It's Like They All Say, If You Censor Something Too Much, It'll Become Nothing/A Perfume Advert

Okay, I’ve been deceived, I’ll admit. When I started college, I knew I would do biology and maths, but was hard pushed for another subject, and seeing as I hate every subject ever invented it was a mere case of the lesser evil. So some smart-arse teacher came up to me and said ‘Hey why don’t you try out communications, it’s this great new subject that fuses things like sociology, media, and psychology into one super awesome subject!’ … I will never again say to someone ‘That sounds like a good idea’.

When the rare occasion arises that I actually listen in the lesson and NOT want to slit my throat, it strikes me more than ever of how censored everything is. An advert containing a black man will be labeled ‘racist’, because it’s just so stereotypical for a black man to have black skin, the filthy conformist (the adjective of ‘filth’ was not intended to be a pun on the colour). You can’t make an advert with a muslim because they’re ALL re-incarnations of Muhammad therefore cannot be shown, ever. Heck, you can’t even rip it out of the smurfs these days. Not only that, but it’s not just racial awareness they’re picking on, apparently, according to the censoring office, or whatever office that’s filled with control-freaking fuckwits, we actually listen to every advert and care about it so much we have to do whatever it says WITHOUT ANY EXCEPTION. WHAT’S THAT? I HAVE TO GO BUY A TAMPON? EVEN THOUGH I’M PROBABLY A MAN? I’LL BUY 10 JUST IN CASE.

Now we all probably remember Tony the Tiger, the over enthusiastic tiger that loves watching children swim and has somehow replaced his crack cravings with Frosties. You know, the one who always says Frosties are great? Well, USED to say, apparently that’s too ‘influential’ and ‘simply wrong’, so now he likes to proclaim Frosties are GREEEEEAAAAAT. Somehow, they’re two very different things, and fuckwit office think it’s a brilliant change and is no longer influential. Because, you know, kids don’t understand what words mean if you make them longer. Thusly why the whole ‘ Force-feed yourself SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT’ campaign never got anywhere.

Now that’s just the part of me that’s sympathetic to adverts, as you can tell where this is going, I’ll just go ahead and say it. Perfume adverts. Although a simple ‘what the fuck is happening’ could cover it, I should probably go further. I’ve always wondered how women picked their perfume, if all they had to go by was the adverts, the logical part of my brain would probably explode. How do you look at a girl with a seriously bad case of OCD chasing a balloon because it's the same colour as her clothing, and have ANY idea what the perfume smells like? Is there some kind of scratch and smell thing built in to the TV that I’ve never been informed about, so each time the advert comes on, women have to rapidly scramble towards the TV and scratch it like a crack addict trying to get a fix from a huge wall of salt? They could at least say in the advert about what it vaguely smells like, so long as they don’t go all Bold on my arse.

The only advert in my life I actually remember making me angry enough to throw the remote through TV was one by Bold. It started off fine, describing the washing machine crap to whoever was interested. It then said how the fluid stuff they were selling made your clothes smell like white diamond.
White.
Fucking.
Diamond.
For those who aren’t familiar, white diamond is a rock. Rocks don’t smell of anything.

Crack For Christmas... Woo

Damn, I am SUCH a pro with this Paint stuff...

Yeah, so our own EnglishCarBomb started us off a while ago deconstructing the ironically godless money-fest of Christmas, thought I'd add my input by talking about these chocolate prisons, these... Advent calendars. 

Advent calendars are another one of these things we've convinced ourselves are a fundamental part of Christmas despite being just another way to fuel our insatiable need for stuffing our faces with confectionary at one part of the year. The thing is, I genuinely feel bad for those who do have them. Look at it this way: chocolate is good, right? Everyone likes chocolate, apart from the morons who seem to think if they consume a morsel of the stuff they instantly become bigger than Dawn French. We also know that because of all the sugar in it, ya want one bit, ya want some more. How much do you get every day? Unless you buy two for some reason or have an American-size one, you get ONE PIECE. Ya know how painful it is to not have any more than one tiny square? It's like waking up a crackhead every winter morning and giving him three grains of precious cocaine and while he weeps and wails for a little more, you shout back at him 'NUH UH, IF YOU HAVE ANY MORE NOW, I'LL KILL ANOTHER DEALER'. And that's the thing, if you want more, you're sacrificing tomorrow's supply. 

Another flaw that chocolate has to your morning is that because it's overpoweringly awesome-tasting, Shredded Wheat is gonna taste plain as hell, and sweet stuff like Crunchy Nut or toast and jam is just gonna taste bloody weird. Oh sure, have Coco Pops. Thus defeating the idea of having an advent calendar in the first place, you've already got your damn chocolate.

Don't lie to me that you bought it to keep track of the date, you filthy liar. 

Conspiracy Is The Greatest Conspiracy Of Them All. Excluding Crop Circles.

Seriously, what isn’t a conspiracy? 9/11 was caused by jealous flying towers, J.F.Kennedy was actually killed by a homicidal clown on a unicycle, and Hitler was a re-incarnation of the only bad person anyone can remember in the history of forever…HIMSELF. People seem to have this crazy need to believe in some kind of ridiculous alternate reality, because obviously, the government, the media, and everyone around them is lying their stupid faces off (although I don’t blame them, seeing how real life is so immensely boring). Personally, I don’t believe in almost ANY conspiracies, and even if some of them were right, would I actually care? (The answer is no).

Now to those who know me, they might be familiar with me saying “gays are a conspiracy made by the government, who are a conspiracy made by aliens, who are a conspiracy made by gays.” I would like to make it clear before you point out my hypocritical ways, I have very serious evidence to support this. So much evidence, that you may as well label it fact right here and now (there’s probably some secret society somewhere that does that).

‘Gays’, are merely people paid by the government to go to parties, raves, etc, to dress as vibrantly and as feminine as possible, and to talk like they have man-vegetables shoved in their nose. Now you’re probably wondering why on earth the government would pay people to do this? Well it’s simple. To prove to people they’ll tolerate whatever bullshit is thrown at them, BECAUSE THAT’S ALL WE WANT IN A GOVERNMENT REALLY, ISN’T IT? Even in the face of an impossibly abstract and degrading concept (by which I mean gays), they still show how they let them go around shoving their man-breadsticks in other men’s man-buns (I’ll stop referring to sexual organs as food now).You ever wondered why there’s no gays in Russia? They simply don’t give a shit about tolerance. So our government, entirely to get the public on their side, pays thousands of people to essentially ruin their lives. This gives me an idea…

But wait, there’s more. The very government that pays the gays to exist, doesn’t even exist themselves. Gordon Brown? No that’s just CGI. Barack Obama? Simply a doll. With very long strings. That go all the way into space. To ALIENS no less. The aliens sit there, wondering how to manipulate mankind next, laughing their arses off they pour taxes into a large furnace, and watch with pity as we comply with their absurd rules. The little green things simply can’t get enough of us clawing at each other’s eyes because they told us to. Heck, why do you think all politicians sound so boring? Aliens just make all their voices through a Microsoft Sam-esque program (recently it had to be upgraded to add a button on the side that says – ‘BLACKENISE’).

Now them aliens, not quite all they seem to be. In actual fact, they themselves are made up by gays. Gays are evidently fed up with the constant stream of attention from the media, popular culture, and brain-dead 14 year-olds, and so invented the myth that is: ALIENS. The idea of government controlling aliens obviously excites them, in many ways, and it draws attention away from themselves, which they obviously don’t want. So the whole theory of aliens has appeased the homosexuals, and bamboozled the nation. Way to go homosexuals, you’ve truly earned this victory.

(The above statements are 100% fact and anyone that attempts to say otherwise is a filthy conspirator…bellend)

Tyrants Arn't Usually This Dissapointing

So which one of you rambling cum-sodden freaks HASN’T thought of what it would be like to rule the world? None of you? Good. Because even if you had said you hadn’t, I can’t hear you, thusly making you a moron for not understanding the concept of rhetorical questions and distance. I know I’ve certainly thought about ruling the world on the odd occasion, and then got scared, confused, and mildly homicidal. As one often does. While it comforts some ego-tastic people who enjoy the good delusional power-trip, I’d rather gouge out my eyes with a fucking ladle than control the whole world. That is, unless, tyranny was an available option.

Assuming we go the typical Futurama way and say that if I ruled the world, it wouldn’t be me playing god and making everything into chocolate, but rather me being the sole heir to everything (on Futurama the world simply has one president, who, luckily, gets reduced to dust by aliens in one episode. There, you’ve finally learnt something from reading this shit. Now fuck off). But if I WAS the president, and thusly meaning a government will have been formed, I would have to please the people. And by ‘the people’ I mean every last walking shit-sack on earth. Frankly, I couldn’t care less if they exploded in a hellish firestorm, which is bound to happen sooner or later. Caring to their needs would be the last thing on my agenda, but still, mankind is capable of looking after itself (kind of), which is exactly why I need tyranny to ensure it becomes disabled…in the face. So this is how I would make it work.

My communist society, where everyone is equal other than myself, will be set in one small, incredibly cramped city. London will do well; fitting 6 billion people in there has got to be uncomfortable, if not making blisters an official pandemic. But everyone will be equally uncomfortable at least. The rest of the world will be turned into one colossal farm entirely ‘manned’ by machinery and robots with straw hats. In fact, so will the police force (minus the straw hats), the fire department, hospitals, and pretty much every community based job that isn’t behind a desk. Every human, once born, will be chained to a desk and forced to do impossible and mind-numbing tasks until they’re 80, then they’re freed and allowed to walk around society as they please (it’s a simple social experiment. By my guess they’ll either stay at the desk, go outside then realize its shit and come back, or merely explode. Basically, they’ll become me). Seeing as everyone’s tied to desks for their whole lives, the law is simple. No toilet breaks, and no talking. Social interaction and shitting are a no-go for a healthy society. Now you may be wondering what I do in this society. Well it’s pretty obvious, I’ll be doing the same as everyone else. Having turned everyone into computer-staring, desk-sitting-at, anti-social people, I’ve merely made a society of…well…me. A whole 6 billion people that do exactly what I do. For the rest of our desk-bound lives. Hoo-fucking-ra.

If I ever go into election for prime minister, don’t vote for me. You know it’s going to end badly.

HAHAHA MAN GO BOOM.

Some bastard stole my soul. Just like that. One day I’m incredibly excited about finally being able to play Operation Flashpoint: Dragon Rising, the next I’m sitting on my sofa, in an almost pitch black room at 4 pm, staring at my Xbox with an odd mixture of regret, fury, and emptiness. Now obviously there could be a million reasons for this, but this time it’s NOT real life, it’s gaming’s insane attempt at real life. For those who don’t know, Flashpoint is a tactical shooter, a game in which you control your squad, go around a ridiculously huge map, solving objectives. And also if you take one bullet you die. And your squad members belong in a special home. And the enemy soldiers have more health than you, BECAUSE IN REAL LIFE, ENEMY SOLDIERS ALL HAVE MORE HEALTH. Now I’d hate to turn this into a game review and all, so I’m basically going to point out how I spent ALL of today playing the same part of the same mission, over and over again. Also not only was I on the easiest difficulty, but I also was only on mission 3…out of 11.

It was like as if someone had punished me for all my game-related sins and forced me to play it. If hell does exist, I can imagine it’s being restricted to sitting on a sofa made of really itchy fabric, and having little demons laugh and jeer at you as you desperately try to complete that one level, and if you get even vaguely close, the controller blows up, so they hand you a new one, which you have to control using your feet, considering your recent lack of hands. But seeing as I’m wrong (a usual thing), I would genuinely rather be in hell then play that bit of the level again. It was bad enough for me to actually contemplate suicide, and when it comes to thinking of suicide, I usually have much bigger fish to fry than a video game (It’s a metaphor, there aren’t actually fish called Video Game). Main problem with this is, for me to kill myself, I’d have to actually have balls, or be incredibly stupid. So I’d need someone else to kill me. Of course no one would agree, while the majority of people hate me, people usually aren’t too keen on the whole prison thing, so I’d just get beaten up a lot, which is the last thing on my agenda, next to playing Modern Warfare 2. Therefore, I’d need for it to be ‘an accident’. Getting someone to accidentally kill you is easy really, jump in a road, wear camouflage and lay down in somebody’s garden while they mow the lawn, or simply slip on a wet floor down concrete stairs (caretakers are used to taking the blame). But to be honest, I wouldn’t really want to go out like any of the above. I would want to go out taking one the nation’s worst ‘holiday days’ with them. I’m talking, of course, about Bonfire night.

Now fireworks, they’re a mere contraption entirely to amaze retards, strain your neck, and make you stand in the cold for torture’s sake, (I’ll probably end up writing something about bonfire night someday, so I won’t go too far into it),but they also happen to be a deathtrap in the disguise of a colourful geometric broccoli. The perfect tool for accidental euthanasia. I would do it simply like this; while the crowd of easily amused people gathers around to indulge in their pyromania, I sneak past them like the subtle man I am, and make my way to the fireworks. Once there, I blutak the biggest firework available to my back, and lay in the grass (stealthily, of course). After a short while, my unsuspecting victim will light the firework, and lean back in horror as I start screaming because I forgot that the fuse went on fire before the firework took off. Then, it shoots off, and to my dismay it goes without me. I curse at the sky about blutak’s incompetence, and sheepishly walk off back home to play Operation Flashpoint. The same level. Again. And again. And again.

Water... Falling From The Sky? Surely This Is The End...

We Brits take the weather damn seriously. We complain about it, finally get SOME good weather, then complain it's not good enough, then we complain again when it's gone. If the grass is always greener on the other side, there are at least 80,000 other sides.

So what do we enjoy? Two things. One: sun. And we want loads of it. The moment a ray peeks out between the clouds we instantly strip down to near-nothing, put on sunglasses and lie down in the garden, only to return with hanging head in two minutes realising that just because the sun is out doesn't mean it's not 10 degrees (it's BRITAIN for goodness' sake). When we get a  decent amount of exposure to that big old star, our pale, living room-bleached skin gets roasted when finally seeing the sun after years of being a plump potato, eating custard creams and watching the X Factor. Two: snow. Yes, we rejoice in the entire country's infrastructure gets completely buggered, cars' engines freeze up and break, and people crash and die in road accidents. OH, ISN'T IT A JOLLY TIME FOR ALL. We also go out dressed in enough layers to give a polar bear a heat rash. Do you want to experience winter or not?

The ironic thing about this weather we rarely get yet adore, is that both of them actually kill us faster than the feared concept of... dare we mention it, RAIN. Sun is basically cancer smiling beautifully down at us from the sky and we benignly lap it up as if to say 'yes, PLEASE DESTROY MY SKIN CELLS.' Snow gives us frostbite and messes up our beloved gas-guzzlers, but what is it about rain that scares us so much? 

The human race as a whole lives off water, people in Africa are dying from a lack of the stuff and as soon as it falls out the sky we hide away under our little umbrellas and complain that the sun isn't out, which we'd be unsatisfied with anyway. You might as well have two pound coins falling from the clouds, and we'd be complaining about the bruises on our heads while our currency becomes worthless and our economy dies. We drink, swim in, wash in and piss the stuff, but Cowell help us if our clothes get a bit of it on them.

So maybe in a way the human race, as another of its stupid attributes, hates what it lives off, though as with all hateful trends, it's mainly the people of Britannia. Britannia rules the waves, however much she bloody hates them when they spray on her mighty clothing.

The Less You See It, The More Horrifyingly Dangerous It Is

Forget terrorists, bad drivers and ‘THE MAN’, its official (according to me), germs are now the biggest homicidal maniacs EVER. Just one germ, as far as the media is concerned, has the ability to wipe out whole cities, by merely existing. So now just imagine it, the billions, trillions, maybe even KAGILLIONS of germs that float around us day by day, each one begging to kill you without remorse. To put it simply, imagine walking down the street, and seeing literally MILLIONS of homicidal maniacs walking around, crowding the streets. They’re buying discount carrots at Tesco, they’re pushing prams with other little homicidal darlings in, and the rest of them are flying. YES, FLYING. Just like germs, the microscopic bastards.

The whole nation, and possibly other ones, live day-in, day-out, in a state of constant subconscious horror from the possibility of the menace known as germs. No I will not take a bite out of that sandwich that you’ve already bit into. No I won’t sit on that toilet seat in case of getting bum germs. No I won’t plunge my face into that rotting cesspit of shit, heroin needles and Call Of Duty fans, etc, etc. While I really wouldn’t mind doing those things, with a possible exception for the latter, it seems everyone has a problem with EVERYTHING, SO LONG AS GERMS ARE INVOLVED.

I recently saw an advert on a train on my way to college saying ‘If you could see germs, you would be able to see how quickly flu spread’, accompanied by a picture of a woman sneezing, with a cone of green jutting from her mouth. Now I don’t mean to be pedantic (although I really do), but if you could see germs, you wouldn’t be able to see your own hands, even if you shoved them IN your eyes. Germs are about as common as atoms (though if you can see individual atoms, we have a serious problem). Even if we perform the unholy rite known as NOT WASHING OUR HANS AFTER GOING TO THE TOILET, we will immediately inflict plague, disease, and imminent death upon anyone and everyone by simply staring at them from a distance, and while I so wish I could do that, It’s the thing that will essentially doom this era. This age won’t be known as ‘The Awesome Post-Industrial Age’ or ‘The Age Of Slightly Better Technology’, but will be known as ‘The Age That Was Horrified By Mild Disease’ (after ‘The Age Of Brain-Dead TV Huggers').

But yeah, maybe I’m being a bit ignorant. This really only applies to England here. After all, the deadliest disease we can catch over here is TV (Televerculosis). In Brazil, you so much as touch another person; you get Ebola and constipation, so end up trying to shit your organs for 2 days. Really, it sounds far too much like a typical weekend…