Chivalry Isn’t Dead, It’s Just Pining For The Fjords

A disturbing trend is starting to pop up more and more around society. It’s an insidious little thing, seemingly harmless at first… you may see signs of it and think ‘What’s the big deal? Where’s the harm? Why aren’t I wearing any pants?’ No? Just me then? Oh well, I regret nothing.

 

It would seem that more and more these days people everywhere are leaving aside common courtesy in favour of, well, just kinda being dicks. I’ve noticed it happening far more often lately, and I’m sure I can’t be the only one. Whether it be simple things, such as helping the elderly or sick by just giving up a seat, or clearly more complicated situations (sarcasm ahoy!), people are more and more choosing to act like self-important assholes.

‘But Lord Minesweeper!’ I hear you cry… good job, by the way. You get a cookie. ‘But Lord Minesweeper… are we seriously meant to be concerned about the state of mankind because some idiots have little to no regard for others?’

A valid point, I concede. The very fabric of the universe won’t unravel because you’ve had a long day and are reluctant to give up your seat. But let’s be honest, it’s a stepping stone, one which leads abruptly to a steep slope, which ends in a complete plummet into the oceans of being a dickweed… yeah, I’m mad metaphorical like that. It’s a fact that as we let the smaller things go, and they become more accepted, people are gonna keep pushing it more and more.

 

Until this becomes acceptable… yeah, got you worried yet?

 

Which is where chivalry comes in. Here we have a code which, at heart, is all about treating others with respect and simple courtesy. Admittedly there were other flourishes in there, such as the appropriate way to approach a damsel with a HUGE… personality… and let her know that verily you are burning for her perfect beauty, but flourishes were really all they were. Even then, they were totally appropriate for the time… maybe. Them crazy Renaissance folks… sexual lawsuits just waiting to happen. Anyway, the chief goal of chivalry was, as mentioned before, just to treat people… well, as other people. Oh, and duels! Ok, gonna stop digressing…

 

Like you wouldn’t duel for that… it’s such a cute kitty. 

 

The adage claims that chivalry, this wonderful basis for morals, is dead. I used to shudder whenever that was said… after all, how can it be? Denial was always what I wanted to be true. Unfortunately, more and more as I see the signs of a larger failing society, I begin to wonder if the old adage writers were right about this one.

Now, I feel I should clarify before people start thinking I’m a fatalist. I don’t think society is going to implode in on itself in an orgy of blood-letting and dickery, and I do think that there are still redeeming qualities out there, which some people exhibit more than others. But when I turn around and hear yet another story about some guy hitting his girlfriend, some girl cheating on her loving partner, or a group of guys beating someone to a bloody mess… really, where’s the basic humaninty? Can we not just calmly and intelligently talk with people, sort out our problems like evolved creatures? Or have we really hit the point where discussion has taken a backseat to just hitting that guy who fixed us with the stank-eye with a barstool?

 

So I think we need to make a concerted effort to fix this… that’s right, all two of my readers, you need to help me. Yes, I know you have problems with personal hygiene, and other people don’t really listen to anything you say… or love you… but you can still help. Try and be more courteous… you know as well as I do you’re all horribly selfish people… so give up that seat. Say something nice, don’t hurl abuse. Above all, the old credo, do unto others… you know the drill. Cos if you don’t, I know where you live.

No, I really do… BE CHIVALROUS!!!

Reflections on Ving Rhames

So, earlier tonight I was on my way to work along with a friend of mine who pointed out the glaringly obvious, that I have done nothing of any value to the human race. Also, I haven’t updated my blog in quite a while. He continued to talk, but I ignored him as best as I could, as I was suddenly struck with sheer amazement at how unlike Al Bundy he was.

For instance, Al is on my blog. My friend is not. Uncanny!

 

However some of what he said managed to seep into my brain like the wetwipe you use to remove the lipstick from your collar, thinking that it will be a foolproof way of hiding your infidelity, when in actual fact you’re only delaying the inevitable uprising of wetwipes, at which point all our secrets will be revealed. All of them!

 

One of the things that he mentioned was maybe I should try writing a post that displayed my absolute lack of anything productive to write, in the history of ever. After hearing this, my brain immediately worked to forget it, only so it could remember it at a later date, and I could claim full credit for the idea. Unfortunately, I’ve just admitted two things.

 

1) The idea is not actually mine, but that of a man who has absolutely nothing in common with Al Bundy.

 

Again, Al Bundy. Not my friend. The resemblance is non-existent!

 

and

2) Wetwipes are sentient beings. All glory to the wetwipes.

 

Now, it may strike you that a useless post stating that the post is in itself useless and lacking any creative value whatsoever would be a waste of time. Not true. Going around attempting to survey how many people vomit a little bit in their mouth, then swallow it because you have nowhere to spit it, compared to how many people swallow because they enjoy it… that would be a waste of time. Just for the record, I maintain that if I ever swallow my vomit, it is only in an attempt to keep a hold of every bit of my DNA, so that no-one can clone me in an attempt to stop me. After all, I know all of my weaknesses, and damned if I’m gonna turn on me right when I’m about to successfully rule the world… I’ve got my own future to think of, after all.

 

Or maybe my own past. It’s a little unclear, like a foggy 5 am morning, in the middle of June, when the mist sets in to the Saharan desert, rendering that dehumidifier you brought on a foggy-desert trek rather redundant. How can you dehumidify all of that? How? I demand answers. Please forward them all to the usual address, along with any well-wishes and candy treats. Any non-candy treats can go straight to hell! Stealing candy treats limelight… well I for one will not allow it! Who will stand with me against the non-candy treats? Let the cry of freedom go forth. FREEDOM!!!!

 

On a related topic, whatever did happen to the notion of public beatings? They were a staple of society. They allowed people to staple society. They allowed people societied staples. People of society allowed staples. And stapled peoples allowed society. So stick that in your pipe and find that you’ve got the wrong size pipe, and that’s why your impromptu oil pipe-line was never working, so you’ve got to take it back to the store, only to find they don’t have the right size pipe in stock, so you need to go to another store, only they won’t refund your useless pipe, they’ll only give you a store credit towards something else, but asides from pipe you really don’t need anything from them, but there’s no way around it, so you get a bird feeder you never really wanted only so you don’t waste the credit, and then you give up your dreams of an oil business and instead start to press wild birds. In a scrapbook. A feathery, feathery scrapbook.

Here is a picture that has absolutely nothing to do with any of the above. It is a wildebeest.

…

…

Wildebeeeeeeeeeeeest.

Avatarded?- A Review Through Interpretive Dance

Annnnddd…. DANCE!

 

Nope, not happening. So sorry, my sincerest apologies to that small subset of society who actually enjoy watching a white, pasty nerd attempting to emulate Stretch Armstrong having a seizure, but I will not be dancing today. I will, however, be reviewing the movie ‘Avatar’, so at least one-third of my title is true.

 

Now, some of you are probably wondering just why I’m reviewing Avatar, at least now of all times.

 

‘I am.’

‘Shut up!’

 

The bandwagon has passed, you may cry out, so what gives? Well, what gives, good sir, is that this is my blog and I will write about whatever I damn well feel like writing about, when I so choose. So, in summation, up yours, good sir.

 

Also, I’ve only just seen it. So, enough with defending myself and on with the review, I say.

 

Allow me to begin with my major opinion in summary: I liked it. As a piece of entertainment, it worked well. However, boy am I glad I never bought into the hype and paid to see it at the cinema.

 

I’m sorry, and I’m sure I may get some comments attacking me afterwards, but what the hell are all those people hyping it up and talking about it like it’s the greatest-thing-since-sliced-bread-was-made-into-a-movie on about? It really isn’t all that and a bag of chips. Again, before you all go on about my surly disposition and tendency to hate… well, everything… and how that’s colouring my opinion, I repeat: I enjoyed it! I believe that as a piece of entertainment, whose chief objective, by definition, is to entertain, it was well done. I sat down and watched it, the entire thing, without once wanting to turn it off. And considering I have the shortest attention span you can have without it turning in on itself and making you bored before something has even happened, I consider that a feat. I watched it, attentively, took it all in, and came away having liked the fact I watched that instead of repeats on television. Would I have enjoyed it as much had I paid to see it at the cinema? I highly doubt it, considering how many other films I’m willing to part with money to see that I yet haven’t.

   Yes, that was a cheap lead in to this gratuitous shot. No, I’m not changing it.

 

Unfortunately, the reasons I’m not bowing down and worshipping at the altar that is James Cameron’s Pandora seem to be, in some respects, the reasons other people like the film to the point where they’re willing to commit suicide because they’re not there.

 

The first of these, and, personally, one I find so obvious part of me is wondering why so many people seem happy to ignore it, is the apparently casual racism Mr Cameron applies in broad strokes to the entire film. Ok, we get that the Na’vi are different from ourselves, and that difference fuels the entire conflict between the humans and the Na’vi. But how does Mr Cameron choose to show this difference? With careful, subtle touches, or bucking the conventions of this theme in media? Nope, they’re a race of primitive jungle-people.

 

The Na’vi, shown here with their 27 points of articulation.

 

Now, ok, I get he totally feels the need to express, even as a secondary theme, the idea of racism, and how as soon as we see something that’s different, we, as a people, tend to scream out loud and stand on a chair until someone shoots them. But the key word here is different, not ass-backwards! Ya know what else is different to us? A futuristic planet, where the people have evolved to live in harmony with constructs. Or how about a planet where the people are pure energy, having never needed a physical form? Ya know what’s different, yes, but also a little insulting? Ten foot tall, blue, native Americans! Now, I also understand that Cameron’s second point was, in this difference, he had to make the other people’s way of life seem beautiful, and desirable on second consideration. But who’s to say that race living with robots from before can’t be beautiful? Carven structures and architecture formed by hand towering above anything humans can achieve. How about works of art formed from pure gas being “moulded” in certain ways? Portraits of landscapes, such as Pandora (I’ll meet Cameron halfway here) that actually involve sound and a level of immersion we can’t yet achieve. Sounds different to me, and potentially threatening depending on what else these people have created, yet by no means primitive. Something tells me we won’t find an analogy to that on our planet either, so maybe it won’t be insulting to someone. Yes, Cameron makes them appear as though they’ve got the better life, the life we should all desire, but it seems to me a back-handed compliment. It also assumes quite a bit to presume we don’t appreciate the beauty on our own planet enough.

 

Pictured: Beauty on our own planet, and I for one appreciate the hell out of it.

 

In his portrayal of the Na’vi, I feel James Cameron plays it both safe, a little bit insulting, and cliche… which brings me to my next point. The film is freakin’ Pocahontas!!!! No, no ifs, ands, or buts, it’s exactly the same! Let’s analyze, through the medium of yet more pictures! Warning: from this point on there be spoilers!

 

We’re introduced to a beautiful place, exotic and strange.

 

People from “civilised” lands arrive. It’s us!

 

Meet the female lead.

 

Meet the male lead.

 

This here’s the evil villain. They gloat a lot. The two leads meet up at some point and start to get to know each other. It’s clear they’re gonna get it on.

 

Weird ass trees feature for some reason. I dunno, spirits and stuff.

 

Villains continue to gloat. Those glorious gloating bastards!

 

Hey look, the leads do some bouncy bouncy! Totally called it. Booyah!

 

The villains aren’t gloating… guess they’re having a sandwich to fuel future gloating.

 

Whoops, people die. Shit’s gonna hit the fan now…

 

…Right after they finish gloating. As stated shit does indeed hit the fan (would you believe Google couldn’t give me a single good picture of the Pocahontas fight scene… stupid Disney), and ultimately the evil, greedy humans are defeated and shown the error of their ways.

 

Bouncy bouncy continues on, presumably until the sequel.

 

And that’s it in a nutshell. Sorry to anyone who hasn’t seen it yet, you were warned. But that’s the story, essentially a rehash of a Disney classic. And for me that’s one of the biggest problems with this film, because aside from it’s story, there was never gonna be anything in this film I hadn’t seen before. The graphics? Pshaw, I see just-as-good if not better every time I turn on my Playstation 3. A fully fleshed out alien race? Wow, that hasn’t been done since… oh, every sci-fi movie or series in the last ten years. Really, every one? Huh, there ya go. I expected better from the guy who bought us Terminator!

 

  Could only be cooler if he fought a certain blonde bombshell.

 

And that really is it’s death knell, at least for me. James Cameron apparently had at least 10 years to work on this, and this was the script he ended with? Did he do no rewrites over that time? It’s like Michael Bay disappearing for 15 years claiming he’s got an uber project he’s sitting on, then coming out with Hamlet. No, adding explosions and Megan Fox does not change the fact someone better than you wrote it long ago! I mean, I understand his reasons… when you’re spending so much to make a film, and need some cash to come back your way, you’re much safer riding on a tried and true storyline. But when everyone came out of the cinema raving about the must see film of the decade I expected either graphics I could literally touch, or at least a decent, new, thought provoking story. Instead what I got was graphics I’ve seen before, and a story about how humans are evil racist bastards, and we shouldn’t mess with an alien race because who knows what beauty they’re hiding, and I got that story delivered much better with District 9. Well, cept the whole alien beauty thing. Damn those prawns were ugly.

 

 Pictured: How the prawns could’ve gotten around that whole ugly thing. See, totally justified it.

 

So, all up, a summary: I enjoyed the film, don’t get me wrong. Might watch it again sometime soon. But it really wasn’t ground-breaking or earth-shattering, or any other analogy which involves destruction of soil, so don’t kill a parent to see it any time sooner.

 

Final Rating: 3 Cheeseburgers in a McDonalds… that only contains 5 cheeseburgers for some reason.

 

Um…er… ok, she’s just hot. Any disagreements?

Oh-my-fucking-gods!

Baby No… I Fucking Mean It, NO!!!!

Wow, the pressure! Okay, after being hounded and hounded by my loyal readers (all two of ya), I’ve come back to give this whole thing another shot. But for those of you who demand I be more regular… FUCK YOU!!! I shall eat as much cheese as I want, and damned be the blocked-bowel-based consequences!!!! Oh, that’s not what ya meant? Ah, screw it.

 

Though, to be fair, it’s not just my fans. Yeah, that’s right, you’re not my every motivation… gonna cry now? I felt compelled to return to share my thoughts and hate, mainly the venomous, venomous hate, about a subject which has grown in a distressingly short space of time from nothing to… well, still nothing, just now an over exposed nothing. Who can tell where I’m going with this?

 

Don’t strain yourself with the guesswork, man.

 

That’s right, boys and girls. Justin-Fucking-Bieber. Oh, boy, now that the mystery guest has been revealed the fun can finally begin, hey? Well, there’s a curiosity… who’d have thought I’d use the word “fun” in any relation to Justin Bieber?

 

 Will you put your hand down already?!?!

 

Really, what can I say about Justin Bieber that you aren’t already thinking? I, personally, despair of any world where such a feminine looking 10 year old can not only pretend he’s the world’s greatest lover, but do so in song. For my money there’s only one lover-supreme in the world and he sure as hell doesn’t look like he’s waiting for his balls to drop!

 

He also can’t believe it’s not butter.

 

And just what the hell is with this kid’s fucking arrogance? Bieber Fever? What the flying-fuck-on-a-rat is that? Sure as hell doesn’t sound like anything I wanna catch. I mean, what are the symptoms? Shrinking down to a height that would embarrass a dwarf? Or maybe it’s gaining the ability to reach superstardom without any discernible hint of talent? I actually wouldn’t mind that one, were that the case, but I strongly suspect this Bieber Fever actually reduces a victim to nothing more than a screaming girl, incapable of doing anything but wave signs asking the newest teen idol to impregnate me. Well, whatever the symptoms, the spread of this disease is insane… we’re talking thousands of people falling prey all at once, to the point where the police have to shut down any gathering of the afflicted for fear they’ll spread. And that was in Australia!!! We tamed the land of Death itself, yet Bieber Fever brings out the fear within us!

 

However, as I touched on above, this kid’s Everest-sized ego wouldn’t be so terrible were he actually able to back it up with, oh, I don’t know, some talent in some field which proved of any value to the human race. Yet time and time again he seems determined to prove that he has none. Take for instance, the video clip to his song ‘Baby’.

 

 

Now, let me start by pointing out the obvious… when you are outshone by the freakin’ cameo in your song, you’ve got issues bigger than your Messiah complex. Now, to the nitty gritty of it, this song deals with the story of Justin Bieber’s inability to accept a girl rejecting him, of all people, and in an effort to woo her back he not only goes to crazy stalker lengths, but also resorts to a dance off. Wait… yeah, I got that right. Yeah, I told you it was stupid. Didn’t I warn you? No? Well, consider this a late warning… it’s stupid.

 

I’d say let’s start by analysing the logic of this song, but there is none! In the first verse alone this pint-sized prat contradicts himself on every line. He says she loves him, then feels the need to ask if they’re an item. He claims she wants him, then tells her to quite playing. What the fuck, good sir? What the fuck? Well, to his credit, he calmly asks her just what their problems are, and suggests they work through them to reach a better relationship. Buying that? Didn’t think so. Yeah, his response is actually:

 

Baby, baby, baby oh

Like baby, baby, baby no

Like baby, baby, baby oh

Thought you’d always be mine, mine (repeat for shits and giggles)

 

Now correct me if I’m wrong, but this seems like one of the most inefficient ways to win back your partner, let alone a proto-partner or whatever is going on there. Break down and bitch? Yeah, that’s great, she’ll totally come running back to you. Once again though Bieber is totally on the case. To make up for his lack of romancing skills, he chases the poor girl, who has already made it apparent she ain’t interested (and judging by her expression is actually trying to hold back nausea), chases her all over this incredibly large building like the little stalker he is, claiming that if she comes back to him he’ll buy her things. There ya go boys, that girl ya like not responding to hair pulling and name-calling? Buy her shit, you’ll get all the right kinds of women that way! Still that frigid bitch refuses his advances! What is he doing wrong? Oh, that’s right, he hasn’t impressed her with his mad dancing skills. Cos’, ya know, that’s why those musical theatre fans get all the vag. What makes this more laughable though is that, even if we suspend disbelief and say mad dancing will win the girl’s heart, Bieber doesn’t even do it himself. Instead he sends his friends to dance in his place! This is like trying to impress a girl by making her laugh, then getting her to watch Big Bang reruns… doing stuff via proxy does not work! Then, to top it all of, Bieber flips the viewer the bird, safe in the smug knowledge that, even if the viewer has more brain cells than Bieber, he has more money then we’ll ever see in our lifetime.

 

Still not convinced this little shit is a talentless hack, not even worthy of the title Anti-christ (the Anti-christ actually being a kinda cool idea)? Check out some of the lyrics to his song ‘One Less Lonely Girl’.

 

If you let me inside of your world

There’s gonna be one less lonely girl

 

Seems just a little bit full of himself, doesn’t he? The kid is twelve! The only way he can be a player is if he picks up a Playstation control!

 

I can fix up your broken heart

I can give you a brand new start

I can make you believe

 

Wait, those words seem familiar! Hmm, they seem to echo ones I’ve heard before. Some other crazy guy, about the same size, claiming he has the power to fulfil all sorts of shit.

 

 

Seriously… Justin Bieber, patient zero for Bieber Fever, die in a fire. It’s the only way to make sure nothing remains to taint future generations.

 

 Justin Bieber: Counting the number of uses he actually has

World’s Worst Songs… Ever

Ya know what? Writing songs shouldn’t be hard. At least not as hard as it appears sometimes. Granted, there’s more to writing a good song then just rhyming words together… take note ALL rap “artists” out there… but if one were to listen to a few songs that are currently floating around in the universe they might draw the conclusion that all the talented song writers on Earth have slit their wrists out of sheer exasperation, and thus the job falls to a select few (mainly consisting of small children and internet blog writers, both groups I proudly belong to). But these are a few of the major offenders, songs so excruciatingly painful to listen to, that I’ve done it numerous times as research for this post.

 

Sex on Fire, by Kings of Leon

  

Okay, before we even examine the damn song, look at the above picture. Look at it. Does that look like a group of people whose sex should even be touched, let alone frequently enough and by enough people to contract some hideous burning disease? I mean, sure, that guy on the right side of the couch is pretty hairy, and I’m told that’s a sign of a virile male. But still, the answer should be a resounding no. Though maybe that’s the point of the song? Some person with standards decided to mutilate their genitals using the medium of flame, so that no-one else will ever have to suffer their Gen Y balls going near their special place… well, that being the case the song makes total sense and I’ll just leave it alone.

 

Or not. Like I’d make it that easy for them.

  No, you may not speak until I am done mocking you. Now sit down and be quiet.

 

Let’s start with the chorus.

 

You, your sex is on fire (rinse and mother-fucking repeat)

 

Now, I don’t claim to be the first person on the planet to point out how ridiculous these bloody lyrics are, but I am the first one to do so on this site. For a start, riddling a person with VD is not a reasonable reason to write a song (though if Lady GaGa is any indication it can make your career). No, it doesn’t matter if she’s the hottest person on the planet… you lose all bragging rights the minute you publically announce “Twas I who filled her lady flaps with flammable sores.” (Cos young bands these days totally speak like that.) Also, the taunting them afterwards? That’s just not on.

 

Or maybe Kings of Leon aren’t owning up to anything. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt for a second and say they weren’t the initial source of whatever horrible STD is worth broadcasting through an annoyingly catchy beat. That leaves only the far worse idea that they’re sadists. Some poor woman (or guy, no judging here) has come before them, dropped their trousers, and said “Before we sleep together, I’ve got genital warts.” Then, instead of giving them due sympathy, or even just sliding on a raincoat and ignoring the whole nasty mess like a drunken frat guy, these young "singers” have just pointed and laughed. Through song! The worst way to point and laugh! There’s a line of taste dividing the sympathy that should be given, and the public humiliation of the poor sufferer. Then, FAR over that line there’s the Kings of Leon, finding new ways to tell the world that groupie is unclean.

 

Also, I just CANNOT finish on this song without looking at the first verse:

Lay where you’re laying, don’t make a sound

I know they’re watching, they’re watching

All the commotion, the kiddie like play

Has people talking, talking

…

…

… You shitting me?

Where to begin? Now, before people attack me and start saying “It’s only the first verse!” let me point out two things. Firstly, the song only has three verses, making this one third of the thing! Secondly, the first verse sets the tone for any song, and the tone this sets make me wonder whether I’ve stumbled onto a site I really shouldn’t have. From the first words sung here I feel like I’m about to see some poor, roofied up woman about to be raped… and apparently I’m not gonna be the only one watching. I’m not sure which is worse… that there’s gonna be enough people watching that the Kings of Leon are aware of this fact, or that they’re totally fine with it. What makes the Kings of Leon think people are interested in watching them have nonconsensual sex? Sure, there’s probably fanfictions out there for that exact thing, but odds are they cater to an exclusive kinda clientele, and I am not one of them.

 

A finishing thought: You know what has kiddie like play? A SMALL CHILD! That’s right: Kings of Leon. Paedophiles since I just implied it.

  Pictured: Kings of Leon’s preferred groupie. Not pictured: Roofie filled juice box.

 

Womanizer, by Britney Spears

  

Alright, now some of you out there may not have ever heard this song before. For those who fall into this category, allow me to welcome you to the world outside of rocks. Also allow me to summarise the major plot points of it. There’s a man… well, more of a boy really… and he meets Britney Spears one night. I don’t know, it could be a park or an ice rink, that’s unimportant. What’s important is that straight away she knows exactly what he is. A womanizer. Oh, that’s right. He’s a womanizer, and he shouldn’t try to front, because she knows just what he is.

 

Oh, sorry, did I say I’d summarise the major plot points? Cos I really meant I’d summarise the entire freakin’ plot! Seriously, you’ve just seen it. I’m like the previews before movies, spoiling the whole thing for you (if it wasn’t already ruined to begin with).

 

The wost part is, the people responsible seem to actually know the song is astonishingly shit, so much so that they actively try to distract you from it. The best defence in showbiz seems to be an annoyingly catchy beat you can’t get out of your head even if you wanted to, so that’s in there. If you’re watching the film clip, there’s also numerous shots of Britney either scantily clad or “naked”, which is meant to be a good thing (as implied by the above picture of her… really, they’re not even trying to hide the photoshopping anymore). I mean hey, no complaining over here, but I can’t help feeling it’d be better if she was… I dunno, still actually as hot as that. As it is, you can still hear the banal lyrics in the background, and no amount of pretending she’s breathily moaning your name will cover that up. Ya know why? Because of the real reason this song is so annoying… the vocals.

 

Don’t worry, I’m not gonna rage all over Britney as a singer or artist… gods only know that’s been done to death, and I’m sure in a later post I’ll come back to the fact she’s a mediocre performer in the professional charades industry, but the way the vocals have been mixed for this specific song is noteworthy. They have been fed through some kind of synthesiser machine, which must have a Casio somewhere in it’s heritage, and come out the other side worse for wear. As well as that, Ms Spears has decided to stammer and stutter and generally repeat unimportant words, almost as though she’s still having withdrawal symptoms this long after rehab. Combined, these two effects creates the impression that the robot army is finally here to take over the Earth, and they’re very, very cold.

 

Immediately after creating the T-Generic-Popstar series, Skynet realisd its horrible mistake. Then it said “Fuck it.” and stored her in the Arctic.

 

Whatever capital crimes she committed (alliteration!) with this song, however, at least Britney is the only one dancing in the film clip. Even better, she doesn’t encourage the viewers to dance along, unlike some songs I could mention.

 

Hoedown Throwdown, by Miley Cyrus

 

Oh look, I mentioned it. Even better, an easy one. Really, I’m not gonna even have to stretch my… duodenum? I dunno, what contributes to a sense of humour? I guess a drunk audience helps… there we go, everyone get smashed. Right this second. Tell your boss its ok, I give you all permission. Now where was I?

 

Oh, right. Hoedown Throwdown. A Miley Cyrus abomination. Gods, this one practically writes itself, but I’ll put in a cursory effort to help. For a start, its a horrible title. Really, what is a hoedown throwdown, other than the very act which Miley should probably practise for, as she’ll be performing it for many a night in protection of her street corner. Maybe she learnt it from her mother. Oh, don’t give me that look. You really wanna defend her innocence? Don’t make me play the trump card. Ok, you made me play it…

 

  The Kings of Leon’s backstage party gets off to the usual start. Though I think she’s a bit old for them.

 

So, we’ve already established that this isn’t so much a song as a self-fulfilling prophecy for Ms Cyrus. Then there’s the lyrics! Oh gods, the lyrics! I had a go at the Kings of Leon for starting off poor, but at least they used actual words. The beginning of this song, quite a sizeable chunk of the first lines in fact, are comprised purely of “boom”, “de”, and “clap”, in various orders and quantities. Now, maybe I’m just being pedantic here, but only one of those is an actual word, while the other two are just… well, fucking stupid.

 

However, we then come to the crux of the matter, the thing that makes this song a truly unforgiveable evil given form through instruments that, really, should’ve known better. It spawned a dance. And I don’t just mean a happy little jig done by children in an attempt to win candy from their grandparents, I mean an honest-to-god dance. With actual steps (and no, the split-leg inverted pole spin is thankfully not one of them). I’m sorry for those of you who honestly enjoy these sorts of things, and not just because you are of seriously diminished mental capacity, but the law is perfectly clear: no songs with an actual dance to accompany them shall ever be called “good”, “entertaining”, or “holy”. This rule was first suggested after the Macarena, and finally rushed through the various levels of government when The Ketchup Song came out, to become a full-fledged law (bet you didn’t think I could be educational as well as sarcastic!) Therefore, anyone who is caught doing the Hoedown Throwdown should be punished. This punishment can take the form of a violent death, or you can let them live a long, unsatisfying life. Your call.

 

 But they’ll never do another human being.

This song quite literally has no redeeming features. But the biggest disappointment? This girl was spawned by the man that gave us Achy Breaky Heart. Clearly how the mighty have fallen.

 

But don’t despair. If you can think of any songs I may have missed here, but that deserve to be exorcised by both a young priest and a middle aged priest (the old priest is still trying to work out his iPod, so he can’t help), then please let me know, and who knows? They just might make it into Part 2.

 Who really thought I was gonna leave it at this? No, you still can’t make any sound.

I Feel Pretty

Which is probably why Pretty slammed me with that lawsuit. All I can say is if she didn’t want the attention she should’ve said so. Ya know, in English. Audible English. Wow, that makes me sound terrible… time to redeem myself as a human being… so, inappropriate attention, huh? Ya like?

 

WHAT! I’ve never pretended to have basic human empathy. Anyway, just a quick update to say I’ve totally just gotten myself a nice new Gravatar. Perceptive readers (and readers who have entirely too much time on their hands) may also notice my little quip at the side there has changed… might make it a weekly thing… it might never happen again. I make no promises, ‘specially not to you people.

 

Also, new post coming. Promise.

Don’t Sue Me

Alright, people with a little more foresight than myself (ie. everyone!) have pointed out to me that I should probably put up a disclaimer so I don’t get angry complaint emails. They fill up your inbox and make it that much harder to find those emails about natural penis enlargement… um, I imagine.

 

Anyway, for those who may stumble across this page of mine, read more than one sentence, and NOT have the minimum of two brain cells to bang together to form an intelligent thought, this is a site filled with humour (I hope!) You know, jokes? As such, anything put up on this page is not meant as an actual insult to any person, living or dead. Though, ya know, fuck those zombies with a chainsaw in the ear. I am not a racist or sexist, nor do I discriminate against any person based on religious beliefs, country of origin, or sexual orientation.

 

I DO however, believe that nothing is sacred, and everything should be open to a friendly joke/ satire. So, anyone of a fragile disposition probably shouldn’t keep reading my site. You should, however recommend it to every one of your friends, and so on and so forth.

Wheelchairs

Wheelchairs. Those elegant beasts. Majestically strolling across the savannah, heads held high, searching for prey in their never-ending quest for survival. Or something. I could have them confused with, you know, actual animals. But whatever the case may be, the facts are undeniable: everyone loves wheelchairs! Seriously. Everyone. Don’t try and deny it, put your hand up and be proud about it. But why do we love them? Because they appeal to two very human traits, elements of ourselves so deeply ingrained we couldn’t remove them even if we wanted to.

Laziness

So you want to get to whatever destination you have in mind, whether it be local strip club, or not-so-local strip club. What are you going to do?  Use your legs? HAH! But, short of some sort of giant robotic animal which you can ride there (and that’s just a ridiculous idea), how else are you going to get there and enjoy some stripping action?

 

Giant robotic animals? Hah, so stupid. Oh, wait…

That’s where our good friend the wheelchair comes in. He doesn’t care that we’re too ass lazy to walk, no. He happily ferries us from one place to the next without a second thought or snide comment. You get where you want to go without putting in an ounce of effort, and, as a bonus, you can quite freely mock all those unfortunates you pass, slogging around on their feet of all things! Which brings us quite neatly to the second big reason we all love wheelchairs…

 

People are Assholes

 

It’s true, look it up. People suck. We love feeling superior, it validates our brief existence somehow. And what better way to feel superior than to be in your own little rickshaw? Not only can you now move faster than people walking (maybe… probably not though), but you can also rub it in the faces of all those cripples around the place, daring to breathe the same air as you. The entire time you ride one of these mothers it’s a statement to all those with disabilities, loudly proclaiming that while you can master their technology with ease, they can’t work the simplest of yours (such as stilts). I mean, what other device in the world can allow you to breeze past everyone else around you and give you an almost definitely unearned feeling of god-like superiority?

 

I really wish these pictures would stop undermining my argument.

 

Now, with the reasons we love them firmly discovered, it only remains to find out just what contributions the wheelchair has had throughout history.

 

The Dark Ages

 

Ah, castles, knights, and heavily-cleavaged damsels. Yep, it’s the Dark Ages. But, while we’re well aware they had it all over us in terms of bad-assery (it’s a word, look it up), it’s not very well known that they were also some of the first peoples to use the wheel chair. In these times, certain knights would be blessed by their lord with this wonderful device, allowing them to race around the battlefield… assuming it wasn’t all soft mud. While mounted on this contraption, which at the time was known as a “Sore-Arm Horse” (later giving rise to the old expression “Just a sore-arm horse spinning their tyres in the mud”) the knights enjoyed an unprecedented turn of speed, as well as a psychological element of terror over their foes. Well, you try having a lance come racing towards your crotch and see how brave you feel.

 

 Like this, only coming towards your jubblies.

 

The Aztecs

 

I bet you didn’t know the Aztecs used wheelchairs, right? It’s true, just check out their pyramids and such. Totally wheelchair accessible. Anyway, the proof lies in the most ferocious warriors of the Aztec race, the Jaguar Warriors. Now, these were people who adorned themselves in the skin of jaguars, true. Also true, however, is that these skins covered their primitive wheelchairs, allowing them to race through the jungles and whatnot at speeds comparable to that of a jaguar… if aforementioned jaguar smoked a pack a day. The squeaking of the wheels might have destroyed any element of surprise they hoped to gain, but a fact that has remained unknown since then, and only recently been revealed in fossil studies, is that jaguars in the area, at the time, also gave off a high-pitched squeaking cry instead of a deep throaty roar, preserving the Jaguar Warriors surprise attacks.

 

But yes, they were still killed by the Spanish. The Spanish hate the injured, and summarily slaughter any young born with disabilities, explaining why Spain is such a world power now.

 

…Or not.

 

Early Japan

 

Ah, Japan. One of, if not the, most technologically advanced countries in the world. How could the wheelchair have passed through human history without stopping here to say hi? Well, it did. And then it was summarily raped like a schoolgirl surrounded by tentacles.

 

When the wheelchair first hit Japan it was of a simple design. However, with the spread of Ninja, and the resulting deaths that were happening left, right and centre, the Samurai needed a way to get even. Enter the wheelchair, originally a simple device used to speed the Samurai either into combat, or towards reinforcements. However, over time it developed into a wheeled beast of death, complete with black powder weapons, whirling katanas and other similar blades, as well as the ability to zap any enemies into a pile of ashes. It also had air-con and reasonable mileage.

 

 Little known fact: Optimus Prime started out as a wheelchair. Then he hit Japan.

 

Modern Times

 

When looking at all the major time periods where wheelchairs were around, it would be remiss to not mention our modern era, where we’ve seen amazing evolutions. Bear in mind that barely over 100 years ago the wheelchair, despite being quite primitive, experienced such an increase in popularity that every citizen could only be rationed with half of one.

 

 Poor guy. despite a kick-ass hat he’ll never know the joys of a full wheelchair.

 

Since then we’ve had leaps and bounds in wheelchair technology (probably stolen from the Japanese), which has led to the incredible invention of the Gopher.

 

 I sure could GOPHER some golf right now. (I hate me so hard right now. – Ed.)

 

So, I hope this article has been an educational little walk through history, and always remember that your wheelchair has feelings too, so make sure you hug it as often as possible, and let it know it’s appreciated.

 

Old people, however, have NO feelings, so push her out and steal hers. She’ll never catch you!

Inaugural Post

Well, the title kinda says it all, doesn’t it? This, right here, the post you are reading right now (or absorbing through your fingertips, I don’t discriminate against mutants… you freaks!) This is indeed the inaugural post.  We originally had a cannon and some fireworks as celebration, but… well, a coupla pranks got out of hand, one thing led to another, and now it’s illegal for myself and any associates to be in Milwaukee.

Anyway, at a loss for what to really post as the first article ever on Mine Sweeper, I opted to analyse the chosen title for this site. For instance, let’s start by breaking it down. Oxford Dictionary defines Mine as ‘Not yours’, while Sweeper is defined as ‘A person who moves dust from point A to point B, point B usually being only two steps from point A, and in heavy traffic’.*

So, in total, the title of this page can be taken to mean “Not your depressing and unrewarding job/ chore”. Which leads us to a problem, cos it sure as hell ain’t mine! It could also just be that the title was chosen because of the slight insanity of the author. Maybe.

*Oxford Dictionary probably doesn’t endorse either of these descriptions. Probably.