Christmas, a time when mistletoe replaces rohypnol...
It's that time of year where Noddy Holder can eat again thanks to Royalties and everyone puts aside the fact that their Bernard Matthews turkey most probably contains bird flu.
A time when all that is left of Brazilian rain forests is a small strip down the middle, as everyone simultaneously feels the need to express their 'genuine' desire that friends and family have a 'merry' Christmas via the medium of a card (apparently a text message or fax lack sentiment).
This year parents everywhere will be explaining to their kids that Santa has been hit hard by the recession, so has had to lay off a few elves and use an energy saving light bulb for Rudolph's nose. Subsequently, there may be a Tesco's basics satsuma in the stocking and you're buggered if you think your getting a Nintendo Wii this year sonny boy, my lad, my son.
The RSPCA are campaigning that it's cruel to make reindeer's fly round the world in one night and unfortunately British Airways which was plan B has gone tits up thanks to the Unions.
Don't worry though Santa, you can blame any delays on the weather conditions which are probably worse than the North Pole at the moment, or perhaps put it down to the extra safety measures that are in place due to the continued threat of terrorism (stop funding them with those pirate DVD's).
The kids were going to find out sooner or later that it was all a facade and that Santa is as real as Jordan and Peter's divorce (topical). Perhaps they wouldn't feel so stupid for believing in him in the first place if Santa wasn't depicted as some fat bloke with magical flying reindeer. If Santa was built like Usain Bolt and flew the Bat Plane then maybe it would be more plausible.
Remember that moment when you found out that Santa wasn't real and you thought to yourself, yes with the power of hindsight it does seem a trifle odd that this rotund fellow can cram both his massive arse as well as every kid in the worlds gifts into a sleigh and manage to circumnavigate the globe in a handful of hours, but who am I to call my parents a liar and it's nothing as ridiculous as that God lad.
Maybe subconsciously we just go along with it as it's much easier to say Santa has sh*t taste in jumpers than to relay this same accusation directly to ma or pa. To be honest I was part glad to find out that Santa was make believe, even as an innocent child growing up prior to the era when Glitter really hit his stride, I was still not keen on the idea of this old bearded bloke sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night (don't make me place an injunction on you Santa).
Perhaps the real tragedy is that some parents who, whilst not wanting to be labelled liars by their first born but hard up from the recession, will tell their kids that unfortunately NHS waiting queues were so long that Santa couldn't get the gastric band operation needed in time and died of clogged arteries caused by the consumption of too many mince pies.
But anyway we persevere, we put a synthetic plastic tree in our living room and dress it up with figurines of Santa (the fat jolly one, not the Usain Bolt Bat Plane one) and glitter and gold. We praise Jesus by competing with our neighbours for who can have the highest wattage of fluorescent lighting adorned around our humble abode.
Random pensioners knock on your door demanding money for charity in exchange for raping your ears with a medley of Christmas Carols (this does not count as contributing to society, you still serve no purpose). 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all' they sing, in reference to all those impoverished in Africa. No they don't is the answer, they don't have a bloody clue. Firstly they are predominantly Muslim countries that don't celebrate Christmas and secondly don't go telling them it's Christmas as that's one more thing they are going to get upset about missing out on.
Meanwhile the rising number of vegetarians means that nutmeg is now becoming a popular alternative to turkey (can't catch bird flu from a nut Mr. B Matthews). The package now legally having to explain that nutmeg contains nut. Now I'm a big believer in the motto better safe than sorry, but if you have a nut allergy and eat a type of food that has the word nut in it's name then both Darwin and I think you should die. Unfortunately medical professionals funded by my taxes will probably keep you alive.
Young couples, not yet burdened by the financial ball and chain that is children, will exchange gifts of equal value. The girlfriend or wife, will compare their gifts with those received by their friends and sisters after which their significant other will either receive a tirade of abuse or adulation (money can't buy you love, but it can save a lot of aggro). The man may contest that his gift came from the heart, alas the girlfriend would prefer it came from Tiffany's.
For families it is a reason to get back together...and then quickly realise why you left it so long in the first place. Mothers and Grandmothers will insist upon watching hours of soaps, with their festive themes of betrayal, brutality, loss and dogging (sorry that last one was Steve 'Phil Mitchell' McFadden in real life, I get confused). Will someone die in this year's extended finale? No, just my soul. We will further smite the allegedly Jewish Jesus with the mass consumption of pigs in a blanket, (pork wrapped in pork) and then to add insult to injury Cliff Richard will dance and sing on his grave and grow rich off a lazy remix of the Lord's prayer (I bet Jesus didn't even see any royalties).
The Queen will have to put in a shift, give a speech, wear a hat, the whole shebang, she's got the rest of the year to relax so for this one day she can dance to our merry tune. Alternatively maybe they can give Prince Phillip a turn this year?
Back to TV and Macauley Culkin's family will leave him again (and eventually so will Michael Jackson). Adverts will tell you that there is literally nothing more important than buying a new sofa (even though they won't actually have the one you want in stock until 2011). 'Buy now' they say, 'pay 54 years later in 1,179 easy month instalments', it's good to know we have learned from the recession.
But for everything, we must be grateful for the get out of jail free card that is the Christmas period. Turn up drunk to work on a Tuesday, hey it's Christmas. Didn't get that proposal over in time, no problem it's Christmas. Just recreated a Nazi style underground bondage orgy with the help of 15 prostitutes, come on it's...no Max Moseley, not even at Christmas.
Monday 21 December 2009
Twit for Twats
Alex Cornford is currently doing...nothing of interest.
So Twitter...really do we have to do this now too? A social phenomenon, a revolution of the blog format, or a condensed version of Heat magazine for those that found Heat a bit of a heavy read. I'll admit I'm weak I signed up, curiosity got the better of me and I needed to find out what all the fuss is about. Imagine my delight to find out it is basically just an elaborate version of Facebook's status update. I now have 15 people following me, despite the fact that I have never actually written a post. More frighteningly I don't even know who most of them are. My guess is that a lot of people like the strong and silent type, or that society is full of numerous clinically bored individuals who literally have nothing better to do than to follow blank pages (was this really part of the grand design God?).
Living your life vicariously through George Clooney is one thing, but when you are moist in anticipation awaiting my latest update it's time to jump. I can't condone, but can understand why gossip hungry over oestrogened lady folk may want to follow Jude Law, after all he is quite dreamy and it is of course imperative to conclude that he is also a great and deep guy before buying the topless poster for the bedroom wall. Hey you may even be able to find out what makes him tick so that when you do meet you can be his ideal girl (and you will meet as he 'tweets' abouts his favourite coffee shop regularly, so by pitching a tent and keeping vigil outside said coffee shop you're bound to bump into him eventually...before the men in white coats carry you away). After all he doesn't care about looks, you just need to have a great personality and a kind hearted disposition (or do a stint as his nanny). And yes I'm sure the life of a celebrity is pretty good (unless you're currently Tiger Woods, don't see him tweeting too much of late - naughty boy) so maybe they do lead such an exciting life that they have interesting daily updates worthy of regaling to Jo and Josephine public, but why would anyone want to follow my daily life? I could tell you what I watched on TV last night and give my opinions, but then so can the TV Guide. I could let you know that I have eaten chicken nuggets and chips for the third day running as there was an offer on a Tesco basics 60 piece bag, would that entertain you? Would you like to hear about my train being delayed due to signal failure, or that I ran out of toilet roll so had to get creative and use a Flash wipe and now have a rash that I don't feel like going to the doctor with? No of course you don't, it's all mundane tedious tosh.
What perhaps makes the whole thing even more incomprehendable is that within the confined bubble of this site Ashton Kutcher is king. Yes this is the same Ashton Kutcher that was the star turn in such cinematic masterpieces as Just Married and of course the unforgettable Dude Wheres my Car. The very same Ashton Kutcher who rose to fame in stellar comedy That 70's Show and the man that brought you the ground breaking Punk'd. Apparently there are more people 'following' Ashton Kutcher than CNN. Of all the people to stalk, why him?
Because that is essentially what Twitter boils down to, it like Facebook is the acceptable face of stalking. As I have always said why follow someone online, when you can follow them to their home... I guess in a society where you can actually ask a qualified doctor to staple your stomach, even the stalkers are becoming more and more lazy. In the dizzy hey day of stalking, real effort would have been put in, rubbish riled through, binoculars purchased (I'm a keen bird watcher, honest, yeah whatever Bill Oddie we know the sordid truth) but no more. Shares in infra red goggles have declined while mouse wrist supports have gone through the roof. The phenomenon of Twitter hasn't gone unnoticed by the big fromages at Google and Microsoft and such is the impact it has made that 'tweets' are now listed in their respective search engines so that people can search for the very latest social commentary in the same way you would search for the nearest cinema, or adult jazz.
For those of you less nerdy than me, what this actually means is that if you are the very first person to comment on a unique subject that people are searching for they will invariably read your 'tweet'. No longer is the word of Google confined to coding monkeys, you my friend can potentially have your voice heard by the world. It's almost like Google (one of the most largest, most powerful, most most companies in the world) is endorsing you! If you were the guy who first found out that the worlds most famous golfer had almost certainly at one point put 'the tiger in you' (not such a clever strap line now is it Frosties) and 'tweeted' about it then once the story broke, you would be one of the most influential people out there.
Now chances are that you are not going to break a big story, but think of the personal misery you can inflict upon your not so loved ones. If you think that Susan in accounts is a slag, then by gum 'tweet' my good man and tell the world! Before long both Google and you will think Susan is a slag and that's got to count for something.
So knock yourself out, slander your ex, tell your computer illiterate mother in law exactly what you think...just don't follow me you massive weirdo.
p.s. in a recent poll Peter Andre was voted the tenth most influential person on twitter, I hope you are proud of yourselves.
So Twitter...really do we have to do this now too? A social phenomenon, a revolution of the blog format, or a condensed version of Heat magazine for those that found Heat a bit of a heavy read. I'll admit I'm weak I signed up, curiosity got the better of me and I needed to find out what all the fuss is about. Imagine my delight to find out it is basically just an elaborate version of Facebook's status update. I now have 15 people following me, despite the fact that I have never actually written a post. More frighteningly I don't even know who most of them are. My guess is that a lot of people like the strong and silent type, or that society is full of numerous clinically bored individuals who literally have nothing better to do than to follow blank pages (was this really part of the grand design God?).
Living your life vicariously through George Clooney is one thing, but when you are moist in anticipation awaiting my latest update it's time to jump. I can't condone, but can understand why gossip hungry over oestrogened lady folk may want to follow Jude Law, after all he is quite dreamy and it is of course imperative to conclude that he is also a great and deep guy before buying the topless poster for the bedroom wall. Hey you may even be able to find out what makes him tick so that when you do meet you can be his ideal girl (and you will meet as he 'tweets' abouts his favourite coffee shop regularly, so by pitching a tent and keeping vigil outside said coffee shop you're bound to bump into him eventually...before the men in white coats carry you away). After all he doesn't care about looks, you just need to have a great personality and a kind hearted disposition (or do a stint as his nanny). And yes I'm sure the life of a celebrity is pretty good (unless you're currently Tiger Woods, don't see him tweeting too much of late - naughty boy) so maybe they do lead such an exciting life that they have interesting daily updates worthy of regaling to Jo and Josephine public, but why would anyone want to follow my daily life? I could tell you what I watched on TV last night and give my opinions, but then so can the TV Guide. I could let you know that I have eaten chicken nuggets and chips for the third day running as there was an offer on a Tesco basics 60 piece bag, would that entertain you? Would you like to hear about my train being delayed due to signal failure, or that I ran out of toilet roll so had to get creative and use a Flash wipe and now have a rash that I don't feel like going to the doctor with? No of course you don't, it's all mundane tedious tosh.
What perhaps makes the whole thing even more incomprehendable is that within the confined bubble of this site Ashton Kutcher is king. Yes this is the same Ashton Kutcher that was the star turn in such cinematic masterpieces as Just Married and of course the unforgettable Dude Wheres my Car. The very same Ashton Kutcher who rose to fame in stellar comedy That 70's Show and the man that brought you the ground breaking Punk'd. Apparently there are more people 'following' Ashton Kutcher than CNN. Of all the people to stalk, why him?
Because that is essentially what Twitter boils down to, it like Facebook is the acceptable face of stalking. As I have always said why follow someone online, when you can follow them to their home... I guess in a society where you can actually ask a qualified doctor to staple your stomach, even the stalkers are becoming more and more lazy. In the dizzy hey day of stalking, real effort would have been put in, rubbish riled through, binoculars purchased (I'm a keen bird watcher, honest, yeah whatever Bill Oddie we know the sordid truth) but no more. Shares in infra red goggles have declined while mouse wrist supports have gone through the roof. The phenomenon of Twitter hasn't gone unnoticed by the big fromages at Google and Microsoft and such is the impact it has made that 'tweets' are now listed in their respective search engines so that people can search for the very latest social commentary in the same way you would search for the nearest cinema, or adult jazz.
For those of you less nerdy than me, what this actually means is that if you are the very first person to comment on a unique subject that people are searching for they will invariably read your 'tweet'. No longer is the word of Google confined to coding monkeys, you my friend can potentially have your voice heard by the world. It's almost like Google (one of the most largest, most powerful, most most companies in the world) is endorsing you! If you were the guy who first found out that the worlds most famous golfer had almost certainly at one point put 'the tiger in you' (not such a clever strap line now is it Frosties) and 'tweeted' about it then once the story broke, you would be one of the most influential people out there.
Now chances are that you are not going to break a big story, but think of the personal misery you can inflict upon your not so loved ones. If you think that Susan in accounts is a slag, then by gum 'tweet' my good man and tell the world! Before long both Google and you will think Susan is a slag and that's got to count for something.
So knock yourself out, slander your ex, tell your computer illiterate mother in law exactly what you think...just don't follow me you massive weirdo.
p.s. in a recent poll Peter Andre was voted the tenth most influential person on twitter, I hope you are proud of yourselves.
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