Ranting again

A defence of conformists

You know all those people who go on and fucking on about “sheeple”? Those moaning whiney cunts that cant stop griping about conformists. The people who stand to the left when an escalator says “stand to the right” ooohohoooo fucking hooo! You stood on the left! Your a dare devil man! But why? What are you fighting against? Fighting against conformists is like is like fighting against left for right’s sake.

Ok, I know it seems cool to stand out, but let’s face it; everyone else is standing out just like you. You wanna be different, just like everyone else. Well let’s fucking face it shall it? The only REAL and HONEST individuals who won’t conform and let anyone tell him to do? Is smearing shit over his pants on a park bench while screaming at pigeons.

Conforming to what everyone else does is a social mechanism and a survival trait. It’s not perfect and it betrays us quite often, I’m not saying that, but conforming naturally is something that is built into us because of our herd animal instincts. Herds don’t have non-conformists because they’re dead.

“Ugh, fucking sheeple! Running in that direction I’M gonna go THIS wa-ARGH!” and Zebra is dead. Eaton by conformist lion.
I suppose what really gets me about people who claim to be non-conformists is the fact they tend to surround themselves with people who dress and act the same way and the most guilty of this is the emo plague of late.

Oh god I’ve gone and started on the emo’s. But fuck it. Since I’ve started I’ll finish. Now I have nothing against emo in principle, like I have nothing against people who enjoy fucking stuffed toys. That’s your business, have fun but don’t ask me to join and don’t give me a dirty look if don’t want to join.

That’s right; I’m fucked off with “higher than thou” attitude of emo kids. Nothing against the style, though it is fucking stupid (my arms can’t fit down your trouser thighs?!), it is more the air of superiority. Yes we had that when I was into the whole classification thing, but it was never this bad!...was it?

Fuck I’ve gone on a tangent. Conformism does tend to betray us quite often, take Nazism, bush, communism, Feminists. Ok that last one was a bit of a joke but seriously, when human beings tend to agree on an idea it spreads like a virus that grows stronger and stronger. I believe the idea is called a Meme? Anyway when this virus takes a strong political view people get hurt and yes that fucking sucks but don’t blame conformism for it, blame yourselves for submitting to conformism.

Conformism is a great power that should be taken carefully. Running away from fire? Good. Stoning someone to death? Bad. Ok those were two far too easy examples. Trying to fit in with a crowd? Especially if you have to get to know them? Good! Let them know you slowly, that’s good conformism. Getting to know a crowd that tells sick and racist jokes? Tell them you’re not happy with it but don’t burn your bridges. Conforming to clothes, to styles, to certain trends of music even, these are all parts of life and you have to pick and choose what you want. Don’t shun something because it’s popular or else you’re a class A retard.

This is a bit of an abject rant really because I’ve never socialized with anyone this stupid, but I know of them and they make me angry on principle. But I think I’m ready to get to my point now.

If you want to conform then do it, if you don’t then have a reason too. Don’t just be against conformism just for the sake of it.

Accents.

I have something to admit, I am a major lover of accents, the different tones of pronunciations, the way some letters are added and removed. You can tell a man or woman where they’re from just by their accent. Mostly.
You see I love accents because I don’t really have one. Well that’s a lie and I know it is. I have what is known as a posh accent. Except I don’t, people who meet me for the first time seem to believe I’m of some upper class upbringing and my daddy smeared fox blood in my face and I’m an heir to the Robinson ka-zillions. Fact is that’s fucking WRONG. If you know me you know I’m not posh at all. I am a Manc born and bred, the problem is I have been taught a mixture of how to talk “properly” (ahem) and how to talk like a proper manc so I tend to slip in between.

The mixture is somewhat confusing to people who don’t know whether to bow or lock their car.

This is why accents fascinate me. They introduce so much of a person to you. A man could say to “Fine ducks we’re having this winter” and just by the tone of his voice you could tell where he came from.

Take Billy Connolly for example, that man’s voice is fucking velvet on gold its so nice, he can tell a story about flaming turds and it still sounds so charming this man could be gnawing on your balls so hard you’d scream. But if he was talking you’d offering some sauce for your balls.

Australian

Australia has such a relaxed accent that they sound like you could do anything to them and they wont mind, have you ever heard an angry Australian? Me neither. “Gwan mate, rape my daughter with a rusty butter knife! But couldya get us a brew?” but really I have nothing more to say on accents. I geuss I kinda blew my load early on this one!

Relaxing bathes or how they’re not.

Becky recently convinced me to try a nice relaxing bath where I could relax myself with a scented, lit candles, yadda yadda style bath. Well the only thing I can say is that it equates more to torture rather than relaxation. Actually thats not the only thing I can say about it because I have plenty to say about the whole fucking ordeal. I cant imagine how this whole trend started, I geuss some wandering stressed idiot fell into one of those natural hot baths when a tree was shedding it’s petals and this complete idiotic twat shouted to his wife “get me some candles! This searing pain is nice!” I don’t know where this sado masochistic trend came from but I really wish it would fuck right off.

I started this expedition into pain when becky had bought some things from “Lush” which is a shop designed to assault the senses. As soon as you walk into a shop of lush your nose is bombarded by a million billion scents all at once. Your nose gives up and joines a commune in Nevada.

The searing hot water filled the bathtub and I tested it by putting my fingers in. This was my first mistake.

There was candles EVERYWHERE. I could not escape the fire that surrounded my bath. It was like escape from coldtiz with hot water. The water was hot, but not hot enough to cause pain so in my manly mind I thought “well if I’m gonna have a relaxing bath with candles then I’m gonna be a man about it!” this was very very stupid.

Becky introduced the blue bomb, now this may have been a clue. A bomb is generally not a good thing, yet this blue thing had invaded my hot water and started fizzing. I usually don’t take this to be a good sign, in horror movies the answer to something fizzing is to run away yet I was about to dip my body into it!

As I lowered my body into the bath I tried to think about the nice smelling blue water and how relaxing it was. How it would relax my muscles and ease the knots and tensions in them. I tried to think about how nice it was but all that entered my head was how fast my heart was beating and why I was sweating. This fucking sucked!

I was sweating on all my parts not covered by blue water! Everything was hot and my heart was beating too fast, I was gonna die by relaxing! I was half expecting becky to come in with two electrodes saying “now this REALLY relaxes me!” and drop them in. Electrocution really chills you out.

I got to thinking about the water and how it was a pale blue. What else was a pale blue water? Hmmm..... oh yeah. FUCKING TOILET WATER!
this was it, I was the turd floating in the blue water of a toilet.

My only solace was the book I’d brought in which I would read by candle light and take my mind off things but all the sweating and water was causing it to get wet! I couldn’t even do what REALLY relaxed me because of this torture!

Gillette, Jobs, Toilets and me

The Gillette Fusion Stealth Power

That’s right, this razor has three names, four if you include the brand name, all of which designed to inspire some ultra macho thinking. FUSION! Fusion reactors making kajillionbillion megawatts of electricity! This razor has fusion technology, when it hasn't even been invented yet! That’s how powerful it is! Speaking of powerful. POWER! This razor will cut your facial hair or whatever other hair you happen to be cutting with this! In fact even if you bring this razor to your face all your hair will just fallout of fear AND respect. And finally my favourite part of the title, STEALTH! This razor has fucking active camouflage; it kills ninjas and flies above Russia spying on them while simultaneously keeping Vladimir Putin bald by shaving him from 50,000 feet up in the sky. Then it comes home to your bathroom and you never even knew.

What were Gillette thinking? not only is the most preposterous name for a razor ever created, it means that Gillette can go no further without taking on even more absurd monikers to their brand. "new GILLETTE NUCLEAR PHALLUS LASER X-RAY MUSCLE STEROID FACE-CUTTER DEATH" followed by images of clean shaven men flying rockets, jets, race cars and other phallic objects with big whooshy effects, Jeremy Clarkson shouting power and turbo.

And yet after all that, after leaving my razor at home on a trip to Peterborough, I decided to buy the face annihilator. I'll admit it was curiosity, six blades, five on the front and one on the back and it vibrates. Let that sink in. It’s a razor that vibrates, apparently this creates micro-pulses that...something..... something Christ I can’t even type it out because it makes no sense, it lifts up the facial hair somehow but how the hell a vibrate function does that I don’t know, any scientists got a reason why this would work? The only reason I could feasibly think of having a vibrate on a razor is to give yourself some jollies in the morning and that is a god awful idea when the vibrating thing is attached to six sharp blades.

But yes, I bought it and I tried it... and I honestly can’t tell the difference. The five blades don’t seem to make that much of a difference, the one blade at the back is completely useless for anything other than creating crop circles in your two day stubble. I’ve tried to use the single blade but I can’t even tell if it works. We used to have single blades and they were used by barbers and they still are! These single blades are so sharp and supposed to give such a clean cut, and after the shave the barber changes his title and goes back to using the giant sharp blade to cutting up cows for steak.

Sure we could go back to barbers who give us the best cut in a gentlemanly fashion and you leave the barbers with a lot less money. Oh.

Bad Interviews

Yesterday I went for the second interview today for a job in sales. Sales you say? Why yes I answer with a charismatic smile and a wink that could drop the knickers of a nun. But as soon as I got there, the smell of fish was rotten, the first interview seemed very shiny, with lots of flash furniture, hip music videos playing in the waiting room and copies of girls magazines and FHM for guys (which you would never touch anyway unless you wanted to look like a pervert, but thats another subject) and I was interviewed by a guy who seemed very powerful and I was gonna be in advertising or selling soap to idiots or bread to hungry people. Oh if only the world worked like that, well, it does in some cases. This case being the selling was to me, and I was the fucking idiot.

I turned up for the second interview expecting to be shown around the offices, and taking phones calls and doing big meeting pitches and that sort of shit where I would show off my young flash style in advertising and get them mega bucks and me megabucks. No, I waited to be introduced to Renata, a Czech girl who had been working with the 3D company for a while. This should have been my first warning sign by I stuck with it. She said she would take me around, showing me what 3D organisation does. Alright I thought, we’ll be going to this big Manchester office companies trying to sell them advertising and making mega money so we could be doing coke off gold by lunch time. Not quite so.

Before we went to our destination we had to get some lunch, she was kind enough to buy me a sandwich even though I wasn’t that hungry and then we met the rest of the team and there was only one other person speaking with an English accent. Now I have nothing against immigrant workers, but when you’re in the minority in your own country, you’ve either fucked up in life or you’re in the wrong job. So we headed off for Stockport. Yes Stockport, ok it’s not as glitzy as the company seemed, but hey we would still be selling to big companies in Stockport right? Hell there’s a Lamborghini dealership in Stockport! Would we fuck. We went to Bramall while Renata was explaining how much money I could make by doing so many sales door to door. DOOR TO FUCKING DOOR. Apparently Renata’s grasp of mathematics is as poor as mine, explaining I could make about 250-350 a week. I could make more than that on minimum wage for fuck’s sake!

But I’m willing to listen and, well I’m too fucking polite to someone who bought me a sandwich and bus ticket. So I spent five. FIVE, FUCKING HOURS in the pouring rain in my nice looking, horrible feeling suit with shoes that practically eat the skin off my feet but leave enough so I’m in constant agony. Admittedly, while Renata got some sort of money by getting me to join, I felt obliged to join her, partly because I’ve been unemployed for a long time and partly because she had paid almost ten pounds for me to be there. But after five hours of trouncing around in the rain, considering all the other sorts of areas I could be visiting on behalf on Npower, all the sorts of weather conditions I would be required to work in for 8 hours straight with no certain pay, only to come back to the office there and work some more for fuckers who aren’t paying me.

Fuck that.

Men’s Toilets

Well what the fuck happened here? Did every man’s IQ suddenly and sharply drop as soon as they enter a men’s room? Urinal etiquette is not so terrible except for the morons who can’t aim, but I assure you I plan on getting to them in a second. Occasionally you get the moron you is stood right in the middle of a set of urinals, where the code is to step as far as part as possible. This is actually acceptable, imagine, that the village people all went for a simultaneous piss, it could happen! But as soon as he goes, they leave him alone in the middle. That’s not his fault. What does piss me off is the guys who stand right next to you in the urinals for no apparent reason, ok I’ll admit, I get “Stage fright”, I cant wee without being alone, that is not uncommon, its the guy who exacerbates things by standing right next to you so you cant piss and have to leave with a full bladder, or just end up forcing yourself to piss to save yourself embarrassment because you cant piss in front of others and end up red faced because you just forced 8 gallons of lager through a tiny hole.

Then you get massively packed clubs where your FORCED to stand shoulder to shoulder to eighty or so other men in a trough and you cant go, because you feel that for some sense or another that then can all tell that your not weeing yet, and for the unspoken rule they just tell by sound. Perhaps this is a masculinity thing, perhaps this is just a me thing. Anyway, onto the next subject before we get onto knob gags! (She did! Hyurk hyurk )

Men’s Toilet cubicles. Why did this place for having a quiet shit become the sole source of anarchy and destruction in the UK? What the fuck happened? Sometimes you go for a shit and some cunt mutilator has pissed all over the seat? WHY? Did you have your bell end replace by a sprinkler? What the fuck?! Did you really need to piss all over the seat or couldn’t you have just sat down like a civilised human being, or maybe you were too embarrassed by that knob piercing that you had to go into a cubicle to hide your shame AND THEN PISS ALL OVER THE FUCKING SEAT. And what about the people who cover the seats, floor, walls, toilet, ceiling, any other surface in piss sodden toilet paper. Why? What could possibly compel you to do this? And then you add shit into the mix and it’s me praying for something to end humanity quietly and quickly, or bloodily and quickly, considering this knobs.

Sad thing is, I know this is partially just some twats being vandals to ruin someone else’s day, but I see it with such astonishing incidence that it makes me think that sane adult makes enter a cubicle and become mischievous five year olds.

Grow the fuck up!

My own rational thought or the loss of it.

I seemed to have lost the ability to make rational, critical and even aesthetic decisions about anything in my life, I am completely without opinion, I try to form my own opinion about whatever it seems to be bugging me but it just won’t form with out any clear and concise decision. So I look to Wikipedia, FUCKING WIKIPEDIA! I spend far too much time on that website edited by arseholes who want to have their own opinion valued above anyone else’s and will arbitrarily destroy your contrasting opinion because it does not mesh with their own intellectual opinion. No sorry thats wrong because these people who edit Wikipedia are just as small minded as the rest of us and have no “better” opinion because mostly the subject their writing about is subjective. Even the creators of Wikipedia have decided that it is so terribly inaccurate that it should be abandoned. When the creators of a website tell you to fuck off because it’s terrible, it’s a bad sign. And you know who the biggest prick of all is?

ME

I watch films and read books and I come up with my own opinion about the characters and their traits and then what the holy fuck do I do? I fucking look on Wikipedia, why? I lie to myself and try to convince me that I’m looking for opinions and views, historical and trivial references that I missed but really I’m looking for someone to explain the film to me because there are parts I didn’t understand or simply that I want someone to agree with me and I end up reading something that is completely against any understanding of the film or book or sandwich and I go away taking their opinion and completely disregarding it. I do this because its on a webpage and I for some reason take this to be true, Wikipedia has completely killed my reviewer and analytic nature because I simply accept what is says rather than my own view, this is something I learnt in film studies and could do easily as I breath but now its gone.

If I’m honest I don’t blame Wikipedia, it’s my fault I should learn to accept it as an ill-informed opinion, rather than the god’s honest truth. But that won’t stop me looking it up next time I’m confused by a film, or want to understand a religion, because fuck, I won’t read the bible, I’ll just read Wikipedia.

Does the guy who invented Wikipedia have an interesting 666 tattoo?

Ah fuck it. I’m trusting Microsoft word with my spelling, but that’s because I’m dyslexic, gimme a break.