Is it just me...
...or does an eye for eye not actually make the whole world blind after all?
Gandhi was wrong. There you go. Probably the best spiritual and political leader of India in the world ever was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
It doesn’t. Let’s get that straight. If you poke someone’s eye out with a pointy stick, they might poke you back. That makes one eye down each. I get that. But then you poke their other eye out and WHAM. That’s it. Fight over. You just have to dodge a bit. Maybe move back a couple of steps. Run in a circle pretending you’re a plane. They’ll never get your other eye. They can’t see you.
It’s all over the front page
Britain is in the midst of a moral meltdown. The monolithic BBC is trampling unchecked over our basic British values and dignity, while our uncaring social workers stand by and watch impassively as photogenic children are tortured to death.
At least, that’s the impression I’ve got. Let’s start with that immoral institution that threatens to undermine the very fabric of our society: the Beeb.
Style's out of fashion
Ah, November, how I’ve missed you. Leaves crackling underfoot; frosty nights spent playing Mario Kart by candlelight; hedgehogs roasting on an open bonfire…
I have missed less, however, the familiar onrush of essays. The mad scrambles to the library for one of the three copies of that vital book. The desperate reservations and accompanying fury when someone decides to just keep the book for a bit longer and pay the fine (there really should be some sort of compensation for the victim for that; a 25p fine is nothing compared to the anguish I suffer).
Is it just me...
...or is everyone who they are these days?
Reality TV (we have to stop calling it that), has a new set of catchphrases. Repeated endlessly by banal, preening idiots, they’re the mantras of choice used as primitive responses to feeling threatened, or artificial shows of support for the person they decried as ‘such a bitch’ only moments before.
I am who I am. You are who you are. These statements may appear eye-shatteringly obvious, but they have been elevated to the level of the profound by sheer repetition and, significantly, a refusal to consider that perhaps ‘being yourself’ is not always the best strategy.
It’s all over the front page
It’s occurred to me that this column has become a bit of a bashing of right-wing newspapers. The Express, The Mail and The Telegraph have all felt the wrath of my words (er, yeah) in recent weeks. I may not agree with their opinions, but it’s mostly coincidence that they’ve been mentioned most often here. To balance things up, I feel I should at least have a little go at The Guardian and The Independent.
So, The Guardian and The Independent. Yeah. They’re pretty poncey. Only teachers read them. Liberal Teachers who only eat free-range tofu. Yeah.
Supernatural disbelief
I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to think I’m psychic. This might seem bold, even arrogant (unless you agree with me, in which case get in touch), but the other night I had a dream. The soundtrack to this dream was Babies. What’s that, you say, Pulp’s kitchen sink masterpiece Babies Why yes, I reply, the very same. I then woke up with the aforementioned classic giddily careering around my head.
That’s hardly surprising – I’d been dreaming about it. But when I left the house, I put my MP3 player on shuffle. The first song came on. It was ‘Babies’.
Is it just me... ...or is manflu a very real and present danger?
The last few years have been a scary time to be mortal. First SARS theoretically endangered our collective existence, then bird flu nearly caused a mass outbreak of death-by-embarrassment among people who had to tell others they had a disease called bird flu.
But overlooked amid all this hysteria was manflu. Manflu, or manfluenza, to use its medical name, is one of the most debilitating diseases known to men. It affects almost every male at some point in his life, yet remains entirely unrecognised by female society.
It’s all over the front page
Usually this column is about news. But with gair rhydd’s shiny new redesign, perhaps now is a good time to look at the actual layout of some (well, one) of our esteemed dailies’ front pages. It also lets me cunningly hide the fact that I have barely seen a newspaper in the last fortnight. No, I’m not sure how either.
Let’s look at The Express. The Express, of course, has a long-running feud with its tabloid rival The Mail, as they both try to capture the True Voice of Britain. And this plays out nicely on The Express’ front page. Every day, it displays the amazing claim: ‘10p cheaper than The Daily Mail… and ten times better!’ Ner ner ner ner ner! Take that, Dacre! The last bit isn’t there, obviously. But it’s a bit pathetic.
Fees and loathing
You know things have gone wrong when you develop theme songs for dictators. Especially when they’re to the tune of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
It’s all Pro Evo’s fault, you see. Last year I only had seven hours of lectures a week, as did my flatmate. As a result, we were very bored. So bored, in fact, that we created Nazi and Communist teams on the game, complete with likenesses of various right- and left-wing extremists. The Communist team’s star striker was pacey Pol Pot, the Cambodian dictator. This led to the song ‘Nippy Little Pol Pot’ being invented to the popular musical’s titular song. Don’t judge us.
Is it just me...
...or is real piracy pretty great?
Everyone knows internet piracy is a crime. But proper piracy? That’s a whole different kettle of, er, rum.
In a world most deem unsuitable for cutlass-wielding capers, the East African nation of Somalia is a haven for buccaneers. In the last year pirates have hijacked nearly 30 ships, and recently took control of a Ukrainian ship full of tanks.
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