Playing By the Rules

So, fuck you society.

I went into the Orange shop the other day, because I have decided they are slightly less evil than Vodafone on the basis that they offer me a 20% discount for being a local government employee, and - importantly - don't shove dead babies through my letterbox.

After wasting a considerable amount of time being absolutely dicked about by the most fearsome amount of bureaucracy I have ever encountered*, the man tapped away on his computer and said.

"No."

No, that was it. No you cannot have a phone with us, you horrible little man. You can't have a phone because you have a bad credit rating - or rather - you don't have a credit rating at all. See the thing is, I've never really been in debt. Like a fucking chump, I play by the rules. I pay my bills on time, I don't own a credit card, I don't have an overdraft. So no, I can't have a phone, because I've never borrowed money.

You cannot join the army. You've never actually killed anyone and that makes us suspicious.

The gentleman behind the desk suggested that I get into debt with a credit card, then pay it off. After all, it will improve my credit rating and I get to buy stuff, right? I suggested that he get himself a bulletproof face, then left. I have a phone contract. Hell, I'm getting a mortgage*. That's not good enough for Orange. It might have been because I conveniently forgot where I'd been living for the last three years due to a combination of awful memories and fraudulent activity. I'm pretty sure it was the credit rating, though.

To compound my thoroughly bad day, I returned to my old landlord's place to collect my chest of drawers, only to have the van driver turn up with a van you couldn't conceivably fit a cat into even if you put it through a blender.

"I should have probably emptied this," he said glumly. Well yeah, probably. I said I needed to move a chest of drawers, not two matchboxes and a chilled yogurt. After that I went to work where the supervisor in charge screamed "Well fuck off then!" at the top of her lungs and shoved me out of the way when I refused to do things that weren't in my job description. Getting assaulted in the workplace - cool way to end the day.

If there is a moral to this story, it seems to be that the next time you get a chance between fucking yourself and not fucking yourself, you should probably just go right ahead and fuck yourself. It's a more acceptable style of behaviour.



* Considering I work for a Council that keeps three daily spreadsheets on the movement of small cakes, it was pretty fucking feirce. 
 *Propetarian, I know, but if I'm going to get fucked by landlords, I might as well be fucking myself.

Wrapping Up

I haven't really updated this blog properly for awhile. I'm going to cite that is due to creative differences between me and the voices in my head. So to get back into the swing of things, I'll do a wrap up of what's been happening in the world aside from the endless crescendo of human anguish, which is just not as funny.

Unicorn Lair Discovered in North Korea

Bolstering claims that North Korea is best Korea, scientists and archaeologists in the closed state have discovered - or rediscovered - a unicorn lair. Helpfully, there is a sign outside that states 'This is a unicorn lair.' It is believed that the horned inhabitants were once ridden by King Tongmyong, founder of the Koryo Kingdom from 3rd century BC to 7th century AD.

Because why the fuck not?

Fox Steals Phone, Harrasses Friends.

When Lars Bjercke downloaded an App that imitated the sounds that rabbits make, he thought he was onto a winner. What can one do with such limitess power? Communicate with rabbits, make an infuriating and incormprehensible sat-nav*, create a particularly devious cipher for talking in sceret, or even mesh the noises into a pieces of elctro or synth to create groundbreaking new music. Instead, in a poorly-thought out plan, he used it to lure foxes into his back garden.

Subsequently, a fox stole his unattended phone.

Not content with stealing the phone, the fox went on to answer calls made to the handset, denying Bjercke the chance to trackdown his shanghaied communicator. If this wasn't enough, the cunning bastard then sent text messages to Bjercke's friends, written in the whimsical language of foxes. Although no two-legged meat-sack can understand them, it was probably - as the link postulates - to gloat about his success. Because I imagine that's what foxes do.

The fox is linked to a skulk responsible for a series of petty crimes in the area.

Spy Sues Cops for 'Failing to Prevent Love'.

Former undercover cop Mark Kennedy - aka Mark Stone - who infiltrated an environmentalist group, is suing the Met since they failed to stop him from falling in love. He claims that despite destroying many lives and participating in a Big-Brother style surveillance operation, he is the real victim. Mr. Kennedy wants between £50,000 and £100,000 in compensation for personal injury, loss of job/earnings, loss of wife/girlfriend and for destroying his reputation. His reputation, presumably, as an all round good-guy who cheats on his wife, lies to his lovers, grasses on his mates, and works for the police. So Karma was all like, "Stand back guys, I got this."

He feels so betrayed.

*In my experience, this is all of them

Dead Prole Day

Unless you've been hiding under a rock all day*, you will know that today is Remembrance Sunday. A time for quiet reflection on all those people who have died defending their pile of dirt, someone else's pile of dirt, a pile of dirt they have stolen from another person, or whatever unrelated pile of dirt they happened to be standing on before the explosion.

I've got awful de-ja vu at this point, probably because I've wrote this blog post before. Last year, or maybe the year before that. That's the funny thing about Remembrance Day. Despite happening every year, it occurs with less frequency that the act of war itself, which is a giant fuck you to people who take it seriously.

The moment Ed Miliband realized he was standing with a bunch of psychopaths.

In April 2007 I was at work, which in itself is not unusual. A customer came in to buy cigarettes, and being a keen smoker myself, I normally skip the whole self-righteous 'You know that will kill you' routine, because pretty much anything is capable murdering you when it so chooses. Anyway, this time I didn't, because she had proudly told me that she'd quit smoking some months ago, and was doing very well, thank-you very much. So I asked her what had gone wrong, and she told me that the thing that had gone wrong was that her brother's Warrior armoured car had triggered a huge IED in Iraq, killing him and all of the other people in the car. He was a local lad who my dad taught at primary school. He was, at the time of his dead, just over a year older than me. He has an online memorial, which I will do everyone the favour of not hyperlinking.

And then she left. There wasn't much more to it than that. Cool story, bro.

The nationals and red-tops listed the fatalities with ghoulish detail, focusing primarily on the other occupants of the car since they'd been hanging out with royalty at Sandringham, or something. And they were women, and women - as we well know - are delicate and fragile creatures designed for cooking and breeding and not cut-out to be robust killing-machines. The other two occupants, they were just dead proles. Heroes, of course, but proles all the same.

There isn't really a moral to this post. I mean, what is there to say? Today is dead prole day, where we remember with fondness all of the proles that came home in icecream tubs for some higher purpose. It is a day for maintaining a straight face. To even suggest a smirk is unthinkable, since it implies you aren't appreciating the gravity of the situation and consider it all to be one sick joke.

That is a lovely smile you have, Kate.

* All things considered, this is probably the most reasonable option available to most people.

I am the Law

This weekend I managed to drag myself out of the massive pile of debris that constitutes my bedroom and turn up for work on my day off. And what can make a man go into work on his day off? Why, the new Dredd film, of course.

Dredd - starring Karl Urban and Olivia Thirlby is exactly what everyone hoped it would be. Chiefly, spades of violence and a celebration of heroic fascism. It follows the two street judges - Dredd and Anderson, as they blow their way through a block of flats with a terrifying disregard for the sanctity of life. There isn't much more of a film than that, and let me tell you. It was awesome.

Urban manages to lift Dredd straight from the comics. His voice is low, gravelly, and manages to deliver some hilarious one-liners whilst blowing people up with possibly the most dangerous handgun ever devised. All the while he maintains the 'life is pain' grimace Dredd is known for, which must start to hurt the face muscles after awhile. For those who don't know what I'm talking about, Judge Dredd constantly wears the expression of a father who's baby has just smeared poo all over his new sofa but knows screaming will solve nothing.

Man, I am not happy about this.

Thirlby - better known for her role as 'that other girl in Juno' - plays plucky-sidekick newbie Judge Anderson. Anderson is a psychic judge and general nice character to balance Dredd's badassery. This can sometimes backfire, giving her the look of a lovable puppy that has been strapped into some creaky leather bondage gear by an insane costume designer. Anderson's is on assessment, meaning that she has to prove herself to Dredd, making it almost a 'coming of age' film but with a horrendous amount of flayed people being set on fire. In slow motion.

If there is one criticism you can level at this film, it is the fact that it is a mere 95 minutes of industrial meatgrinder, and would be even shorter than that were it not for every other scene being slowed down to a crawl and then explored in graphic - and I mean graphic - detail. Then again, the entirity of the plot revolves around Judge Dredd killing proles and there is only so much milage you can get out of watching a man's arms fly off in a puff of red smoke. There is also the obligatory sex scene, which since it is hard to shoehorn a sex scene into a film about the coolness of police brutality, takes place entirely within Thirlby's head during a psychic interrogation. It might be the only part of the film that makes you think 'was that really necessary?'

I don't wear a helmet 'cuz I'm pretty.

That aside, Dredd is a particularly enjoyable romp, especially for any psychopaths who wanted to see Lena Headey's face explode in slow motion. I'm going to give it 4/5. It was definately better than average, but my expectations for the film were comprised entirely of heaps of violence and Olivia Thirlby in leather, so I wasn't exactly aiming for the stars in terms of quality.

Higher Standards

United Kingdom 'Remarkably Self-Righteous', Muses World.

Pictures of Princess Katherine without her top on have been widely circulated by foreign media, prompting outraged Britons to take to the Internet in protest.

"It is absolutely sickening that a woman has pictures taken of her, without her clothes on, without her knowledge" said IT Worker Terry Holdsworth from behind his locked bedroom door. "These pictures of her glistening, naked breasts sunning themselves on her magnificently perfect upper class chest are an abomination. No true Englishman would take this lying down."

"Now can you leave me alone, I only have ten minutes before my wife gets home and I'm trying to look a pictures of women with no clothes on. Importantly, these women have decided the necessity of feeding their children to be a worthy case for nudity. It isn't just an issue of consent, it's an issue of social standing, and how we, as a society, view women as a whole."

"Generally, naked. But only the poor ones."

Local Van Driver Pete McGuffin expressed outrage at the pictures, stating that, "Trust those filthy fucking foreigners to degrade our monarchy like that. Set of bastards, that's what they are," before pausing briefly to yell sexual obscenities at teenage girls in school uniform.

"They love it, filthy slags." He chuckled.

Herbert Derbingham, MP for West Countryshire, hit out at foreign reporters taking pictures of the princess, comparing her to the late Princess Diana, 'The People's Princes'.

"We do not want to turn her into another Diana. You know, eloping with a millionaire playboy before being involved in a fatal car accident after living the last few years of her life in miserable pampered luxury with millions of adoring sycophants."

The last days of a truely tortured individual. Definately not posted in a British tabloid.

Professor Stibbons, working on behalf of the Institute of Social Things and Other Trends, stated that.

"What we are seeing is a self-righteous reaction delivered without even a trace of irony or double standards by the British public, particularly those most likely to have less-than-progressive views on women and/or foreigners.It is unfortunate that, as a dark reflection of the society we live in, the very same thousands of people who are annoyed by this watched Jade Goody take a trip to the undiscovered country by following her every dying breath with the rapt attention associated with ghoulish meerkats. This includes buying and reading the memorial issue of Hello Magazine while she was actually still alive."

"What the fuck is wrong with people, anyway? Seriously, there are seven billion people on this planet, what the hell are you fawning clowns playing at? Get your shit together, you're starting to creep us out."

Killer Instinct

"And, the worst part of my day, was the private contractor in charge of the investigation is an ex-copper."

I nodded in a manner that was no doubt sagely. If I had a beard, I would have stroked it. I don't have a beard, because if I had a beard I would spend all day stroking it like a weirdo.

"I just hate pigs," I replied.

You can guarantee, as soon as I have expressed a concrete opinion on just about anything, something will immediately come up to make me look like a magnificent bastard. So it is no surprise that when I flopped down in a chair, cigarette dangling from my mouth and looking every inch the rockstar, Karma triumphantly announced that two police officers had been gunned down in Manchester mere moments before. A cause for celebration, right? Because I'm obviously a fucking psychopath?

Conversely, at the end of the day I'm drinking vodka, shovelling shredded duck into my mouth like it is going out of fashion, and watching 'Speeders' on Dave. You know, Speeders? That cop show where a retired woman has been chased down by a guy called 'Officer Slaughter' and the funny out-takes at the end has a 15 year old girl accidentally reversing into a police cruiser before having two guns pointed at her and men screaming to 'GET OUT OF THE CAR. GET ON THE FLOOR. ON THE FLOOOOOOOORRRRRRR.'. Uh, yeah. True story.

Police medic in action, G20.

Now, it isn't unusual for me to express my dislike for 'da police'. It is not unusual for my friends to express dislike for the police. But, I think, if the idea of shooting two people in cold blood doesn't send a chill down your spine, regardless of your ideological persuasion, you might have lost your way a bit. When people have began to resemble animated pieces of meat you should probably get your shit together.

Which brings me neatly on to Lord Norman Tebbit, a man whose leathery face and thousand yard stare marks him as a person who could comfortably bathe in people's entrails without being the least bit upset. Which is, weirdly, almost what he said. Tebbit wants to bring back the death penalty for people who murder other people. This is why:

""The hard fact is, as violent criminals know perfectly well, a credible threat that a man will lose his life unless he complies with a demand usually results in obedience.""""

The small problem with that otherwise deadly sane argument is this.

The credible threat that the "man with the gun will empty it into your face unless you hand over enormous piles of someone else's money" doesn't have the same motivators, the same passion, or the same risk/gratification as the possibility of being executed for murder. The idea that "if you kill someone, hopefully we will eventually catch you, subject you to a lengthy trial, and then maybe get a group of jurors to decide if you live or die," is not any sort of deterrent to the possibly deranged and extremely angry person who, after years of abuse, puts a live hand grenade into the Go-Compare singer's mouth. Putting murder - be it heat of the moment or coldly premeditated - on a par with a street mugging is a non-argument. It's like watching a three-year old try to push a square through a triangular hole in a puzzle box. You just want to scream obscenities in his face to make. him. listen.

And nothing screams "justice!" from the rooftops like killing someone because they killed someone. There are complications though, like, what if we convict and kill an innocent person?

Lord Tebbit said concerns that such a penalty would lead to miscarriages of justice - with the innocent executed - would be mitigated by the care juries would take deliberating when they knew a person's life was at stake.

Seriously? I wouldn't trust 99% of the peasants in this backwash pisshole to even know what a jury was, never mind avoid being whipped into a fanatical frenzy by ignorance, Stella, and whatever gutter-trash paper their chips came wrapped in. We would have trial by The Sun and - like shooting innocent people - if that doesn't send a very human shiver down your spine then you need to see a therapist. The moment my life hangs before twelve people who have purposefully dyed their skin orange and managed to abbreviate three letter words, then I will know that all human endeavour has been fruitless. That said, I really don't want my last image to be a fat man with a greasy chin leering down at me over his KFC bargain bucket and screaming "Ere, cut 'is balls uff an feed um ta whippets!"

He said:  "I have kept track year by year since the death penalty was suspended, then abolished, of the number of people who have been killed by persons previously convicted of homicide.

"It has averaged three people a year. About 150 people killed because their killers have been freed to kill again.

"Would our courts have sentenced to death three innocent people a year, year in year out? I doubt it.

 I doubt it? Possible, but unlikely. More like one innocent person, or two. What right does one innocent person have to live if we get to prevent the death of three innocent people by executing murderers? A mistrial here, a tabloid witch-hunt there. It doesn't matter, right? It is all acceptable losses.

Here are four people. We eventually killed John Lennon to save the Beatles.

Perhaps if we brought back the death penalty for everything, crime would evaporate completely and we could spend the rest of our limited miserable days rotting in a false Utopian hell, driven mad by the pure perfection of it all. That'd be pretty sweet.

Better to Reign in Hell

Britain to be 'overrun by daemons' by 2050

A leading right-wing think tank issued a stark warning to the government yesterday, stating that if current rates of immigration were left unchecked, the United Kingdom would have a majority population of foreign demonic entities by 2050.

"We have seen a rise in the number of middle eastern and Indian deamons crossing from France in the last five years. This has put a considerable strain on our traditional ghostly women standing in windows and horsemen galloping across the moors."

"If current immigration rates remain constant, we will be overrun by daemons in less than 40 years time."

The news has been criticised by senior Conservative Party Officials. Herbet Derbingham, MP for West Countryshire, commented.

"While my own stomping ground continues to provide fresh virgins for me to occasionally possess and contort into strange positions, some local businessmen in my constituency have found themselves unable to scream in the night and throw furniture across the room for fear of upsetting the Djin over in Elmswood."

"It is political correctness gone mad."

"Britain is a Christian nation, and as such, belongs to inhabitants of the Christian version of Hell."

Immigration topped the bill at a recent Conservative Party Conference.

Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, added.

"While we are well versed in performing exorcisms on British demons, we are not allowed to cast out deamons belonging to other cultures for fear of stirring up racial hatred."

"This has led to a number of incidents where denzins of the infernal plains have ran unchecked, most recently in Shrewsbury where a local farmer found his entire herd of cattle had galloped into a nearby reseveroir."

David Cameron played down criticisms as his forked tongue flickered in the air.

"Britain has a diverse collection of monsters, and we pride ourselves on being an nation almost entirely inhabited by souless abominations that feed on the anguish and suffering of others."

"If other culture's daemons wish to settle in Britain, that is fine. We will enjoy devouring their exotically flavoured souls."

Inner Workings

It is the sum of all fears. Ken Clarke has apparently found a way to liquidise himself and get right into the water supply like radiation from a dirty bomb. The Tory MP, of rape is sometimes not rape fame is undoubtedly contorting his leathery wrinkled face into something approaching manic euphoria. At least I imagine he would be if he wasn't a mummified cadaver dressed in a suit and was still capable of human emotions. Despite a UN resolution stating that 'Ken Clarke is not cool and everything he says is a lie', lots of people seem to be coming round to his point of view. Like I said, he's in the water or something.

Recently, it wouldn't be unfair to say the political weather has been 'a tad rapey'. Julian Assange has strenuously denied claims that he raped some people in Sweden and merely had sex with their unconscious bodies - something he has in common with Peter Sutcliffe. Getting your tackle into someone while they're out cold is generally considered a bit of a dickish thing to do, so Sweden are trying to extradite him back to their country, probably to black bag him and send him off to another country, but that's by the by.

Julian needed a friend, so step forward all-round good-guy George Galloway, a man so singularly unhelpful that people are afraid his support will undermine any good they're trying to accomplish. It is not unfair to say that everything he touches turns to ash. However, since Assange is locked in the Ecuadorian embassy, he could presumably only watch in horror as Galloway waded into the discussion like a maddened bear swinging a chainsaw at a children's tea-party.

Not helpful George.

If Julian was hoping that the issue of rape would maybe go away and take a short holiday somewhere warm and tropical, he was disappointed because Galloway has held it on the front page of news websites like misplaced superglue. The ensuring media carnage from George's hamfisted attempts at help are further proof that having him on your side is like passing a machinegun to a three-year old and asking him to 'watch your back.'

Galloway, of the ironically named 'Respect Party', said that it was "bad etiquette" not to ask someones permission before having sex with them, but didn't quite manage to make the small step to confirming "because it's rape", but instead just left it there. It is bad manners to go all in on someone while they're asleep, but it isn't legitimate rape, apparently. Fortunately for George, there is an Official Guide to Legitimate Rape in this brilliant article from Jezebel.

Sadly, Jezebel isn't responding to Galloway - a man who crawled around pretending to be a cat just so people would notice him - but is instead having a shot at Todd Akin, a dude who missed his obvious calling as a gynaecologist and instead became a GOP senator. Mr. Akin said in a press conference that in cases of 'Legitimate Rape' a women's body automatically goes into self defence mode, complete with lasers and stuff, and shuts down all the 'bad' sperm so that she doesn't get pregnant. And even if she did get pregnant - says Akin - we should punish the rapist, and not punish the child. But presumably punish the victim, too, by denying her an abortion. Just in case it wasn't legit (obviously)...

But the acidic sperm-melting secretions are not the only natural defence mechanism a woman has against pregnancy. According to Henry Aldridge, "The facts show that people who are raped — who are truly raped — the juices don't flow, the body functions don't work and they don't get pregnant. Medical authorities agree that this is a rarity, if ever." If the poison-ducts don't work, the female body dries up inside like a shrivelled prune and becomes a desolate wilderness devoid of anything related to babies. But only in genuine cases. All you need to worry about now is if you've been truly raped or not. Please consult your rape handbook for further advice.

Or just ask Ken Clarke, Todd Akin, George Galloway or Henry Aldridge. I'm sure a bunch of old men can tell you.

Summing It Up

Danny Boyle Blasted Over 'Gross Misrepresentation' of Britain

Conservative MPs and right wing bloggers blasted Olympic Master of Ceremonies Danny Boyle last week over allegations that he had grossly misrepresented Britain in the Olympic opening ceremony.

"Boyle's fairytale dream of a progressive, diverse and optimistic Britain could not be further from the truth," said MP Herbert Derbingham for West Countryshire.

"It was nothing more than socialist hogwash, glorifying multiculturalism and the public sector while completely washing over our proud heritage of racism, imperialism and collective self-delusion."

"What we should have done was something more in keeping with our national identity. I wanted to see glorious aspects of our culture represented fairly. Cold callers offering insurance, rundown trains filled with bigoted rugby fans, the crash of a thousand boots exemplifying the relentless march of reality television. There could have been a touching portrayal of how daily life has been reduced to a pointless struggle to ensure your ipad is flatter and blacker than the devices of your colleagues."

"In the earlier drafts there was a fantastic light and sound exhibition which was supposed to represent George Osborne hungrily devouring a human soul of exceptional purity, but it was dropped because of 'Political Correctness' and concerns it might upset people. Particularly the grunting, slurping noises and the unworldly screaming which rends the soul and sends chills down the spine."

Boyle was criticised for failing to portray the mind-snapping horror of 21st century Britain.

"At no point did we celebrate the innovative feral cunning of our burgeoning subhuman underclass. We did not laud the self-absorbed ignorance that thrives in our yuppie colonies. Not a single second was dedicated to the bovine stupidity of our 60 million drones. Instead we got something about the NHS, which was really not appropriate. People have died in hospitals. I don't think that's anything to be proud of."

"Boyle had an opportunity to show the world the putrid cancer eating at the heart of our society, but because he's a communist he had to pretend like we're not all on an express elevator to hell."

The Sad Truth

Suicide Up Amongst Readers of '50 Shades of Grey'.

A report published by leading psychiatrists, pathologists and government officials has described a worrying trend in suicides linked to reading E L James' erotic novel series - Fifty Shades.

Citing a 400% increase in deaths this week, the Government has vowed  to act against sale and distribution of the book.

"These figures do not even begin to account for all deaths," said a spokesperson for the Home Secretary's Office. "Only the ones that can directly place a copy of Fifty Shades at the scene of the incident."

'The prose is so terrible it apparently drives people mad with rage.'

"While professionally speaking, we try to avoid using the word 'mad', readers of Fifty Shades can experience considerable dizziness, tiredness and sense of 'wrongness', as if the all of the angles in the house had shifted slightly. In some cases, this can develop into sanity reduction, memory loss, depression and anger, in extreme scenarios - psychosis." Said professor MacFreud of the British Association of Therapists.

James has been criticized by interest groups for making a noose look suggestive.

Single mother Jenny Patrick, 41, described her near-death experience.

"I had just started reading Fifty Shades Darker," she said. "I'd been experiencing headaches and dizziness for several days after the first book. It was late at night and I was having a glass of wine and I reached the point where Anastasia is rambling on about her 'inner goddess doing the dance of the seven veils' and I thought 'You know what, Jenny, between this and the Olympics I don't see a point anymore'. I don't remember much after that but my son had come home from work and wrestled a high-caliber pistol out of my mouth."

Neighbour Frank Bottomly witnessed the drama.

"It was about 10pm when the police showed up. Before long there were paramedics there as well. It's a quiet street, not much happens around here, but one officer told me there had been an incident at number five. I asked if this was something to do with Fifty Shades of Grey and he told me he couldn't comment, but his eyes had taken on a haunted expression."

"The wife and I burned our copy weeks ago." He continued, "I know you won't believe me, but when we threw it in the fire it started screaming. To say the noise was not of this world would be an understatement of intense severity."

The report comes in the wake of a shooting in Waterstones Compton by a man dressed as Christian Grey. According to eyewithness reports, the shooter - named locally as Terry Holdsworth - entered the store brandishing a Kalashnikov rifle and said in a sultry voice, "I'm going to put this inside you", before opening fire.

Interventionalism

Don't Send 'Our Boys' to London, Mothers plead.

Mothers of British service personnel called up to provide security at the Olympic Games have urged Defence Secretary Philip Hammond to reconsider sending troops to the troubled area.

"It's any mother's worst nightmare," confided Sarah Jones, who's son David is in the Yorkshire regiment. "I am proud my lad signed up to serve his country, but I'm just not sure we should be there."

"I don't like it," admitted David, "But it's the job I chose to do. Personally, I'd rather take my chances getting shot at by coked up ragheads in Afghanistan, but I've been assigned to help out at the Olympics."

"The tube is going to be a nightmare," he sighed.
 
France and Germany have hit out at proposed intervention, stating that the United Kingdom 'does not have a mandate for this conflict', and urging the government to act in the best interests of global stability.

Earlier today, the UN Security Council failed to reach a decision over the ongoing Olympic drama.

A Cabinet spokesperson issued a statement, replying to the French and German ambassadors, stating that "...every civilized nation had a duty to act to bring an end to the terrible suffering endured by seven million Londoners."

The spokesperson would not clarify if that would extend to regime change, but one insider remarked,

"There has been a lot of speculation over Boris Johnson recently. I think it is fair to say that he is dangerously unhinged, and poses a significant threat the the international community."

Critics have hit out at government plans to deploy 18,000 personnel to the capital in order to cover the twelve-day Games. The protest group, "Bombs not Bag-Searches"  have issued a fourteen page document outlining the risks posed to soldiers serving in London. These risks include dodgy take-aways, unintelligible cockney accents, 'them faggets (sic) in Soho' and a particularly confusing road-system designed pin soldiers down in a congestion zone before ambushing them with ludicrous penalties. It also 'gets a bit hairy' in certain parts of West London at night, but acknowledges that soldiers training and discipline should ensure minimum casualties and confirmed that the standard pattern SA80 combat rifle is 'pretty tasty during a mugging.'
.
"Boris is mad, and intervention could get a lot of our boys killed," Ethan Haw, secretary of "Bombs not Bag-Searches"  told us.

"Once again, the average squaddie finds himself facing a situation he did not create, far from home and in a place he has no vested interest in."

The Military Wives Choir - who rose to prominence last Christmas - have recorded a song entitled, "Baby Don't Go (To London)." Proceeds from the sale will be donated to a fund helping soldiers who attended the Royal Jubilee to rebuild the shattered ruins of their lives.

The Technological Age

Upcoming Hobbit Film to be Screened in Exciting New 9D.

The Hobbit - prequel to blockbuster hit Lord of the Rings based on the book by by JRR Tolkien - will be screened in 9D, it has been claimed.

There has been a recent upsurge in films being screened in 3D as more technology becomes available. Some enterprising screenings - such as Spy Kids 4 - have been described as 4D, providing the audience with scratch and sniff cards to enable the viewer extra immersion in the film. The Hobbit aims to go further, as director Peter Jackson explains.

"Using experimental military technology, we have enabled discerning cinema-goers who desire a more realistic experience to view the film in 9 dimensions," said Mr. Jackson. "We're not at liberty to discuss exactly how this will happen, but it won't involve those inconvenient glasses that have to be worn for the 3D experience we are all familiar with."

Scientists have voiced concerns that the human mind is too fragile to endure perception in 9 dimensions.

It is rumoured that cinema-goers will be able to taste the actors thoughts.

Jackson played down reports that in laboratory tests, mice subjected to a 9D trailer for The Hobbit had ran in circles for a short period of time before appearing to 'psychologically leave the mortal plane and transcend time and space' before 'melting down into a marmalade-like substance and forming a single unitary consciousness'.

"Mice are mice," said the director. "Who knows why they do stuff."

"We tested it on this guy called Rudy Eugene in Florida and he was fine. Said he enjoyed it."

Divine Judgement

Poseidon 'monumentally pissed-off', say Witchdoctors.

Leading witchdoctors and superstitious peasants continued aquatic themed rituals last night in order to appease Poseidon, amid fears that extreme weather encountered by parts of the United Kingdom is directly linked to lapsed worship of the Greek sea-god.

"He is very, very angry." Whispered deluded serf Terry Holdsworth from the Midlands.

In Todmorden, West Yorkshire, local residents drowned three horses in a nearby canal in an effort to be spared a repeat of the torrential flooding that devastated large areas of the Calder Valley two weeks ago.

"The Lord of Foam and Brine hath stretched out his trident and smote us for our hubris," declared local cult leader Donald Greenwood. "The sacrifice must be restored. Only then can we return to the rivers and canals and feast beneath the waters in glory everlasting."

Flood warnings and alerts remain in place across large parts of the United Kingdom.

Residents of Hebden Bridge were forced to smoke their marijuana indoors.

In Newcastle, the local council responded to a flash flood by rounding up the city's homeless as an offering.  They were lashed to a derelict barge before being towed out to sea and set ablaze. The aroma was said to be pleasing unto the waves.

"We shall not mourn for them," said local MP Bob Partridge, "They belong to Poseidon now."

"I was skeptical at first,"  continued Mr. Partridge, "but I've lived in the North East all my life and I've never seen weather like it. It was almost like the wind and rain had come alive."

"We have a long association with the sea up here in Newcastle. With the decline of the shipbuilding industry caused by the Thatcher government, people's faith in the old ways wavered and was replaced by heroin abuse and Special Brew. We have not been keeping up with the appropriate libations."

Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams has stated that he remains 'open minded' about the existence of the King of the Drowned Halls.

"As a Christian, I'm obviously a little dubious about the existence of a pantheon of old gods. It opens up a whole debate on other polytheistic religions."

"What I will say is that it is almost certainly linked to the issue of gay marriage. I know the Greeks were fairly keen on homosexuality but this recent maelstrom has proven that Poseidon definitely isn't."

Goodbye George

Lonesome George 'tasted delicious', confirms Heston.

 The last giant tortoise of the subspecies Chelonoidis nigra abingdoni, nicknamed 'Lonesome George', has died.

George's preserved cadaver was passed to Heston Blumenthal, who won a celebrity chef competition to cook and eat the tortoise. He 'tasted delicious', said Mr. Blumenthal.

"To prepare George, we first had to crack that tough natural shell," explained Heston, "We repeatedly fired him into a brick wall using a medieval trebuchet. After the third or fourth attempt, we finally got him open. After that, it was just a case of preparation."

"After a couple of thousand rotations on a centrifuge machine - commonly used for training astronauts - the meat was nice and tender. I was going for a spicy Indian curry, influenced by the traditional Scottish dish of haggis. After stuffing George full of rice and my special recipe sauce, I marinated him for two days in a mixture of polystyrene and unleaded petrol, before giving him a good flambe, just to make him that little bit more leathery."

"It was possibly the tastiest curry I've ever had".

George was then served to twenty selected guests at Blumenthal's exclusive Fat Duck Restaurant, alongside fresh stone-baked naan bread 

Despite looking like a penis crossed with a hermit crab, George was a reluctant hit with the elite diners.

Not everyone was convinced by Blumenthal's unorthodox approach to cooking George.

"I'd rather someone like Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall did it," said VIP Guest Sarah Taylor. "I admit, River Cottage annoys me with it's cringingly false rustic facade, but Hugh himself is fairly normal. Heston is fucking insane. The man terrifies me. No one should pack explosives into a wedding cake. I hope the police are keeping their eye on him."

"The dish itself was nothing special. It reminded me of the time I had a few too many in one of Soho's expensive niche clubs, before stumbling into the Pride of India down Hackney for a cheeky Madras."

"Long story short, it was like eating a badly prepared takeaway out of a handbag."

Be Prepared

Olympic Security Boosted by Giant Robot

Security at the London 2012 games has been bolstered today after ministers confirmed they were in the final stages of commissioning a giant fighting robot.

“It is simply marvelous,” said Defence Secretary Philip Hammond. “It cost nearly the entire budget, and is the fruition of ten years worth of army supply shortages.”

“It’s completely environmentally friendly too.”

The meat-powered warmachine is rumoured to maintain operational for extended periods by ‘eating’ the poor, an inexhaustible source of renewable energy.

“It basically just sucks them up, tracksuits and all” confirmed Mr. Hammond.

“Obviously we cannot go into details about exact technical specifications, but it has reinforced armour-plate and is armed with a considerable amount of firepower, including surface to air missiles, a huge chainsaw arm and flame-throwers for eyes.”

The two-hundred foot metal behemoth, carved in the likeness of Margaret Thatcher, is to be deployed in an effort to combat terrorism, as well as threats from outer-space and gigantic Japanese lizards which could cause “considerable disruption” to the Games.

The 2008 Bejing Olympics was marred by a fight between Godzilla and King Kong.

Little more is known about the robot, which has been christened “Her Majesty’s Worldfucker”, apart from that it has two giant amplifiers mounted on the shoulders and a fifty-foot George Cross covering the torso. In test-runs, it has been blasting out ‘Jerusalem’ whilst stomping around Exmoor annihilating targets with contemptuous ease.

“We are prepared right up till the Second Coming of Christ,” added the Defence Secretary.

It has been described by army-chiefs as “a supreme example of Britain’s cutting edge military hardware” and “fucking sweet.”

A Matter of Perspective

Church to Stand Fast on Issue of Ginger Marriage

The Church of England has issued a statement today citing it's opposition to proposed legislation allowing ginger people to marry.


Currently, people with hair described as 'ginger', 'strawberry blond' or 'kissed by fire' are allowed to join in civil partnerships, but are not legally allowed to wed.

"For hundreds of years, redheads have been associated with witchcraft and satanic ritual," said Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams, "to permit them to marry would be a crime against God and nature."

"To clarify," the Archbishop continued, "this is an ecumenical matter for the Church. If two sinful abominations wish to flaunt their commitment to devil worship in public, then that is a matter for the state. But they have no place in a house of God."

"We have some redheads in our congregations, but all have been thoroughly screened by throwing them into a river beforehand. We had trained lifeguards ready to retrieve those that sunk, and we burnt the ones that floated. May God have mercy on their souls."

Ginger people can currently flout the ban by dyeing their hair and renouncing Satan and all his works.

Some Tory MP's have threatened to vote against any move to permit gingers to marry if the government attempts to carry the proposals into law.

"A few years ago we let left-handed people marry, and it has been an unmitigated disaster," said Herbert Derbingham of West Countryshire. "Unemployment is up, knife crime and drug abuse is out of control amongst our youth, and I'm pretty sure Hitler was left-handed, although I wouldn't be able to offer much in the way of hard evidence"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to vote against any motion to allow gingers to marry." Mr Derbingham added, "there are just too many consequences that we, as a nation, are not ready to deal with."

Get it Right

"Learn the lessons of Iraq," Blair warns Cameron

Former Prime Minister Tony Blair has hit out at David Cameron's proposed extermination of the poor, calling welfare reforms "slow, costly, and and inefficient."

"You cannot destroy an entire civilization by slowly strangling it economically," said Mr. Blair. "If David Cameron is serious about the wholesale genocide of the working class, then he should look at historical examples. We imposed sanctions on Iraq from before the first Gulf War, and while we starved thousands of Iraqi citizens to a slow and painful death, ultimately, it did not work."

"In the end, we achieved more by bombing the shit out of Iraq than we ever did with sanctions. If it wasn't for international pressure and the attention of the world's media, I'm fairly confident we could have killed them all. You cannot conduct the successful extermination of Britain's populace if your mortality rate does not exceed population growth. It is simple economics. Bloody, violent economics of human suffering."

"I would be Prime Minister again," added Mr. Blair, "And where Mr. Cameron would fuck you slowly, I will give it to the people of Britain rough and unsheathed."

I'm prepared to kill again.

Downing Street hit back at the allegations of waste.

"What benefit do we reap from killing the poor?" laughed Defence Secretary Phillip Hammond. "If we starve and oppress them while crucially leaving enough alive, we should have ample fuel for our new meat-powered fighting robot."

The robot, a two hundred foot behemoth carved into the likeness of Margret Thatcher, will initially be used to defend the Olympic games against extraterrestrial threats, Japanese dinosaurs and humungous gorillas.

A Slow Genocide

"Kill them all," Cameron Urges

Daivd Cameron has urged his backbenchers to "remain steadfast" in their conviction to kill as many poor people as possible. The PM was addressing the House of Commons over proposals for the new Welfare Reforms. He admitted that "tough decisions" had to be made over who and exactly how many impoverished serfs should be exterminated in order to meet stringent spending cuts.

"Cameron is boldy marching us towards the Nazi dystopia I've always prayed for," said one backbencher dreamily. "I want a world populated by wretched, emaciated peasants, smog choked by the burning bodies of their own children."

"We will cremate them on pyres fueled by their offspring," confirmed Mr. Cameron.

The proposed criteria for welfare reform were outlined in a speech delivered by Home Secretary Theresa May and Defence Secretary Philip Hammond after the Prime Minister entered a trance-like state during the exchange and began to mumble about his "holy mission".

A breakdown is provided below.

1. Sterilization of  sickness and incapacity claimants.
2. Unemployed claimants of JSA to work voluntary for sixteen hours a day. Recipients will be executed if they have failed to find employment after a period of ten weeks, before being used to feed and warm the elderly.
3. Housing benefit will be reduced to match the weekly cost of a large cardboard box, a mug for rainwater and half a loaf of stale bread. It is expected that replacement mugs will incur a further reduction in benefits.
4. Any crime committed while in receipt of welfare will now carry the death penalty.
5. Single parents will be expected to find work or be relocated to breeding farms in the countryside.
6. Large families will have their benefits reduced, and may only keep two of their children. In cases where three or more children are present in the family, the surplus will be used for experimental weapons testing.

Mr. Cameron has defended his plans for the reforms, stating that Conservative policy "from the outset" was to "kill them all". He has allayed protests from religious leaders by claiming "God will know His own."

NATO leaders react to reports of a virus bomb in Middlesbrough

While not wishing to comment on individual cases, an insider confirmed there was a "strong possibility" that the Prime Minister was going to destroy Newcastle from orbit using high yield tactical nukes.

"There has been some discussion on turning the entire North East into a poisoned and irradiated Hell lasting a thousand years." our source claimed.

Nick Clegg, Deputy Prime Minister and leader of the Liberal Democracts, denounced the plans as 'insane'.

"You have to understand," said Mr. Clegg as he necked his third bottle of Colvonia, "There's nothing I can do. He has my family."

"Oh god, I'm in balls deep and I don't how to stop him."

The Law of Unintended Consequence

I realise that my last blog post was about 'the gays', and touched on gay marriage. Unfortunately, the wretched denizens of this dismal, blighted world have failed to recognise me as their living god and thus the last post did not immediately set the world to rights. So this one is for you, Craig.

When I got home from wasting my life at university one day*, I enjoyed the surreal experience of my housemate staring at a Mars bar with the intensity of a cobra.

"A less strict vegetarian may still enjoy our products," he mumbled, reading an online press release from Mars with absolutely no conviction. The confusion didn't leave his face.

"A less strict vegetarian. Isn't that someone who is not a vegetarian? I mean, it's either got animals in it or it hasn't."

And there you go. It was hardly the most profound thing to say, but I feel for him, since it's an unusual case. Not many people are called to bring down judgement on a Mars bar, but it was probably the most concise, accurate and damning critique I've ever heard that didn't involve spades of foul language. You wouldn't say, "A less strict egalitarian can still enjoy heaps of tasty discrimination," would you? Sometimes, things just are that black and white.

Equality.. You either have it, or you don't. I know for a fact we don't, but it's always comforting to at least pretend like everyone's interested in it.

Calderdale's Arch-Parasite and Lord Overfiend, Craig Whittaker MP, has published an interesting blog recently. In between defending his expenses spending and writing articles on missing children, he managed to get a quick dig in at this week's popular controversy - gay marriage.

"The unintended consequences of same-sex marriage and why I will not vote for it"

Craig's post starts out with a bit of a curveball, just to prepare you for the thigh-deep pools of pointless bile you'll have to wade through later. Anyone who assumed this could be a well rationalised argument immediately finds themselves on the back foot. Clever move, sir.


"It is wrong to say that Gay marriage is the next Civil Rights battle. To do so would make marriage adult centred instead of Child centred as it currently is.

It is important to say that I want to be as objective as I can with what I think is an incredibly important issue and I am basing my decision not on information or beliefs from faith groups, whether my own or others, but on what the unintended consequences of re-defining marriage may bring."

I mean, surplus capital letters aside, it is a readable if not strange way to open an argument.  I don't know how many weddings Craig has been to, but marriage is adult centered. Conducted by adults, for adults, in the presence of other adults and perhaps some children. Unless he means that it is for the purposes of procreation, which displays a terrifying ignorance of biology.

I'm sure he'll clarify, just like he clarified he was being objective. He's already said that he doesn't consider the struggle for gay marriage as a rights issue. Objectivity in motion. It's a deceptively important sentence where a man can claim to be objectively examining something based on a set of made up criteria and hypotetical scenarios that have filled his small mind with stark terror.


"My overriding concern is that if we do indeed as a Parliament change legislation to allow same sex marriage now, then what will our successors be discussing and have to legislate for in the future?; Polygamy?; Three-way relationships?; Who knows what else?"

WHO KNOWS!

Portals to Hell triggering daemonic incursion. One side-effect of same-sex marriage?

I mean, god forbid that you could love more than one person at once. I mean, my feelings on marriage as an institution force me to play Devil's Advocate here, but really?


What follows is a bizarre list of ways the law in other countries has been changed. At this point, Craig's blog could probably do with some sinister music to underline the seriousness of it all. It's all innocuous stuff designed to satisfy a legal framework that only a backward minded yokel would get upset about. But Craig is obviously upset, on the brink of collapsing to the ground and spasming like a panicking fish.


"Marriage has a unique place in our society. It is a bedrock institution and the most stable environment for raising children. Redefining marriage would make marriage adult-centred rather than child-centred."

Reasserting, but disappointingly not clarifying something he said earlier just about wraps up the rest of the blog, bar a few emotive platitudes and a rendition of Jerusalem playing in the background. So it's a bedrock institution, right? For a guy who is on his second marriage, that's quite a bold statement. Not as bold as defining it as 'child-centered'. I mean, he was arrested for assaulting his own son. There's nothing great about hypocrisy from normal people, but from someone in a position of power making moral judgements about the ability of a same-sex couple to raise children. He's either made the worlds worst joke using himself as the punchline, or it's just a staggering amount of arrogance.

People in glass houses, and all that.

At least you can see him coming. Face and all.

It's even stranger that the MP for Calder Valley, containing the unofficial 'Lesbian capital' of the UK, should want to deliberately piss off his constituents. Actually, it's not that strange. He probably doesn't recognise those hippies as legitimate human beings anyway. At least you can take solace in the fact that Representative Democracy allows your representative to turn their back on both the party line and their constituents. That liberating ability to fuck people off without consequence, and absolute freedom just to be a prick.


* Instead of wasting it someplace else.

If You Tolerate This, Your Children Will Be Next

This is quite a serious subject for me, and affects so many people I know it isn't funny. So I hope I've done it justice, and I hope to god where I've inevitably slipped up in my argument, people can see the intention beyond the wording.

Reading back through this blog, it is pretty easy to work out that I am not a tolerant guy.

I used to be quite easy going until I hit 21. Following budget cuts in my personality, I was eventually stripped down to a malicious ball of spite powered entirely by bourbon creams, neat vokda and hate. The wretched and contemptuous creature now hunched over a keyboard in a dark cave of  squalor is the result of seven years in retail and five years studying politics.

I have many bile-inducing opinions, and you can pretty much guarantee that anything I express a mild interest in will inevitably turn to blinding disgust over an indeterminate period of time. And because of this, I am a perfect boyfriend for Jan Moir. She's 30 years my senior, but finding someone with the same ignorant, vomit-inducing opinions as myself has been rather difficult. Plus she's loaded, and if anything goes well with arrogance, it's greed.

Then I read this article, back in 2009. You should all be familiar with it. It was originally entitled 'There was nothing 'natural' about Steven Gately's death." Following complaints, it was re-edited to become 'A strange, lonely and troubling death..." I kind of stopped masturbating to her columns after that. That was a bit too far, Jan. I'm struggling to wonder if it was as bad as Peter Hitchen's 2009 article, entitled, "We show tolerance to 'gays' and get TYRANNY in return." Jesus, Pete. Tyranny? Why is 'gays' in inverted commas? Why are you warbling on about child hostages?

The Gays sacrifice foster babies to appease Satan and prolong their lives. If you tolerate this, your children will be next.

I'll be honest, I read most of his post and some of the stuff below that and just thought it was a parody article. It must be a parody article. Blood is pouring from my eyes and, Oh Jesus, he meant every word.

And since we're now neatly on the topic of both 'the gays' and 'bigoted vats of bubbling prejudice', I guess I can finally get round to talking about what I was going to talk about anyway. I was going to do this awhile a go. I was also going to make it good. But with the furor over gay marriage raging across every possible information medium ever, it's time to go.

I'm not going to write about gay marriage. My thoughts on gay marriage should be abundantly clear, albeit a little muddied by my opinion on the institute of marriage as a whole. I'm going to write about tolerance, and why I don't, nay, can't, tolerate gay people.

WARNING: This image may be considered inappropriate for people with insane socially backward worldviews.

 

tol·er·ance

 [tol-er-uhns] 

noun

1.

a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whose opinions, practices, race, religion, nationality, etc., differ from one's own; freedom from bigotry.

Sounds pretty good, right? Even if sexuality must fall under the broader category of 'ect'. I mean, I used to be tolerant. I cringe when I remember saying 'I'm a tolerant guy'.

per·mis·sive

 [per-mis-iv] 

adjective

2.

granting or denoting permission

I stopped being tolerant because the idea of writing to every gay person in the United Kingdom, granting them permission to be gay and to continue their lives under my benevolent gaze was simply too time consuming, and also crazier than a sack full of cats. Let me break it down for you.

All views are not valid.

I cannot claim to be a proponent of social tolerance and be selective about it. If I have gay friends, and have no issue with people being gay, does that mean I should let fascists roam the streets spreading hate and fear? Ultimately, all things are not valid. It would be lovely to think they are, but they aren't. That's how politics works, you have your political self, with its beliefs and motivations, and ultimately you cannot reconcile who you are with something you find abhorrent. In that view, tolerance is just a word. It is barely an idea. Tolerance is selective.

Without equality: Tolerance is a myth.

Alright, I stole that from an article I was reading online, but it is true. If we take tolerance to be the bare minimum attitude a society should have, yet do not treat gay issues as being of equal value to other prevailing ideas, then we, as a species, are suffering from self-delusion. They are synonymous. You cannot have equality without subscribing to commonly accepted notions of tolerance. You cannot have tolerance if you do not have equality. Do we have equality for gay people? No we do not. Ergo, to call oneself tolerant is dubious to begin with. In my mind, you are subscribing to a lie.

Thanks, straight guy, for letting me live my life.

 

So what is this tolerance thing which we strive for but obviously don't have and probably don't want? Calling oneself tolerant is a construct. It is a lazy and unhelpful way of saying you're not a bigoted homophobe. It is a dismissing wave. Do whatever you want, leave me out of it. You can be as fabulous as you like, that's fine by me. Thanks for asking. I'm going out on a limb when I say that tolerance, on the surface, looks pretty good. But ultimately, it is not tolerance that society needs. 

ac·cept·ance

 [ak-sep-tuhns] 

noun

1.the act of taking or receiving something offered.

2.favourable reception; approval; favour.

3.the act of assenting or believing

4.the fact or state of being accepted or acceptable.

Even that sounds a little crude. Perhaps a political notion of 'post acceptance', might be a little bit more dignified. The Wikipedia article spells it out beautifully, for me, although I'm sure there are some bright political types who could do a better job than I. 

"Acceptance in human psychology is a person's assent to the reality of a situation, recognising a process or condition without attempting to change it, protest, or exit."

A person's assent to the reality of a situation. Doesn't that sound much better? People are gay. They will never need nor want your permission to be so. This is the reality of the situation. Ultimately, that is the problem with tolerance. Whenever I have spoken to a gay friend of mine, they have never expressed a craving for permission. They're human beings. They don't want people to put up with them. They do not want people to view their sexuality in academic terms. They do not want to settle for a legally enforced, socially informed view of tolerance that people subscribe to basically because intolerance is taboo.

As far as I've always understood it, people are all fairly similar to one another. They want you to respect them, to love them, and ultimately, to treat them as equally as you would treat others. And that is why I am not tolerant. Permission to be gay is not necessary. It is not something I can give or withhold. So there you go. Fuck tolerance, try treating people like people.

Post Apocalyptica

You can bet your bottom dollar that when everything - and I mean literally everything - has gone to shit, I will somehow be caught up in the process. Usually without my knowledge or consent.

Keeping this in mind, it isn't difficult understand why, when parts of the UK were swept away by torrential rain and the avatar of Poseiden destroyed Bognor Regis in a terrifying maelstrom of foamy brine, I was currently camping at a music festival. As is obviously the case, I was there because of my inherent love for thrash metal and burning desire to spend five days surrounded by smelly peasants.

After six hours of near constant rain on Wednesday, the entire site had turned into a muddy quagmire lifted straight from Dante's vision of Hell. Initially, the consistency of said mud was fairly smooth, a little slippery but generally just deep, squishy and wet, and bore a passing resemblance to the sandy bit that passes as a beach for Blackpool. As seventy thousand feet pounded it day and night, the ground decided it had had enough of being trodden on by people who simply didn't appreciate it enough, and changed tactics to become a quivering, sucking, unpredictable mass of cookie dough that threatened to tear off your feet. It clung to your boots in the way that an emotionally needy partner could only dream of.

There was the odd drowning

The weather did eventually clear up, and the festival organizers put bales of straw down to try and absorb all the mud, with the end result being something like what happens when you go at a giant pile of horseshit with a chainsaw. After the heavens had given up trying to drown us all, I did enjoy Download. There were some sterling performances by the artists and a generally good atmosphere, but I doubt I'll be going again, and here are a few reasons why.

The entire thing was a test-run for World War Three.

The thing that is almost unique about Download at Castle Donnington is not mud. It is not overpriced burgers, teenagers, or toilets that have been found guilty of violating human rights. It is none of those things. What is unique about it is that it is the only festival I know of that is situated right next to an airport.

Imagine the scene. You are camping in a field for five days, surrounded by miles of perimeter fence and dozens of watchtowers. The ground turns into a lake of mud dignified by unmentionable floating things. Overhead, you are assailed by the constant scream of incoming planes flying so low they make the tents shake as they pass over. Couple it with a performance by The Prodigy and what you have is thousands of people wearing helmets and gasmasks, struggling through knee high mud whilst yelling and growling as the first wave of bombers descend from the skies.

It was ridiculous. I spent the first night eating beans out of a mess tin, shivering under a poncho as the rain cascaded down, surrounded by grim-faced, unshaven men in combat fatigues. By the time the actual music rolled around, the frontmen for various groups were trying to motivate the crowd by shouting orders at them. 'Get your hands in the air!" they screamed. "I want to see everyone jumping to this next one!".  "Make that fucking mosh pit bigger!" growled Dez Fafara of Devildriver. "Red Platoon is to advance west and clear out AT teams on the ridgeline."

No, really. It could have happened.

Metal is a parody of itself.

I don't really like the genre as much as a did when I was say, an angsty fifteen year old. I'm getting a bit more mellow.  The thing is, it's not that I don't like metal, otherwise it would have been a stupid way to burn a couple of hundred quid. It's just that I don't like metalheads. They make me ashamed to be human. Like fat, lager swilling England supporters, they just bring us down. As a species.

Black beanie hats were everywhere. In fact, just about everything was black. People were wearing vests. I cannot stress how important it is for grown men with hairy, putrid smelling armpits to not wear vests. Vests do not look good on anyone. Vests with band logos on them are particularly off limits.

And they have a whole musical elitism going on that borders on fascism. If it is not metal, it's shit. And everything needs to be brutal. With vacant eyes staring through tangled, matted bundles of jet black hair, they stumbled past me, growling, more animal than person. Occasionally, someone would just shout out the name of their favourite band, in complete defiance of whoever was actually on stage at the time. And as if anyone genuinely cared.

While I was queuing for overpriced noodles that were probably been boiled in cat piss, two guys blundered past having a completely nonsensical conversation. "LAMB OF GOD!" yelled the first ingrate. His protoplasm of a companion retorted by bellowing "SLAYER!" with a voice that could crack glass. They continued this debacle for about five minutes. Finally, one of them demanded "BOOZE" and they sauntered off, probably to neck ethanol, wrestle bison and take turns to smell each others fetid body odour.


People are deliberately evil and malicious.

This is not a problem limited exclusively to Download. It's a problem with festivals everywhere. It is the difficult subject of portaloos.

Welcome to Hell, maggots.

Queuing for the toilets, you get a creeping sense of dread. It's a collective fear that everyone shares. What is waiting for you inside the damp, plastic tomb that is a festival toilet? I've never seen people open a door so gingerly, as if they genuinely expected there to be a live bear on the other side, waiting to tear off their face. I half expected someone to stumble away, their face a mask of horror and scream "Oh dear god, bring up the flamethrowers!"

This is because, despite everyone approaching the toilets with the same apprehension, and complaining about how horrible festival toilets are, some people just seem actually dedicated to spreading misery. Why, in the name of all that is holy, would you visit a toilet and deliberately shit on the walls? Why do people do that? Everyone knows these toilets are bad. It is just you, you have gone out of your way to make everything as horrible as possible for everyone. This goes out to whoever took a dump on the flushing handle. I hope daemons chase you through your nightmares.