Life is like a hurricane, Here in Duckburg.

I was walking to Sainsbury's the other day with a cigarette in my hand. I noticed in-front of me was a non-threatening biker gang of children. These were no ordinary children, no, they were those infamous working class children. We hate them don't we? I can't remember, I tend to forget what social class we are supposed to hate, I think it's usually based on what film you have just watched. Let's say for example, you have just watched Oliver Twist, as the credits are rolling down the screen you may be thinking to yourself, "poor people are just dandy! I think I will smile at them from now on!". On the other hand, if you have just watched a film like Kidulthood, you might walk away thinking, "working class children scare the shit out of me, I have no idea what anyone is saying and I'm afraid one of the ones in a hooded jumper will try and fuck me or something".

There aren't really any films that promote rich people, I think generally the clientele of films is the middle/lower classes so the content of cinema is usually of "being happy" above everything else, including the possible variables which contribute to happiness, like money. You might have a moment where you reflect on the morales you learnt as a child and be thinking in your head, "You're wrong, money doesn't make you happy". Well, you're right, coins and paper won't/shouldn't make you happy but, that's sort of defeating the nature of money, it's the things you buy with it that make you happy. For example, a puppy, a soda-stream or a friend. It's all just like having a rich friend who keeps on telling you how shit being rich is and how life is best when you just stay in line and work hard. What's that poor person? You are getting depressed because you're poor? Don't worry, being rich will make you sad, here's a library of films to validate that, now get back to work. Let's just hope we don't figure out that the protagonist in the film who realises that money ruins your life and all you need is love is actually, played by an actor who will be getting rich from the film.

What am I even talking about?
I got closer to this infant gang and one of them, I think it was the leader, shouted at me in a most savoury manner. The gist of his noise suggested that he wanted one of the cigarettes I had bought with money, for free. I'm aware this kind of thing happens rather frequently and it's usually completely fine, especially when I want a cigarette. However, my quarrel with this little gent exists firstly in that he was probably around 13. I think it would harm the self-indulgent impression of myself if I feel like I am the "type of person" who would give children cigarettes. Secondly, the way he requested my belongings was executed in a manner of which suggested that my stuff, is also his stuff and I must therefore, give him my stuff. The twist of this story is that I said no and then got on with my life. However, after my encounter with these prison reservations, I wondered what I was like as a child, perhaps it was simply the way of human development to dismiss social grace, push the scope of what is expected in human interaction and try and intimidate people around you with a persona that suggests that you are a big person with a knife, trapped inside a little person with a bike. After much thought and self-reflection I came to the conclusion that, I was nothing like him, he's a cunt.

Gee! That's swell!

I watched Beauty and the beast the other day and I am struggling to find the morale of the whole thing. DIsney, by a standard, have to include some sort of message for the audience to take away so they can be Christian. Aladin had one I think, if you're homeless, not insane, have perfect teeth, have some kind of hyper intelligent animal companion and magic at your disposal; everything will work out fine. It was probably actually something to do with "being yourself", "never giving up", "don't judge a book by it's cover", "anyone can be a hero" or any other form of advice which is barely even applicable to modern society, unless you're 7 and exist primarily in your imagination.

The advice of, "Don't judge a book by it's cover" is nonsense anyway. You definitely should judge a book by it's cover, that's why people bother to design the cover in order to express the theme of the book. If a book about pirates had a picture of robots on it, it would be completely misleading and pointless. The same is applied to people, we dress in the way we want to be perceived by others. If you get fuck off" tattooed on your face, people are naturally going to assume you're a maniac and are best not to be approached. This is a sensible assumption to make and it could very well prevent you from being stabbed in the arm and or face. Alternatively, if you wear a suit, people will assume you have a certain level of decorum about you. There are obviously exceptions to this but, it's such a minority that it's not even worth putting into consideration. I very much doubt Mr. "fuck off" is actually a beautiful and caring individual.

Anyway, yeah, Disney and morales. I watched beauty and the beast and here's what happened, in short.

Something about a pretty girl
Something about a man/bear/pig thing in a castle
a talking clock
"Never go in the tower!!"
Pretty girl goes into tower
monster goes insane and starts trashing the place
girl is terrified
clock is terrified
Girl and monster end up falling in love
he's not a monster anymore.

Right.

It's about domestic abuse really. The monster gave the girl no other reason to love him other than fear. (I think there was a part when the girl found out that the monster liked music but, everyone likes music, who doesn't like music? get real.) The monster apparently turns into a human once they fall in love but, this looks like a classic case of a beaten wife in denial. It's very common for victims of domestic violence to be blind to the reality that they are living with a monster and instead, pretend everything is fine and they are married to a lovely prince who only hits them when they burnt the toast and deserve it.

I found it hard to find the morale in UP as well. If someone dies, GET OVER IT YOU BORING OLD BASTARD!

My friends aren't famous yet.

As a member of society, the most potentially gratifying moment of my ridiculously over glorified existence is to be known to people of whom I do not know myself. To be stopped by smiling strangers who want nothing more than for you to scribble on a piece a paper, acknowledge their existence and smile next to them in a photo to portray the illusion that you are now their friend. We are obsessed with the concept of fame, regardless of how fleeting and impermanent that may be. Let's face it, fame or rather, the golden age of fame is well and truly dead. The baton has now been passed on to children, or those with the equivalent mental capacity, as they seem to be the only passable specimens of humanity which actually care about the encounter of a celebrity, so long as it was manufactured by Disney, Big Brother or something.

We would much rather see a celebrity put on weight and cry than sign a book at some sort of convention. This is partially due to the revolution of quote, un-quote, reality TV. Granted, there is no such thing as it all exhibits from that fucking Hawthorne effect which ruins the possibility of ever seeing the true nature of humans acting like humans, while being filmed. People have been raised by television to believe that there is some sort of rat race for the approval and recognition of other people who watch TV. Your wholesome talents for singing or playing an instrument are nothing but means of which to humiliate and destroy yourself, like a well placed beggar whose charity income is relative to how much he or she can degrade themselves for our egocentric entertainment.

Well, the boys with the most toys don't win and the more people that know you exist, the more people will hate you, unless you die or write a book describing the mundane strive of your rise to stardom. The public is an angry mob with an unquenchable thirst for naivety and spectacle, like a best friend who turns on you without warning then laughs and goads your crippling misfortune. In conclusion, fame should be exclusively reserved for the fools and jesters, lets make medicine, fun and beauty then fuck everything else.

I have snakes in mind.

Sly like the reach you palm the crown
and blind me like a rat for attention
well suited to use us for parlor esteem
with weapons you choose not to mention
but he just doesn't mind staying quiet
while tracing like a child with a knife
you compare the lingering smiles of ghosts
as they lament and protest about life
convict us for thoughts and elective repose
with the advice we neglected to citation
competing through politics, religion and love
for the trophy of our destructive invention
sharp and quick like the wit of rabbits but
he's got wolves on the tip of his tongue
and she will slice the throats of lovers
if her mother just repeats to her, it's fun.
You crave the ward for a patent smile
and shiver for my breath on your lips
he watches me step with taming grace
and hopes you don't lean in for a kiss
do tour the prints of thieves and taste
the stray of my forbidding routine
as you prize glances I snare restrained
like a knight for the praise of his queen
his luck has it's way of sleeping
your walls retire at the end of the night
while I find the right pose to hold
and tell you, stop fucking with my life.

Third world countries need help!

Sort of, I suppose. Lets pretend that we don't understand how economies grow and civilisations flourish. Lets instead, throw money at them until they stop sending us videos of them sitting around looking sad covered in flies. Surely the whole spectrum of what constitutes as "needing help" is relative to the people who are offering it. By our standards, with our world of fridge magnets, bidets, cherry coke and a million mild variations of shampoo. 3rd world countries are rubbish and boring. However, the whole situation could be solved if we just left them alone and stop telling them how lame they are, that way, they wouldn't know how bad they have it.

Beings from another world may visit us one day from their world of SUPER FRIDGE MAGNETS and GAZILLIONS OF SHAMPOO VARIATIONS, feel sorry for us then tell us how great life could be if we were them. Well, alien dick heads, life was pretty alright until you showed up and started teasing us with your superior lifestyle, now I can't be bothered being happy with my life of regular fridge magnets, I want the super ones. Thanks.

So, Geldof, I realise you have this thing where you get angry at everyone for not trying to create a lovely, united world where everyone is a rock-star and best mates with Bono and what-not. It's nice and everything but, stop it. We can not fix problems by throwing coins at it, especially coins we don't actually have and I doubt it will help if we simply extend the warm branch of western debt to everywhere else in the world. Though misery loves company I suppose, maybe we could dress all the fly covered children in little suits and teach them how to make several power point presentations for their boss before sitting down and deciding the most organised way to kill themselves.

Welcome to paradise Ethiopian child, here is your cherry coke, a magazine that tells you what clothes to buy this winter so you don't get rejected from society and therapy. Have fun.

Anyway, "Geldof" there are more pressing matters to attend to, like the language bomb you have planted. You should probably diffuse it before it annoys me any more than it does simply because it is called "Peaches".




Seriously though, well done if you do charitable work, however, if you still have money in your pocket and don't donate all your money to all charities equally, you are still a greedy bastard. Who cares though, right? This cherry coke is delicious.

I can make up jokes.

It was a lovely winter morning and as Billy and Sarah woke up from their beds, they noticed it had snowed all night. With excitement rushing through their bodies they rush downstairs, put their little woolen scarves on and little woolen hats and start to play with the snow in the garden. Their mother wakes up and watches them from the kitchen window with a little content smile on her face. The children start to build a snowman and the mother comes out to help, they all pitch in and share a day of laughter and frolic. Soon enough, the most wonderful snowman in the world is made and stood firmly and proudly in the garden. It had a smile of coal, a carrot for a nose and their father's old hat on. The children were now tired so, their mother took them inside to sit together by the fire. While they were inside a bird lands on a branch overlooking the snowman and says, "Oh, hello Mr. snowman, how glorious you look, that family sure put a lot of love into making you! I sure do love the snow it makes everything look beautiful, don't you think?" The snowman turns to look at the bird and replies, "SHUT YOUR FUCKING FACE YOU STUPID FUCKING BIRD!"

Function, dysfunction, destruction, construction, function.

Right firstly, society and the current state of which humanity has reigned itself is disgustingly ambiguous and hollow. The truth is that we are are all mentally Ill and fucked up, there is no perfect specimen. It is my opinion that love operates in the way that when you first meet someone (anyone) you both perform this pantomime with each other, like submitting a brief profile report that includes boring shit like, what films you like, what do you do when you're bored, what's your favourite colour. It's like a script of how to be regular and not draw "inappropriate" attention to yourself. It is the idealistic equivalent of; "Hi, I am normal, are you?" These engagements may be satisfying on a really complex level of self evaluation and worth but, it is just shit, shit and acting.

The more you get to know someone on a personal level, the more they slip on their performance of pretending to be perfect. It works like an exchange, they begin to tell each other how they aren't as perfect as the other person might think they are. Until it eventually moves to the surrender of your mask and armour completely and you both admit how disgusting, mentally ill, broken and traumatised you both are. It is this moment of withdrawal from the silver-lined fog of society that you fall in love. It is the only thing in the world that is actually beautiful, lets not pretend everything is great, it's not. Lets just admit it so we can start appreciating the things that matter. Like each other and how weird and wonderful it is to be alive together.