 'homosexuals', it's 'homosexuals' in a zoo. Thus when London Zoo held a 'Gay Sunday' event, Christian Voice (or 'CV' as I will now refer to them, as I'm sick of typing out their name) 'condemned' the event.

There were a number of perks to attending the event, including access to various bits and pieces of the zoo, a live band, etc. But the perk that really riled CV was what they described as 'a staggering 20% discount'. Yes, a 'staggering' discount. Let's look up the word 'staggering' in the OED, shall we? Here we are: "lit. Reeling, tottering, etc". It saddens me that there is someone in the world who is actually left reeling - reeling - by the fact that some people have got a 20% discount. It's twenty fucking percent! They save £1.45. You could only buy, I don't know, a solitary grain of really pure heroin with that. It's nothing. Nothing.

Stephen Green, National Director of CV wasn't happy with this:

"Incredibly, by paying less, the gays got more. The ordinary punter didn't have an exclusive garden party or a barbecue - they had to queue for their overpriced food and drink with everyone else."

Serves them fucking right for not liking cock. Additionally, I'm amused at the use of the word 'incredibly', as if this were the most shocking thing on Earth, and not just some gays (oh, sorry, 'homosexuals') having an event at a zoo. Gays in a zoo? End of the world as we know it.

There were also a number of pictures with captions that amused me. They speak for themselves:




Nice. If you want to read the whole thing you can find it here: link, although I've already taken the piss out of all the funny bits so you'll probably just find it faintly depressing. Ho hum.

Yet More Jonathan

More news on the Jonathan Cainer front (for those not in the know, I suspect him of having an evil plot to take over the world, see here and here). Anyway, I was in a pub and noticed a copy of the world's great newspaper (if you're a Nazi), the Daily Mail. Flicking over to Cainer's horoscopes section I noticed the following:

Historic heads of state have openly asked astrologers when to start campaigns. In recent times, though, prime ministers and presidents have had to hold clandestine consultations. In the Eighties, for example, the Gorbachev-Reagan summits were timed to tie in with major planetary alignments. These were a great success, but when the truth about the cosmic connection came out, Reagan was embarrassed.
Great leaders, though, still like to know what their stars say. On Friday, I advised Gordon Brown against an election. On Saturday, he dropped the idea. Gordon, if you're reading, I'll give you more advice tomorrow.

So Cainer is already giving 'advice' to Gordon Brown. If we assume the worst (life's more interesting that way), Gordon Brown has been brainwashed by some kind of evil mind-machine and Cainer is now calling the shots. Cainer now has the keys to the UK. The world is doomed!

Gary Barlow HATES YOU!

Gary Barlow thinks you're disgusting:


Gary Barlow wants to kick your children in the face:


Gary Barlow is inexplicably angry at his hands:


Gary Barlow hates these lights, possibly because they aren't energy efficient:


Gary Barlow is running out of oxygen but wants to kill you with his deathray vision anyway:


For the love of God, Gary - smile. It isn't hard!

Cast your vote!

Vote for PASTA, you mindless consumer drones. Watch.

What next, David Cameron appearing in an advert for big bags of heroin?

Drowning in Debt

Here's an advert for Ocean Finance:


I don't understand how this is supposed to encourage people to apply for a loan. Look at the last twenty seconds. We see a man jump into the Ocean Finance pool, only for him to find himself out at sea, where the currents will probably carry him away from the shore and lead him to a watery death, his body never found. Doesn't really inspire confidence, does it?

Mind you, saves him from having to top himself when he can't keep up the repayments and his house gets repossessed.

Pictogram of the Year

I declare the winner of the Pictogram of the Year award to be Dell, for these morbid creations that came on the plastic bag accompanying a new computer keyboard. Here they are in all their baby-suffocating glory:

You just know that the person who drew these actually garnered some enjoyment from it, particularly the top one. I mean the pictogram guy almost looks like he's asphyxiating himself for pleasure. Normally I'd feign disgust at this kind of thing but I'm in too good of a mood for that. 'Well done' to whoever created these evil things.

Some videos...

Well it seems my lack of inspiration in writing post titles has extended to the actual posts themselves. I've been thinking of something to write about for several days and haven't come up with anything yet. In the meantime, if you're into videogames you might enjoy these videos by Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw:

LINK!

And if you can't even be arsed to navigate a few weblinks here's an example:



Enjoy. Hopefully I'll have some material of my own to stick up in a couple of days.

[Insert another bakery-related title here]

It turns out that Mr. Kipling, popular fictional cake-making man, doesn't just make exceedingly good cakes but also tells exceedingly good lies as well. Look at this blurb for his Mini Battenburgs:

'It was while playing chequers that the idea came to me to create a Battenberg. “A square sponge will never work”, my opponent said to me. Undeterred, I added some apricot jam and wrapped in an almond flavoured paste and sugar dusted coating to finish. The rest, as they say, is history.'

Basically Mr. Kipling attempts to gain credit for the creation of the Battenburg, conveniently switching a 'the' for an 'a' in the first sentence to avoid a lawsuit, hoping that the idiot masses, desperately in need a cakey fix, with overlook this minor point. The deceitful swine.

If Mr. Kipling is willing to stoop to this level, what next? Will we be seeing this on the back of a box of these in the future?:

'One day I baked a batch of my delicious iced fancies but suddenly realised that I didn't have a name for them. I asked one of my many friends for advice. "Why don't you name them after a country?" he said. This seemed like a good idea, but none of the names seemed to fit. 'German Fancies' or 'Russian Fancies' didn't seem to fit the bill. Then I was stuck by a sudden inspiration. If I were to found a country called 'France' I would be able to call them 'French Fancies'. So I did. The rest, as they say, is history.'

The guy has no morality whatsoever, although that isn't surprising, what with him not existing and all.

One last thing. Trawling the Mr. Kipling website, I found this comment about his Choc Chip Cake Bars: "I always find that with 5 in a pack there's never quite enough to last the week". I've found that out as well. Seeing as we're all apparently aware of this shortcoming, Mr. Kipling, why not put more in the fucking pack! You fictional bastard.

Mars, lights, blah blah blah...

I honestly can't think of titles for these posts anymore. It's destroying me (though not literally - that would just be bizarre).

Anyway, that's besides the point. The point resides within this link here: click and watch.

I'd almost forgotten about this advert and suddenly it was on TV and I remembered it. I'm sorry that's not exactly the best story of all time, but if you're looking for that sort of thing you'd probably be better off with a copy of War and Peace rather than some random blog post (so actually I'm not sorry at all - it's your own fault). Anyway, I'm rambling.

I honestly don't understand what the point of this advert is. Does it make you want to buy a Mars bar? All it does to me is vaguely suggest that eating a Mars bar will cause you to activate light sources and small electrical appliances everywhere you go. And that's hardly going to get you a place in the cast of Heroes is it? In fact it'd be fucking annoying. You'd never be able to sleep at night because all your bedroom lights would turn on, and during the day people would start having a go at you in the street for turning on all the streetlights in the middle of the day, thus wasting valuable resources. Probably the only way you'd be able to manage your carbon footprint would be to spontaneously metamorphosise into a tree.

All that for the sake of one bloody Mars bar? It's just not worth it.

Evil Jonathan

If you cast your minds back to this post, you'll remember that I suspect astrologer Jonathan Cainer of having an evil plan to take over the Earth. Well apparently Cainer is taking his plan to the next level.

A week ago Jonathan stated in his 'Thought for the Day' that "next week, I will have a special announcement to make about a momentous change in the celestial situation". Apparently it was the calm before the storm and "we might consider it the grand finale before the new and gentle dawning of a different era". An era where you reign supreme over the entire world Cainer, you evil star-gazing freak? He continues: "Soon, whether we choose it or not, we will find that change comes into all our lives. That’s something to embrace, not fear". Speak for yourself Jonathan, I'm terrified - because you're going to enslave me!

A few days later I came across this disturbing letter:

Hi Jonathan,
My friend, who is very spiritual, constantly refers to the great change which is going to happen later this month when the Earth moves into the fourth dimension. I have not had a coherent explanation of what that really means. Do you have any insights you can share?
Freddie

They say we will enter the fifth dimension in 2012. I suppose it makes sense to visit the fourth first. At that rate, we'll be ready for the sixth in about 2017. Whether any of us will notice that these vital changes have occurred, though... is a moot point.

You'll have realised by now that, of course, these 'vital changes' post-2012 are moot points because by this time Cainer will have us all under his evil thrall and we'll be too docile to care. Perhaps the vital changes in 2012 and 2017 will involve some sort of ethnic cleansing - it takes time to build death-camps after all.

At the moment Cainer is in the Middle East, visiting historic sites whilst researching his book on "a powerful ancient prophecy". Does this ancient prophecy mention anything about a well-known astrologer gaining dominion o'er the Earth, perhaps?

I'm worried. I don't know exactly how Jonathan intends to take over our minds. But he's going to do it, and he's going to do it soon. Lock your doors - otherwise... um... he might come into your house at night and rummage around your cutlery draws... perhaps.

[Insert bakery-related title here]

In a fit of absent-mindedness I managed to miss a connecting train yesterday, leaving myself stranded in Worksop for an hour. I ending up walking into the town to get some food. Two things occurred:
1) I realised what a horrible place Worksop was and resolved never to go there again.
2) I took my custom to a Greggs bakery.

Now you wouldn't imagine everyday bakery to be the most exciting of professions. The bakery people put together some stuff, put said stuff in an oven, take said stuff out of oven and then hand it over to people in exchange for money. There might be some occasional excitement, a broken oven perhaps, or a mild burn to the hand, but otherwise you'd imagine the whole process to be a bit boring. Well you'd be wrong.

Apparently Greggs have tried to sex up the traditional bakery. The bakers dash to and fro behind the counter, barking orders at each other. The people at the counter scream at the customers, perhaps trying to raise their voices above the noise of imaginary gunfire and explosions. A women desperately shrieks "two minutes to cornish pasty!" as if this were some kind of absurd bakery-based version of 24, and said cornish pasty were about to appear in the sky above the town and raze it to the ground. It's quite stressful if all you want is a sandwich.

Oh, I almost forgot, something else happened yesterday: I was on the train, reading a magazine, when a guy on the other side of the carriage answered his phone. "Oh, I'm having such a shit day," he said to the other person, "the dog literally ate all my money." I wanted to hear more but unfortunately we'd reached a station and he got off.

Additionally I came upon this video the other day:
YouTube link

At the time it was the most incredible thing I'd seen all day, although I should point out that on this particular day I never left the house, and thus my opportunity for sighting incredible things was somewhat reduced.

Everyone Knows A Twat Like Mickey

As you might have guessed, there's quite a lot of TV adverts I don't like. Here's another one. It's for Head and Shoulders. This is why I don't like it:

1) I don't know a bloke like Mickey. You just lied to me Mr. Advert-man.
2) All of Mickey's 'looks' look the same.
3) All of Mickey's 'looks' look a bit shit.
4) Mickey generally strikes me as being a bit of a cunt, quite an achievement since I only know him through a 30-second TV advert.

Try harder H&S, you bastards.

PC Bastard World

Another advert that outrages me because it makes no sense whatsoever: WATCH.

SHE'S FUCKING STOOD RIGHT THERE!!!

This is utter madness.

BT Again

BT's advertising has pissed me off again. You can watch the advert I've been offended by here.

What kind of utter utter moron is this woman? How the fuck do you 'lose' a folder? Let's think about this for a moment, this woman has somehow managed to press on or click 'delete', click 'yes' on the invariable dialogue box, right click on the Recycle Bin and then click on 'Empty Recycle Bin', all by accident. That takes a special kind of computer illiteracy. Why is she even allowed to touch the laptop? I'm guessing in a future advert it turns out that she's the chief person in charge of the new NHS computer system. It'd all make sense then.

But there's another thing I don't understand. Why is so bothered about losing pictures of her kids as babies? She's got a teenage son, so unless she travelled in time to get a digital camera years in advance (a bit much, even if you like technology) then those files are scans of originals that she still has. That is, of course, unless once she got a computer with a scanner she gathered all her photographs into a big pile and burned them all in a big bonfire, shrieking: "Hahaha, I don't need you anymore, you photo bastards!" But that's unlikely. In fact, if she loves those photos so pissing much then why has she never fucking printed any of them out?!

Perhaps I let these things bother me too much. Perhaps I shouldn't let myself get turned into Poirot by an advert. Perhaps I shouldn't keep being surprised by the antics of a family who are all so fucking thick that they bought a house based solely on the availability of a telecomms package. But there again, perhaps these advertising agencies should make some adverts that make some fucking sense! Grrr...

Oh, one last thing. If that woman can't even stop herself from compulsively deleting her photos then how the fuck is the going to conjure up the IT skills to make the back-up software work? Eh? Didn't think of that one, did you BT? You fucks.

(Untitled)

Here's a scan of an article from my local paper:

No. No it is not.

The Spy Who Loved Mutilated People

The other day, for some odd reason, I remembered the talk we’d been given before work experience back when I was in secondary school. The talk pretty much went along the lines of:

“Well, I have a friend who lost his hand because he didn’t listen to the supervisor when he was doing his work experience and had it minced by the meat grinder,”

...and:

“I have a friend who had his face reduced to a bloody pulp because he didn’t wear his mask while he was doing his work experience and had it flayed by the box-making machine.”

Her message didn’t really get through to me because I was sitting there thinking: “Where the fuck did you get all these friends, you bizarre woman?”

I mean seriously, is that what she spends all her spare time doing, going into pubs scouting out all the mutilated people she can get her hands on? Does she see a guy in the street with a stump instead of a hand and go: “Ooh! A mutilated guy, I think I’ll go and befriend him!” Then, when she finds out he had it amputated because of some kind of horrible malignant hand-tumour and not because of a work-experience accident, she stops returning his calls and it all ends up with him outside her house shouting: “Why won’t you talk to me anymore?” and her leaning out of a first-floor window screaming: “You weren’t injured during work experience! I don’t need you! Get away from my house you fucking cripple!”

Perhaps she spends her evenings on YouTube looking for CCTV footage of horrible workplace accidents to satisfy her insatiable mutilation-based desires. Then again, perhaps she only gets off on it if it happens to teenage boys. The fucking peado.

These people make me sick.

The Death Cult of E-CARDS

I was flicking through some stuff in my room and found two articles from the Daily Mail from the Christmas period that I’d forgotten to tell anyone about.

Anyway, it transpired that a new wave of destruction and chaos was sweeping the nation. People were dying, cities were being razed to the ground. The cause? E-cards, the new Anti-Christ in our Satanic digital world. Or at least that was kind of the idea.

The article looked like this:

Apparently 2006 was “the year of the ‘e-card’, tacky electronic messages which are threatening to replace our traditional Christmas cards.”
I couldn’t help but think the word ‘threatening’ made the idea of e-cards seem unduly aggressive, as if angry fundamentalist e-cards might be about to fly planes into high buildings at any moment.

The Mail went on: “Gone are the days of individual messages on pretty cards that could be placed on the mantelpiece.”
I, of course, used to spend hours every Christmas carefully crafting individual cards to send to people. If I made a card and it wasn’t a creation of utter beauty, I burned it and began again. Eventually I became so anxious about creating perfect cards that I began to self-harm because sending out ‘pretty cards’ bothered me that fucking much. Except that I’m lying my fucking face off and actually I’ve always just bought a generic card from a generic shop and shoved a few names in it. Just like everybody fucking else.

Apparently ex-TV presenter Joan Bakewell (who?) was fucking outraged: “E-cards are totally unsatisfactory… after Christmas I sit down with all the cards and read them through. It’s a type of Christmas post-mortem which gives you a chance to really think about the people you care about. An e-card could simply never achieve that.”
‘Post-mortem?’ Well sorry Joan, but I think I’d prefer to get advice about Christmas from someone who doesn’t compare reading some cards with dicing up a cold rotting corpse with a scalpel. You fucking freak.

The article finishes with: “What used to be a genuine and touching gesture has become a minor Christmas task – or, worse, just another marketing tool.”
Yes, the days when we openly wept with heartbursting joy at receiving a mass-produced piece of cardboard are over. Oh fucking no.

The second article was just as bad. It’s probably best if you just look at the thing:

That’s right, not only did eBay steal Christmas but it made an innocent baby cry by dressing it in the most hideous outfit the world has never seen.
But is Lorraine Fisher really the best person to be dishing out judgement on eBay sellers? Let’s take a closer look at her:

Let’s be honest, she looks as if she’s not only stolen Christmas but thrown its kids underneath a train while it looks on, helpless. Not really surprising considering she writes for the Mail…

Unfunny Sketch

I happened upon some files yesterday which contained some material for this blog that I never posted. One of the files contained some sketches I wrote to take the piss out of Tittybangbang, the dire 'comedy' sketch show on BBC3. Basically I'd decided to write some sketches of equal comedic value to highlight just how crap the show is. Here's one of the results:

[HUSBAND is sitting at a table. WIFE walks in.]
HUSBAND: Hello dear! How was work today?
WIFE: I didn’t go to work. I called up and quit in the morning.
HUSBAND: Oh…
WIFE: I quit because I’m leaving. I’m moving away.
HUSBAND: What? But what about our baby?
WIFE: I went and had an abortion. I don’t want to have a child with you.
HUSBAND: Oh.
WIFE: I’m leaving you. I packed my bags this morning. There’s a cab outside.
HUSBAND: Um… goodbye then?
WIFE: Yes, goodbye. You shit.
[SKETCH ENDS]

Everyone Loves Stickers

I wasn't going to do a blog entry today but I had an empty hour. Ho hum.

There's some programme on the TV right now, where a random woman's bitching about carrots. "Call these carrots?" she says, among other similar comments. What do you think you're presenting woman, the Carrot Factor? Because you aren't and you should really shut the fuck up.

Anyhoo, back to business. I found this set of stickers that came with a VHS cassette and they made me laugh. Here's a scan:

The dad's my favourite. Who the fuck looks like that? I fear for the children because their dad's obviously a total paedophile. And if you look at the woman you can see the secret plea for help from a woman who has to spend every evening in her husband's secret sex torture dungeon. She even looks as if she's wearing some kind of odd school uniform fancy dress outfit.
"Do I have to wear this again Jeremy?"
"Yes! And I told you, call me Adolf."
"Daddy, why is Mummy wearing a school uniform?"
"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING IN HERE? I TOLD YOU TO GET IN THE CUPBOARD!"
I mean look at the pretty blonde children, sitting there like a Nazi's wet dream. Bet they have blue eyes. Or the neo-fascist dad makes them wear coloured contacts. Perhaps they have to bleach their hair. Y'know sometimes I wonder if I should get a life, but then I realised that over analysing the stickers from a video tape is much more fun than living. Stop looking at me like that.

My greatest achievement today was completing the free activities that came with my Scooby-Doo advent calendar. Look!

I made Scooby's face out of the doors from the days during Hollyoaks and then I made the Mystery Machine while I was watching Project Catwalk with my Mum. Aren't I clever?

Meanwhile I did fuck all work on my very important and soon-to-have-to-be-handed-in essay. Shows where my priorities lie.

Changing Channels

There was a two-page spread in the paper today, written by astrologist Jonathan Cainer. Mr. Cainer was apparently revealing how a new comet will affect everyone’s love life in the coming year. Losing my common sense for a few minutes I actually read the thing (I’m a Leo in case there are any freakish web perverts out there who get a kick out of finding out complete stranger’s star-signs – there, I kindly sorted your daily wank out, aren’t I nice?).

Anyhoo, I was somewhat suspicious of the advice I was given to say the least. Apparently, “when we’re watching TV, we can change channels. Our personal dramas don’t normally offer that option. Or do they?”.

“Change channels?” I thought to myself. “What is Jonathan suggesting?”

I read on. Jonathan went on to tell me: “You’ll have to ask if you are prepared to live according to ‘how things really feel’ as opposed to ‘how you think they really ought to feel’… Something amazing is about to be released inside you… you begin to be the person you were always born to be.”

Perhaps I was getting the wrong end of Jonathan Cainer’s nutcase stick, but I began to suspect that Cainer was suggesting that I (and by extension a twelfth of the population) should turn gay in this coming year. This seemed somewhat major advice to be giving out to a whole twelfth of the population, and I began to wonder whether this was some time of bizarre mind control ploy by Cainer.

I wasn’t sure what the motive of this twisted social engineering was, but the conspiracy theorist long hidden within the depths of my mind began to have a few ideas. Perhaps this was some kind of attempt by Cainer to gradually become master of the world. Maybe he intended to start small, suggesting that people buy a pot plant perhaps, before working up to the bigger stuff – getting a divorce, or ‘changing channels’. After a while we would be so under Jonathan’s spell that we would barely notice when he took his throne as the Overlord of the entire planet.

But then I released that I was probably talking shit, so I went and watched some TV.

Speaking of which, the hoodie that Jamie Oliver wears in the new Sainsbury adverts makes him look fat. I found this particularly ironic (although should I be bitching about things like that? Perhaps I’ve ‘changed channels’ already?).

A belated Happy New Year, readers. And Leos, don’t forget to ‘change the channel’!

Magic Straws and iPhones

I had a great idea yesterday. Y'know those new straw things that they have, the magic ones that turn milk into milkshake because they have rocks of milkshake stuff in? Well, how about having ones where instead of milkshake stuff they have crack cocaine inside? Now you can enjoy milk with the great taste of crack! It'd get children drinking milk for life anyway...

Oh, and Apple unveiled a new iPhone yesterday too. But some Daily Mail readers (surprise, surprise) aren't so happy about this: LINK

Guess which reader comment was planted there by a certain someone... the initials should be a clue.

That Tiscali Ad and BT

Would you shag a man because he recommended Tiscali to you? No, I don’t think you would.

Oh, and while we’re on the subject of adverts, the BT ones in particular piss me off. It’s so obvious that they want them to be seen as ‘classic’ adverts, ones that in ten years time will be discussed by Z-list celebrities in programs like “I Love Early 21^st Century TV Adverts” on BBC3.

Well they won’t. Because they’re shit. Horrible insipid shit. I mean seriously, what’s the deal with the one where the kid’s biological dad comes into the picture, creating major awkwardness as ‘old’ dad and ‘new’ dad have some kind of bizarre face-off? You’re supposed to be advertising telecomms packages BT, not shoving some imaginary family’s emotional angst into my face.

What next, a BT ad where the kid slits his wrist in the bath? Wait a minute I’d actually like to see that one… For the wrist slitting obviously, not for the youngster in the bath. Just to make that clear.

And the one where they’re viewing the house is just as bad, although more telecomms focused. Family is unimpressed with house. Family discover house has a BT home-hub. Family buy house. Are the family morons? Do they not realise that they could set up telecomms package with BT at ANY house in the area? Well apparently they don’t.

Perhaps I’m just a bit of a freak, but the thought of some second-rate comedian gurning out of the screen in 2017, shrieking “Remember the BT family? Eh? EH?” frankly scares me a little bit. Oh well...

M.I. High

At this very moment I'm watching the new CBBC kids TV program called M.I. High. And it's fucking shit. I know it's only kids TV but really... none of the kids can act, and the plot? In today's episode the Prime Minister's decided to invade the rest of Europe, all on his own... cos that's like so plausible. Next week the kids travel back in time to stop Prince Philip gouging out the Diana driver's eyes with lasers. Half the cast is from Red Dwarf apparently but that doesn't seem to help either. Oh, and the two girls pick on the boy cos that's what girls do these days. Well don't come crying to me when you end up having to work with a passive-aggressive latent homosexual, girls, bringing his 'shag' back to the hideout for some non-Richard Littlejohn approved fun then crying his eyes out for hours, shrieking like a little girl, trapped in a mire of self-hatred and confusion - and that's before he hits the vodka. And maybe it's just me but in this crazy modern world isn't a group of kids taking 'commands' from some guy in a dark basement a bit sinister?

Classic moment: "Interview this!" shouts the PM before locking one of the female secret agents (complete with look of horror) into an empty classroom. That's right, a typical empty classroom, replete with flimsy door and already-half-broken windows and what-have-you. How does she get out? Exploding the lock on the door with some kind of magic laser lipstick. Just... like... kick the door or jump out of the window or something you silly bitch... it's cheaper. Fuck the NHS, let's spend all the tax on laser lipstick! It's the future!

Oh, and apparently we can solve our problems with Europe if we just 'chill out'. Yeah, let's just 'chill out', that'll solve all the immigration and human rights issues! Yay!

If I ever see my kids watching dross like this I'll travel back in time and have them aborted. The shits.