Missing Lynx

I quite like Lynx adverts.

Now, if you know me (and I don't imagine why you wouldn't), you might be surprised by that.

I've documented before how I've become more politically correct as I've got older. In my teenage years, I'd happily listen to horrendous misogyny and homophobia. And that was just from my parents! (Ahahaha. Ha.).

I can't listen to certain music (mainly hip-hop) anymore, because I'm unable to block out the unpleasant views contained therein. I'm always sensitive to language used on television, and feel uncomfortable hearing things that seem cheap or cruel in mainstream media.

This is particularly true with adverts, which demonstrate the most base, capitalist pigeonholing and an utter contempt for the audience. I hate those jokey, matey, casually-homophobic Fosters ads. I even hate hearing about mum going to Iceland. Dad should be able to go to Iceland. As should the infertile.

I mentioned in a tweet how I feel about that WKD advert where a group of men are at a pub (there are no women - they hate pubs), doing blokey things like playing pool and watching sport, and then one of these men gets a call from 'the missus'. The barman rings an alarm and everyone goes quiet, so as to fool the woman (who hates the idea of men having fun, as all women do) into thinking he's having 'a quiet one'.

Stupid women. She's probably trying to get him to stop drinking or visit his terminally ill six-year-old daughter in the hospital. Bitch.

Actually, she's probably phoning to ask why, if you're going to be a terrible super male stereotype, you'd even consider drinking WKD - a drink made for twats who don't have the courage to be cunts.

(I just offended myself by using those vagina synonyms as terms of abuse. I feel like quite the cock.)

So, why am I not offended by Lynx adverts?

These are surely the most blatantly sexist and shallow things on television. I'm sure you've seen them. A man uses a Lynx product and is instantly surrounded by sexy women. They are driven crazy by the smell. They're basically robots - Pavlov's bitches - salivating at the ringing of a deodorised bellend.

(This has been cruder than my usual posts. Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, this isn't being written my Paul - someone has stolen my laptop).

You never see unattractive women in these adverts. Presumably the magic power of Lynx would still work on them. I imagine it's something to do with pheromones. Unless the scientists at the Lynx laboratories have managed to block the uglier brains from processing the lust-causing signals.

Presumably, gay men can't use Lynx. Being surrounded by women would be an inconvenience.

So how can I like these terrible things?

I think I like them because they're so blatant. There's not even any pretence that they're aiming at something more. It's basically unabashed, undiluted advertising.

And I admire them for that.

Loads of adverts use sex to sell their products. But there's usually a whole procedure of unconvincing sleight-of-hand. The relationship between the product and sexual attractiveness is slightly more complex.

It goes something like this:

This product is used by attractive men. Women are attracted to attractive men. If you use this product, you will be an attractive man. Therefore, if you use this product, women will be attracted to you.

But Lynx has stripped things down.

Women are attracted to the product. Use the product.

The man doesn't even come into the equation. You could spray Lynx on a chestnut tree and women would still be swarming around, fingering the branches.

It's accepting that the people using Lynx are unattractive. That's never going to change. But at least you can deceive women into liking you with this implausible love potion.

Advertising is depressing because it creates a huge lie about self-realisation and self-confidence and self-improvement and BEING SOMEBODY.

It's a depressing capitalist myth, which creates the illusion of power in the powerless, and makes poor people spend money they don't have so they can become SOMEBODY. But that SOMEBODY is an awful philandering racist who talks loudly about how much money they make and will never read a book.

So Lynx avoids this. It lies to us, sure. But at least it's a nice simple lie.

I'd rather have someone sell me some magic beans than convince me I can one day have my own magic bean farm if I drive the right car.

I wasn't really intending to make any kind of point there. Which is lucky, because I didn't.

In conclusion, the Lynx adverts aren't offensive because they revel in their own shallowness instead of tricking people into believing in depth.

That's not reasonable. They still are offensive, I know that really. I was just playing devil's pointless advocate.

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Also, I buy Lynx products. So I have to defend myself. I know they're for teenage boys, and I don't use the deodorant, but I do like the shower gels. They smell good.

But they trouble me. The packaging troubles me. Much more than the television campaign.

I see the backs of the bottles when I'm showering and I get confused. A clever marketing person has written a catchy little blurb about the product. I work in marketing (sort of). So I can imagine someone sitting there, coming up with something vaguely descriptive and descriptively vague.

But, these are really quite strange.

I'm not good at throwing away bottles, and the shower gel is on 'buy one get one free' at the moment, so I have four of these bottles.

Let's have a look at the blurbs.

LYNX FEVER

LYNX Fever, gets you into the Samba spirit with Brazilian Hot Mud and Red Dragonfruit extract. 
LYNX Fever, get warmed up for action!

(Then there's a helpful diagram of a man using the gel and then encountering some sexy feminine silhouettes)

Let's ignore the strange comma usage. This is probably the most normal caption on any of these bottles. It refers to 'the Samba spirit', which sounds like some kind of witchcraft.

Does this really have Brazilian Hot Mud in it? It certainly smells muddish. Did they import that Brazilian mud hot? Or did they just bring it in cold, and then reheat it in Britain? I don't know. I'm not an expert.

LYNX JET

(This pic is blurry, so you'll have to trust my transcript.)

Imagine a level of comfort and luxury never experienced before. With its mix of soothing aloe vera and energizing lime, LYNX Jet propels its passengers into an Exclusive First Class Club.


- Dermatologically tested.

First thing's first - I really don't think you should put 'Dermatologically tested' on the bottle as though it's a selling point. Call me crazy, but I assume all shower gels and soaps are tested on human skin. That seems important. You wouldn't want to get a whole batch packaged up only to find it eats through flesh like alien blood.

I really like that the first sentence is completely unrelated to the rest of the pitch. "Imagine this... OK? Good. Now let's talk about the product." The Exclusive First Class Club is capitalised to add an authority to the claim. But I didn't find any membership information anywhere.

Also: energizing lime. I don't know if all limes are energizing, or if this is from a particularly upbeat batch.

LYNX RECOVER


LYNX Recover with Mg+O₂ brings you back to life - no matter how big the night was...

I'm convinced by the chemical symbols. Clearly, experts have been involved in this. I don't know what it means (I assume it's something to do with Magneto), but if it's good enough for the eggheads, it's good enough for me.

They really should have called it LYNX Lazarus. I'm surprised that they haven't marketed this resurrection remedy to a wider audience. Maybe they're just saving this for the Exclusive First Class Club?

What's the biggest night you've ever had? I've never been close to the Arctic circle, so my nights tend to stay at pretty regular lengths. Imagine a night the size of an oil tanker! IMAGINE IT!

LYNX RISE


Want to make your morning monumental? The stuff of legends? LYNX Rise with uplifting lime extract and Himalayan minerals stimulates your senses to jump start your mind and body; 
LYNX Rise: Conquer the Day!

This one's my favourite. Why not try new LYNX Delusions of Grandeur?

In answer to their first two questions, 1) Not really, 2) Not really.

Uplifting lime this time. Don't know if they brought it in the same crate as the energizing stuff.

Himalayan minerals? Really? Because I would think you could get comparable minerals without going to all that trouble. Maybe it's not actually Himalayan. Just Himalayan-style. Like a Spanish omelette.

I'm really not sure about the whole conquest thing. Alexander wept when there were no more worlds to conquer, but I bet he'd be fuming if he got lime extract in his eye.

I don't like the thought of a civilization emerging based on the tenets of Lynx. But if it did happen - and, again, I don't want it to - who better to run the whole thing than a brave scholar, who has dedicated his Sunday evening to exploring the pros and cons of Lynx?

No-one better.

Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and try the Red Dragonfruit extract! I hear the chicks dig it.

Third Degree

Let's do this.

Let's have done this.

You know how often people have said they like these tweet compilations? Never. Do you know how many comments I've had on them? None. Do you know how long it takes to do these? Ages.

But still. Here we seem to be.

I suppose if something serves my ego, I'm happy to do it regardless of common sense.

I've been in a bad mood today. Pretty bloody bad. But some of the below remarks were made when I was happy. Or at least happier. You can probably guess my mood by the number of swear words or capitals I use.

I'm in a pretty bloody bad mood. And the best way to overcome such a mood is to copy and paste sentences of variable quality from one side of the screen to another.

This is my therapy. And I'm sure, by the time I get to the postamble at the bottom of this entry, everything will be just tickety-boo.

So, get some popcorn. Put the children to bed. Pour a glass of red wine. Kick off your legs. Sit back, relax and get ready to scroll downwards. That's right! It's another edition of:

Getting Saner

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Aplomb. You're either born with it or you're not.

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CONGRATULATIONS! You can read!! (If you can't read, please disregard)

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"Call your son Cliff. Go on - it'll be a laugh!" - any given doctor.

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Who is the most jumpy film director? David Flincher.

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People are using the phrase "...like it's going out of fashion" like it's going out of fashion. Which is lucky, because it is.

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Earthworms find it hard to climb the corporate ladder because of the grass ceiling. #absolutelyterrible

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If I owned a tattoo parlour for rodents, I'd call it Rat-A-Tat-Tat. But I don't currently have any such plans.

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There's nothing I like more than you do.

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Some people are having a very loud party on our street. If you follow me and are at that party, please kill everyone you can see.

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I don't object to people having fun. I just think that if they do, they should be muffled by a thick, brown, scratchy blanket in a lake.

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The party appears to be over. Or has at least moved on to a quieter stage, such as bobbing for mittens or vacuum karaoke.

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Lucy just said: "Screw you of little faith!". She has a way with words.

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It's difficult to use left-handed scissors if your hands are covered with magnets.

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Woke up late. Wasn't sure whether to have breakfast or lunch. In the end I panicked and had a Toblerone dipped in a boiled iguana egg.

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I can't remember where I put my lethe-handed scissors...

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People who have a 'can-do' attitude annoy me. I've got a 'can't-don't' attitude, which amounts to the same thing.

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"My voice is as rich and deep as the sarcophagus of Scrooge McDuck." (My CV needs some work)

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It's good to take prepreprecautions. You never know when you'll be called upon to take preprecautions.

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Bumper stickers are the best way to disseminate ignorance at high speed.

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Friends, Romans, countrymen. I'm in the bath. This... this really isn't a good time, OK?

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If you're thinking what I'm thinking, we're both going to prison.

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Let's all join hands. To wrists. THAT'S WHERE HANDS ARE SUPPOSED TO GO! YEAH!

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Love will always overcome hate. Because love loves hate more than hate loves hate. #positivity

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Sometimes it's just not scarf-weather, Rupert. I mean, you're a bear. You have FUR. Maybe it's a circulation problem?

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Why do they never repeat that Inspector Morse episode where Lewis becomes a six-storey beatnik? Sorry, not 'episode': 'dream'.

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Nick Cave: great musician; implausible robbery.

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Anyone else thinking about cardamom right now?

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I don't put my best foot forward, I put my worst foot back.

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If only we could somehow harness the power generated by the struts of victorious dicks.

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'Just For Men' is misleading. I just used it on a grey squirrel and he looks ten years younger! (God rest his soul)

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Every second of every day, I transform into my alter ego: Slightly Older Man. With the power to feel increasingly ambivalent!

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To recap: put your cap back on.

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They didn't have my usual four-pack of apples today, so I bought eight. And it has turned my life UPSIDE DOWN.

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Hell is listening to someone on the phone repeatedly spelling a difficult name.

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I don't like the abbreviation 'coffee'. I always call it by its full name: coff-licence.

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Accidentally stared into the coffee machine drip-tray and plunged into a memory. Man, James Potter was a dick.

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Escher designed a crèche. He faced censure when toddlers fell up-down the stairs. Such is the pressure of running a Crèscher.

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My friend plays in a string quartet and really hates prison rooms. She's a cellist.

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Awkward. Back from the toilet with not-quite-dry hands and was introduced to someone. Went for the soggy shake, rather than the refusal.

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Recovered nicely by shouting "It's not piss!" down the corridor. Now EVERYONE knows it wasn't piss. #playitcool

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The Human Baseball can be really friendly if you catch him on a good day.

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The most dangerous way to disguise baldness is the comb-under.

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"Coriander: it's a superb soup herb!" WHY WON'T THE HERB COUNCIL RETURN MY CALLS???

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RIDDLE: What has arms and legs, but doesn't have any blood? ANSWER: This chair (after I clean the blood off).

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Neptune is best known for his three teeth.

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The best place to take a bullet is probably Thorpe Park.

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You can slide anything you want through a letter box. It doesn't have to be a letter.

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I've built a scary spice rack (inspired by Mel B). I found terragon and horregano in the shop, but still need to go in for the dill.

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Always awkward when you meet someone you know, and they keep walking but you start a conversation, and then you remember they're a mute.

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I just thought of a better variant of that tweet:

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Always awkward when you meet someone you know, and they keep walking but you start a conversation, and then you remember they're a mule.

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I just urinated for so long that I forgot what I was doing halfway through and started playing Tetris.

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Hoof > hooves; roof > rooves; goof > gooves; Magaluf > Magaluves. PLURALS CAN BE FUN.

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Opinions are like onions: strip away one layer and you have a slightly smaller oponion.

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I miss those crisps with the separate little packet of "salt" in them, that you had to "shake". I think they were called Sodium 'n' Tremors.

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"Please leave your message after the last, dying beep of The Road Runner". - Wile E. Coyote's answering machine is indicative of his mood.

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DIALOGUE EXTRACT > Honey: "Can I have a gas mask, please?" | Jack: "Here you go" | Honey: "No. A GAS mask. A mask made of gas." | Jack: ".."

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After I received yet another spambot follower, Lucy said: "Never mind. At least robots like your tweets!" It lifted my mood, I can tell you.

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You've got a friend in me. He's not fully digested yet, so if you have any last minute questions, now's the time.

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An attentive manager should smell the necks of their employees at least twice a week. Especially if the employee has more than one neck.

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The game Guitar Hero should use inverted commas to better emphasise the irony of the title. It should be "Guitar" """""""Hero"""""""".

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"Come and get me!" - a phrase used only by irreverent tough-guy fugitives in action movies or 13-year-olds stranded at the swimming baths.

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I haven't changed my guitar strings for about five years. Now whenever I play it, my fingers smell all two-thousand-and-sixy.

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I'd hate to become one of those people.

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"Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I have a MASSIVE cock." - The Great Gatsby, 1st Draft.

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I'm hangry. That's a cross between hungry and hang gliding,

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"That's a turnip for the books!" - Root vegetable enthusiast. (Writing more than one book.) (More than one book on turnips.)

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Funny how you can describe babies with some adjectives, but not others. "Beautiful", "cute", etc are fine. "Chargrilled" is less acceptable.

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It's annoying when you splash yourself whilst washing up and it makes it look like you've wet yourself again.

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You can lie to dogs about sports statistics all day and they won't hold it against you.

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I bet Elmer Fudd had a tough time growing up.

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You have to walk like an Egyptian before you can run like an Egyptian.

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I remember getting my results. They were delivered by Alexander Fleming riding a plesiosaur. History and science grades were disappointing.

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The topical comedian is a flailing man in a blindfold being pelted by rotten fruit. Whenever, by chance, he deflects an apricot: BIG LAUGHS.

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I've started to exclaim "Good heavens!" with alarming frequency. Even when the heavens in question are merely so-so.

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I'm currently in that lull you get between when you're six and when you're dead.

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Demand for furry Russian hats has nearly led to the complete extinction of furry Russians.

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Don't bother phoning NHS Direct to ask whether your testicles are stereo or mono. It's a complete waste of time.

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At my primary school we would only sing hymns about Jonathan Frakes. Was this just a Hampshire thing?

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I'm so used to guide dog charities, I try to jam a coin into the head of any labrador I see.

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Molestation: a terrible thing for humans, but a useful transport hub for moles.

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If you've lost a sofa cushion, you can usually find it stuffed down the back of a load of remote controls.

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What's brown and sticky and an aid to amnesia? A memory stick. A brown memory stick.

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Always fill the kettle from the hot tap rather than the not tap.

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I shudder to think. When I'm on Countdown they'll have to reinforce the set.

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Friday is nature's coffee. Coffee is nature's Friday.

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If I founded a country, I'd insist on a spherical flag. It's easier to salute something that reminds you of a watermelon.

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I'm playing with a large paperclip. The paperclip is only four times the size of a normal paperclip, but FIVE times as fun!

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This week, my blog has had 5 hits via besthelpforhemorrhoidsnow.com. I'll take what I can get (even if I don't know what hemorrhoid snow is)

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I've never been convicted of any Earth crime.

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If you want to organise a really cowardly wedding, use the yellow pages.

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In space, no-one can hear you scream for ice cream.

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There was a division in our school between the kids whose family got the TV Times, and the kids who read the Bible.

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Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Possessio is nine-tenths of possession.

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Possession is nine-tenths of Judge Dredd.

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If you think I've got a pretty face from where you are, you should see it from the INSIDE!

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Ours is the 'Give Every Generation a Catchy Name' Generation.

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TERRIBLE JOKE ALERT | WARNING | WARNING | ... Flutritionists recommend you always try to get your fife-a-day... | END OF TERRIBLE JOKE

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Sadly, Frenchy from Grease was killed in action during the Algerian War.

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The bright and early bird catches the photophobic worm.

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You can find discarded wisdom in the prolost & profound.

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A grey day without rain is like an episode of Lewis where you don't imagine him being chastised by the ghost of Morse: POINTLESS.

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How many "How many [BLANK]s does it take to change a lightbulb?" jokes does it take to change the current culture of lightbulb jokes?

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Why did the "Why did the chicken cross the road?" joke cross the line? Because the chicken was a metaphor for 9/11.

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I'm working on some new material. It's a mixture of corduroy and silk. I think I'll call it cordurilk.

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I don't believe in love at first sight. I believe in love at oversight.

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"I'm sorry... you're breaking up..." A walkie talkie conversation with cream crackers is fraught with problems.

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Every time someone refers to an object being 'visible to the naked eye', I get an eyelash erection.

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Each FreeCell game I win is another nail in the coffin of my own heroism.

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I carry a picture of my wallet inside my wallet. It reminds me of my wallet.

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NARRATIVE OF HISTORY: stone age; bronze age; iron age; modern age; montage.

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Alligators must employ a complex appointments system to accommodate all the people intending to see them later.

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All Saints had to break up when Mel Blatt was decanonized. (75% Saints didn't have the same ring to it)

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You make your own luck in this world. INGREDIENTS: 2 cups coincidence, 4 cups bullshit, 1 tsp self-doubt, 2 fresh magpies. Whisk thoroughly.

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I had a big cup of coffee and now I'm shaking. Not because of the caffeine, but with fear at the thought that it might not be the caffeine.

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I've inherited a really smooth heirloom. It's been sanded down from generation to generation. (My grandparents had it rough)

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If you've got it, flaunt it. If you haven't got it, fluncle it.

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My favourite ironing-board game is probably Snakes and Disfiguring Burns.

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The best thing about time being linear is that I'll never have to watch The Generation Game again.

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Because of modelling union rules, all the photos you see in hairdressers have to be of orphans.

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I just had a really good stretch. I know that won't have much impact on your day, but I thought you should know.

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That WKD advert with blokes freezing time to avoid "the missus" is interesting. It reflects how their gender politics are frozen in the 70s.

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I like having Summertown in my address. It doesn't sound like a real place. It makes me feel like Noddy. As does this hat.

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A black eye is also known as a "shiner", which is pleasant and playful. They should call a fractured eye socket a "sparkling fairy monocle".

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A colleague has just described me as being "on the fringes of relevance", which is the most accurate assessment of me I've ever heard.

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My reluctant Buddhist friend decided to face her fears and went swimming with chakras.

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The Dolphin Communication Council's slogan is "Sonar, So Good". Or it would be if it existed.

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There's safety in numbers. Especially a Kevlar eight.

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If you ever find yourself playing rock-paper-scissors with a fish, keep this in mind: they always choose paper. (Lucy pointed this out)

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I prefer rock-pauper-scissors. Pauper is stabbed by scissors and dies (can't afford bandages), but pauper covets rock.

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If you're taking part in a marathon for burns victims, make sure you run it under cold water.

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If you're worried that sitting with your legs apart makes you look unladlylike, just tape a corsage to the inside of each thigh.

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My fingers are sticky for some unknown reason. Still, this empty jam jar will come in handy.

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I used to use my firefox bookmarks all the time, but I ended up with lots of singed pages and a reprimand from the RSPCA.

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If you view my face from JUST the right angle, it looks like you're trying too hard.

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Do you remember the TV series Early Edition? Because unless you were in it, you probably shouldn't.

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The dove is the only bird that's always in the past tense.

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Carrot or stick? The age-old question for both child rearing and snowman noses.

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The first time I heard the song 'Three Times a Lady', I wrote to Lionel Richie demanding a recount. It just didn't strike me as rigorous.

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A two-goal lead is fantastic in football, but unwieldy in dog-walking.

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If you want to get a job at an old people's home, it's probably best to leave your scythe in the car.

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I'd feel more comfortable being grinded to death by a blackboard than I do watching any stranger try to parallel park.

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There's always a communal groan when someone gets onto a crowded bus carrying another bus under their arm.

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Pride comes before F All.

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When it comes to the first coffee of the day, timing is crucial. I need to make sure I tip the mug at the same time as I open my mouth.

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If I had to name my top ten favourite restaurants, it would make for a really boring Saw-style torture movie.

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One hand washes the otter.

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But we should make our own excitement! I'll think of a number between 1 and 100 and then we'll drink a log flume.

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Today passes like a funeral parade. Slow, grim, misjudged hat, wailing, flowers, regrets, corpse.. Hang on, I've lost control of this simile

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I just hit my eye-socket against a peg. In the HBO TV series of my life, that will be a season finale.

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The first thing lubricant must lubricate is itself.

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I'm going to start mixing up my applause rhythm. This "clap-clap-clap" jive just ain't gonna cut it anymore.

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These granary paracetamol are extra wholesome!

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I've got to go out. Keep an eye on my car. I don't care which one.

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I'm a great conversationalist. This evening I said, "the main problem with dictators is they DON'T HAVE THE COURAGE OF THEIR CONVICTIONS".

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Sometimes, if you want to dispel conversational awkwardness, you need to throw some awkwardness of your own out there. It's like snooker.

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I can't anchor a conversation (a one-on-one talk with me is like torture), but I can pepper an existing one with quips, asides and trivia.

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I'm basically like a supporting cast member. I couldn't carry my own show, but if I make the odd guest appearance, some nerds might laugh.

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I'm going to drink some orange juice now. Smooth. Just like I like my peanut butter. And my sea lions.

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I don't think Seal would have been so successful if his song had been released under its original title: Kiss from a Rose West.

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I make some sense, but not all of it.

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"*RUSTLE&CLICKS*RUSTLE&CLICKS*" "Who's there?" "Door delivery man." "Door-delivery-man who?" "You can finally get rid of this bead curtain."

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If I managed get my super-powerful catapult working, I'd throw a massive party.

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I've just finished an exam paper on Porcine Condescension. This little piggy went to mark it.

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I like the dregs at the bottom of cereal packets more than the cereal itself. They should sell boxes of just dregs.

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The most depressing musical instrument is the self-harmonica.

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If washing machines were sentient, I'd be feeling pretty guilty right now.

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I'd like to see a really insular German sci-fi series called Deep Space Nein. See what you can do.

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I carry a lucky strip of toast with me everywhere I go. It's a soldier of fortune.

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I can't see any reason why 'slove' shouldn't be a word.

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"I like my genocide on the generous side." - Adolf Witler.

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Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of smooth operators? The Sade knows!

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My train of thought has been cancelled due to a signalling error. However, a sporadic bus of thought service is currently in operation.

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I can't believe it's nearly tomorrow AGAIN.

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Let's put the petal to the medal!

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There are 'Back to School' signs in shop windows everywhere. I bet Alice Cooper is feeling pretty sheepish right about now.

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I refuse to use the term "scissors", no matter what the PC brigade says. They're Siamese knives and they always have been.

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If your child has fewer than eleven shoulders, I don't care.

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My favourite magician is The Great Spoonerismo. I once saw him pull a habit out of a rat. YES, REALLY.

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If some idiot dies in a helicopter crash today, this tweet will seem in really poor taste.

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This tweet is NOT a paradox.

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There's someone out there for everyone, but they don't always know the secret knock. And winter is coming.

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FYI, if you ever have to identify my body, I've got five toes on all of my feet.

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"Get this...!" - a person, moments before they say something I stubbornly refuse to get.

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The main reason to buy magazines is to weigh your house down, in case that old guy from Up decides to start some crazy balloon shit.

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I can't dance. I've got two bereft feet.

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I think there's a snail under my Ctrl key.

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I just burnt myself shaving.

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DONE. 

I think I did at least three tweets about burns this week. I don't know what that means. Maybe I should start carrying a fire extinguisher around.

I can name it Guishy.

Aqueduct

It's an emotional day.

All over the world, people have experienced emotions. It's a broad spectrum, from the despair at seeing a loved-one convicted of fraud, to the minor joy at seeing a loud child thrown into a cement mixer.

Emotion is everywhere, but you can't see it from space. It's strange that something so negligible - in a small enough quantity to fit inside seven billion skull-sized containers - has such a huge impact on the planet.

Forests are cut down because logging companies are too proud to ask beavers for help. Oceans are poisoned because large corporations are jealous of the krill. We put a man on the moon because we were giddy. We put a flag on the moon because we were hungry.

Emotion is something unquantifiable (unless you use the much-discredited Chucklometer). It doesn't exist anywhere but between our ears, or between our bindi and bald-patch, depending of cranial orientation.

It's a wild beast - untameable, untenable, ineffable, intransigent - but we wouldn't have it any other way. Without the cheers and the tears, the yearning and the churning, the guffaw and the shifty-eyed second guess, what would we be? Robots. Just robots.

And as cool as that might initially sound, a laser gun arm is no substitute for the warm feeling of happiness that comes whenever you see a nice big kitchen.

***

The front of my right thigh is wet. I'm not particularly emotional about it, but it's slightly uncomfortable.

It might be because I've done the washing up. I might have leaned against a wet sink-edge with my right thigh. I'm wearing jeans. That doesn't have any bearing on the situation, I just wanted to reassure you.

I'd prefer my discomfort to be symmetrical.

Up to a point.

I'd rather lose one leg than half of both. I'd rather be stung by a scorpion on one buttock rather than both.

But I'd like to have both thighs moist simultaneously. At least I'd know where I stood. (By the sink)

I could artificially moisten the front of my left thigh, but I'd have to be very careful. Heraclitus famously said: "You could not step twice into the same river; for other waters are ever flowing on to you".

By the same token, I'm sure he would say: "You cannot moisten your left thigh in exactly the same way as your right thigh has been moistened; for other waters are ever trickling all crazy and shit".

I might over-moisten the left. Then I'd have to even it out with the right.

Then, before I knew it, I'd be standing waist-deep in an inlet of some sort.

I think I'm just going to have to live with a moist right thigh.

Having said that, I think it might have already dried itself as I've been writing this.

My fears have been all for nought.

But I think we've all learned something important about my legs.

***

Whenever I get asked if I want to update some software, I click 'Remind me later'. Then, when I'm reminded, I click 'Remind me in the past'.

It's a procrastination loop. I think it might revolutionise the way people don't do things.

I'd put together a detailed proposal, but all my software is woefully obsolete.

***

I think I'd live a more interesting life if I looked like this:

My hair might look this white when I'm older, but to complete the look I'd need contact lenses and some kind of skin dye.

The end of my nose looks strangely dark. I think it might be negative schnozz-shine.

I'm going to use this as my passport photo.

***

I was wondering if I should finish this post and watch the football.

Lucy asked "Does it feel like it's finished?"

I said "Maybe".

She said "Well, you've got to trust your instincts".

My instincts were to transcribe that exchange.

My instincts are idiots.

Instidiots.

***

Let's draw a line under this.

And over it. And on either side.

Then draw a roof on it.

Congratulations!

YOU ARE NOW AN ARCHITECT.

The Elephant in the Room

As I see it, the problem with [BLANK] isn't one of economics or gender, but of closed-mindedness.

I'm not wholly critical of [BLANK]. I like to think that it has its place in society. In fact, knee-jerk outrage whenever [BLANK] is even mentioned is as annoying as [BLANK] itself. So I hope this doesn't come across as stereotypical, blind anti-[BLANK] vitriol, full of references to Disraeli or fox hunting or what-have-you.

I'm trying to be diplomatic. It's just that I can't understand why anyone could be in favour or unfettered, undiluted [BLANK]. Even on their own terms [BLANK]-supporters must realise that their belief system is ultimately self-defeating.

It's not even a political argument. It's a factual one. [BLANK] has had a serious and negative impact on this country. The legacy of [BLANK]-related actions can be seen in all over the world, and it's not a pretty sight. The statistics bear this out.

It's not surprising at all. I remember when I was at school, there wasn't even any mention of [BLANK].

It wasn't until 1998 that I even considered [BLANK] to be an issue. I thought it was harmless; part of the scenery; nothing more than a catchy T-shirt slogan.

But after the so-called 'Summer of [BLANK]', my eyes were suddenly opened. Coincidentally, it was around this time that my house had our first proper internet connection. So, whilst my school friends were (at best) uninterested, I was able to find fledgling online communities dedicated to the discussion of [BLANK]. My knowledge on the subject increased exponentially.

Of course, as with anything else, the message boards and websites had their fair share of idiots. There was a lot of misinformation flying around. But on the whole, the motives of the people involved seemed pure. They - we - were fundamentally interested in challenging the status quo.

The Anti-[BLANK] Alliance was formed. (I now find the negative language of the group's name a bit unpleasant, but at the time such aggression was galvanising)

Our mission statement was simple:

1) To introduce discussion of [BLANK] into popular discourse
2) To expose the evils and hypocrisy of [BLANK] to as wide an audience as possible
3) To convince governments that [BLANK] requires greater regulation
4) A total end to "the culture of [BLANK]"

At sixth-form I started an Anti-[BLANK] society, but membership numbers were low, possibly as a result of pressure from the disapproving faculty.

But by the time I went to University, [BLANK] was everywhere. There were articles in broadsheet newspapers, documentaries on Channel 4. The Aug 2011 issue of NME was the 'all-[BLANK]' issue.

Student activism had taken the ball and was running with it. Even my apolitical friends were wearing 'DOWN WITH [BLANK]' badges. It seemed like the tide was turning; like something momentous was about to happen.

Even the events and aftermath of September 11 didn't derail the [BLANK] debate. In fact, [BLANK]-related causes of the atrocity were postulated by some of the more radical commentators.

We thought the world was changing.

But...

here we are.

Ten years later, and [BLANK] is as prominent as it ever was. The documentaries and articles are sparse. The student interest in the topic has seemingly been replaced with anger over other government policies. Those 'DOWN WITH [BLANK]' badges are lying, rusting, in the bottom a washing machine somewhere.

The online community is still there, and occasionally a token representative will be given a column on the Guardian website. But the anti-[BLANK] movement has been relegated to the fringes - occupying the same space as conspiracy theorists and amateur anarchists.

But the prevailing attitude, even amongst my friends, is that [BLANK] is inevitable. So why fight it? It doesn't matter. It's just the way things are.

And yet economies are failing, wars are being fought, and people are dying. I don't know how people can look at what's happening in the world and say that [BLANK] doesn't matter.

I'm sure you've heard the arguments, and there are better qualified, more eloquent people who have written on the subject.

I just wanted to write this to say that [BLANK] is still out there. It's still hurting people. And we should never forget it.

Flying Blind

"Yeeeooow!"

That is the sound that a cat might make if it, he or she ate some too-hot soup. But probably not.

However, if a human actor was to play the part of that cat, it is the kind of noise it, he or she might make. If it, he or she hadn't done the proper research.

I need to write things like that. It may seem like a waste of time, but I need to do it. Because sometimes these things lead to something interesting. I might stumble onto a joke. Maybe even a piece of potential stand-up material. It might just lead to a good sentence, or an comedy scenario that could be exploited for future gain.

In this case, it didn't lead to anything.

I estimate that 80% of these blog posts don't yield anything of value beyond themselves. But that's fine. I'm happy with that.

If you're fishing for fish, you need to throw at least eight fishing rods into the river before one of them hits a fish. It's simple mathematics.

And in fact the 'cat eating too-hot soup' opening did in fact lead to something. It led to an analysis of my blog posts, which in turn led to that fishing rod thing.

The fishing rod thing could be the basis of my debut novel.

That's why I don't agree with people who say quality is better than quantity. Because quantity leads to quality.

Let me illustrate that with an example that, as I write this sentence, I haven't even come up with. The example could be anything, but I have faith in my ability to choose something appropriate.

Imagine, if you will, a biscuit. I don't know what kind of biscuit. Perhaps a chocolate digestive biscuit.

Those who prefer quality to quantity will say this:

(They will say it in a regional accent. The accent of a Portuguese region though, so to untrained ears, it will just seem like generic Portuguese. If you're Portuguese, it would clearly be a regional accent. The equivalent of a broad Cornish accent, for example. Or Berwickish. But to you - the non-Portuguese national - it will just seem like Portuguese. Or, if your ears aren't well trained at all, it might even seem Spanish. It's not Spanish. It's Portuguese. But it might seem Spanish.

So anyway, the person who prefers quality to quantity will say this, in a Portuguese accent {if it, her or she was Portuguese})

I would rather have a well-made, quality biscuit, made from fresh ingredients, put together with care and expertise, than a billion awful crumbly biscuits made of fir cones.

That's what they say, but him, it or shem would be wrong.

(At this point, I'm beginning to think my confidence in my example-marshalling abilities might have been misplaced. I'm not sure how I can argue my way out of this.)

Because that one biscuit, whilst good, will only ever be one good biscuit. It is its own end.

However, the billion awful biscuits have the potential to be more than that. Who's to say that a billion, or even just twenty, crumbly fir cone biscuits won't taste BETTER than a normal biscuit?

Perhaps the perfect chocolate digestive has not yet been made, and will not be made, until a master biscuitsmith wades through the dry, poisonous detritus of so-called "inferior" biscuits.

Who's to say that? Any of it?

The Portuguese?

What do they even know about biscuits?

So you see, the analogy has indeed turned out to be useful. Quantity is better than quality.

This - THIS: the analogy, the stuff about Spanish, the excessive bracket usage - is the billion biscuits of brilliance. It may be highly unpleasant, you may not be enjoying it now, but later, when you mull it over, you'll smack your lips and say to yourself:

"YES. THAT WASN'T TOO BAD."

Or, if you've really been paying attention:

"Sim, isso não foi tão ruim."

You, me, she, it or thim are learning that a horrific journey is sometimes needed if you want to arrive at a hotel with acceptable Wi-Fi.

Bread and Scrape

In my day, the government gave us all a day.

Everyone had one. On your sixteenth birthday, you were allocated one twenty-four hour period, and it was yours with which to do whatever you wanted.

My day was Friday 11th January 1900.

But there was a miscalculation in The Ministry of Day Apportionment. They'd miscalculated.

In 1998, the year I turned sixteen, there were around 58,649,000 people in the UK. And whilst there had technically been more than that number of days up to that point, the government was hindered by several flaws in the system:

1) They only included days after 0AD, as BC days were deemed 'stodgy' and 'Old Labour'.

2) The landed gentry, the royals, and all former England football captains were granted special privileges. Instead of a day, they were given entire weeks, and in some cases, years. Bryan Robson's week was from 1853, and included both the Battle of Oltenitza and the founding of the Republic of Lower California. Princess Margaret had 1771. With the privileged receiving so many extra days, there were fewer for the middle and lower classes.

3) Jack Straw refused to allow days in the future to be included, because he claimed that "the concept really freaks me out".

I was very lucky to be given a day. I put some patio chairs there, and occasionally went there for some 'alone time'.

In my day, there was a slight problem with damp.

Soon, people were forced to share days. Then the policy was abandoned altogether. But by then it was 1999 and we were all busy hunting for Prince (who had stolen the year from Richard Branson, claiming "Issssss MIIIIIIIINNNE!").

***

I lost confidence in that comedy concept. There might be something there, but it is not ripe for picking at the current time. In the current climate.

Hey! How about, right...?

How about:

I don't feel comfortable making jokes about raisin hurricanes. Not in the currant climate.

How about that?!

That's a joke. An actual joke. 

Sure, it doesn't really make sense. But the important thing is that it's HONEST.

***

Break your blog into sections

Break your blog into sections

Point your readers in several directions

Break your blog into sections

Avoid detection! Avoid detection!

STRUCTURAL, STRUCTURAL INSURRECTION!

Break your blog into sections

Break your blog into sections

Vote for a dog in your local elections

Break your blog into sections

I love that song.

***

If you print this blog post out, you can cut out all of the words and rearrange them into whatever order you like. You could make me sound really racist if you wanted to. I don't know why you would. But you could.


Also, you could fold this entry into a paper plane. Use these bits as wing-flaps:

\\\\ ////

This woman can be the pilot:

__-----___
}~~~~~{
    ''''    ''''
  @   @
     ^
     =


ISN'T SHE BEAUTIFUL?


If you're reading this on a laptop, desktop or tablet computer, you probably shouldn't cut anything out. You might need those sections of the screen later, for the odd drag-and-drop, article perusal or full-screen movie experience.


***

INT. MEXICO - DAY

A man sits at his computer. A man looks at his computer. A man seethes at his computer. The man is PAUL. A womanly beast sits a short distance away, flossing. She is HAAT.

PAUL

When should this blog post end?

HAAT

You'll know when.

PAUL

Are you sure?

HAAT

I don't know.

PAUL

I think it might be time to end it now. 

I think I might have 'jumped the shark' 

with the name 'Haat'.

HAAT

He who seeks answers may only find 

lots of question marks piled into 

the shapes of letters. The letters may 

spell out the word 'ANSWERS'.

PAUL

Yeah, I'm pretty sure this should be the end.

In the distance, a cloud of dust signals the approach of a horse-drawn cart. Three figures are visible on the cart.

PAUL (cont'd)

Who are they?

HAAT

You'll know when. 

PAUL

When?

HAAT

When you see them.

The cart draws closer. The figures emerge from the dust. It becomes clear that these figures are all the actor William Sadler, in his three most famous roles: DEATH from Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey, dumb hick prisoner HEYWOOD from The Shawshank Redemption, and the villain COLONEL STUART from Die Hard 2: Die Harder (remember, he's in the nude near the beginning).

PAUL

Is that...? That guy. That actor. 

You know. The one with the square jaw.

HAAT

William Sadler?

PAUL

I don't know. I don't know what his name is.

HAAT

It is. It's William Sadler. 

In his three most famous roles.

PAUL

Huh. Hey, wasn't he in Deep Space Nine too?

HAAT

I don't know.

DEATH

Hey guys. Do you know if this 

is the right road to get to Juárez?

PAUL

I don't know.

HAAT

Me neither.

HEYWOOD

Dang.

COLONEL STUART begins to strip, and the sun sinks below the horizon.