Lighting strikes. Thunder claps. Rain lashes against the windows. Wind rattles everything that isn’t nailed down. AMERICA is in a basement labratory hunched over a operating table. IGOR, his assistant watches on rubbing his manicured hands together.
We OPEN in a cramped Apartment that’s seen better days. It’s hot. BLACK ANGER and WHITE GUILT are sitting watching TV. There’s only one chair so BLACK ANGER is sitting on the floor and the the air conditioner is broken and only blows cold air on WHITE GUILT. The volume on the TV is stuck on maximum.
For a religion the purports to be the last word on everything in the world and Universe that will account for the souls of man and lead us all to true peace and paradise by being the actual word of God… It’s awfully concerned about a few people taking the piss a bit. You have to ask, how sure are you about your God? How confident are you in your religion if it can’t stand up to some cartoons?
Welcome to the future of big cities. A future filled with gigantic assholes with lots and lots of money, all of whom want to let you know just how f*cking rich they are. God help us all.
Septic, institutional race related fear of black people caused the white people to pack up their tennis bats and muffin mix and leave Ferguson in their Volvos. And it's fear that brings them back with their zip ties and gas masks in their tanks.
There are industries where the risk of injury are high. You could lose your leg working on an on an oil-rig or lose your thumb in an abattoir. Then there’s the other ‘industries’. Media. Advertising. Fashion. Branding. Writing. Photography. The Hipster Industries. Not proper industries with steel and fire, but industries filled with entitled crybabies.
We are more honest with search engines than we are with our friends, families and possibly even ourselves. The data we give away every time we type a request into is soft-belly data. It’s the data of our fears, our dreams, our fantasies, our cheats, our ugly pride, our failings and our, all too human, shame. Does the government have a right to know all of this?
Starting in 2007 when Brazil was awarded the World Cup the government has been on a bit of a clean- up/murder spree. Displacing over 200,000 citizens to make room for new building works associated with the tournament and working to lower the crime rate so tourists are safe.
Drugs and paid-for sex are here to stay. And it looks like more people are paying for sex than are admitting it. Nearly £6bn a year at an average of £65.00 an encounter is either a few dirty old men in raincoats going to pros an unfathomable amount or, more likely, men from every walk of life all over Britain going to pros a shit-load.
"I’m not sure help is what you want. People who ask for help generally get help. And your cries for help come too late and sound like the cries of the families you destroy. I won’t ask you to think of the people you hurt because I fear that’s all you do. You spend all your time thinking of the people you hurt and how much they hurt and will hurt for how long."
It’s hard to say what We actually want. It’s much easier to say what We don’t want – that’s simple. We don’t want Them’. We want Not Them really bad. So what do We want? We want ‘Not Them Not Here’. That’s our slogan. NOT THEM. NOT HERE.
It’s the invasion of the beautiful people. Perky, dewy zombies coming for us like zombies do – unrelenting and forever. Beautiful people are everywhere we look, and they won’t shut the fuck up.
To save the environment, we would have to stop using oil to melt steel, stop charging their iPhone, stop eating asparagus from Spain, and probably not have a holiday this year. That's not going to happen. So more sensibly, we could just move to Mars.
It’s weird that we are all ‘different’ but we all want the same things. We are all unique fucking snowflakes with unique fucking perspectives on the world we live in but yet there’s the number one song by that same band we want. There’s the Coke we want. There’s the iPhone we stand in queues outside Apple for, just like last year. The only thing that seems to be new and different are the categories on Porn Hub.
My parents were also 24-years-old when they had me which today is like 11-year-old having a kid. And therefore not addled with vain sentience. They just had drunk sex, got knocked up and thankfully for me they took the hard way out.
Here’s an ethics question: Imagine there’s a button that you can push and when you do you get a million dollars BUT someone you don’t know, a total stranger, drops dead… Question - do you push the button? Yawn. Too easy. The real question is: What’s the best way of treating repetitive strain injury in ones button-pushing finger?
As a society, we select the popular culture and we get the famous people we deserve. These famous people are getting worse and worse. Chris Brown makes Bobby Brown look like Doc Brown. Fame is a gift we as the many bestow upon the few. We choose them off the vast carousel of talent, looks and oddness (mostly looks) and lift them up in our collective consciousness. It’s our innate desire for significance
Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind: it is an abomination. - Leviticus That’s the phrase. 13 words. Another piece of fine print from that bronze-aged manual for life. That’s the fact of the matter. Now let’s get our placards and make someone’s life hell.
Animals have to come off the menu. We could end our love affair with meat but that’s called being a ‘vegan’ and although meat could give you cancer of the arsehole being a vegan will turn you into an actual arsehole. What is the solution? It's surprisingly simple.
"There are two types of Smurfs. The Smurfs who are named after their personality IE: Vanity Smurf and Jokey Smurf – the happy ones. And the other type who are named what their job is IE: Handy Smurf and Painter Smurf - the ones who have no hope of ever smurfing Smurfette in the Smurf."