I like blogging

I like blogging. I should do it more often. Why don’t I? Because the only people that actually open this site are the pervs looking for a picture of Katy Perry’s boobage. Once there was even a link to my blog through the use of the search term “smurf porn”. Nothing makes a man think about where his life is headed like that does. But the reason I like blogging is because I can finish a train of thought without being interrupted. And you, the reader, are forced to listen until the end. You can’t give your opinion or ask me about something that might derail me. So I could be discussing the most mundane or pointless subject of all time, like Justin Bieber, and you just sit there reading, hoping it’ll get better. Mwahahaha! Well it doesn’t. I have come to accept that I am not a funny or interesting man. Also I’m no Gerard Butler and I’m not even remotely athletic. That’s what I have friends for, so I can at least say I know someone who is artistic or smart or good looking. But I think I’m perhaps more appealing over a chat room or text because then I have time to think and google before replying.

Why Smurf porn though? What could that possibly do for anyone? I mean sure, Smurfette is probably rockin’ a super-hot bod underneath that white frock of hers, but it’s a damn children’s cartoon. And I’m pretty sure Pappa smurf has enough kids. But I digress. Or do I? See that’s the beauty of a blog, I can steer the topic wherever I want. And you can’t do nuthin’ about it. What’s that? You wanna talk about the North Korean nuclear threat? Well tough, because I just watched an episode of Dragonball Z and now that’s all I can think about. That and Hubbly. What I wouldn’t do for a Hubbly right now. If I ever find a genie then that bastard will be conjuring Hubblies until I die, probably from lung cancer. But fuckit, I got a genie, bitch!

My girlfriend has been asking me to finish the Short Tale of John Gunderson, but I’d much rather listen to Enrique Iglesias and type whatever pops into my head. Also on my to-do-list is the completion of The Avinos comic/movie I’ve been working on for a year now as well as the book I’ve almost started writing about science. I’m calling it “Everything you’ll ever need to know about Science”. And of course I just got the entire Dragonball Z Kai series in HD which is not gonna watch itself. How the hell do I ever get any work done? Maybe that’s my unique ability: the power to do nothing while simultaneously doing enough to not get into any trouble. I did write two blog articles on procrastination. Is this how Batman felt when he started fighting crime? Am I Batman? If I wasn’t currently designing an actual Arc reactor for my thesis I would totally be Batman. But in this case I think I’m more of an Iron Man protégé. Amazing how my ego can swing from “I’m not a funny, handsome or interesting man” to “I’m totally Iron Man, bitch!” all in the same blog article. Maybe it’s the fact that I find inspiration in the music I am now listening to, from the artists known as Aqua. Maybe it’s because life in plastic really is fantastic! You can brush my hair but you cannot undress me everywhere, because that would be illegal.

I just figured it out! Katy Perry is Smurfette’s voice in the Smurfs movie! That’s why my blog has become a cruising spot for perverted predators and FBI agents. Speaking of which, do you remember that movie Miss Congeniality? Hilarious! You can’t be an FBI agent AND a beauty queen.  OK, that movie isn’t really that funny, but I just ate a large amount of chocolate ice cream whilst listening to Lady Gaga and I think the endorphins are kicking in. She is such an inspiration. I really WAS born this way. Anyways, to conclude this extremely pointless piece of writing, and I use the term “writing” lightly, I shall sit here staring at the screen trying to think of something fitting to end this piece. I am however, like most women who see me naked, at a loss for words. 

Iron Man, bitch!

HELP!

To whomever so reads this

I have been taken captive. I do not know where I am or how I got here. It is extremely dark in this room but through a window I can see a cloud shaped like a bunny and some stairs. That should be enough for the police to locate my whereabouts. My phone has been removed from my person and I cannot access my social networking profiles. I am communicating with you through what I now believe to be a faint wireless signal that I picked up using a laptop I found underneath some old clothes. You are now my only hope. I am not sure how much longer I can survive without water. 

I can hear drums, drums in the deep. I cannot get out, they are coming.

OK, that was a quote from Lord of the Rings, but maybe now you'll realise the severity of the situation. And before going to the police, you must ensure that the contents of my hard drive are cleared. Do not question me on this, time is of the essence. Furthermore, you must carry a message to my family. Tell them I met my twin sister, and that I'm not mad at them. That should freak them out because I never had a twin sister.

Now, I suspect that whoever took me is close because I can hear voices. The door seems to be locked but... from the inside. Obviously a trap to test me. Wait, I recognize the clothes on the floor. They are mine. Clearly they are planning on keeping me here a while. And the sheets on the bed are mine as well. Trying to make me feel less distressed by giving a sense of familiarity. And there's an empty bottle of vodka on the nightstand.... waaaaait a minute. OK, false alarm. Yup, upon further analysis I have deduced that this is indeed my room. I was drinking last night. No more vodka for me!

Anyways, watcha doin?

Statistics and you

It’s difficult to think of an opening sentence for a blog entry. That one took me two weeks. Admittedly I’ve been rather distracted by the increase in cleavage that the summer so blessedly brings, but the point remains. I obsess over this because the opening line sets the tone for the rest of the article. Some lines can be rather pretentious such as “I’ve noticed recently that…” which perhaps hints at a raised sense of intellectual observation, meaning “I notice things because I’m more intelligent than you”. This is entirely based upon my own opinion of course, which you should probably ignore entirely because I also think that South Park is an ingenious commentary on individual perspective of cultural issues.

Isn’t it amazing how much crap I can type using big words? Studies show that extremely umbratile people find agastopia very ostrobogulous. Speaking of studies and a love for kidneys, recent studies have shown that when people start a sentence with “Studies have shown…” then 90% of people will believe it without question. One study in particular that I found quite interesting is that men who watch a lot of porn are generally more optimistic. Fuck, I just noticed what a beautiful day it is outside. Anyways, the reason I think that could be true is because pornography is filled with fantastically wishful thinking situations. Whether you are a pizza delivery guy, plumber, real estate agent or even a patient in a hospital, you CAN get laid! Every situation that you can possibly dream up has the potential to end with a myriad of ziraleet lesbians.

Some statistics however make no sense to me. Did you know that between the years 2000 and 2009, the highest grossing film in the UK was Mamma Mia? Not Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter or Pirates of the Caribbean, no, Mamma fucking Mia. And this from a nation who gave us Top Gear, Sherlock Holmes, Lucy Pinder, Stephen Fry, Rowan Atkinson, Bill Bailey, Ricky Gervaise and the ever beautiful Faith Nelson (to name a few). And as a man of science I find that numbers never lie, but in this case I call bullshit. You can argue that it’s a good movie, but it’s not that good.

Almost 40% of Americans believe that the Earth is only 6000 years old. For that, they deserve a president like Romney, but Obama is the hero they need. See what I did there? That was a quote from Batman. I’m so witty! Moving on, 75% of murder victims knew their killer. Good, I want Justin Bieber to know who I am before I swing the axe. 25% of adults believe that online romances are not classified as cheating. 100% of those 25% are men. Each year, 13 people are killed by vending machines falling on them. Apparently it’s necessary that people be warned of the dangers of shaking giant unstable machines. That’s Darwinism at work. 57 % of women would rather go on a shopping spree than have sex. That’s because they suck at sex. No pun intended.

Statistics also brought us “laughing increases lifespan”, “masturbation decreases stress” and “sleeping increases intelligence”. If these were all true, I’d be an optimistic, stress less, intelligent man who will live forever. The point is that statistics are all fine and well for predicting outcomes and calculating insurance costs, but they are seldom applicable to you as an individual. They are like horoscopes: sometimes you go “oh yeah that’s totally me” but other times they are just way off the mark.

Source: www.businesscartoons.co.uk

The Facebook problem

Disclaimer: This post is purely the opinion of the writer and not for the easily offended....seriously

Facebook has become a bad drug: I know I shouldn’t but I just can’t help myself. Like millions of others, I crave that rush it gave me the first time I used it, adding old friends, uploading holiday photos and telling people what’s on my mind. It started as a convenient way to keep in contact with old friends. Once in a while you log on, you read a few status updates, check a few photos and afterwards at the dinner table you tell everyone that Rob is getting married again, John is currently in Greece and Kate is pregnant. Your mother would ask how you knew all that, and you would reply “Facebook” and then everyone around the table would agree that Facebook is a remarkable tool in this demanding day and age.

But now, Facebook is a puss infested, gonorrhea stricken cesspool, filled with attention seeking whores, retards and self-involved narcissists. It has become the frat house of the Internet. My first (and most annoying) problem is that now everybody has become a poet, posting their stupid thoughts in the form of a retarded haiku in an attempt to get a few Likes from strangers because that is the only way they feel validated in life. The status update has become a collage of motivational quotes, sayings and idioms like:

“One who looks at himself in the mirror is a donkey with three knees.” – Sarah Jessica Parker.

“He who looks at the sky is a man with a bad back” – Queen Elizabeth

I cannot begin to describe how much I don’t care!!! Do you expect me to read it and think “yes, my life is changed this day”? No! I am still a cynical, pessimistic arsehole who, for some reason, keeps logging onto Facebook and reading unverifiable quotes from people who I hate! These same people then post the most absurd, general and unidirectional statuses. They say things like:

“One day you will look back and miss me, and I won’t miss you.”

Or “You had your chance, but now I’ve moved on”

Who the fuck are you talking to??! Are you talking to me? Or to your boyfriend, maybe? I’ll tell you who you’re talking to: You are talking to all 500 friends on your Facebook profile because you are an attention seeking whore who will never be sexually satisfied! It is the equivalent of sending text messages to everyone you know, expect you’re too fucking cheap so you post it on Facebook. You want everyone to ask you about it so you can finally get the attention your parents never gave you. Of course there are then the people who keep giving these shrews the attention they seek. They give it away for free, like fucking air! These people are not deserving of our attention! They must earn it first, through intelligence, thoughtfulness and consideration, but then some idiot goes and Likes the stupid status or asks them about their breakup or shares their hopeless photo. A slut gives sex away for free and these people give away attention for free; they are the herpes spreading sluts of Facebook!

Then there’s the Application Requests. Five requests a day for BirthdayCalendar, each one with a different spelling; three requests for Farmville; and another 26 requests for “Do you like me?” What’s wrong with us?! We don’t have time to spend with our children but we can play retarded fucking games all day on Facebook!? Read a book! It might help you realise how stupid your Status Updates are.

Of course some people just use Facebook to try and make their mundane existence more exciting. Case in point: uploading photos of your food. I swear to all 4000 gods, I will hunt you down and kill you with the very food you put on that Instagrammed photo! And nobody cares about how happy you are in your current relationship. Please be more considerate towards the rest of us loathing in our own self-pity. Share that happy feeling with your partner, or your mother, or someone who actually loves you. Just not with me. Because every time your status reads “Your love fills me with joy and warms my heart” I am in physical pain because my sphincter is clinching so hard that not even those mechanical arms they use to cut people out of cars in accidents would be able to open me up again.

“But Jean, are you telling me you haven’t done any of those things in all your years on Facebook?” I hear you ask? The sad answer is yes, I too was once guilty of some of these atrocious acts. The difference is that as an intelligent human being I have learned and evolved beyond the need for approval from people I care nothing about. “But why are you blogging then?” Because fuck you, that's why! Ignorance is not an excuse for stupidity. In fact, the two aren’t remotely related. That is the reason why Facebook is no longer a fun, stimulating social utility: it took a while for the morons of the world to move in, like a plague of locusts that move from place to place, devouring green flora and leaving nothing but barren wasteland. Facebook is now an old, grumpy, racist aunt in the retirement home whom nobody likes to visit but still do because they’ve heard she has a testament. And she smells funny too. We must now place our hopes for intellectual, stimulating social interaction in another platform: Twitter. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than Facebook.

Bearded Glory

Beards… the mere mention gives a man chills. It conjures up images of great conquerors, leaders and role models.  

Beards… the mere mention gives a woman chills. It conjures up images of murderers, rapists and psychopaths.

How is it that this once great accessory has become so skewed in the eyes of our female counterparts? In my studies I have discovered that the image of the beard changes through the ages, usually complying with the social expectations and standards. Let us therefore take a quick trip through the history, lore and myth of the beard:

10 000 BC       Facial hair is seen as a sign of fertility, indicating the arrival of puberty. Young hairy males are seen as a threat towards the dominant alpha male, and the lesser of the hirsute are killed off.

Actual cavemen hard at work

20 AD             Jesus grows a beard as portrayed by many artists and scholars.

"Get my good side" - Jesus

1323               Great Kings all boast magnificent beards as a sign of dominance. Wars are settled through the comparison of beards in terms of both length and density. Many lives are saved.

King Beard, ruler of men

1905               Beards become a sign of wisdom and intelligence keeping with the dawn of the scientific age. 

Charles Darwin.....just look at that glorious beard

2012               Two camps arise with differing opinions. Men see beards as great icons of manliness amidst a time of glittering vampires, boy bands and Justin Bieber. Women see beards as signs of mental instability, antagonism and uncleanliness.

"I have candy in my van..."

Perhaps women have always felt this way, accentuating their opinion only now during the era of free speech, tolerance and gingers. This does not change the fact that the growing of facial hair is a feat not easily achieved by most men. And amongst 3 billion competitors we must distinguish ourselves through the art of cultivating beards.

Let us now consider some great men who have distinguished themselves through skill, hard work, perseverance and even luck:

Great men, indeed

Indeed, a high standard to match. The mystery now arises as to how the female can resist such raw masculine might. As someone who has heard of the Freudian philosophy, I am forced to attribute this lack of sexual attraction to lesbianism. I hypothesize that all women have latent homosexual tendencies that linger in the subconscious mind therefore supressing the evolutionary attraction to hairy men. A perfect theory? Perhaps. But it clearly fits the experimental data and therefore qualifies as an accurate scientific model as shown in Figure 1.

Figure 1: Physical attraction vs degree of beard growth

In support of this theory, I direct your attention to our closest relatives: the primates. These furry comrades are covered with hair, top to toe, yet it does not seem to hinder any interest from the double X chromosome. This intrigued me, and I decided to do some final research. I obtained an electron microscope, peered at a mixture of X and Y chromosomes and what I saw took my breath away…

Electron Microscope image of the Y chromosome

And with that, I leave my final piece of evidence in  support of the Bearded hypotheses. An icon who has inspired millions, a man who is both wise and patient, a man who is blue:

 

 

That's right, it's Papa Smurf, bitch!