Thursday, April 23, 2009


St Patrick was more effective at pest control than St George

St Patrick is not actually my favourite saint, my favourite Saints are the ones to do with physical problems - St Lucy, the patron saint of styes on the eye and St Blaise, patron saint of throat diseases. What useful saints they are. However, I do have very great respect for the Patron Saint himself, as he drove away snakes from Ireland, and I fucking despise snakes.

I've heard people giving out: "St Patrick did not actually drive the snakes away, the ice age did it". Fuck away off with the ice age, you jealous, snake-riddled nations. St Patrick got rid of the snakes and that is that. Are there snakes in the world? Yes there are. Are there snakes in Ireland? No. So it isn't because of the ice age, is it! It's because of the holiness.

Across the Irish Sea, St George, Patron Saint of England, got rid of dragons from England. If there were still dragons (not Komodo ones, they are not dragons, they are lizards) in other parts of the world, then I would absolutely think: "Well done, St George. Fair play to you, for getting rid of the dragons out of England". It would be especially impressive if there were still dragons in Wales and Scotland but these lumbering, terrifying creatures were unable to cross the Severn Bridge, or go over Hadrians wall without combusting. However, I don't think there ever were dragons in England, or indeed anywhere in the world. Now I'm not saying St George was a lying shite and made up a dragon that he had driven out. No, I think he did have a go at driving out cold blooded animals but I think rather than mythical dragons, he focussed his driving out powers onto newts and then there was a spin put on his achievements by the media.

Whatever the size of the creature he destroyed, St George was clearly not as efficent at his job as St Patrick, as newts remain in England to this day. I'll hand it to St George that he reduced their number - newts are now an endangered species, but he didn't sucessfully rid the country of them, nor did he leave a legacy of people who were going to take up the baton after his death by finishing off his work and getting rid of the rest of the newt population.

In fact, where I live in England, there are several groups of bossy people in sturdy shoes, who make it their business to poke around in damp wells and springs, hunting for newts and taking pictures of them, and getting incensed when people want to build houses, or dig lakes near the newts and they start on, protesting and making picket lines and hollering: "What about the newts!" Recently in the local paper there was a four page spread, explaining how newts are as fussy about shagging and eating as pandas, and so it is, therefore, our national duty to nurture newts, and to make sure they have absolute silence and darkness and privacy to copulate in, and no children must disturb them ever. And there have been groups of people gathering in the evenings, discussing whether, as well as maintaining a utopia for newts, we should also draw pictures of newts at the top of all municipal documents and put a newt on a flag and so on and so on - you know what the English are like.

No, St George did not do a particularly good job at pest control, especially compared to his highly efficent, holy neighbour St Patrick, and that is the real reason for his fete not being a public holiday in England. Don't say that to anyone English though, or they will cut you.

Monday, April 20, 2009


They shouldn't have fucking bothered

I was reading about the history of the pencil. Fascinating - just fascinating. I'm not joking. I've no time for the history of wars, or tedious nations, or people invading each other and teaching each other languages - you can put that sort of history up your hole, but useful history, like this, the history of the pencil, is something that captures my imagination, and as I read this type of thing, I go back in time until, I feel myself there, in that time, scratching away at a slate, wearing a bustle, and just being amazed by what an invention a pencil actually is. Everything was going well for me and pencil history, until I got to the footnotes: "A mechanical (or "propelling") pencil was patented by Sampson Mordan and John Isaac Hawkins in Britain in 1822". I fucking hate propelling pencils - they are pure shite. No - I don't think it was clever of those men to make thin sticks of graphite and put them in a dispensing receptacle, not when normal pencils were perfectly adequate, and could be easily whittled with a knife to a decent point. There was never any need to waste the energy inventing a peculiar hollow tube, that spits out near- invisible lengths of grey writing matter. Propelling pencils are annoying, the leads break and they fall out of the end of the shaft, and if you press the leads out anything more than a fraction of an inch they are impossible to write with. Propelling pencil leads remind me of poos, in that there is a critical point at which they can't be sucked back into the main body, and they just hang, pointlessly until eventually they drop out, useless, unwanted and messy. They differ from poos, but not in a good way, in the sense that the leads can only be sourced from a specialist shop.

If Argos, or Barclays Bank or my local bookies started leaving piles of propelling pencils around instead of little plastic biros, I would stop stealing them. And if, inadvertently, I were to pocket a propelling pencil after placing an afternoon bet, or browsing through a large laminated catalogue of tat or queuing up to be served by a hatchet faced clerk in a cheap uniform, then do you know what I would do? I would give it to a tramp.

Sunday, April 19, 2009


Explaining Fantasy Art

Fantasy art can be monochrome or coloured, there doesn't seem to be a rule. It is rarely lifelike in appearance, tending towards the medium of a highly stylised cartoon. The subject matter is usually a flower, or dragonfly, or something traditionally feminine and pretty, with a bizarrely sexualised mermaid, or fairy, or goddess perched astride it. There aren't ALWAYS tits on display in a fantasy art oeuvre, but there's usually a very strong suggestion of them. The females in fantasy art are the sort of people a hobbit might want to fuck, but would never get with in real hobbit life, unless the fantasy female were blind, or understood the hobbit to be a member of the Rothschild family or a Getty.

Fantasy females have that slightly tough-chick look sometimes, like they parked a big motorbike round the corner and have a fanny that tastes of sweaty leathers. I can't work out the purpose of fantasy art - it's not beautiful to look at and it isn't dirty enough to be erotica - it's just weird. I understand Manga art, because that has drawings of Japanese people holding the flaps of their vulvas apart, and close up sketches of jizzing knobs and women licking each other out. I mean, I still think it's odd to look at pornographic cartoons when you could just turn on the telly, or buy a magazine with pictures of real vulvas and knobs in, but I can see that Manga is a hand-drawn substitute. The only reason I can see for fantasy art existing, however, apart from to make me feel slightly unsettled, is that there actually are gnomes and elves and hobbits and women who live in the herbaceous border with their diddies out and their legs akimbo.

Thursday, April 09, 2009


Glorified shell swappers

I'm not interested in the economic crisis in Britain. Gordon Brown, da da da, taxpayers money blah blah, big bonus bollocksy wollocksy. I don't see anyone lying in the street starving to death with suppurating wounds, I don't see rampant homelessness. I see schools and hospitals which, although not perfect, are free to all people who live in the country. If someone loses their job, the government pays them to lick their wounds for a bit. So I don't get why the streets are full of whining bitches punching each other and behaving like savages, camping in front of banks and making a terrible fuss. Get over yourselves you pathetic drips. Just because this is the most "dangerous" thing that has happened to Britain for a while, it doesn't mean that you are forced to mince about the streets being "really shocked" at how the police manage crowds, or "really furious" at the injustice of some boring old man being given a golden handshake after fucking over a bank. If every moron protesting and marching and littering and costing the country money by wasting police time either because they have never paid taxes and are unemployed and bored, or because they have lost money on their share portfolios and are angreeeee about that, if every one of these idiots just stayed home, grew some vegetables, stopped buying horrible cars, gadgets and clothes every five minutes, volunteered in their local community to help improve the standard of local schools/hospitals etc, and instead of being a sly throng of sneaks and whistleblowers mincing about the City, actually got involved in the democratic process usefully, in a positive way, by starting a new political party or, heavens to betsy, voting something other than Labour, then I might have some time for their complaints. But as it is, I think protesters are a bunch of inadequate, petulant, tedious cunts.

When I was at Cambridge everyone was obsessed with the Gulf War and Poll Tax. There was a free bus every week, that took all the busybodies to London, so they could make a nuisance of themselves marching and shouting. One girl that I used to go to supervisions with, would catch the bus, go to Harrods, buy stuff, wait for everyone to come back from marching and catch the bus home again, laden with goods and having lined a rich Arab's pockets. I liked her.

An uncharitable part of me* thinks that marching and protesting is a way for losers to make friends and get the ride. It's all down to poor social skills. Protests are like festivals - a great place for the shy, weird and weak to interact, in a situation that doesn't punish the gauche and that creates an atmosphere of heightened emotion, so people don't feel silly and have a reason to talk to one other. If these protestors had a chance to do the season, it might do the lot of them a power of good. What many of these protestor -middle- class types don't realise, is that the social calendar exists around specific sporting and music events so that people do have a shared subject to talk about, and even the gauchest can manage to trot out a line or two about horses or boats or singing and acquit themselves reasonably well. Mind you - they might need to make the Stewards enclosure at Henley larger, to accommodate all the marching people, but I'd accept that in return for less shouting and posturing about banks. That is all
*my brain

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