HEY, 1800s USA, get your own huddled masses

Posted: October 5, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Being European – I can assure you we worked jolly hard to have the huddled masses we’ve earned over the millennia, to the point that we’ve begun to enjoy huddling en masse.

We call it ‘a nice get-together’ with everyone ever.

And huddled masses don’t come easy.

You need to prioritise turnips, parsnips and several other bullshit vegetables that are fantastic long-term (shelf-life, if you’ve a shelf to be able to implement such a phrase) but are sadly lacking when it comes to reasons for living.

That’s the formulae for masses and huddling.

And frankly the United States should know better – especially in the century in which it was actually happening. Plus it is simply audacious to covert another continent’s huddled masses – it simply generates traffic for ferries and that is most unbecoming.

And the 1800’s USA isn’t the only historical era of a country that requires a good telling-off.

It’s easy to pick-on 1930s Germany for obvious reasons, but how about the pre-Christ Rome? Can you think of a nation with a greater need to get a grip that the one that decided ‘outwards violently’ was the means to a comfortable life?

Yes, it certainly did lead to a comfortable life for many Romans at the time, but not the ones required to be violent and certainly not for the ones required to have violence visited upon them like some grotesque form of stabby-tourism.

Remember the Franks? No-one does, they became both forgotten and French – and Rome should apologise for the latter.

Then there’s everything China did to the Chinese for a period of time that exceeds the history of the planet.

I believe ancient Chinese politics was interrupted, rudely, by evolution of the original mammals at some point, according to the most excellent of Chinese record keeping (the Tang period suffered an economic disaster as fish became land-dwellers: the fisherman were furious about all the time they’d wasted being on a fucking boat).

And then, of course, Genghis Khan needs a good rebuking too – primarily on the grounds of murder.

But when it comes to the USA sidling up to my – MY – huddled masses and treating them with the lack of contempt they deserve – that’s an overstep that I cannot ignore.

Therefore I wrote a blog, and now really must move on to other things.

All the best to you, huddled or otherwise,

Sam

Hey, stop being a dead guy

Posted: August 1, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Being all deceased in the corner over there.

Knock it off.

Act your age – you’re not ancient yet.

You’re starting to pong though.

Yes, ponging might be a sign of vibrant living, but I think you’re being a dead guy.

Is that your coffin?

Oh, you like coffins do you? Convenient and simple?

Well no, I don’t like them actually, I think they’re morbid to the point of you being a dead guy and you won’t admit it.

Look! You’re all stiff. Very inconvenient, what if there was a fire?

Convenient for a cremation, oh yes very droll, what with the coffin and all.

Definitely ponging though.

And you’re swelling, don’t deny it.

I’m not going to get too close, in case your pong pops. Gross.

Maybe if you behaved a bit differently, conducted yourself more properly, you wouldn’t give off this deadness.

It’s all about your attitude.

You’re coming across as someone who’s just wasting their time.

Stop being a dead guy, you big smelly metaphor.

Sam

Issues physically, facially, farcically

Posted: June 28, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

So.

So, so, so (as the Cat in the Hat said)…

There’s not enough space on the planet.

There’s not enough space now, because there’s not going to be enough space eventually.

Take holy war (take it, please) out of the equation, plus economic turmoil, climate migration and historic grudges ‘tween nations, and we’re still left with a problem that even bunk-beds can’t solve.

If humanity is to continue as per its namesake, then bunk-beds simply isn’t going to cut it, and nor will anything other than colonisation of the nearest, reddest planet.

Oh look, how convenient. Mars.

Bunk-beds on Mars, that’s practical.

Tolerating neighbours on this planet (and I’m talking about Earth – you’ve probably been there) just isn’t in the community spirit.

I’m talking about elbow-room, and I’m talking about elbow-room in the manner of someone more than ready to do some pretty effing serious elbowing if the neighbours start coming too close.

It’s going to get physical, before it gets celestial.

Physical at my end especially, due to my FFF (Fat Fucking Face).

That’s cause enough for someone to want depart the planet for redder shores, but not without giving said FFF a good elbowing first.

And I’d elbow them back, partly due to the insult, partly due to the frustration of the insult being based in fact (FFFF – Fat Fucking Face Fact), and partly to take their spot in the galactic life boat to Mars.

They’d respond in kind to my unkind response, and we’d proceed to elbow each other until either one of us has departed the planet or until we’ve both realised that this amount of elbows to the face is only making our faces farcically fatter (FFFFF – Farcically Fat Fucking Face Fact).

It’s just water weight. Which is great since I understand Mars needs water.

I hope that makes sense.

Sam

The Pope has died. I’m available.

Posted: April 21, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

It is the 21st April 2025 and the Pope has died.

I’m sure he was as positive and negative as any of us, despite the hat.

Coincidentally, I’m available if anyone is looking for a bit of Poping in their area.

I’ve done it all before in a very non-literal way.

I’ve never kissed someone else’s baby, nor someone else’s feet. But metaphorically, I’ve kissed many, many feet. Fewer babies (fewer baby’s feet), but still, I’m very forgiving.

I’m so forgiving, that frankly that’s the end of that sentence.

I’m so forgiving. So there.

Am I pious? More so than you!

Am I devoted? Kind of.

Am I observant of ecclesiastical doctrine? No.

However, if you’re looking for judgement – I’m you’re guy, and that’s your own fucking fault.

From most of what I can see, the previous Pope (prior to me – white smoke incoming…) there was a need for a little bit of change.

What change?

You know exactly what change was needed.

It’s the change that mattered to you.

That particular thing is so vitally, immensely important that it requires immediate attention obviously.

What that particular (etc., etc.) thing was, I’ve no idea, but to be clear – I’m still very happy to be Pope if you’re looking for one.

Can I make a difference as leader of one-point-something billion Catholics?

Undoubtely.

I can ruin things for everyone.

And if you thought the Catholic church had issues now…wait till you see what I’m willing to condem.

First of all – those who don’t like and subscribe immediately.

Second, those who constantly ask readers/viewers to like and subscribe. Get your own religion, loser.

Third, ah I’ve run out of steam. Work in the morning, no one is paying me for this, etc again.

Etc a third time.

A fourth etc, and RIP to the previous guy (I’m sure, really, he’s letting the big-guy know we all say “hi”) but by gosh I just need to log off now because this is just simply, frightfully, awfully, ongoing.

Amen (no offence).

Sam

Social media: nothing has changed. But we must.

Posted: December 19, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

About a year ago (when would have been a good time to share publish this blog) – there was a great deal made of ‘X’ (then, and forever really, ‘Twitter’) becoming a platform permitting right-wing content, bullying and dangerous topics.

I myself didn’t notice any difference, the only real impact being that WordPress would no-longer be so easily shareable to the X site.

Perhaps, it depends on where on the X site you’re looking. I wasn’t really looking at right-wing, bullying or dangerous things, so that might be why. I just desperately scrawling through it to see who was sharing blogs about what they had for breakfast.

But there was no change I could tell.

I did notice, however, that there was something still a major factor of social media. As I spent hours scrolling and scrolling through the content on X, Instagram, and Facebook, it eventually dawned on me that social media is a profound waste of time.

And I’ve only got so much time, and I need it to write about my breakfast (today, toast. Tomorrow, the world!).

Hasn’t it always been a waste of time? Perhaps a cool waste of time? Especially X?

In my life, Facebook was the original place to waste time: posting pointless updates featuring the latest and most hip abbreviations, sharing photos of people literally just sitting around with a variety of hand gestures, and ‘liking’ pages ranging from an esoteric movie (Ergo: “Hey, I’m esoteric, like this movie.“) to (and I don’t know what to call this): a page titled “Hey it’s snowing! Brilliant!“.

Photos continued to be shared on Facebook through my 20s, and now I can’t delete the damn thing because it is the sole location of my kid’s baby photos. Mine too, probably.

Twitter was meant to be the means by which my extraordinary blog would be shared with soon-to-be adoring fans, as well as a foundation for further research into the absurdly interesting concepts that I could soon write about.

But then, I was ‘followed’ by a local carpet shop in my home town and I realised its proclivity for wasted time was confirmed. They still follow-me, and they too don’t seem any more right-wing than usual (likely due to going out-of-business several years ago).

Instagram is brilliant, the best way to share images and video. A great place for a blog, surely.

Otherwise, every other social media seems to be the same.

TikTok only seems to differ from Instagram as it is a means of People’s Republic of China’s subversion of Western stability, whilst Instagram is less-so. Instagram is best at short videos, YouTube long ones, TikTok pro-sedition ones.

Rest assured, what we had for breakfast can be duly shared on each of these.

My point is that the whilst there’s focus of each social media, the fact is they’re all broadly a waste of time.

Yes, I’m sure you too have heard of people who met their one-true love on Facebook, or are making money from Instagram, or even using the platform to share truly inspiring content. But you’re not, you didn’t and you likely won’t.

You did, however, waste your time. And not in the right way.

Remember that time on Facebook when there was a specific scenario benefiting you with brilliant life-experience a great tale to tell? No, of course not. Exactly the same as when you were on Twitter and nothing proceeded to happen there either.

It’s better to have a bad day in bad weather than to waste time on social media.

That way, you can either make good use of time or waste it too, but it’ll be real-life. Which is useful either way. More social media – less you.

Social media is not an experience.

We’re programmed to find ways to use and waste time as humans. Look at me writing this blog – a far more productive way to waste time.

Ultimately, social media hasn’t changed. It didn’t need to. Neither did we, but we do now.

Waste time in real life, not online.

Sam

Summer is coming all over a town near you’s tits.

Posted: May 9, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Vulgarity gets you everywhere.

The people love it.

They love it in Buckingham Palace, they love it in the White House and in the Hamptons, they love it in on airplanes and under the sea.

‘Undiscovered‘ tribes that haven’t discovered us yet – have discovered vulgarity and they love it.

Now, naturally you need to be vulgar in a very classy way.

And that’s not writeable by people like me. I don’t know if anyone can write about it – or even begin to explain it.

Saying “fuck” (which, incidentally, is very rude) can be learned, but it can’t be written.

“Fuck” – see?

Approach the King of England and say “fuck” is a non-classy way, and it won’t go down too well. They’ve got ‘people‘ to deal with your sort of ‘person‘ that isn’t saying “fuck” as they jolly-well should be.

However, say it to Charlie with class, “fuck” with panache, and you’ll find yourself knighted.

He might even say it back to you, with even more panache – since he’s a monarch and divine, etc.

‘Panacheier‘ you might say, alongside “fuck“.

And this works in job interviews, contract negotiations, and social relationships.

Well not really, but it does work well after those scenarios.

Vulgarity is broadly applicable, in love, war, and blogging (fuck).

It’s not a good way to raise your kids, but aside from that – I strongly advise you say “fuck” a regularly, between meals, and get vulgar. There are other words of vulgarity I could demonstrate, but since I’ve really latched-on to ‘fuck‘ – I’ll perservere.

But the joy of variety in vulgarity is yours.

For instance, exhibit A – summer.

I write this in May 2024 and it’s getting warmer, lighter, longer and happier in that way that comes even before the promise of summer. I could get poetic of the smells and the touches and the living and the music, but I can also say “summer is coming all over a town near you’s tits” and that’s fine.

There’s no doubt – the grammar seems to be a bit off, but it’s technically not. The perception of the grammar being off makes it appear all the more vulgar, and that’s a positive.

Because vulgarity works. Ask the powerful.

Ask the influential in politics and communications.

Keep it classy, but a well timed “fuck” can get you ahead in life, and whilst living that same life – “fuck” can really personify how you’re feeling as the seasons become less dreadfully ‘seasonal‘ and instead suggest once more that total myth we all love to believe of summer once again coming for us.

Coming to re-embolden our souls as we make the choices that define us.

Coming to remind us of the point of life and the joy of living.

Coming….all over a town near you’s tits.

Yes, that’s not how you spell it. And yes, it’s so egregious that you forget the word “tits” is in there – but this……this is all the above.

And the below.

This is Shakespeare.

This is Aaron Sorkin.

This is Hunter S Thompson.

Three writers that I’m sure would have a great evening (to the point of breakfast) together.

The “fuck” is intrinsic to all we are and all we aspire to be. It brings us back to the horizons we aim for, all whilst enjoying the informal trepidation that comes from knowing “fuck” is acceptable to say in present company, and that now we can really get down to business.

The business of vulgarity.

The business of summer.

Fuck. In a classy way.

Sam

How to deal with body odour without washing.

Posted: May 2, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Observe my tips | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I get smelly armpits on account of the bacteria that eats the dirt within my sweat, which they then poo.

So do you.

Everyone does. It’s a problem.

Finding yourself cut short, without a chance for a bath in immediate sight, the solution is surely deodorant, right?

No! Wrong, stop being wrong!

The solution is aftershave!

Or, to say it louder in written form: AFTERSHAVE!

Why?

Alcohol!

Why alcohol?

Well, aside from “why the hell not alcohol?” – it’s because the alcohol content of aftershave actually kills the bacteria that eats the dirt in your sweat and poos it into the smelly smell.

It kills the bacteria – and isn’t that something we can all get behind?

So, just about 6-8 squirts around each armpit and you’ll find not only is the bacteria defeated, but you can’t smell anything else but the aftershave.

Because you’ve overdosed on it. Or, more like a scorched Earth policy for your armpits.

Deodorant doesn’t do dat.

Anti-perspirant stops the sweat, but it doesn’t kill the bacteria that is still in your armpit, currently pooing. Probably sniggering as it does so.

Now, naturally, another solution is to bathe. But we’re all busy writing blogs and reading THIS one (I simply cannot fathom another way to spend one’s time) to be expected to wash our crevices.

Plus – it takes a lot of water to bathe properly, and that’s frankly killing the planet.

And I get it – “killing the planet“: sounds kind of cool.

“Hey – I’m a planet killer. Well, that’s what a blog called me once.” – there’s no better way to introduce yourself to people.

But do you want to risk introducing yourself to people with smelly armpits, which you can’t undo because you didn’t read this blog featuring the tip about aftershave?

Of course not.

So, save the planet, wear aftershave on your armpits when smelly, kill the bacteria, and read this blog.

Dear god – you’d better read this blog.

Apart from the other things I have; it’s all I’ve got. This blog, my family, career, home, health, and a vast array of tips – that’s all I’ve got, nothing else.

Hope that helps.

Sam

The internet isn’t sexy, and it isn’t helping

Posted: April 6, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I was distracted after writing the above title, by brief segment from a chat-show featuring a guest speaking about why having core stability is important for Formula One racing.

Apparently, it’s very important. For Formula One racing.

I don’t like Formula One racing, though I admit I’ve a soft spot for core stability.

The time I spent on the…….sorry I became distracted again and started browsing for cigars online.

The internet – it is distracting, and not in a good way.

The internet is only as wonderful as it is – and that’s about it.

When I think of the internet being most useful and worth keeping, I picture vital research being finalised in a lab in Australia thanks to some AI programming, then being discussed on a video-conference-call with Europe-based colleagues, and then shared with a children’s hospital when it saves a baby’s life in the nick of time. And then the news is celebrated amongst Facebook friends.

Yes, there’s also music, online communities, access of life-saving information, and occasionally – OCCASIONALLY – a funny video of a cat having a slightly bad time; all of which is tremendous.

Otherwise, it is a unsexy place – location undetermined but seemingly everywhere – and stopping people from approaching one another normally. Of course, ‘normally’ for humans – online or ‘off’ (I like that term – I am “off“) will remain as strange as it ever was before, thanks to people having it within their DNA to make things interesting.

These engagements don’t need to be online. It is preferable to take a single step out doors and try it thus instead. It’s better for your cardio.

The internet is not good for your cardio.

Cardio is sexy, leads to sex, and actually is sex too.

Whilst the internet might lead to sex – it certainly doesn’t do so in a sexy fashion; a click of a button is neither romantic, or attractive. ‘Sexy’ is almost as important as sex itself.

‘Sexy’ is a reason I am involved in things and with people, but aside from my wife – they’ve nothing to do with sex, but they sure as hell are sexy.

Indeed, I have many sexy friends that I don’t find remotely attractive, which I tell to the remaining few of them all the time.

In fact, the benefits of the internet, as broad, varied and accurate as they may be, seem to be proven in the individual instead of en masse.

The individual – who used internet forums to lose weight. Most are gaining weight from lack of movement.

The individual – who developed their friendship circle of like-minded folk to enjoy happily. Must feel more alone than ever, especially when self-judging in comparison to the beautiful people online.

Beauty is important a point that the internet has hammered-home and lost altogether. Once, physical beauty of a person was an exception. Of course everyone is beautiful but no they’re not. Quite a few are pretty, or kind of handsome, but few are beautiful.

The internet has reduced the unique advantage of beauty as something special. Beautiful is now ‘just-another-beautiful‘.

Naturally, everyone wants to breed with someone that is actually attractive – and all the more so if beautiful. I do, anyway. But now that physical beauty is everywhere, thanks to an online ubiquity, it’s not quite the same selling point as it once was.

Therefore, I predict now that in soon-years, physical beauty as a focal point will be replaced in favour of a unique face, one that suggests character over symmetry; balls over cheekbones. Smells good.

The internet has no scent.

It is whiffless, and this should tell us all we need to know.

But there’s more.

Dogs do not approach the internet, despite being such as prominent feature on social media and veterinary sites. If a dog doesn’t trust it,

If the internet were to attend parties, it would be the rather uncouth character fraudulently telling everyone about ladies he’s been with, attempting to sell you a variety of essentially unnecessary items but primarily penis enlargement pills, and speaking in acronyms and then delightedly rolling his eyes when older folk don’t understand.

The internet ain’t got no class.

Oscar Wilde would not invite the internet to one of his soirées, nor would he have need to use the internet as I just did to spellcheck “soirée”.

Another subject I needed to check with online help was the names and faces of the original 150 Pokemon.

I’ve wondered for a while if my two young children (3 and 5) would have their attention held by the programmes I watched when I was their age. So I gave the original pokemon series a go on YouTube.

Sure enough they loved it, but whilst they enjoyed the stories – laughing and silent at all the right moments – I was squirming with resistance to the urge to search online for the full 150 names and faces of each Pokemon.

I succumbed.

This is the data I do not need, but in that scenario I felt I could not do without it and now, in my brain, its there.

150.

So many minutes.

Afterwards, and indeed at the time, I preferred to spend the time with my children, watching them enjoy the cartoon, or I could have turned to this blog and make it a little better, or even dropped and given a solid round of push-ups. But instead, I had to have the instant knowledge, and it is distinctly unsexy.

Yes, of course the internet is fantastic when it’s needed, but we don’t need it as much as we use it.

There’s nothing wrong with a healthy thirst for knowledge, but there’s nothing wrong with not knowing something every now and then, let alone immediately.

And yes, this blog is on the internet, but nobody is trying to suggest this blog is a good thing. I could take it offline, and just comment your address below so I can post each blog to you in the mail.

The internet isn’t sexy. I don’t like online banking, which is remarkably more convenient and cost-effective, because I prefer bank tellers. I dislike home online-streaming services, but really want to go to the cinema and smell the popcorn. I prefer not to order online goods, as I really enjoy getting lost and confused in a department store, hoping my wife will come and find me.

It makes the world something you view, rather than be party to the people in it, and with head full of the kind of inane you don’t want. And I know what kind of inane I like – it smells like popcorn and is trusted by dogs.

If you haven’t got people – you haven’t got much.

And I’ve got some.

Sam

An unromantic hotel room.

Posted: March 6, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Brief...therefore witty. | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I think a good hotel room is unromantic.

Same as how a happy life, without conflict, drama or the overcoming of both, doesn’t make for a good story.

Happy stories are for the birds, unlike the movie ‘The Birds’ by Alfred Hitchcock, which is a fantastic idea about birds attacking rooftops and that being an issue for some reason (the cure for zombie apocalypse, human or avian, is baseballbats directly into the blood stream – just not your bloodstream).

I’m in a hotel room as I write this and it’s fine.

Quite nice actually. Comfy bed, door locks as it was built to, TV televises, and the window offers a vista of one of England’s more breathtaking carparks.

All rather nice, all rather dull. Nice. How nice. Very nice.

No one likes a good experience be relayed to them, it’s uninspiring.

You don’t pull your closest friends to the side to tell them that there’s no need to rise to the challenge because it turns out everything is nice and the TV works, therefore they’ll be no righteous battles, mountains hurdled or passionate shagging tonight, thank you.

People like a good story about a bad time, preferably overcome but not vital to the hopes of battles, hurdling and shagging.

This hotel room has vibes, and they’re comfortable.

I didn’t realise it’d have vibes when I booked it.

I just wanted a bad time, every now and then, to keep things interesting and to make sure there’s a tale to tell.

Oh well, maybe the room service breakfast will be subparr.

I’ll be sure to let you know

Sam

PS: Next morning. There was only one sausage. Hilarious! But still, regrettably, nice.

Why I don’t remember my weekends.

Posted: January 26, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: Matters that Matter | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I tend not to remember my weekends, because I tend not to remember most things that aren’t memorable.

I cooked pig’s feet on Sunday night, and I have literally no clue what we took place.

No clue.

I’m thoroughly informed on the flavour of trotters (taste like pig feet, probably like your feet too), but not on the preceeding 48 hours.

It’s because I ‘Walter Mitty’ – but not in the exotic or adventurous sense like the famous movie.

Instead, when my weekend is happening, and especially when my wife is explaining to me what we’re doing for the weekend, I like to get lost in an internal fiction of mundane oddness.

And it’s very frustrating.

I’d love to enjoy the memories of a weekend, or maybe even the weekend itself, but I reverie without mercy to the point that I’ve broadly got no idea what’s going on.

My wife was speaking, as I presume she does regularly, and instantaneously I began daydreaming about how I would explain to an ancient Viking that a cow is female, using only the most choice grunts and hand-gestures.

Why did I do that?

I didn’t do that!

That daydream happened to me and I simply couldn’t look away.

If this bizarre scenario played itself in your head – you’d also miss-out on your wife’s plans for your weekend.

And to be frank, whilst I’d like to enjoy the weekend, sometimes – I also really want to give some serious consideration to how I’d explain to an ancient Viking that a cow is female, and then watching myself in my own head, with an ancient Viking I’ve never even met before, miming a vagina whilst really committing to an effeminate moo.

Sometimes, I’d really like to do that.

But, reality is also lovely at times.

My wife and kids a smashing, really lovely. Can’t fault them at all.

My wife walks towards me with a smile that she can’t help – because she, like me, has a massive face.

Thus, she presents me with a smile, the same way someone might want to show me they’ve a bucket.

And my children – they’re worth being around for, as well as all that parental responsibility, etc.

My son reminds me of me, he’s the best show off and hopefully will do better than having a blog one day.

My daughter makes me laugh, and I expect that’s a phase till she finds easier means of getting chocolates and dollies.

How do they compare with an ancient Viking ignorant of bovine gender?

They’re preferable, but I’m still distracted by the ridiculous.

I’ll just have to concentrate on the preferable, I suppose.

But I hope you appreciate that having an uninvited Nordic fellow, complete with axe and beard and numerous other stereotypic apparel, inserted into your head from nowhere, might be distracting.

Because it is – I’ve written a whole blog about it. That’s how distracting it is – it gives me focus.

If this distracting focus makes me a millionaire thanks to this blog, that’s a negative – I don’t want my son to be inspired by such things.

He’s already distracted enough, with the void look in his eyes that tells me that in his head he’s somewhere nicer than the conversation I’m currently giving him.

He needs a good, solid focus, uninfluenced by fictional Vikings and me.

He needs his grinning mother – the ultimate reality, the sort you can both hang your hat on and rely.

My daughter will be fine, she takes after the ultimate reality with the big face.

I’m reminded of something teachers have said for, I expect, centuries…”must try harder”.

I’ll certainly try.

Sam