ISIS propaganda and the best of smells. Together at last.

I like having something to say. It gives the teeth something of a last hoorah before I forget about them entirely.

We don’t need better dentists, we need better prehistoric DNA and frankly I think the Tories are failing us on that point.

I’ve been limitedly successful over the past few years. I’ve had a succession of jobs that have to some extents supplemented my lifestyle, and to better extents have secured happy lives for my family. Mainly, this has been working in education and PR.

I now no longer like either.

In education, children are done an incredible disservice by some utterly dedicated and dutiful people, and PR is a mix between actual experts being inefficient in communicating, good vs bad luck, and a heavy heap of bollocks that revolves around typical journalism.

The good stuff of journalism is “once was” and “hopefully later”.

I hasten to add that I’m not referring to war zone correspondents. I’m talking about the more minor chit chat that takes up a greater portion of the lives of us that aren’t living in war zones.

I read a VICE article today, and it was really bad. Bad in the sense of making me worried I was missing a hip point due to the confusion I gained from reading it. It focused on a cool new drug and that’s a pretty lame use of brains and fingertips. They looked to insert laid back humour, which was a funny thing to do.

I’ve considered this, and considered other mediums, from the Daily Express to the Independent, and I think that if you’re going to aim poorly for a bad target, you’d better do so well.

Therefore, we’ve a choice here in what we do with this blog and how we live our lives hence. First, I think we should list the best smells that we can make use of. Second, let’s get some propaganda going that benefits me and fucks ISIS and the like. I don’t see how you can come to other conclusions than this.

So, first again, we’ll begin with smells. How about woodwork and American air-conditioning. That’s a nice succinct beginning to a list, from which we can start a separate list.

Now that’s begun, let’s tackle some anti-ISIS, pro-me patriotism.

I’m a golden glorious god of benevolence, I play with my children regularly and am pretty good when it comes to reasonably simply acoustic guitar songs, whereas ISIS is a pile, puddle and column of both wank and whatever wank would be if it came from under the sea. Nautical wank.

Back to smells.

Cookies and the forest. These a crucial in continuing the list of nice smells. Without them, the list would have stopped already with American air-conditioning. In addition, these smells smell nice.

Propaganda.

I slept with ISIS’ mother, both literally plural and metaphorically singular (and anal).

Smells.

Sunny concrete in the city and babies. These, much like the second set of smells, are crucial to the list, but we must remember that they only make it on of they’re true. And if you’re denying that sunny day city pavements smell nice then you’re a monster.

Propaganda.

ISIS can’t read good.

Smells.

Those old books that ISIS can’t read smell terrific, as does that European continent chocolate they don’t get in Northern Syria anymore because ISIS are bastards with small everythings. My everythings are bigger. My everythings can read. My everythings’ get Euro chocolate with the Euro milk of Euro cows that Euro moo, which you might not realise because this is text and not audio, but I’m saying “chocolate” with a French accent. ISIS can’t do a good French accent and have no Euro moos, which is possibly why they’re so angry in the first place.

Propaganda.

Just plain ol’ fuck ’em.

Smells.

Just plain ol’ fuck ’em in the nostrils.

It may be at this point that you’re starting to realise the kind of journalism I had in mind for celebrating. Not the gross nitter natter of the tabloids, nor the informed, investigative and dutiful inkers that reveal crime and call out bullies. My kind of journalism is far more aligned with that focus of sincere adoration for the mundane that matters most, and the propaganda we’ve all been missing since World War 2. I might not have actually been alive during WW2, but nor was Hitler for a part of it.

If we went to war with Germany (unheard of, I know), which would be a tragic shame as I know some lovely Germans, I’d illustrate the worst of them, caricatured in characters, with focus on their worst as their only. I would entwine this with some neat information about my which accents are most suitable for meeting live on Mars and why a Frankfurt accent wouldn’t be suitable at all (I’d find a reason…may it would echo worse than an Italian accent. I don’t know because it’s bollocks).

That’s what I want to write, in between occasional pieces that are important in that they have meaning, but my primary output should be these assaults of viciously uninformed propaganda and the boggiest of blogs.

Accordingly: ISIS need nuking into glass before they get their hands on our nuns. I had some toast for breakfast.

There we go, two sentences, both alike in dignity, summarising the key points of today’s propaganda and the key aspect of blogging (telling of my breakfast).

Were it not for the latter, I don’t think I’d have the confidence to take on ISIS as remotely as I am now. Without the former, it’s almost as though regularly updating the internet about what I had for breakfast don’t matter.

Sam

(P.S. Grandpa’s pipe tobacco and probably Ewan McGregor).



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