Big Brains at the Corporation?
Someone organised a quiz night for staff a few weeks ago. Can you spot the problem? Then tell me whether this is ironic or just sad?
Keep th' spollchacker on.
Article Dan
Short sharp shocks to the world
A sleek web-slacker with a chef's background. One finger on the pulse in every pie. I know know that life before this was preposterous. I know that life since is still to be decided...
Filed under
stupidity
Supporting a football club is ridiculous - fact.
I saw this in a shop yesterday. What's wrong with this picture? With this calendar?
I'll tell you: Big Phil Scolari (Luiz Felipe Scolari) (the big bugger clapping over the top of everyone else) was dismissed as manager of Chelsea Football Club on 9th February 2009 after serving a mere seven months time in post.
Just how many faithful Chelsea fans' walls look as ridiculous as this right now? How many Chelsea FC fans who bought into this totemic bullshit are looking at this calendar, and doubtless countless other items of expensive official club tat, and thinking 'Jesus. That's going to look pretty fucking stupid on the wall for another 10 months...'
Sure, you can blame the calendar makers for being so bold as to assume that top-flight international football manager Luiz Felipe Scolari might make it through at least one season before being fired (stupid, stupid, stupid), but really, anyone buying one of these calendars is a first class doofus for hanging a pamphlet of empty promises upon their wall in the first place.
Why? Because (Premier League) football is the most fickle, greedy and inconstant mistress EVER, and anybody placing so much of a nugget of faith on any one of the feckless, money-grabbing bastards involved in the top-flight clubs is a top-flight fool.
I mean, I have a go at religion, but hell, at least they've had sense to get the old ducks in a pretty stable row stay on message. These clowns (who attract a FAR greater congregation of followers every Sunday) have nothing - they're peddling teams of faithless palimpsests and people keep buying the tickets to see 'em!
That calendar distills everything that's wrong with football into a pure ethanol of greed, vacuity and folly.
What am I on about? It's the fervour, the zealous commitment that people show towards football teams, when these teams represent nothing - not their town (name one Premier League team with even 30% of its members coming from the town/city it proports to represent?); not their country (so many teams are utterly international); and certainly not their interests.
You can't support a manager - he'll get fired. He loses a few games in a row - he's meat and the 'fans' will be booing after four or five defeats.
You can't support a player - he's only there for the cash. Look at that calendar - how many of those players have been involved in 'talks' or 'disputes' over their contracts (poor slaves that they all are)? All of 'em? And how many will still be there come September 2009?
Christ - some of these teams aren't even care what TOWN they're in and will change their name if bothered - see Wimbledon FC..!
Anyway - don't look so surprised, Big Phil. You're nothing - you're a comedy calendar skit - you're a bouncing cheque at best. Move along and wait for the next contract, the next commission, the next calendar shoot. It's coming. Don't worry - the money's always coming.
Article Dan
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God's grammar and grafitti sucks
More news from the frontline of the War on God.
Fans of god today struck back against the atheist hate machine with a bravado display of public defacement. Incensed by the incendary messages of the Humanist Society, God-o-philes took up their biros and set to correcting the falsehoods.
Fans of god today struck back against the atheist hate machine with a bravado display of public defacement. Incensed by the incendary messages of the Humanist Society, God-o-philes took up their biros and set to correcting the falsehoods.
'There's IS A god'. Say it out loud people. Doesn't it feel good? 'There's is a god.' Ah, I can feel the warm sickly backwash of righteous stupidity baptizing my wretched soul like the last 2cm of phlemmy lager slugged from the bottom of a shared can of Hoffmeister. Mmmmmmmm-mmm!
'Cheap shot, Dan,' I hear you say? 'So they pimped the punctuation a little, give them a break.'
No. Shan't.
I can forgive the rushed grafitti, but it's the same sad idiocy and LACK of faith by these 'faithful' that annoys me. It's an advert on the tube; it sits between an ad for Kangaroo-branded hair product and a Vitamin suppliment. What is so rotten, decrepit and wrong with your faith - nay, your god - that you need to pathetically attack an opposing thesis?
Like your bus driver who would probably have happily driven around a call to witness the next installment of the torture porn flick SAW, but couldn't bring himself to drive an 'atheist bus', your knee-jerk twattery serves you and your religion ill.
Article Dan
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"Internet is about porn!" Big Brother boiler declares during heated intellectual discourse
"Let's face it - and this is FACT - the internet is primarily about information for most people, but primarily the internet is about porn." Thus spaketh TV's Tina Malone.
Now, I know some of the hippy, free-love-loving, geek-types among you will be dropping your iPhones, choking on your Chai and saying "No way, dude! The 'Nets, like, totally way more than just porn!" But, listen - TV's Tina has spoken - and she has spoken FACT. Using elaborate Socratic discourse, Tina Malone has made an emphatic and irrefutable point about our internet-obsessed (see porn-wracked) society. And she has made it well. God bless Celebrity Big Brother. Tina goes on to lay the Connect-disconnect debate to rest with a simple "Who the fuck wants to turn on a computer and go 'Oh my friend's really depressed...'?" [Mimes typing like a twat.] "Ring 'em up! Go round! 'Ave some soup!" Finishing with impressive Satrean flourish: "Fucking computer." Fellow contestants, the likes of Coolio and Mini-Me Vern Troyer, are left to muse upon these reflections. Perhaps mulling over their best philosophical retorts and gambits. Or simply looking at TV's Tina Malone and considering that she is the very living embodiment of Hobbes' humanity: poor, nasty, brutish and short.
Keep th' faith,Article Dan
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Twitter hires abstract idiot savant illustrator
Twitter's down.
I would say 'quelle suprise' with the huffy sarcasm required of any Englishman using a French phrase, but to be fair - it is a surprise. From it's woe-filled crash-tastic beginnings, Twitter has become a pretty stable application, very rarely falling to pieces the way it did in the past. (Twitter being so unstable it actually spawned sites dedicated to reporting its failure such as http://istwitterdown.com/ )
Also propelled into stardom was the illustrator Yiying Lu's simple and seemingly ubiquitous Fail Whale, breeding t-shirts, fan clubs and much twitter tattle about the obscurity of the choice of image.
Some people debated the meaning of the Fail Whale. Hardly the Times fucking crossword, but apparently some felt there were unknown levels to the picture. (Wikipedia offers a strange reference to Beluga Whales as the canaries of the sea = canary in the coalmine? WTF?) It's a whale. He's a heavy bastard. The little birds are having a mare lifting him. Twitter's having a mare supporting the weight of traffic passing through it's site. Right you are. I'll go use Jaiku or Pownce to destroy the needy inner demons unleashed upon my soul by web 2.0.
But now, Twitter's down for database maintenence and we're offered this:
I mean, come on. What is that? So now Twitter's a caterpillar and we're all ice creams? It's not even a half-decent illustration, people. It's the work of an idiot savant (easy on the savant). And what does it tell me? That we're all complicated individuals fighting with ourselves? My soft, chilled ice cream Ying says 'Sure, Twitter. I understand. You're a caterpillar. Caterpillars will, from time to time, require necessary database maintenence - that's natural. Take your time. I love you'; but my dry, crunchy cone says 'Fuck you, Twitter. You're a badly rendered maggot. I came here to Tweet. Fuck you. Pull your shit together and make with the butterfly that is my 140 character micro-blog!"
Ahhhh - is it about waiting for the butterfly? Is that the meaning? Are we all sweet little treats melting away in the sun-drenched desert without the butterfly to shield us with its wings...?
Look! Look what this is doing to me! It's drawing me in... Not content to keep a vice-like grip on my conscious while it's up, Twitter has found a way to occupy and divert my soul while it's down!
Bastard! I've had enough, you hear me? Enou... Oh, look. Twitter's back. Laters! Gotta tweet!
Article Dan
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