Wednesday, 30 March 2011

Second Hand Victims

So as I sat down to watch the evening news tonight, (This time without moustachioed conservative father, who was out, doing something, presumably) I paused over my pasta (Assonance, for all you English nerds) to wonder what on Earth had been happening in the big wide world outside my little bubble.

Murders! I thought. Kidnaps, rapes, robbery, madness and mischief! And then, the calming voice of an journalist narrating a rather innocent vegetable patch at a local school interrupted my to do list.

But among the homely local articles on projects and charities that very usually inhabited the local news there was also the ghostly presence of another similar item. I know I've mentioned it in a previous article (See 'What's New about the news?')  but the way that the local news holds us the prisoner of local issues is something I dislike, to say the very least. But today's post follows a different line of thought.

Take this hypothetical scenario for example. John Smith, happily married to a beautiful women with two kids and not a care in the world disregarding the junk mail that comes through his letterbox. John Smith then decides to get involved with the local organised crime community, and commits several murders for them. The wife, who later finds out hands in her husband to the police. And so, with the information that the news would have reported, I ask you a 'simple' moral question. Who was the victim?

Was it the people killed? Perhaps they took an involvement with the group and took the consequences? Maybe Mr. Smith who suffered in prison for the rest of his days? This is when I cleverly pull out the 'Trick Question' card.

Because what this non-existent news report did not actually report, was what happened to his beautiful wife and two children. They were taken away on the witness protection programme. They were taken from their home for their own good, placed in a different city far away, a different name, leaving all their friends behind to 'make new ones'. They are the second hand victims of the scenario.

Chin up Jozie-San.


Tuesday, 29 March 2011

One Sprog Every Minute

The other day, I was wandering along, minding my own business, when I heard the high-pitched voice of one teen-socialite uttering words that flicked my mind from the thoughts of what I was going to have for dinner to something that deeply disturbed me. This girl was about fourteen or fifteen, elbow pinning Hollister back to her side and free hand waving about whenever she spoke, so I guess I wasn’t too surprised (Mostly confused) when she uttered the words:
“I really want a baby.”

 Now I can slightly see why someone might want a sprog. Sure they’re cute, there are thousands of videos on You-Tube to prove that much, and sure, there’s the whole ‘Gift of Life’ thing, but overall, the disadvantages weigh out the benefits.

If you thought having one stomach to fill throughout your life wasn’t enough of a challenge, sure, you might want to advise in one of these screaming little upgrades, that instead of a stomach ache, will give you tantrums, screaming, possible property damage and deep moral scarring if you don’t feed it enough of what it demands! Or if you thought you had much too much money to spend on yourself (Which judging by the Hollister bag you might just) you can have one of these cute little things, to demand toys, food, clothes, and as they grow older the more powerful sedatives known as games consoles.

And last but certainly not least, I have one more point. Vaginas. Yeah, I’m not an expert, but that birth thing looks PAINFUL.

So before you go around stating how much you’d like a screaming, pooping, eating, drain on resources and energy and money, take a thought for your dear sweet mother, who deformed herself for you, stayed up for hours for you, spent all the money she could’ve spent on herself on designer sedatives, only to get pubescent remarks about how much you’d like to go through the same punishment, maybe just think the comment through.

- Lewis

Monday, 28 March 2011

Belieb it or not, you have 'Bieber Fever'

Now, I’m as sick of teen-pop-sensation Justin Bieber as the next guy, but as the cloned opinion goes, probably for different reasons. But it was when my three-year-old niece was dancing round the living room singing ‘Baby’ that I stopped myself from cursing internally, and asked myself – what exactly is ‘Bieber fever’?

Well after a quick Google search and swift look around You-Tube, I gathered that to have ‘Bieber Fever’ as it were, is to be obsessed with him. Most people who suffer from this supposed ‘illness’ (?) seem to be young girls like my niece, all the way up to teenagers of about my age. But the way I look at it, a large majority of his ‘haters’ seem to have the condition as well.

As a certain American businessman by the name of Phineas Taylor Barnum once said:
 “Any publicity is good publicity”
And this certainly has worked for Bieber. After a 2010 ploy to make his video for ‘Baby’ the most disliked video on You-Tube, a dedicated group of Justin Bieber haters (Only a word away from dedicated Justin Bieber fans) managed to get it to 1.1 million dislikes. However with all the people watching to dislike and checking how many it has, this plan backfired, giving Bieber almost 500,000,000 views.

But this illogical bout of dislike is not the only thing that gets on my nerves about this kid. It’s the fact that on almost every single music video on You-Tube, even as far out as classical music, there will undoubtedly be a moronic comment about how ‘Justin Bieber could never do this’ or ‘Justin Bieber sucks in comparison’, which, in turn, spreads the word of who Bieber is, and gives him even more publicity.

So the next time you think, ‘I hate Justin Bieber with all of my heart’, remember, you are just as sad as his fans.


Thursday, 24 March 2011

Meditation and Shotguns

Now, I was queried by a certain person about my mental health today, so if I could quote the ever elegant Marshall Mathers on the case, I could describe the subject in two lines:
"Yeah, I probably got a couple of screws up in my head loose
But no worse, than what's going on in your parents' bedrooms"
However, I don't think that this applies to how amazingly paranoid I get when I read an article entitled '10 Year-old's legally issued Shotguns'. Now it might be a bit of a secret to some people, but the state of arms (Both legal and illegal) in this country is very cleverly covered up by the media. Considering we're just across the pond from America, where its a man's constitutional right to be able to own a firearm, it does seem a miraculously easy job to make us look safe, when it's quite the opposite.

From what I gleamed from the article, I learned that just over 7000 gun licenses were issued to under-18's (Including children as young as seven) for activities such as competitive shooting and 'farm-based duties'. Now this doesn't seem overtly bad, when presented with the fact that under 15's must be supervised with them, and the lack of age restriction is due to the varying amounts of maturity and responsibilities (Which seems fair), but combined with the large amount of illegal weaponry in the country, and the fact that we're facing an age of depression and possible rebellion due to oil-prices and other reasons found in the book '101 Reasons why we're all Screwed', I can see this turning ugly rather easily.

So you can imagine, that as I lay there listening to the Lancashire-tinged whispers of my R.E. teacher during our later meditation session (Yeah, I chose good options), that my mind wasn't exactly at rest, as I pictured 10 year old's with shotguns rebelling against the fact that previous generations have really screwed us over.

- Lewis

Wednesday, 23 March 2011

I Resent those who Present Me

I've got a confession to make. Nothing sordid (Or stationary related for that matter), just a little confession to something that's probably not too healthy. I spend far too much time on You-Tube. Whether it's clicking through the 'related videos' list until my eyes bleed from funny videos of cats, or watching 15 minute physics lectures with Carl Sagan, there always seems to be something on that damned site that catches my fancy (And usually keeps me from working).

But the other day, I spotted something on You-Tube that really got my metaphorical goat.

Now, I'm (Admittedly a very open minded) Christian, but my ever philosophical eyes are always hypothetically maced when they see the words Westboro, Baptist, and Church waved in front of them in like a brightly coloured attention seeking banner.

In case you were blissfully unaware, the Westboro Baptist Church is an 'organisation', run by the ever backwards and narrow-minded inhabitants of the Bible-bashing Southern States of America. These public condemning country-folk have found their way to the title of 'Most Hated Family in America' by foolishly misinterpreting religious texts, picketing the funerals of dead servicemen, and mocking the very country that willingly defends them.

But believe it or not, its not their out-of-line attention seeking that gets me, not even the self-deprecating manner in which their government deals with them. Its how people put two and two together and get six, assuming that somehow, due to these moronic inbred's calling themselves Christians, that I yield the same opinions that they do.

Now if you hold the same amount of brain-cells as some of these block headed Atheists, you might be shocked to discover that, being a bisexual myself, I don't share the opinion that 'God Hates Fags', and coming from a long line of soldiers, I don't believe that 'A dead soldier is a good soldier'. So, 'XxxMaggotxForeverxxX', when you quite obtusely state that 'all religious nut-jobs should be shot', I think I'm  fully in my right to tell you to go and shove your opinions, up your anus.

- Lewis

(Yet another extract from the rambling book)

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

What's 'new' about the News?

As an educated and participating member of society (Whatever the hell that is) it seems to almost be my duty (Alongside the fact that I have nothing better to do) to sit down after my dinner and watch the evening news and to discuss it with my overtly Conservative and moustachioed Father.

Due to recent events, the National news seems to do its regular charade of babbling about how doomed things are and generally not doing much to help the cause, but around one centrally related topic - Japan. Now I'm all for helping poor countries (After all I did spend three weeks in Africa doing just so last Summer) but when I sit down to watch the news I almost haphazardly assume that it's, you know, new?

So, foolishly, I turned to the local news for a dosage of factual enlightenment. Now the local news isn't as bad as the National, particularly after a natural disaster, as it habitually shuts out current events in an 'ignorance is bliss' kind of manner, but in a way, what they do is much much worse.

It seems that everyday around here there's a new murder, missing person, rape, or paedophile ring, anyone would think it was becoming fashionable to be a criminal. And so, charismatic presenter Fred Dimbleby, with his bumbling chuckle and warm smile turns stone-faced and serious, bringing the fear, just that step closer, to home.

- Lewis

(Yet another extract from the rambling book)

Monday, 21 March 2011

A Reason (For not leaving the house)

Quite a number of times (Namely when I'm sat unmotivated in my dim hovel of an office) I find myself yearning for the creative juices that lay dormant and tormenting in my veins to flow. I ask myself - what do I have to do for inspiration? I read books, listen to music, watch films, all sorts of supposedly enriching activities, and yet still my hands float poised above the keyboard, half-written novel looking at me like an unfed dog on screen, and my mind sits stiller than frozen pond-water.

Yet there is always one thing that I beg myself to do in the hope that it will provoke some untouched nerve of creativity that I am yet to discover. I am speaking of course, of the final frontier for any and all cupboard dwellers - going outside.

So after much deliberation and hesitant opening and swift closure of the blackout blinds I finally find myself here (Admittedly against my own will and due to the sadistic requests of my P.E. teacher) with the sun blinding me, black school jumper making me sweat like a Nike manufacturer, and the occasional 'thrill' of having a ball kicked at my non-participating and therefore lazy head. In short, I have less creativity than Mick Jagger has blood in his arthritic little arms.


(Extract from my rambling book)