Saturday, 13 October 2012

Soul For Sale

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is adverts. Again. Again. Again.

Yesterday's blog was much too long and serious, so today I'm just going to briefly moan about some more adverts. Here are the three most annoying adverts I saw at the cinema yesterday before Hotel Transylvania (s'alright).

3. Jameson Whiskey:

I can't find the advert I mean online, but you'll have seen it if you've ever looked at a screen for longer than about 0.08 seconds at any time in the last 20 years or so. This is the previous one:

I don't care if it means the redundancy of thousands of blameless, hardworking employees, I just want Jamesons to fold. And then explode. 

2. Ronald McDonald House Charities:

"Hospitals can be scary places without mum and dad." Especially if there's a big fucking clown in there with you. This manipulative piece of awful is an unashamed exercise in distressing the fuck out of children. "Let's get a cute thing and then make it really sad!" Or replace all the burgers in McDonald's with smoothies and the kids won't have to go into hospital in the first place. Alex pointed out that it's not even asking for donations, it's literally just an advert for McDonald's.

1. Samsung Smart TV:

One question: Why was she flirting so sexually with her TV?

Thanks for reading, I'll leave you with the brilliant song by The Skints that this blog is named after. Enjoy!

Friday, 12 October 2012

I Don't Care(y)

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is Lord Carey.

Sorry to keep going on about gay marriage, but the thing is I know fuck nothing about politics. I mean, I study politics and philosophy, the word "study" here being used in its broadest possible sense. But actually, my only knowledge of politics comes from a combination of TV shows like The Thick of It, comedians like Josie Long and bands like Rage Against the Machine. This means that I rarely feel confident enough to come down strongly on one side of a debate. So when I do, it's because the right thing to do seems so glaringly fucking obvious that even an idiot like me could see it. It's with that in mind that we turn to the man himself; Nicholas Parsons. I mean Lord Carey.

To recap, Lord Carey is the former Archbishop of Canterbury who wants to deny gay people the same rights as him, who responded to Nick Clegg's (completely correct) comments about opponents of gay marriage being "bigots" by claiming to be offended and making Nick Clegg take it back which he did, because our values are so backward that they're seulav.

Then, at a fringe event at the Tory party conference, he compared opponents of gay marriage to the persecuted Jews in Nazi Germany, and the supporters of gay marriage to the Nazis. Now, I'm no expert, but I'm not sure gay rights were particularly high up on the Nazi agenda. In fact now that I think about it, and I may be wrong, but I think, that denying homosexuals their rights was more the Nazis' bag. Obviously I'm not calling Lord Carey a Nazi, because that would be a horribly offensive comparison for anyone to make. What I'm saying is that he's a piece of work. Wait, not work; shit. Lord Carey is a piece of shit.

We have Thatcher to thank for his appointment to the position of Archbishop of Canterbury, and now he is a member (unelected, obviously) of our legislature. This man should not be a Lord, and I'm not even sure if he can pull off "Carey." It's just a misspelling of Carrey, and he's even worse than Jim Carrey. Speaking of which, I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind recently, and the fact that it's Kate Winslet who's so massively revered and Jim Carrey who's so widely ridiculed just adds to my fear that we have everything completely backwards. But where was I? Oh yeah, Lord Carey is a piece of shit. Fun fact: his real name is Lord I. Don't. Carey (about anyone other than myself). And don't get me started on Rowan fucking Williams.

At the same event as Carey's Nazi comments, Ann Widdecombe spoke with all the eloquence that we've come to expect from her, asking: "Is it bigoted to recognise that the complementarity of a man and a woman in a union open to procreation is unique and cannot be replicated by other unions?" Yes. That's exactly what it is.

Speaking of pieces of shit, Jeremy "least qualified man for the job" Hunt recently managed to dribble something about wanting to halve the abortion limit, showing that he has as much respect for women as he does for science. He's the health secretary and he believes in homeopathy. Because fuck you MR. SCIENTIST, with your rigorous peer-reviewed system based on evidence and commitment to the progress of humanity. Incidentally, if you repeatedly dilute Jeremy Hunt, he might drown. So that's worth remembering. 

Anyway, the homeopathic fuckcunt turned his expertise towards the female reproductive system. He claimed that "everyone looks at the evidence", which is a lie because he clearly doesn't, and he concluded that the abortion limit should be shortened to 12 weeks into a pregnancy. The rest of the creepy fucking Silence of the Lambs cabinet rushed to agree with him but denied that there would be a change in the law with a level of fervency that suggests that there will definitely be a change in the law.

Gay people and women people; I do not envy you.

Thank you for reading, the title of this blog is a super smart play on The Roots song with which I will leave you. Enjoy!

Friday, 5 October 2012

Two Years Gone

There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is the fact that I've been writing this blog for two years now.

In fact it's exactly two years today, so please humour me as I plunge to whole new levels of self indulgence. It may come as a surprise to learn that a lot of ideas I have for blogs don't actually make it through to completion. "I'd like to see the shit that doesn't make it on to this fucking blog!" I hear you snark. Well be careful what you wish for, because here are my top 5 blogs that never made it.

5. Ideas for films: 

This one was abandoned when I remembered that my imagination isn't good enough to come up with any more than The Humane Centipede (in which they just hold hands) and the plot for The Hangover 3, where they wake up to discover a load of chopped-up dead women in the fridge, and the first person they ask tells them that they murdered lots of women before they even started drinking.

Talking of films, I just saw Sinister which is notable only for some of the most laughably awful exposition dialogue I've ever heard: "Wait, we didn't move into a house two doors down from a murder scene again, did we?" Genuinely.

And talking of terrible names for films, as I was last blog, what the fuck is up with The Perks of Being a Wallflower?

4. More horror movie cat deaths:

Because one blog about cats who die in horror films just isn't enough. But then the only additional one I could remember was the cat in Pet Sematary who's unlucky enough to die twice in the same film. Anyway, it turns out that one blog about cats who die in horror films is definitely enough.

3. My top 5 characters who are in love with sex dolls:

But I could only think of three: Dennis Hopper in River's Edge (not actually Dennis Hopper, but a character), James Franco in 30 Rock (actually James Franco) and Krieger in Archer (well not a sex doll but a hologram. Swings and roundabouts.)

2. There are only three things in the world that I hate, and one of them is Nicholas Parsons:

Abandoned for obvious reasons. Still, he is a cunt.

1. People I've called a cunt in dreams:

Again, there weren't enough instances to form a complete blog. So far the list is just Beyoncé and the cunt from Kasabian.

Thanks for indulging me in what can only be described as "a new low", and for reading my blog at all over the past two years. You insane, beautiful people. The title of this blog is one fifth of the Led Zeppelin song Ten Years Gone. I'll leave you with all five fifths of it, enjoy!