Bloody hell, the BBC are tackling some tough issues today. Away with the humorous introduction to today's post, because in the spirit of weighty journalistic might that the BBC have set with their stories today, I'm going to leap straight into giving you the day's most important hard-hitting news story, unfiltered, unfettered and right in your face. Brace yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, this is going to be a biggie: Very few people own black and white tellies.
Yes, girls and boys, you pay your (probably colour, thank you BBC) television licence in order to grant the BBC the funding to produce incisive, up-to-the minute news like this, telling us with a big shit-eating proud grin across it's face that it's found out that not many people in 21st Century Britain own black and white televisions. Well done, BBC, you've really got your finger on the pulse of modern fucking Britain. My gran didn't own a black and white TV and she was well into her 70s when she died back last century (OK, 1999, but 'last century' sounds more dramatic), so what sort of batty old bastards are going to be using them now? Well, that's what I'd read an article on black and white TV ownership to find that out, I suppose. Only it's not fucking there. 18 paragraphs and over 600 words, and all it says is that not many people own black and white tellies anymore.
Oh, and the Have Your Say people have gotten a hold of it. If you think that means it can only go downhill from there, you'd be right. Imagining what kind of limp, empty life leads to comments like "I have to admit I love twiddling with the dial, knowing where the stations are by frequency and getting that satisfying feeling of having found the perfect reception point yourself, by hand." simply boggles the mind - what's the frequency for BBC2, and why would I ever give a flying toss? Next up, "I gain a deep feeling of intense sexual gratification when I'm taking off my shoes".
Actually, I take that back. That would probably be a really interesting story.
Anyway, in another case of the general public having nothing better to do, someone's gone and got themselves into the paper because they took a photograph of Jeremy Clarkson talking on a mobile while driving. Really, how tedious must your existence be that the sight of a man who presents a programme largely dedicated to doing stupid things in cars, doing something stupid in a car, sends you into paroxysms of such joy that you feel compelled to break out the Canon and take a snap to remember the moment by? The worst part is the photographer was quoted in the Daily Mirror as saying "We could not believe that we'd caught him out. My girlfriend saw he was on his mobile. She grabbed hers and took a picture of him". Yes, well done. Did you then go home and paint tiny faces on little model soldiers before crying yourself to sleep at your miserable, failed existence? Honestly. Shame on the sort of idiots that feel this constitutes any sort of pressing national issue, and shame on the Daily Mirror - though I don't think at this point that particular tabloid could sink any lower without actually being written in txt tlk - for bothering to print such a pointless non-story. Then again, this is the paper of 'The 3am Girls', so I don't know why I get my hopes up in the first place.
At least there was some good sense somewhere in the country, though, as a judge dismissed a lawsuit against Marks and Spencers by a man who claimed he slipped and ruptured a tendon in the car park of a shopping center because of a Marks and Spencers grape lodged in the tread of his shoe. Frankly, if you are capable of slipping over and tearing a tendon based on a fruit that is 90% water and would be squashed flat to the pavement by the weight of any normal human being over the age of fourteen months, you probably shouldn't be allowed outside without adult supervision and a retractable leash, let alone wander dribblingly around Marks and Spencers or become a practicing accountant. I would also hazard a guess that anyone capable of seriously injuring themselves with a grape probably isn't particularly well versed at representing themselves in court, which is probably why in this increasingly litigous society he managed to present a case so fundamentally daft that it was thrown out and him ordered to pay the clothing giant legal costs of around £15,000. This can only be a good thing, really, so if only they were to extend these £15,000 charges to anyone caught doing anything rediculously stupid, like grape-slipping, car-surfing or listening to Girls Aloud, I'll be as happy as Larry.
In London, at the Old Bailey, the trial of the killers of London schoolboy Kodjo Yenga has heard that the deceased was 'chased by a gang of youths shouting "kill him" before being stabbed in the heart'. Fucking hell. When I was at school, the worst fights got was a ring of kids around two blokes swinging and missing at each other until a teacher wandered in and hauled one or both off by their shirt collars. The closest we got to serious bodily harm was sticking your compass into your mate's leg to see what they'd do - nobody ever stabbed anyone in the heart, for fuck's sake.
That said, very few kids at my school could have found the heart even with a copy of Gray's Anatomy and a game of Operation, so perhaps that has something to do with it.
Oh, and Alistair Darling has put an extra 4p of tax on every pint of beer. Cunt.
I'd do the sport, but it's all so very boring. Everton and Spurs are doing extra time against Fiorentina and PSV, Boro and Villa drew, one-all, Portsmouth turned Birmingham over 4 - 2 and Chelsea gave Derby their predictable weekly thumping. The Formula 1 is back on this weekend, so let's hope that improves things a little bit, as lately it's all been boring me to tears.
Goodnight.
Yes, girls and boys, you pay your (probably colour, thank you BBC) television licence in order to grant the BBC the funding to produce incisive, up-to-the minute news like this, telling us with a big shit-eating proud grin across it's face that it's found out that not many people in 21st Century Britain own black and white televisions. Well done, BBC, you've really got your finger on the pulse of modern fucking Britain. My gran didn't own a black and white TV and she was well into her 70s when she died back last century (OK, 1999, but 'last century' sounds more dramatic), so what sort of batty old bastards are going to be using them now? Well, that's what I'd read an article on black and white TV ownership to find that out, I suppose. Only it's not fucking there. 18 paragraphs and over 600 words, and all it says is that not many people own black and white tellies anymore.
Oh, and the Have Your Say people have gotten a hold of it. If you think that means it can only go downhill from there, you'd be right. Imagining what kind of limp, empty life leads to comments like "I have to admit I love twiddling with the dial, knowing where the stations are by frequency and getting that satisfying feeling of having found the perfect reception point yourself, by hand." simply boggles the mind - what's the frequency for BBC2, and why would I ever give a flying toss? Next up, "I gain a deep feeling of intense sexual gratification when I'm taking off my shoes".
Actually, I take that back. That would probably be a really interesting story.
Anyway, in another case of the general public having nothing better to do, someone's gone and got themselves into the paper because they took a photograph of Jeremy Clarkson talking on a mobile while driving. Really, how tedious must your existence be that the sight of a man who presents a programme largely dedicated to doing stupid things in cars, doing something stupid in a car, sends you into paroxysms of such joy that you feel compelled to break out the Canon and take a snap to remember the moment by? The worst part is the photographer was quoted in the Daily Mirror as saying "We could not believe that we'd caught him out. My girlfriend saw he was on his mobile. She grabbed hers and took a picture of him". Yes, well done. Did you then go home and paint tiny faces on little model soldiers before crying yourself to sleep at your miserable, failed existence? Honestly. Shame on the sort of idiots that feel this constitutes any sort of pressing national issue, and shame on the Daily Mirror - though I don't think at this point that particular tabloid could sink any lower without actually being written in txt tlk - for bothering to print such a pointless non-story. Then again, this is the paper of 'The 3am Girls', so I don't know why I get my hopes up in the first place.
At least there was some good sense somewhere in the country, though, as a judge dismissed a lawsuit against Marks and Spencers by a man who claimed he slipped and ruptured a tendon in the car park of a shopping center because of a Marks and Spencers grape lodged in the tread of his shoe. Frankly, if you are capable of slipping over and tearing a tendon based on a fruit that is 90% water and would be squashed flat to the pavement by the weight of any normal human being over the age of fourteen months, you probably shouldn't be allowed outside without adult supervision and a retractable leash, let alone wander dribblingly around Marks and Spencers or become a practicing accountant. I would also hazard a guess that anyone capable of seriously injuring themselves with a grape probably isn't particularly well versed at representing themselves in court, which is probably why in this increasingly litigous society he managed to present a case so fundamentally daft that it was thrown out and him ordered to pay the clothing giant legal costs of around £15,000. This can only be a good thing, really, so if only they were to extend these £15,000 charges to anyone caught doing anything rediculously stupid, like grape-slipping, car-surfing or listening to Girls Aloud, I'll be as happy as Larry.
In London, at the Old Bailey, the trial of the killers of London schoolboy Kodjo Yenga has heard that the deceased was 'chased by a gang of youths shouting "kill him" before being stabbed in the heart'. Fucking hell. When I was at school, the worst fights got was a ring of kids around two blokes swinging and missing at each other until a teacher wandered in and hauled one or both off by their shirt collars. The closest we got to serious bodily harm was sticking your compass into your mate's leg to see what they'd do - nobody ever stabbed anyone in the heart, for fuck's sake.
That said, very few kids at my school could have found the heart even with a copy of Gray's Anatomy and a game of Operation, so perhaps that has something to do with it.
Oh, and Alistair Darling has put an extra 4p of tax on every pint of beer. Cunt.
I'd do the sport, but it's all so very boring. Everton and Spurs are doing extra time against Fiorentina and PSV, Boro and Villa drew, one-all, Portsmouth turned Birmingham over 4 - 2 and Chelsea gave Derby their predictable weekly thumping. The Formula 1 is back on this weekend, so let's hope that improves things a little bit, as lately it's all been boring me to tears.
Goodnight.
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