How To Get Some Of That Gay Marriage.

I understand…that some people have a problem with another bunch of people. And that bunch of people…have a problem with that previous bunch of people.

The first bunch of people is religious people.

The second bunch of people is the gay community, as well as almost everyone else.

The problem that the first group of people have is that gay people want to get married in their religious establishment.

The problem of the second group of people is that they wish to get married in the religious establishments that they grew up in.

The solution is obvious.

Allow gay marriage.

No?

Oh I see…you have another problem.

You need to grow up.

To begin with, and I suppose…ultimately…not to do so is cruel. It’s true.

If you don’t want people to be a part of your religion, or to have it in their own concept- then don’t have a religion because that’s what people do with it.

Some Christians believe that Gay Marriage is something that allows a previously (often- still) persecuted people to enjoy both their religious emotions and their romantic emotions.

If, as a religion, you wished only for heterosexual people to marry in your church then you must, by all means and accounts, NOT be involved with children.

Regretfully, preaching works, and people will have a tendency to believe when they are told to as children (Father Christmas- don’t deny it) and then take it with them into adult life. Because of this, the homosexuality that arises inside them (which no-one told them to do or be like) is either pushed down deep beneath the skin and further into their hurting soul or these Christian couples will meet and seek to continue their sexual/romantic lifestyle in the essence of their relative religious belief.

In this case, and after the centuries that this has been going on for (referring to homosexual religious folk that suffered this internal religious conflict), the decision the church is making is insisting that people either suffer their dilemma emotionally alone within the flock, or that they live with the one that matters most to them and be in religious pain as they are cast from their place of worship.

Or…they could permit Gay Marriage.

Keep religious influence away from kids, and then those kids that are or will be gay won’t wish to grow up to marry in a religious context. To deny them this is technically to deny them a life dream that you (the church) instilled in them.

It is possible that throughout their lives they have been watching their parents, family and friends fall in love and marry…and then continue to worship as a ‘GOD’-recognised couple.

Because apparently that’s what ‘GOD’ gives a shit about.

My next point is the childishness about this.

You (you fucking big baby of a religious establishment) can change the rules.

Yes, you can.

You have been doing it for many hundreds of years.

Take, for example, the situation with the shellfish.

In case you’re thinking of the weird thing that might have happened to you that one wet morning with the shellfish- I’m referring to 11:12 (chapter and verse) of the book of Leviticus which states that: “Whatsoever hath no fins nor scales in the waters, that shall be an abomination unto you”.

Now- I know I’ve watched a vicar eating prawns before, and she looked like she was really enjoying it. Like she was really enjoying it.

No one complained that this was happening, and it’s not as though it was too late to stop her from swallowing. We could have found a way. We would have found a way.

You see, this rule wasn’t changed- it just became ignored.

And there’s another thing…the vicar was a she.

It used to be a rule that she that sought to be a vicar would have their intentions smote by the fickle church until enough normal people complained and it became painfully obvious that the sheer stubborn refusal was…childish.

You can change the rules, and you should in order to prevent further addition to your reputation for cruelty to those not part of the flock- especially those that wish to be a part of it.

Not only can you change the rules, not only should you change the rules, but you undoubtedly must stray from your habit of stubbornness and instead make course along the church’s typical path of dissent and evolution.

Dissent from the religion has been the means (and at times doom) for its many of our true saviours.

Those that dissented from the church did so by, for example, dissecting corpses. If this had not been risked by the dissenters, then medical science would be far behind what it currently is- many more people would have died from contemporarily preventable conditions and diseases- and we’d still be presuming that the heart makes blood.

Praise our saviours that persisted in the dissent of translating, printing and distributing the bible in English, the effect being (aside from the spreading of the words of Jesus) that those in supposed possession of supernatural power and privilege had their grip upon the balls of the people weakened and the minds (and therefore- power) of the people heightened.

Have you ever read from a bible in English?

And are you able to read and write?

Have you ever been medically treated and saved by the knowledge that the dissenters discovered?

Then thank the dissenters and also thank the church for if they hadn’t changed the rules then these miracles of dissent would not have produced the beautiful wonders that they have. Wonders like polio vaccines and punk rock. Wonders like literature and contraceptives (could you be any more thankful- you can read a rip-roaring thriller and then calm yourself down with a nice conception-free shag).

My advice to those that want to be remembered as the Luther of the contemporary church had best dissent with the cries of the people. This is what the church has always done- it has needed those courageous, cheeky givers-of-a-shit dissenters to allow the church to make sense. Also known as Galileo.

Christianity is a concept that has had to EVOLVE.

If it hadn’t evolved, then it wouldn’t be here still.

Via allowing the bible to be printed (and read) in English, by permitting forays into medical and astronomical science (not to mention physics), by desegregating the church and by finally allowing women to be considered as something beyond a possession and a means to more men, Christianity has become something that finally denounces those that denounce gays, and also ‘Tweets’.

For the church to be what it is now- old rules had to be forgotten and outlooks had to fade away, progression was necessary to survival, for if it hadn’t- the vital membership would have dwindled to none.

To the church I suggest you adapt now to survive, before the religion is extinct. It’s what you always have done, and if you don’t…as I said earlier. As a dodo.

Religion is based on fear and love.

The love is what we all know and celebrate- the means of progression (there is no moving forward without love for something) for the church and all things. For many it is the essence of the faith.

But there is an evil undertone to the religion which is present and obvious throughout its history and is undeniable in cases such as the Gay Marriage debate.

Fear of the alternative, fear of change, fear of being ‘made’ to alter your existence…and fear breeds fear. This is the cause for many to flood to the doors of the church as though it was the final seconds before the ark’s departure and you’ll find an animal to go two-by-two with when you’re on board. Fear and panic now. Think when you’re not afraid; which will never happen.

Be courageous and save your religion by abandoning the superstitious side of faith and instead focusing on several teachings from the second testament:

Love thy neighbour.

Turn the other cheek.

Treat others as you yourself would wish to be treated.

If to picket the funerals of dead soldiers owing to their sexuality is absurd, then to deny people happiness in their life, owing to sexuality…is that not surely obscene?

You have the right to your religion- but you don’t have a right to be cruel and that’s all the insistence against Gay Marriage amounts to- fear and cruelty.

The fear and cruelty will be abandoned and the either the church will be too, or it will evolve to be a body of love…which will care that gays marry only as much as it does that blondes marry brunettes.

The fear and cruelty will be abandoned, and as history has proven, love will intervene and that’s all we need.

Grow up.

Sam.

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Women And Begetting.

Women are women. You might have noticed.

What aspects of these creatures are we all to consider as items of biological personality worth considering?

Things to be enjoyed and things to be remembered- in case they turn and gang up on you. These things follow. They are numerical, so I hope you enjoy that.

1. There is nothing quite like holding, or being held, by a woman. You can set yourself right into that zone of physical emotion that takes over when it comes simply to a pair of thin but unrelenting arms being around you. This can be accomplished by hugging a bloke as well- but as we know, when it comes to physical contact, and especially when it comes to women, females are far more preferable in terms of being appropriately lumpy. Men are inappropriately lumpy- the opinion of many.

Then we have the flavour of females. The sheer smack of hormones from one of those ‘whiffable’ beauties can send you overboard and inside out- both of which are admirable traits in a man thoroughly using a woman he should.

In this same vein we have the flavour of either pair of lips. The upper’s are focused around the sensation of touch (touching all over what you have been brave enough to ask them to) and the appearance. Making a woman do that smiling thing with those upper lips of hers- it makes you imitate with a compulsion that denies you your supposed intelligence and reminds only of the duo facts: that you are barely beyond a childish ape, and you are making this woman.

As for the lower lips- we all know about them. If you don’t- I can only recommend it.

I want to give those lower lips a medal, you would too. And the smell…is tremendous. There is nothing like the flavour of fanny to be promised to you for the end of the day. Penetration is the ultimate reward for a hard day’s work. Get into it and it’s hard to stop thrusting. The flavour is undoubtedly meaty, but there’s not much that can be done about that. If anything- it’s of benefit to the nostrils, the meat being sweet and the presence of that smell so close to your nostrils only suggests that the proximity to your own genitals is favourable.

That feeling…dear sweet heavens above…that feeling. It has been widely noted that the feel of a woman is the inspiration that makes us (being the men of mankind) do anything. You can even name it- anything you can name is something we’re prepared to do.

I like to refer to it as: ‘The Reason’.

It feels like you’re back to the place you’ve been trying to get to since you opened your eyes, and it feels like that in your penis. And it feels like that in your hair. It feels like that in your teeth and your hips. In your finger-tips and your heart and lungs and toes. It feels like…as I’ve said…’The Reason’.

I recommend it.

2. I was once standing directly between two women that were defending their children from one another.

It was stunning- I have never been so impressed. You could see the hormones steaming off of them in the cold air of the day. I felt like I was…just a male, caught in between.

You see, one of the children has slapped the offspring of the other woman on the play equipment at a local park. The mother of she-who-was-slapped made a point of approaching the child so as to scare the shit out of him to ensure this wouldn’t happen again, at which point the mother of the ‘slappee’ intercepted and then the literal finger-pointing began. And the screeching.

Being male, whatever that might mean, I made my way over to intercept, and failed the fuck out of it. I arrived as the screeching was impressive enough to make me go all meek. Both were very ready to kill and die as their instincts kicked in and the power of mildly-loud speech fled too. I think they would’ve been ready to eat each other as well. It seemed natural.

So, to avoid a fight by the mothers in front of their children, I simply stood between them and encouraged them to laugh at the hilarity of the situation. Neither conceded until I was eventually firm (and sweet-Jesus was I firm) and sent one off in the other direction.

As I turned back to the remaining mother, I realised she was pointing at me. With her finger. Screaming. I also realised that my knees were touching.

There is nothing like being told off by a woman. Particularly a mother. Because they know that they can wither you down to the raisin that you are whilst you cower in respect of their grapey-self. What comes next is their reasons for why they’re good at this. They have to be.

3. Women are a people living in constant fear, or at least acknowledgement of, of being ‘socially defeated’ by a male.

You see, men are bigger and stronger than their female counterparts. Their hands are larger, with a denser skeleton, a superb (comparatively) reaction time and a two instincts that are far more intimidating than we men care to consider.

The first instinct of men is to not get beaten down. Therefore, we are somewhat naturally able to beat the good-grief out of most things. We know how to hurt, and we will keep trying until we know how to.

The second instinct is to occupy women. To take them, have them, grip them tightly…to own them in quantity.

These two instinct are frightening. The first instinct scares us all, man fears man, woman fears man. The second instinct is one that men accept as an aspect of their nature, whilst for women- it makes them walk home in the dark quickly, a slight presence of fear being forever there.

Imagine, fellas, that half the species out there was bigger than you, with an obvious instinct to defeat and kill whatever is defeat-able and kill-able. And that you were one of those things that was defeat-able and kill-able, you will really, really appreciate just how rape-able you are. The guys out there that might have had no choice in who or what touched them might understand this.

Women are a people frightened. This needs to be remembered. Particularly when it comes to high-heels.

4. Heels are the female phallus, simply beneath the sole (it’s wordplay. You should know that).

As we know woman are a people tormented, not by the fact that they are small and weak, but rather more because they are smaller and weaker than their counter-parts: mankind.

Second-fiddle is a literal place to be throughout the history of womankind. The physical reasons for this have been discussed, so now we encounter the means for women to deal with this problem.

Largely, this means high-heels. Those extra few inches make a massive difference when you are required to look a man in the eye. We don’t discuss it, but we all know that the few inches difference between two opponents means something. Even when it doesn’t come down to blows, the sociological meaning of those inches is that (if you are taller): “I am the superior- I am the larger”, whereas if you’re…petit: “You are the larger, I am petit. Congrats on your success”.

So, those meaningful inches enable women in boardrooms and staffrooms and in all places of business to look a man in the eye and therefore- be equal. At least in terms of confrontation occurring in the fancy form of conversation.

Not entirely equal (and therefore, I suppose, not technically…equal) but it makes an enormous difference.

I have worked with women my entire life and if you have too then you might not have realised that nigh-on every single woman you encounter is in fact an inch or two shorter than you have happily presumed. Their height is a lie, and you fell for it. You mug.

You had no idea that the average woman is probably actually a great deal smaller than you. She has altered her appearance to change your perception of her, and more importantly, her perception of herself.

Women have crafted this tool for themselves to promote their capabilities in the dialect of eye-contact. By making themselves the same height as men, or at least slightly less short, they have been making themselves a presence physically considered in a different format than previously.

Previously they were considered as legs, bosoms, backsides and lovely long hair.

Now they are considered as something that might tower over you when pissed off- something that is unpleasant to collide with, not just out of manners, but out of the sheer mass being unfavourable to meet at speed.

Height-via-heels makes you think about that. Hair does not. Hair makes you think about one of the things covered in ‘Point 1’…something to grip.

5. Big Hair is just tremendous to have tumbling down a woman’s back, poofed up around her head and neck and tickling the light fixtures of whatever room they’re in. Big Hair. I want to get me some. So do you.

For me, Big Hair is an interesting subject as it is a cross between the high-heeled phallus effect that women use to become physically imposing and the simple suggestion of something so sexy that most men have no option but to achieve erection and have it stay with them for several days. Big Hair- visual viagra.

Women are then, following the sheer sexual power that such body parts and persona have on a man, able to walk away. And so these men, although they might be ‘with-boner’; they are very, very lonely. With a boner.

Making a man lonely with an erection is the greatest power that a woman can have. It is this power than makes a man go to work in the hope that the sensation might leave him and that the pleasure of ‘Point 1’ might arrive- all over him.

This is power far beyond what a fist can do.

This is the power of the species- controlling how we make more of them.

6. Babies seem to have quite a bit of pull in this world.

They seem to have their own power that overcomes all that a man and a woman can offer. Indeed- it is what makes a man and a woman offer all that they can.

But if you fuck with a guy’s car, his collection of albums or his mother- you can be sure that you’ve crossed a line.

You don’t really have this with women. The only example that women have of this, aside from if you try to tackle their man-friend, is if you try to take/eat their children.

Now this obviously this tracks back to ‘Point 2’ but I want to address something else in link with it.

Women…want…children. In the same way that men feel that perpetual need to go about the means of procreation, women feel the need to have a baby. And when they’ve had that baby- they will smell it and be happy.

You, being merely male, are forgotten about- you were only the means, now you are creep that is never going to be good enough for her children, because nothing is going to be good enough for her children. This is a good mother.

As a man, you are like everything else that seemed lusty at the time of sex, and afterwards seems kind of gross. A discarded condom, puddles of semen gone awry in its aim, and little curly hairs. You rank amongst these now and- no- it isn’t fair. That’s possibly why you have that need to move on and go about sexing the women you encounter.

What is my point?

7. The point of this all is that as a man- you are doomed to females and doomed to lack of females.

They are the entire purpose of you being here. Just as there would be no children without parents- there would be no men without women- and indeed vice-versa.

As I said before, women are women and that is fine. There really is little we can do about that and really there is not much that we should do about that.

All you have to remember is that their smell is hypnotising, their gravitas is undeniable, their fury is unmatchable even by the sun, their maternal instinct is final, they are smaller than you think and they are frightened, they might have big hair for you to look forward to, and they feel…just like a woman.

I hate them because I love them so much- fairly much the definition and a great way to end this article.

What all these aspects beget is one of those feelings that seems eternal from this side of the clock. It is some kind of love and some kind of nature molten together into this female character and body which gives us a reason to be here, rather than an excuse.

Women, begetting and what women beget- it’s a heck of a thing to stand and enjoy.

Sam


The Metaphors Are Rusty.

I’ve been up a mountain.

It didn’t help.

No change to my personality or outlook occurred, nor do people sense a degree of empowerment about the way I walk now.

I meet challenges in the exact same manner as I did before.

And so it was that I came to realise- these metaphors…they are bollocks.

A mountain is the literal poster-boy of determination; the metaphor used by those to say: “you should probably respect me because I went up that, you know”.

Climbing a mountain is one thing that takes determination for some. It is only relative.

This was one of those metaphors that one simply encounters in life, and it has no bearing on the way you perceive your events and course. Climbing a mountain- something that for some is the establishment of ‘Let’s do something tricky’, is for many others a challenge that is not apparent as such.

For many others, a greater challenge would be what consumes their interest. Like a woman that sits down one morning and decides that the only way to continue is to eat only things that are alive and really rather wriggly when encountering a fork.

That is tricky.

Now, I’m not saying that for me climbing a mountain is easy, though it is one ‘helluva’ (that’s right- ‘helluva’) lot easier to walk up one than to climb up one. It’s just…what’s the pay-off?

Well, in this you have two main aspects.

To begin with, finally you have the view from the top. That’s a big one, though interestingly enough you need to be atop a mountain with the view a bit further than the end of your nose. Fog, mist and cloud cover might get in the way of what there is to see, although as well, perhaps the fog is what there is to see. I suppose it’s a little weird, so I suppose it’s a little enjoyable.

And this leads me onto the second point. The interesting things that might occur to your person as you make you way up and down.

I was nearly blown off a mountainside in a torrent of rain and punch of wind. A tempest you might say, only punchier.

Here, the acquisition of the summit mattered not- it was the danger and activity at all other points that made me smile. The pay-off was the wandering, not the arrival.

And so it might go as truth to say that all the pleasure of the journey could have been achieved by avoiding the top. Should anything of value to you occur at the top- then that is due to luck rather than likelihood.

Yet, for so many the summit seems to be the entire point, whereas one might argue that, aside from what I have already, the point is in striving through the climb and having a really bad time. If you don’t do that, then the reason for the climb is lost for so many.

“I hope you nearly fall off the mountain. That’s why you’re going isn’t it?”

And what other metaphors and sayings amount to a severe need to be reconsidered?

‘Sheep’?

The question: ‘Sheep?’ is a good one.

Yes, sheep are like the people they are aligned to in metaphor. Running to and with the crowd. Gnawing upon crud, doing little else. Being fairly thick.

But you’d better believe that for some reason, out of nowhere, out of some-hellish-blue those woolly fuckers will head-butt you and any part of you.

The average man in the street is not of this ilk. He will not head-butt you here, there or anywhere, whereas I prefer to assume that a sheep is going to head-butt some portion of my person. This is from valued, ugly and- yes- regrettably woolly experience.

As for a next step from here, now that we all know what’s really going on, it is apparent that we should establish a whole bunch of new metaphors and, as such, sayings.

“Eiffel Tower It” is a saying that I hope will come into pass one day when someone does something vital at the time to someone else using the Eiffel Tower. Whatever that thing is, and it will likely involved thrusting, I hope the saying lasts.

“The Metaphors Are Rusty” is evidently an appropriate saying for when the components of the old world crumble in the face of actual experience by each new generation. “The Writing’s On The Wall” in this case, that a thorough and piercing re-evaluation of what words in a certain order were previously ours.

So “The Metaphors Are Rusty”, and I’m about to make like a banana.

You may find me making like a banana at neither the top nor bottom of a mountain, but everywhere in-between.

Sam.


Poppies. Reminiscent of Love, Reminiscent of Fear.

November, and the previous month, are a time in the UK in which people wear poppies.

Small and large, plastic and linen, attached through button holes and by safety pins and needles.

I don’t think you’re allowed on TV unless you wear a poppy.

The reason for this is to make a personal statement in public concerning your opinions on World War 1 and 2. If you wear a poppy, then you are stating that you are ‘against’ World War 1 and 2, and that you are commemorating the lost lives in those wars.

“World War One? I’m against it.”

There is nothing in so much wrong with this. It has two wonderful benefits- such as that if you buy a poppy from the official charity, then proceeds proceed to the families of those that have died in warzones in more recent conflicts.

Another benefit, one that I much appreciate, is that the poppies are ubiquitous. And as such- children, being naturally curious about their environment, ask what they represent. Therefore, the answer of “To commemorate the lives of those lost in the world wars” comes forth, and the subject of these astounding events in human history are breached unto the child- and so they are aware.

This is great- telling children about it is crucial to their outlook and to their understanding.

If we don’t tell children, then the point of everything is entirely lost. It is the one moral that we all aspire to.

However, there is a negative side to this that swerves away from the path of attempting to change the world following two explosions of evil.

If you don’t wear a poppy- then by definition (by many that wear the poppy) you don’t respect the dead lost in the wars.

And if you don’t respect the dead- then you’re the bad guy.

Maybe you’re the kind of person to start a war. Perhaps you enjoy a nice war- and you think bullets are the way forward. The kind of person that only eats off of a bayonet, and if not then you want nothing to do with it.

I knew it- you’re a violent one. One of those people that wants nothing more than to annex your neighbour and distinctly not stop there.

I can tell that your favourite metaphors revolve around penetrating others with revoltingly blunt objects at high speeds. You struggle making these metaphors, but you eventually get it out. Then people move away from you. I can tell this about you.

I can tell by your lack of poppy.

So, perhaps you have given a tremendous amount to charities around the world in an effort to relieve the effects of war. And maybe you have educated a multitude of children about the history of the world wars.

But you haven’t got a poppy…so…fuck you. As it turns out- you’re Hitler.

You are a traitor, you are not a patriot, and you are a disrespectful fool only interested in saving 20 pence and not risking getting pricked by a safety pin.

And you punch babies.

And you’re a work-shy lout.

You’re probably not a God-fearing Christian. I bet you’re not even from this country.

You’re what’s wrong with this country. Something will happen to you soon.

Essentially, by choosing not to wear a poppy, for whatever reasons you have, the effect reminds me of being made to wear a yellow star.

You are not in uniform with the rest of the nation, you stand out and you are different. That’s why you’re fucked.

Maybe if you’d had respect enough to do what everyone else did- you wouldn’t be getting frowned upon like this.

Maybe it’s time you blended in. Perhaps we should all blend in.

Don’t forget- if you’re not blending in, then you’re a violent coward that kicks his breakfast to death and shits on every war-orphan you encounter, even if there’s no need for it.

So my suggestion is this: buy a poppy and wear it before you get singled out and bullied. Because that’s what people do. Because they’re too fucking stupid to think before they do.

One thing I must make plain here- not all that wear a poppy have this opinion. A great deal of people simply wish to grieve the dead, promote peace, educate the young, and all-round try to help the planet a little before they leave it and that is all. They don’t want to hate because others are different. I love these people. They think. But I fear it has become so that people now simply use the poppy, rather than respect its meaning.

To summarise, wear a poppy if you wish. Good for you. Charity is charity and educating children is, as I said, essential.

And, to summarise just a little more, if you don’t wear a poppy, then fine. Good for you. You may be contributing aid and effort stopping the woes around the world born and left from war, and you may play your part in ensuring that the next generation is aware of the horror and the tragedy that these vile events have played in very recent human history. It happened to our parent’s parents.

It will happen to your children’s children.

But, remember this- as this is the point that should be most prominent in our moral thinking following the events of WW2.

Think, before you join in. Never be afraid to be apart from the pack, for whatever reason. Bully no one for being different, however different you may feel them to be. The Jews were different, so they paid. The followers of the Nazi’s did not think, and so we all paid.

For too many, this is not about remembrance. It is about trying to prove something to others about themselves. This is something that comes from a lack of self to actually offer, so this visage is seized upon and thrown forward as though it is of actual worth- staining the true meaning of displaying this symbol by associating it with idiocy and fear.

I will not be wearing a poppy, for now at least. And you’ll be able to tell how much I care by looking for what is missing from my chest. I will not be wearing a poppy to show respect to those that were bullied and made ‘missing’ thanks to those that refused to think. I refuse to wear a poppy, for those who were given no choice but to wear a yellow star.

And there we have it.

This has been quite a long and intense article, so I thought I’d end on a lighter note.

I think a good slogan for a corporation would be: ‘NEVER FLACCID’. It needn’t be a company with anything to do with Viagra. It’s a state of mind. And, yes, a state of penis too.

That’ll do nicely.

Sam.


I’m Not Going To Reminisce About The 00’s.

Oh fuck, the 00’s.

What are we going to do now? All we have in relation to something worth talking here about is war and computers- and I’m not good at either of those things. Computer illiterates in foxholes equate to me wondering why more things aren’t to do with long walks and pretty girls- generally.

Those are the few things that set me apart from people who are set to perfection in the previous decade of ours. ‘Pretty girls’- generally, is a common passion, but is something that I find hard to omit owing to being something of a self-composed poster-boy for virility, an image that takes time, trousers and embarrassment to accumulate. I like accumulating things though- it amounts to something.

As for the good longs walks- they remind me of being an ape (an essential quality in someone worth knowing) and of being some sort of dignified author that would actually have done nothing for the cause of female emancipation from the drudgery of being slammed with the dick of ancient history till now. Another thing about the 00’s: penis trumps vagina. A good long walk might remind you of that, but in the meantime (whatever that is) it will promote that ‘distinguished author’ look that you’ve been trying so hard to maintain. Put that pipe away.

You wouldn’t have gotten these things from the 00’s. The 00’s amounted to, as far as I can remember: war, computers and Robbie Williams being really popular. Possibly more popular than Diet Coke, which is impressive, and something that I can only hope for this blog to me someday. I say more popular than Diet Coke because I’m realistic. Regular, full-blooded Coke doesn’t need to advertise, it just needs to be guaranteed.

Perhaps if females and walking had been promoted as much as the 20-teens has begun to, we might have missed out on the following.

It turns out we do have cultural contributions to our species that goes beyond Robbie Williams. We have the music videos. Music video’s with sheer-white backdrops, metal bands and boy bands both wearing black and both trying to look tough and dangerous (whist both trying too hard at that). Baggy trousers- coming from an age of men trying to conceal weaponry, to boys trying to look like men trying to conceal weaponry, and finally to children attempting to look like most other older boys do, whilst also using the opportunity to hide their physical frame from the world because they’re only kids, and kids are stupid.

This was a time in which things were made glossy and I don’t know why. The perpetual addition of cheese to foodstuffs (and barely, thankfully, limiting itself there) was a component of the times.

All those dead Iraqi’s really ruined the decade for me, as well as those about the rest of the planet that were butchered for all the other just causes that some god likely encored. What really twists the blade for me here is the fact that this is not a 00’s exclusive, but it is…is…an example of a generation that knew it had the means to alter and chose not to. The excessive’s of laziness were on the eye-watering rise throughout these pitiful ten years, and the blame lays not at feet, but lays in the lies of the minds of those of us that know what I’m talking about. Myself included; it does feel lovely not to be annihilated on a Sunday afternoon. What a…foreign thing to happen. This was the war aspect. Very happy that no cheese was added.

So long playing in the streets. Hello, latest acquaintance of the species- massive heart disease, diabetes and general paleness. The revolution of video game sophistication amounted to the heaviest generation that we have had for a long time. Mother’s loose a third of their body weight at birth and all children can be heard walking from afar. As they walk- their foreheads jiggle.

This is what the 00’s gave us, and what’s even worse is that it gave us…us. Apologies, but we are the generation prior that laid the foundations for the end of children and the start of wars by regrettably not being as astounding as the technology that raced alongside us. Albeit that we have learnt to share, and to learn and to give a little grace when required, we are still very willing to lose our ape-ish-ness and indulge in raising fictional crops on a figurative place, inviting others to waste their time and insisting on yourself giving up the fun you were born with rights to. This has been the computer aspect.

Don’t you dare blame the 60’s- that’s not your job and if you even think about blaming the 40’s then your laughable, it was the 00’s, purely on the basis that this was the latest decade do nothing but withhold and indulge.

We haven’t even legalised Mary Jane yet. And that’s our fault. That’s all our fault. Fucking do something you shitty little population- nothing would happen if it weren’t for you taking part, why should this be any different. The 00’s was the perfect time to do that and, my word, wouldn’t it have helped.

Let’s ‘hark’ back now, something I don’t often do, but since we’re reminiscing we might as well ‘hark’ simultaneously along with that. It’s good for your vocabulary. Let’s hark back to the ‘penis trumps vagina’ situation.

We’ll you’re right- women and their vagina’s are doing fairly well these days, indeed, they are doing for themselves- but therein lies the issue that I have with the 00’s here. Why was it up to key particular women to do this? Why not all of them? Why not all of us- men and their penis’ included (naturally- never omit a man’s junk)?

You see, we are the time that we live in, and without the positive action of a massive population, spurred on by those individuals that seem to matter for some reason, there will be no change. Don’t leave change up to individuals because it is knackering and depressing to do so alone. Just look at all those dead people you’ve heard of; that’s why you’ve heard of them and that’s also a substantial contribution as to why they are dead. And the centuries probably did them no favours either.

You, the population over there- hiding behind the Apple store! Go outside and make change, but for the love of all that is worth mentioning- don’t let advertisers see you do it. If you do- they’ll claim you and say you’re using their phone or their network to be the essential repetition of ‘new generation’ (being cool and free and buying our product just like you should. Keep watching your TV and shut up, you filthy little consumer).

This mind-set of sit-down, consume and distract yourself was all over the 00’s, and the brilliance of technology has had a central goal of luxurious entertainment, equating to all meaningful progression becoming a side-line to the main game. This is why women are paid less- because blasted by Angry Birds and Netflix- you really don’t give a fuck.

So now we’re in the 20-teens and so far I’m liking it. I think people are getting to grips with being apes and being in charge. Just look at the US. Here comes Mary Jane. Well done.

War and computers, eh?

Sam.