Job 20:08

If I were Heather Mills McCartney I'd be in hiding right about now. In this time of global economic crisis anything and everything must be done to ensure that we can get ourselves back on our feet and enjoy our unwarranted Western luxuries. After all, we can't sit around and procrastinate over the best way to help out our Third World inferiors without driving to meetings in our brand new Mercedes Benz, wearing an expertly cut Giorgio Armani suit, and discussing aid over ridiculously priced fish eggs. No sir, we must save ourselves before we save others, and even then only save others if we have enough money left over. That is the Western way and we shall be damned if that's going to change any time soon!

With this terrible situation surrounding us it may be time to turn to more drastic, some might say ludicrous, methods of salvation. We must make a sacrifice to the gods. We must offer up one of our own; someone who personifies Western greed, someone who epitomises pure evil from the bowels of Hell. If I were Heather Mills McCartney I'd soon be roasting away in a wicker leg, given up to higher beings in an attempt to save ourselves and our wonderful personal wealth. And if that didn't work we could always use the £24 million she clawed out of Sir Paul to bankroll the, well, banks again. Long live Western decadence!

Woe unto us...

Ring A Ding Ding

If I were an alarm clock I would struggle to live with myself in all honesty. Not a moment would pass when the guilt I faced every morning didn't play on my mind. I'd know that there is nothing worse than being jolted out of beautiful sleep to face the harsh real world at an ungodly time.

I'd feel even worse if I had been programmed to go off with an annoying song, like the theme from Terry and June or the latest N-Dubz classic. Mind you, in that situation I wouldn't be as much to blame as you'd be. The problem is, I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't blare the alarm out at a violently audible level. Have you ever tried waking up to a quite alarm? It ain't easy kids.

How about we reach a compromise? I'll play the alarm slightly quieter and you stop setting it to the theme from The A-Team. Deal? Mind you, if I were an alarm clock I wouldn't be able to make such a proposition. I'd be doomed to live my life in misery. Not too different from being human then, eh readers?

If I Make A "Moo-trix" Joke I'm Going To Get Slaughtered

If I were a cow, or come to think of it any animal of the bovine persuasion, I'd have one pretty big beef. Ever since The Matrix certain young types (I believe they are referred to as "geeks", "nerds" or simply "spanners") find it empowering to wear an over sized leather duster out and about their local town precinct. Now, I wouldn't mind if one, they looked good, or moo, they performed the basic functions that a coat should but as they don't I think I'm entitled to feel a little grazey about it.

Let's take the look. If what you're going for is a slightly perverted sado-masochist then I admire your brazenness. However, you just look like an udder twat. Heck, Keanu Reeves could barely pull it off and that is one excellent dude. What makes you think a greasy-haired, bespectacled, acne-ridden, bum fluff-sporting pipsqueak can? The coat itself is fairly aesthetic in design; that is to say that it's supposed to look pretty rather than keep you from the wet and the cold (although anyone smart enough would surely check out the leather forecast before leaving the house). Most of them don't even do up at the front, leaving one exposed to the elements. Nor do they come with a cowl to keep you dry.

So if I were a cow and my hide was being made into these overpriced excuses for outerwear I'd say "give them the hoof!"

Oh, and sorry for all the bovine puns but if I were a cow, I'd find them quite amoosing...

Politically (In)Correct Confectionary

If I were a piece of Christmas confectionery I'd have one wish this year... that political correctness be left out of the candy world. A usual train journey became rather unusual the other day when I noticed this tasty snack confined to the back of the counter:



What the fuck?

In this age of political correctness, where "Merry Christmas" is frowned upon and replaced with "Happy Holidays", at what point does correctness circle around and become incorrect again? In what way is this any better than a golliwog toy? It's made even worse by the fact that the word "chocolate" is often used to describe black people derogatorily. Colour aside, there is nothing else about the features of jolly ol' Saint Nick that is characteristically black. It's as if Santa, in a terrible error of misjudged humour, has blacked up and started his own Black & White Minstrels act.

If I were a piece of Christmas confectionery, I'd be desperate to just be a piece of Christmas confectionery, not a company's attempt at showing how racially aware it is.