Refuse the Mark

On the news this morning was a story about how some genius has invented an electronic chip that can be implanted under our skin and used as a replacement for company ID badges that we have to carry at work. I was immediately reminded of an old conspiracy theory that a friend of mine used to bang on about.

This fellow used to be a heroin addict, but after kicking the smack he found he had a big hole in his life, and so turned to Jesus to fill it. As anyone who has ever known a junkie will testify, these people’s entire lives are dedicated to their drug of choice; the acquirement and ingestion of narcotic is all they think about from one minute to the next. So it follows that to fill the void left by drug addiction, he was going to need a lot of Jesus. A little Jesus on a Sunday morning wasn’t nearly enough - this man needed total Jesus, twenty-four hours per day, seven days per week. Thus he became one of those people who put the mental in religious fundamentalism – he stood on street corners berating passers by for their sins, and never missed a chance to lecture us – his supposed friends – about the word of God.

He knew every single conspiracy theory that was floating about, and believed each one of them with the zeal and fervour of someone on an extended break from reality. His particular favourite was the old barcode theory, which I’ll now attempt to describe for those not in the know.

Go and find something with a barcode on; it shouldn’t be difficult, they’re on pretty much everything these days. Now, take a close look and you’ll see the series of vertical stripes is subdivided into two sections by three pairs of thin lines. Next, look along the row of numbers across the bottom and find a number six; immediately above that six will be the corresponding set of lines that signifies that number in barcode language. That’s right – the number six is represented by the same pair of thin lines that subdivide the whole shebang, or in other words every single barcode is essentially a great big 666.

Somewhere in the book of revelation there’s a passage about how the devil will take over the world, and he will put his mark upon humanity, and the mark is 666. According to crackpots like my friend, that moment is already here, as everyone is carrying around Satan’s mark in the guise of the barcode that’s on the label of their underpants, or the price-tag of their sausage sandwich, or whatever.

I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s an interesting theory, but is ultimately the ravings of a paranoid mind.

Or is it? I’ve never been big on religion, and I don’t share the view that the Antichrist is on his way to throw us into a thousand years of darkness. I believe human beings are more than capable of achieving that particular feat without any outside assistance. But this idea of us all eventually going around with little electronic chips implanted under our skin does sort of remind me of my friend’s rantings. I wonder how long it will be before businesses insist you have to get chipped if you want to work for them?

Perhaps the devil is real. Perhaps he’s the head of some huge corporation, and wants to rule the world and force us all to carry his mark. Stranger things have happened.

Drugs in Sport

On the news this morning, Lance Armstrong told the BBC in an exclusive interview how, if given his time over again, he’d probably do exactly the same thing. His justification for turning to performance enhancing drugs was essentially that ‘cycling is really hard work.'

He has a point. All sport is hard work, which is why I gave up on it years ago. Who wants to spend their lives pushing their body to the limits when they could be lying on the sofa drinking beer and browsing online pornography? The government are forever telling us how we should all get involved in sport and lead active, healthy lifestyles, but frankly they can go fuck themselves.

I personally think the taking of drugs should be embraced in sport. We all saw how fast Ben Johnson ran after he’d pumped himself full of steroids, imagine how the world records would tumble if athletes were given free reign to cheat. We’d see supersonic performances in every event; miles run in seconds, javelins hurled clean out the stadium. In what is supposed to be an entertainment industry, do we not want to be entertained?

I therefore propose the world should stage an alternative games for people who like to imbibe, sort of like the Olympics, only with drugs. And not just performance enhancing drugs either; my games would involve special events for people taking performance ruining drugs. Imagine the fun we could have.

The Junkie Triathlon

Heroin users are not known for being the most energetic of people. But starve them of smack for a couple of days, then tell them there’s a guy giving away free skag at the other end of this torturous fifty mile endurance race. Give them a bike and a pair of swimming trunks and just watch the fuckers go.

The Drunken Grand Prix

Let’s be honest, the vast majority of people only watch motor racing for the crashes. If all the drivers had downed a bottle of scotch before the race, imagine the carnage as they were let loose in high powered racing cars.

The 400m Hurdles for People on Acid

There’d be no need for actual hurdles; we’d simply line up a bunch of guys and gals who were tripping the light fantastic and watch as they staggered around the track fending off attacks from hallucinatory dragons, goblins and Nazi warplanes.

The Viagra Marathon

Twenty-six miles with an erection is no easy feat. We’d line the route with glamorous, naked spectators and watch the poor bastards suffer as they staggered along behind their throbbing rods, desperate to bone every single person they saw.

The Angel Dust 4^th Storey Window Long Jump

Think you can fly? Then prove it to us.

Amphetamines Chess

All games would be over in seconds, and would probably end up in a fist fight.

You see, the possibilities are endless. Who wants to watch boring, goodie two-shoes athletes competing honestly in sports, when they could be watching cheats, freaks and psychotics? The various governing bodies of world sports should be seriously looking into this as a possibility. 

Greece it up

So Greece has elected a socialist government. Oh lordy. That’ll put the cat among the pigeons.

The news tomorrow will no doubt consist of a bunch of rich white guys in ties talking about how a lack of confidence has caused the stock market to crash, because other rich guys in ties are panicking about the Greek election result. The value of the Euro will fall, a company will go out of business, and a bunch of ordinary people will lose their jobs.

It sounds to me as if we need tougher people to work in the stock markets. If the slack jawed hooray Henries that currently run our financial institutions are liable to turn into quivering jellies and shit themselves just because they saw something on the news they didn’t like the sound of, then frankly they aren’t up to the job. Maybe we should get someone who knows no fear on the case; someone like Rambo; someone who doesn’t suffer from lack of confidence and would be perfectly happy to kick everybody’s ass. He’d protect our money.

All jokes aside, I think people ought to do as I do when they watch the news, and filter every word they hear through a Bullshit Translator to see what comes out the other end. The phrase ‘lack of confidence in the market’, when translated into English, simply means ‘a bunch of rich powerful people aren’t happy’. Of course they aren’t happy; ordinary people in Greece have decided to stick up for themselves; they’ve decided they don’t like poverty and would like it if the system was a bit fairer. And rich people don’t like it when ordinary people stick up for themselves. It means they might not be able to steal our money quite so easily. That’s why they smashed the unions and left our education system to rot; they were taking out the competition, reducing us all to drooling morons so we wouldn’t put up a fight.

The whole economic system is geared towards siphoning cash from the lower orders and placing it in the pocket of the super-rich. This isn’t some whacked out conspiracy theory; it’s the obvious truth and if you don’t see it then you’re blind. I foresee a future where there is no more need for countries or continents. Instead of a flag to represent their nationality, people will live under the logo of a corporate brand. The land you walk upon will be owned by a multinational conglomerate, and you will be entirely beholden to them. They will own the hospital you are born in, the school you are educated in, the chapel you marry in, and the coffin you are buried in. The lives of 99.99% of the human race will be controlled by the 0.01% who managed to steal all the money.

Of course, there is something we can do to stop them before it’s too late; something that will not require rioting in the street or bloody revolution. We can go out and vote, like Greece did yesterday. This is still a democracy after all - even if for seventy percent of the country the act of voting is, like, just too much hassle.

How to start your own campaign group

All this talk of campaign groups over the course of the week has gotten me thinking. Some of those folk who go on the news to spout their opinions look like they’re having a really great time. I mean, they wear groovy t-shirts they designed themselves, they hang around all day with like minded friends and even get to appear on the television, where they doubtless mingle with celebrities and enjoy a champagne lifestyle. I’m really rather envious.

So with this in mind I’ve decided to start my own campaign group and get in on the action. I don’t want to miss out on all the fun. Why should my opinions and personal choices remain inside my own head, when I could be ramming them down the throat of all and sundry?

Obviously I need something to campaign against. I need to pick something that has no effect on my life whatsoever, yet because of my own personal dislike of whatever it is, I will demand the legal framework of our democracy be entirely altered to fit in with my wont, and this thing be banned forever. I’m a hardened campaigner now, so my opinion clearly takes precedence over everybody else’s.

I’ve therefore decided the subject of my campaign will be opera. I don’t like opera – it’s nothing but a bunch of stout people warbling in Italian and it gets on my tits. Now, I could exercise my right to avoid opera by simply not going to any opera performances, but for a campaigner like myself, that wouldn’t be going nearly far enough. No, I want opera banned forever; if I don’t personally like something, then everybody else should be forced to live without it.

So how does one go about starting a campaign? I’ve studied the form of several professional campaigners, and come up with an easy to follow list of requirements.

Cherry pick your data

There are positives and negatives in every walk of life, but it’s the negatives we must dwell on if we’re to convince people of our argument. The anti-drug lobby, for example, conveniently ignores the fact that tens of thousands of people take ecstasy in the UK every week, and suffer no long term ill effects. Instead they concentrate on the one person who tragically died whilst using E, and turn her into their poster girl. So with that in mind, let me tell you about Leonard Warren, who collapsed and died onstage while performing La forza del destino. That’s right, this is conclusive evidence that OPERA WILL KILL YOU.

Scare people

Nothing brings folk around to your way of thinking more effectively than scaring the bejesus out of them. The anti-drug campaigners tell us drugs will send you insane and leave you a drooling basket case. Anti-pornography campaigners tell you masturbation makes you go blind, and turns you into an antisocial recluse who hates women. So what about opera? I’ve done some checking and found out that an opera singer emits a noise of anything up to one hundred decibels. The current Health and Safety legislation states that any noise above forty decibels should be treated as a potential hazard and protective equipment must be issued accordingly. OH MY FUCKING GOD – OPERA WILL MAKE YOU GO DEAF. RUN FOR THE HILLS.

Lie

If you’ve no sane way of backing up your argument, then you can always result to making stuff up off the top of your head. For example, marijuana is a ‘gateway’ drug, and if you smoke weed you will be a hardcore heroin addict by a week on Tuesday. Likewise, pornography causes men to rape women. There is no evidence to back up any of these claims, but people freely wheel them out every time they want to waggle their finger and tell you not to do stuff. So let’s make up a lie about opera. How about this; Hitler liked opera. FUCKING HELL, IF YOU LISTEN TO OPERA YOU WILL DEFINITELY GO ON TO COMMIT GENOCIDE.

Make some groovy t-shirts.

You need a catchy slogan printed across your chest if you’re to get your way, so here are a few examples I've come up with.

So there we have it. I shall be launching my campaign to have opera banned next week, and I thoroughly expect to gain wall to wall press coverage for my opinions within a few days. No doubt you will see me on the television, waving my arms about and pulling scary faces as I warn people of the terrible danger opera poses to the very fabric of our society.

Repeat after me:

NO MORE OPERA

NO MORE OPERA

Tits

Page 3 is back; apparently there’s an image of a young lady baring her breasts in today’s edition of The Sun, the thought of which makes me smile. I won’t be buying it – I find that particular newspaper a vile and obnoxious publication – but it’s one in the eye for the numerous campaign groups who seem to think they have some God given right to tell us what we can and can’t think.

As far as I’m concerned, Page 3 constitutes an agreement between three parties; the young lady to whom the pair of tits belongs, the publisher who wishes to photograph and display that pair of tits, and the customer who wishes to pay to look at the pair of tits. Three individuals, all of whom are happy with the arrangement, get what they want.

But then you have a fourth person inviting them self into the equation; someone who has absolutely no business sticking their nose in, yet can’t seem to keep it out. This person wants to stop the young lady from earning a living, to censor the publication and dictate its content, and to prevent the customer from getting what they pay for. Holy hell – our freedom and liberty is under attack. Someone call the UN.

A couple of weeks ago an atrocity was committed in Paris, and the media were quick to market it as an assault on our freedom of expression. Plenty of folk were frothing at the mouth, screaming about how it is our right to offend people. A fortnight later, many of these same people – who still have their ‘Je Suis Charlie’ avatars displayed on Twitter – are whining about how Page 3 ought to be banned.

Freedom of expression works both ways; it enables you to say things other people might not like, but it also allows other people to say things you might not like. You can’t have your cake and eat it. You can’t holler about the rights of French cartoonists to insult someone’s religion one minute, then go apeshit at the fact there’s a pair of tits in a newspaper the next. If you do, it makes you a hypocrite, and no one likes a hypocrite.

Our freedom of expression is most certainly under attack, but the perpetrators of this attack are not Islamic fundamentalists. No, they are wealthy white folk that are doing the damage; they are people in ‘No More Page 3’ T-shirts, they are government ministers who are steadily sneaking more and more sexual activities into the obscenity law and banning British pornography makers from depicting them on camera.

There are companies in this country who manufacture weapons. They make billions from assembling missiles and bombs, the sole purpose of which is to kill human beings, and this is entirely legal and above board. Yet if a woman tries to make a few quid out of taking a picture of herself sitting on someone’s face, then she’s breaking the law and could go to prison. You can profit from murder, but not from consensual sex. Something is very, very wrong in this society of ours.

I’ll leave you with a quote from Frank Zappa; “What’s more dangerous – people who celebrate sexuality, or people who make bad laws?”

Everything bad that ever happened is the fault of women

I’ve had a gutful.

I lie in bed watching the breakfast news every morning, and it’s always the same. After the highly paid female sports reporter has finished her round up, the highly paid female anchor hands over to the highly paid female business correspondent, who speaks to a highly paid female executive on the subject of how it’s impossible for women to get highly paid jobs because of that awful glass ceiling holding the poor dabs back. And then I drag my evil male body and my repressive penis to work, where my highly paid female boss tells me what I need to do to earn my minimum wage that day.

Right now there’s a bunch of feminists celebrating the demise of Page 3, a uniquely British tradition of placing a photograph of a girl with her tits out, just inside the front cover of certain newspapers. Page 3 is repressive and demeans women – it should be banned, they cry. Far be it from me to point out that a fortnight ago many of these same people were trumpeting about freedom of expression and changing their Twitter avatars to those annoying little ‘Je Suis Charlie’ pictures. I guess freedom of expression is entirely subjective in some people’s eyes, but that’s a topic for another day.

I think the time has come for me to present my theory to the world, a theory I’ve been working on for many years. But before I start, let’s get one thing out the way; I’m not a sexist or a misogynist; I happen to think women are every bit as idiotic and hypocritical as men are. It would be entirely discriminatory of me to deny females their right to be total fucking idiots, based on their gender. Got that?

My theory is this; everything bad that happens in the world is entirely the fault of women. And if you haven’t stopped reading by this point, intent on rattling off a complaint to someone or other, then I shall explain the rationale behind my thinking.

All the bad stuff that goes on, all the murder, corruption, repression, terrorism, starvation and so on, is generally down to men; you don’t see too many women rising to the rank of dictator and committing genocide. But as the saying goes, behind every good man there’s a good woman, or rather bad men and bad women in this case. So why do you suppose these evil men do the things they do? It’s simple; they do it because they want to get into a woman’s pants.

Adolf Hitler did what he did because he wanted to play hide the sausage with Eva Braun, and Napolean did want to do it that night with Josephine.

Before you accuse me of talking bollocks, let’s step back and examine a few truths about reality. The male of every species in the world goes all out to prove their power, while the female stands back egging them on. That much is undeniable, go watch the buck deer in the park kicking the shit out of each other every rutting season if you don’t believe me. If we strip away all the nonsense and accept the fact that humans are nothing more than highly developed animals, then doesn’t it make sense that we do all the same things for all the same reasons as every other animal that walks this Earth? We exist for one purpose, to fight for the right to pass on our DNA to the next generation and ensure our offspring take over from us when we’re gone.

The males demonstrate their strength, and the females reward them by jumping on their bone.

So maybe if the females, instead of jumping into the bed with the most powerful male, said hang on a minute, that wasn’t a very nice thing you did to that fellow over there. You’d better stop acting like a fucking idiot if you want to impress me, then perhaps the world would be a better place.

Maybe if a high flying businessman who’d recently thrown a thousand people out of work in order to buy himself a new sports car, found himself completely ostracised by the women of the world, rather than have them queuing up to wrap their lips around his tiny cock and grab themselves a share of the spoils, then perhaps he wouldn’t do it in the first place. Maybe if girls chased after humanitarians and charity workers, rather than premiership footballers, life would be fairer.

So females everywhere, listen to what I say. Stop bleating about how repressed you are. You hold the power of the universe right there between your legs; you have the ultimate say in what goes on, because men are idiots who are only interested in one thing, and it is you who decides whether they get that thing or not.

If every woman on this planet announced a ban on sex until such time as all the evils in the world stopped, then I guarantee we’d live in a utopian paradise by Christmas.