Thursday, 30 September 2010

The hidden ill intentions of children's TV

          I've just been watching a television programme in which a number of fairly likeable characters encounter and overcome minor problems whilst also teaching exercise. They live communually in quite sophisticated and modern accomodation, and the general theme of each episode is that they reach a sort of Nirvana at the end. It's called 'Waybuloo' and it's on Cbeebies. It's also the root of all the country's drug problems, FACT*. How can the creators sit there knowing that they are educating toddlers on the experience and merits of intoxicating substances? I practically feel sick just watching the 'Piplings' float whimsically in the sky, laughing sweetly as they ascend to their drug induced heaven. I'm surprised that all the nation's four year olds haven't already assembled an underground toddler mafia, trading cannabis and other illegal substances.
        I can't help feeling a sense of loyalty to 'In the Night Garden' that prevents me from approving at all of Waybuloo. Although they only seemed to make about four episodes, repeating them hourly, I was practically as captivated as my little sister. The characters comprised of an obsessive compulsive lonely hermit with a fondness for rocks, a group of colossal inflatable toys that just wibbled about happily, and a huge family of small wooden people (probably on benefits), along with their elusive neighbours. Combine this with the lovely little names like 'Iggle Piggle,' 'Haa Hoo' and 'Makka Pakka' and you potentially have something so cute that it is dangerous. 

*Turns out there's no need for reasoning or logic anymore; simply stating FACT after any assertion renders it immediately true. 

Sunday, 26 September 2010

bloody fat people.

My new school blouses arrived today. As this is a highly exciting occasion, I gave them the opening ceremony they deserved - invited the whole extended family round, got some caterers, some good music, candles. Then I opened the pretty white parcel and extracted the blouses. They were folded like origami round a cardboard frame, so with shaking hands I peeled them off and prepared to unravel the blouses into their true vomity pink glory.
Unfortunately it turned out that they were hugely massive. All my relatives went home; some shouting abuse, some resorting to actual violence, some just contemplating suicide. And I sat and pondered these blouses. Why were they wider than they were long? In what way were they supposed to fit any normal human figure? Then I realised I was simply a victim of size inflation. Size inflation, for those that don't know, is the enlarging of clothes while their size labels remain the same. So a chest size 34 might have fitted someone of my size five years ago, but it won't anymore. In other words, the clothing companies are being too nice to fat people. The makers of my blouse feared that they would have complaining fat people phoning up when they couldn't button the blouse around their huge neck. So to avoid this problem, they simple doubled the amount of material used, producing a tent-like structure that, sadly, seems to fit most of the fat people in this country. 

I feel that by inflicting such brutal insults on fat people is kind and generous. If it motivates them into losing weight then I have done a fellow human's duty of protecting your peers. Being fat - and I mean clinically fat, not just chubby - is dangerous and unhealthy and it pains me when vast women boast 'curves' when actually they are just pushing it.
Something strange and terrifying has happened to me. For the first time in years, I seem to have experienced sympathy for an animal. The owners of a dog drove it out into the countryside, took it outside the car, then quickly sped off and left it there. It tried to catch up but it couldn't, because it had a limp. I practically sobbed and bought a dog in a random act of animal love.

Thursday, 23 September 2010

POPEMOBILE and wooly coat overdrive

The popemobile is just a glorified bulletproof wheelchair. Or some sort of OAP go-kart. I'm glad that the pope decided to be old in order to make his preferred mode of transport even funnier. 
Totally uncharacteristically, I went on the Topshop website. I had a look at their Unique collection, and while I do think the clothes are reasonably ugly, I was blown away by their sheer decadence. It's like they've taken an unassuming country ranch in, er, Russia, and completely pimped it up so that I practically got a nosebleed just looking at these clothes. And although that sentence did not make sense I feel it suitably portrayed my mixed feelings for this collection.
In fact, just as I'm writing this I've realised that I love it. They actually have an antler hairband - tremendously unsubtle but lovely. And for some reason I can excuse the fact that it's £80. If I had a lot of money to waste on crap I would buy it. There are also some hiking boots on steroids, and some furry coats that, if anything, look too hot. I could probably cook a steak in those coats. Put simply, this collection is what Lady Gaga would wear in Moscow, or somewhere else cold, to put my lack of geography skills in the spotlight.


Thursday, 2 September 2010

Just been through the old gem of a routine that is hastily deleting old posts you didn't realise were there. They consisted of the pathetic and embarrassing subjects of my christmas list, some neuroticism about my party, and openly slagging off my friends.
Right so my last few days of Brighton included crawling around the floor of TK Maxx. Yes, I have stooped that low in search of a school bag. But that was nothing compared to the documentary I watched today.
It's called 'Enemies of reason' or something and it has that angry man Richard Dawkins in it. It's about 'alternative healing methods' and 'chakras' and maybe fairies and goblins, why not. It was both hilarious and disgusting. Hilarious when some woman waved her hands at Richard Dawkins and declared he now had his fourth chromosome triangle. And laughed. As if she knew it was a load of bollucks, and was laughing gleefully at the way she had conned thousands out of people. That particular scene wasn't worth any contempt: too pathetic. But then it moved onto a section about homeopathic medicine. Before, I didn't know anything about homeopathy, but had a vague notion that it was some treehugger 'medicine' shit. Now I feel like I've had my eyes opened onto something horrific and terrible. It's even worse then when I watched the X Factor.
Homeopathy works like this: something that causes similar symptoms to the ones you are suffering will cure your illness. So red onion would cure watery eyes. It also states that the more diluted a remedy is, the better it works. And the little bottled remedies you might buy if you are a gullible twat, shunning proven scientific medicines that actual intelligent people created, are so diluted that they are actually water. The NHS has a homeopathy department. They spent 12 million on making these magic little bottles of water, or sugar pills if you're lucky. 12 million they could have spent on something useful. If you're not angry about this then you are an unfeeling evil gnome faith healer.