Monday, 31 October 2011

Breathe In

So there's this new show that doing 'better than expected' by the studio that made it.  This does beg the question - if they had such little faith in it, why spend an estimated $4 million per episode?

Anyway, I digest:- It's called Terra Nova and it's about some bloke - probably called Jack Stonechin or Zach Cheekbones - and his family who have gotten to bugger off to the past and hang around in a dead nice time when there was loads of space and greenery and you only had to worry about getting eaten by dinosaur such as the Tyrannosaurus Rex (which existed during the cretaceous period, not the Jurassic age FACT fans - f**k you Spielberg, for that and the atrocious A.I. and War Of The Worlds).

The point being that you may wonder why Max Chisledfeatures got to do something so great.  Well, according to the pilot of said show, in about 150 years or so, the world will be a bit on the overpopulated side:- Proof positive that some people - namely the producers and writers - are either unrealistically optimistic or haven't had to interact with the world anytime recently.  This leads to the government finally getting round to imposing some sort of child limit on couples.

The trouble is Jake Hunkyballs evidently did a sex-wee in his wife not once, not twice but thrice, resulting in the three most perfect moppets you ever did see.  So in other words, Steve Cataloguemodel broke the law (making him a hypocrite), but because he has certain 'skills' (not sure how the ability to shoot foreigners on their way to work on a tube train or not be any use when rioting occurs in Manchester is going to help) he gets to take part in this great adventure, despite the fact that it's him and his ilk that created the hell on Earth he now gets to leave behind.

Finally we get to my point.

Why is it, that in these days of everyone having seventeen different coloured bins in their yard and fines being handed out if your dog does lays an egg, is no one stating the obvious.  That is that if people just eased off on the breeding - just for a bit - the whole planet would be incalculably better off!

Other films such as Children Of Men describe a future in which humanity has become infertile.  This results in the populace becoming volatile, violent and largely unpredictable.  I sat in bewilderment thinking 'I can't be the only person in this cinema that knows this scenario would be great'.

Think about it:- No more schoolkids making your work journey unbearable; Those of us not selfish or self absorbed or needy enough to have kids wouldn't have to shell out our taxes on schools and maternity wards; The rides at Alton Towers would be quicker to get on...

That's just the beginning!

If people whatever the whys and wherefores, just stopped dropping sprogs, there would be no need for the inevitable virus/nuclear/environmental/zombie holocaust we are odds-on favourites to be heading towards.  the human race would just kind of...go to sleep.

Better that then teetering on the white cliffs of Dover before being plunged onto the rocks below because a pair of feckless breeders inland decided what the world needed was more of them.

So f**k you Johnny Shiteatinggrin.  F**k you and your whiny, self-important brood.

Thursday, 27 October 2011

Guy Fawkes, Where Are You Now?

There's been a measure of fuss made about the 'Occupy' gatherings.

For those of you not in the know...join the que.

From what I can gather it's something to do with banks - at least that's what the members in New Yorks' encampment are saying - but to be honest, had I not caught this in passing, I wouldn't have known.  The trouble is, my local Occupy effort consists of a handful of tents, not really in the way of anyone, barely in anybodies field of vision with a poster of Bob Marley smoking a blunt (the mass production of these throughout history must surely have contributed in a large way to the decimation of several forests) stapled to a tree and a handful of those ready-made 'crusties' that seem to be constantly available for this sort of thing:- Where do they get them?

Anyway, the point being that their commitment, wilful stubbornness and struggle to make themselves knows means they aren't a patch on the yoofs by the shops.  There they have been for a fortnight already, standing solemnly by a Guy Fawkes effigy*, asking for a penny with a curious mixture of dejection, disdain and mirthless foreboding.

When I saw their guy, slumped against the overflowing drainpipe in the St. Elmo's Fire-esque glow of the shops' Insect-o-cute, I assumed it was another one of their number as anyone of these beggars could fit the bill of a ragged dummy in ill-fitting clothing and like a Guy Fawkes effigy, I would 'ooh' and 'aah' at the sight of them on fire.

Their commitment is without question; their message is clear:- Come rain or flood, they'll be there till well after Bonfire Night, and if you try humorously to give them a penny, they'll follow you home and rape your pets with a snapped-off windscreen wiper.  Oh and it may also be an error to ask these inividuals if any of them know a jot about the gunpoder plot lest you catch them just at the point where the cider/weed/Ketamine kicks in.

*It should be noted that like all the 'Guys' I have ever seen in my town, this one too has been assembled with the minimum of materials/care/fundamental historical knowledge:- Consisting mainly of what seems to be a hoodie, some paint flecked shorts and carrier bags, all lovelessly piled up to look like about as little like a seventeenth century Catholic activist as is viable.

Sunday, 2 October 2011

Musical Yoof

Tell me if you've heard this one before but...

...music today is s##t.

Before you roll your eyes I shall admit this is a statement probably disliked by those who do and don't strongly agree.  For those that do it's because they've heard this before and it marks the return of a powerless and futile feeling of being unable to do anything about yet another aspect of life and those that don't agree will dislike the statement because...well...they're idiots.

The first argument of the scoundrel is always 'but there's always been rubbish in the charts'.  Well to this I say;

1 - Do 'the charts' even exist any more?
2 - You're right.  Let's give up at the first hurdle and let that be the main reason to aspire to less.  After all, if someone pissed on your living room carpet once before, by the same logic you may as well let them keep doing it.
3 - This may well be the case but that was in the days when a novelty song might have gone away after a week or two and not - as is often the case now - something to build a career on.

Combine this all with the fact that the offending tunes were generally forgotten whilst the greats shone though in retrospect.  The only trouble now is that for all the dross there don't seem to be any Beatles, Led Zeppelins, Rolling Stones Clashes or Doors.*

It seems there's still plenty to rebel against but any voice that might be remotely challenging is being shelved in favour of your 'singer/songwriters' (in a sane world you wouldn't need to highlight the fact that you go some way to writing your own material) crowing in the most banal terms possible about their navel-gazing procrastinations whilst plucking at guitars with all the energy and verve of a dying, arthritic pensioner medicated up to the eyeballs on Tramadol.

Our parents got rock, blues and punk.

We get Glee.