Monday, 23 May 2011

Sitting under a monkey blanket

I'm in a bad mood today because I'm ill. I have a wonderful house mate, who I often share things with, like dinner, DVD's and funny anecdotes, but now she has decided to share with me her horrible head cold that has made my sinuses hurt, my nose run, my throat close up and my ears continually pop. Not a happy bunny right now and I've always been a terrible patient, but rather than let this anger go to waste I thought I'd try and channel it into something more useful and get a few things off my chest this weekend that has also worked me up into a rage... 

So it was supposed to have been the end of the world this weekend (May 21st), but unsurprisingly we're still here. The world didn't implode, hell-fire didn't rise from the depths of the Earth, and flesh eating demons didn't materialise to rip us limb from limb. This isn't the first time that Nostradamus (or whatever prophet it was that said the world was set to end on May 21st) and his religious, scare mongoring cronies have got it so wrong, however there are still those niaeve beings that believe it despite there being no shred of evidence apart from maybe a few miss added and conincidential numbers taken from the Bible that somehow adds up to the date given.

One such man was a street sweeper in NYC who spent $80,000 of his hard-earned, saved up money on publicising the end of the world. I can imagine he maybe got a little bit excited when he heard about the volcano in Iceland going off, but by the 22nd he must have felt pretty bloody stupid, and in my opinion rightly so. What a complete mug, but as he's American I've little doubt that he won't somehow find someone to sue and get his 80 grand back to flit it away on the next religious fad. Has anyone told him about Scientology yet...? 

Even though the world didn't actually, literally, end, it kind of did die for me a little bit this weekend.  Apparently it wasn't just prophets that were talking out of their arses, it also happened at the BAFTAs when rhyme and reason went out the window and The Only Way Is Essex (TOWIE) actually won an award: the YouTube Audience Award. What are people thinking?!

Now, I've tried to watch this show, as a couple of the house mates are fans, but after five minutes I found myself shouting at the TV at the sheer falseness and stupidity of the pople on the screen.

I was quickly asked to leave the room.

To see such complete materialistic airheads win an award for badly acted scenes about high-school type arguements, is demoralising. I can't understand how this constitutes as entertainment? It's not reality TV as it's all staged so it's not like we're getting an insight into a way of life, but it's not a soap, because even by soap standards the level of acting in TOWIE is fucking diabolical.

Already feeling like hunality was down the pan, when I returned home I found the housemates watching the spin off, Made in Chelsea, which only deepend my dispair (I'm not even over reacting to how much I hate these stereotypical, debasing, dross programmes). Like it's predecessor, this one was also full of truely horrible individuals that have more money than sense and are the kind of pretentious fuckwits that you wish you could lock in an Aldi just to watch them squirm as they're faced with the torment of being surrounded by unbranded goods.

In this episode I learnt that men should only have long hair if they can look after it, that they shouldn't put in-the-closet gay men on TV and then try to convince us that they're dating attractive model-like women who oddly looks very similar to the 'gay' guy in the first place. Oh and that onesy's for men should be officially against the law and whoever thought giving a knitted adult baby-grow to a man is better than perfume/aftershave, should be shot. Men should also take note that asking a girl if they're single or not within 2 minutes of being set up on a blind date is a bad idea, and no man should ever turn up to a lunch date in an oversized knitted polo jumper that's as long as a dress, and play the grand piano because it's honestly cringe worthy and she didn't even notice you playing anyway, instead she looked more pissed off that she was possibly being stood up.

All I learnt from Made In Chelsea is not to go to Chelsea because the men appear to be as sleezy as fuck. I dread to think what the upcoming Geordie Shore (I shit you not) will have in store, but you can fucking believe I won't be sat quietly in the living room watching it. 


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