Falling Standards

If you’re reading this, I’m assuming you are of a reasonable intellect and possess the knowledge and ability to dress yourself in a morning without leaving home in the morning wearing nothing but one sock on your hand and pants over your head and so I’m hoping that all of you realise there is a way to wear every piece of clothing you own, including a specific location on the body where it belongs and holes for limbs to pass through to make your job easier. However, the nineties left us with a less than favourable lasting memory, and by that I don’t mean the poorly scripted clip shows of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. In prisons across the world it is a general rule that a prisoner may not wear a belt as it can be used as a whipping weapon or an improvised noose if things get that bad and so the inmates of these institutions wear loose fitting clothes and can experience a sagging in their trousers. A fashion trend was apparently born from this over time and has been an ever-lasting tidibt of stupidity since before I was even aware how to spell trousers so I felt that I should get my feelings on the matter out in the open and don’t be surprised if I’m not pro-pant sag.

Well you’re probably already well aware that I think the entire thing is stupid. As mentioned earlier, this was not a fashion choice for prisoners but simply a result of lacking belts and any unusually saggy trousers were used to indicate a man was a prison bitch, essentially a wimpy ass toy for the bigger boys to use at their leisure as if the more womanly inmates were weird looking library books, assuming you like to jizz in their pages and call them a whore, you weird pervert you. I’m not making this up, any of it. A man who couldn’t hold his own in a fight with the rest of the inmates became a woman by rights of battle and when you’re looking at spending fifteen years in a grotty cell with a stick figure of a man, suddenly your penis just decides ‘Fuck it, might as well…. well… fuck it’. Obviously, you had to be subtle about indicating which guys were the guys and which guys were the girls so the secret rule of thumb became ‘If he’s skinny looking and his boxers are on show, stick your dick in it’. Therein lies my first problem with this secret sex code becoming a fashion craze, it’s shorthand for calling your ass a parking garage for every cruising cock in the area so why you want to walk around everywhere like that I don’t know unless you really are said garage, in which case carry on. I’d love to let loose a big burly convict in my college and tell him that he isn’t to hurt anyone but he can kidnap anyone who seems perplexed by how to wear a belt, though if this were to happen I imagine half the students would be gone, not that I’d miss them but I can hardly justify the disappearance of three hundred odd teenage boys as proving a point.

I was inspired to write this by Justin Bieber, a sentiment that shall never be repeated for as long as I live hopefully and should never be taken out of context (Wait for it now, you’ll all quote me on that, you motherfuckers). You may well have soon a photo of him in London recently but if not I’ll try to find one for you. Basically though, the prepubescent louse is wearing a hat that looks like Pac-Man receiving acupuncture on his semi-shaved head, pretentious hipster glasses, a jumper and some goofy looking jeans but the most prominent thing about this is that he is walking with a gorilla-like forward lean and said jeans are worn just above his knees. Once again, this is all real, this is actually happening in the modern world that you are actually living in, the one full of all this bullshit that has all desensitised to the idea of anything weird or bizzare. I bet you my liver that fifty years ago, had this moronic cum stain on the face of our otherwise fucked planet dressed like that in public he’d have been swiftly hurried home to get changed and put on a belt or just quietly hidden in the back of a van and driven to an asylum, which is a pleasant thought for everyone except those who live or work in an asylum. Ladies and gentleman, not knowing how to wear a belt is daft enough in itself as it is one of the most simple inventions man has ever devised and has been a means of holding up trousers and skirts since the Bronze Age but putting on a pair of trousers or jeans to then just wear them around your knees like you’ve actually shat a brick is a crime against us all, you incompetent penguin. Take a look at yourself in a mirror, no man alive looks respectable if he’s outwitted by his own clothes and you only make yourself look like an idiot if you show your inability to wear trousers to the public.

My biggest fear here is that the sagging trousers are here to stay, because sadly cretins such as Bieber are the supposed role models for the next generation and they’ll see that rodent-faced piece of beaver shit walking around wearing his trousers like his balls are actually being pulled to earth by an invisible thread and assume this is cool, that this is what people look like. The horror of this idea genuinely frightens me because all I see is a world that gets more and more idiotic as we are supposed to be advancing into the future. I personally don’t want to live in a world where you’re only considered fashionable if you put on all your clothes like you got dressed falling down the stairs in a morning.

Ah well, a useful note on this system is that the level at which a man wears his trousers is now in correlation to his intellect and self-respect, with the exception of Simon Cowell who, despite having trousers up to his elbows, is incidentally not more intelligent than every other man alive. I would like to think it will eventually become much more fashionable to show off that you can wear trousers like someone with two brain cells to rub together but I won’t get my hopes up.

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Arrogance and Apathy (Originally Published – 8th February 2013)

Oh it’s a funny old life being Jacob Wolfe, self-confessed arrogant twat who rules his own little world but falls flat on his face at every hurdle. I recently triggered a massive debate when expressing my views on gay marriage, by which I mean I said I support it, a few people said they didn’t and I explained my argument before they buggered off then someone more intelligent tried to argue with me and it ended in agreeing to disagree, though with some discrepencies along the way. I won’t change my mind on core beliefs no matter how hard you try, and frankly my opponents weren’t trying to convince me they were right but rather tell me what I believed in was wrong, so to speak. I found the debate dis-satisfying though, the only intelligent counter argument to mine was that of religion and to me, talking to religious people about their beliefs is like signing up for being fucked in every orifice by a power drill, it’s a long and painful process that I don’t willingly agree to. I have my own personal religion so whenever anyone else brings up their religion, I’m offended by it, usually because it’s without me asking. However, with the topic being homosexuality, I should have been prepared for such. I’m arrogant, I admit it, and there are many reasons for that so I’m inclined to think I held my ground pretty well and did so with civility but being me, I never feel any sense of accomplishment in these confrontations. I boil in my own negative juices it seems, forever spiralling downwards because alongside intellect and arrogance, I decided to mix in pessimism and a general loathing for things that breathe… Great mixture. So, whilst I can often engage with the intellectual aspects of a person, their spiritual beliefs leave me with a bitter taste in my mouth and any stupid comments of any kind whatsoever instantly ring the prick alarm bells in my head. I can’t help it though, I think it’s just my character.

I worry about my cynical side sometimes, as humourous as he is with his massive vocabulary and the ability to outwit almost anyone who tries to challenge him but as much fun as he can be, he’s a miserable mother fucker and he’s quick to judgment. Internal arguments with myself have led me to believe I’d be a nicer person if there were less human beings crowding around him and doing stuff he hates, like existing. I guess I’m walking this tightrope between nice guy and total cunt but I’m doing the stunt whilst drunk and balancing on one foot with my arms cut off so it’s a bit hit and miss which side of the rope I fall off, the side where I pick you up off the floor or the side where I shoot puppies in the face… that’s a metaphor, I have no ill will for any puppy on the planet. The probable explanation for this is somewhere along the line, a younger me said ‘Fuck it’ and it just kinda stuck and honestly I swear that is the logic my brain goes by at times. Fuck it, I’ll tell them that they’re irritating. Fuck it, I’ll do a little extra work. Fuck it, I’ll go back to bed and grumble off to sleep. I realise I’m complaining a lot but it needs to come out and if you’ve read this far, you’re probably interested anyway which is kinda weird as effectively you’re just listening to the grumpy ramblings of an old man, so to speak. I’m bored, I’m broke and my body has developed the ‘Fuck it’ logic too, spontaneously deciding to make my spine feel like it’s made of uncooked spaghetti or my head feel like I’m lying on the road during a car crash. I spoke to my doctor, said it’s all just stress and depression. Thanks a bunch, you useless imbecile. The doctor also suggested my mood could be explained as the development of a sense of apathy that my body is reinforcing by periodically shutting down the systems at moments where it should be working. Oh well, I shan’t give up because I can’t give up and I haven’t done so previously so I’m not gonna start because of a few aches and pains in the joints. You’ll find I’m man enough to shoulder any burden I’m needed to, and then ask for more, because whilst I may be struggling at times, I still have that voice in my head that thinks I can run up waterfalls or punch the face of the non-existant God I don’t worship and that voice is what drives me to fight through each day

I was going to use this paragraph to tie things up nicely, or round it off with a positive note and a joke, but if I had a strong note to end on, I’d act on it myself. Besides, conciliatory endings don’t always have the same impact do they? In that regard, until my next rant, go away.

Fresh Hot Humble Pie – Highly Recommended (Originally Published – 30th January 2013)

Well fuck, seems that only two days ago I got so emotionally charged that my fingers went mad at the keyboard like a fury of small mallets attacking plastic gophers but just looking at my Facebook News Feed and the people around me is often all I need to get so fired up that I’d carve my rants into a baby’s face if it looked at me funny. I find myself unable to comprehend what runs through peoples’ heads these days and I mean that as more than just a psychopathic man with social issues, I mean that as a man with a brain in his head. You know what a brain is right? That pink mushy draft excluder between those flaps on your head that seem to be purely ornamental for most people, as if they’re just two flimsy scraps of pig skin taped onto a kumquat. By now, you’re probably hoping I trip over a pipebomb and land in the jaws of a pissed shark but the truth is that, myself included at times, we’re all just a bit stupid and wrapped up in our own pride and petty issues.

Ok, so run with me here, this is serious. I’ve often berrated half the people I’ve ever met in life for rambling on about twoddle I wouldn’t wipe my arse with, to which they reply with various colourful ideas involving said arse and sharp objects, but I seriously think a lot of us need a serving of humble pie and a smack across the jaw. I mentioned in a previous rant that I used to be a bit of a loose cannon. Strike that, a bit of a loose cannon would imply I just got drunk every now and then and missed coursework deadlines, I mean loose cannon as in that lifting people up into the air by their throat and cursing at them was my standard form of greeting and my pass times included fights, fights and more fights. I’m not afraid to admit that back in the day, arsehole was the nicest thing you could call me, and my reputation in the community made me sound like Jack the fucking Ripper. However, my selfish lifestyle granted me a huge loss and suddenly life was dipping it’s hairy balls in my mouth for being such a massive tosser. Humble pie, ladies and gentlemen, is the meal you never seem to order but you will always end up eating sooner or later, whether you’re the local twat or a full on bloody billionaire. Look at Romney, even his piles of money and an ego so large it in itself would need a seat in Congress were not enough to overcome his opposition so now he spends his time doing the rich guy equivalent to slitting his wrists… probably fucking mermaids and eating caviar until he collapses from the worst smelling orgasm imaginable

How does this apply to me, you ask? Simple, in more ways than you probably think. I had a serving of humble pie and it took me a while to build myself a new bubble of arrogance and even that’s just for display. I don’t mean to say that I privately sit in a corner crying and wishing I was Duke Nukem, but even the level of pretentiousness I’m at now is overplayed for a laugh and I’m easily thrown out of my groove by a sharp criticism and a backed up argument. I think that’s what gives the impression I believe myself to be superior, nobody has constructed a good enough reason for me to go kill myself and those that could do so, won’t do so for whatever reason. I guess it’s easy to cry over the little things, because ultimately the small details can add up to the bigger picture, but there are ways of handling things that put you in the wrong that just work better. I’m guilty of this, and so are you, and that’s attributing your misery to others. I’ve gone through a lot of work to stop giving a shit about the people who make me miserable and about eight of ten of those people have no power over me any longer. The world is cruel and savage and so forth, and I’m not gonna be the one who protects you from it’s horror or tell you it’s ok because you’re not here for comfort, you’re here because you know there are elements of truth in my comic ramblings and if you can’t see it, you’ve probably got bored by now and gone off to play games with the cat or something. I grew up with disappointment, and so did most of you, so why do we all feel the need to fly off the handle about everything we can’t have? People, tears buy nothing in this world but the sympathy of the few, and even that doesn’t wipe your runny nose for you.

Incidentally, a better idea for us all is to hang the sense of it and make the most of what comes your way, whilst trying to find that one thing to hold up as an umbrella in the shit storm. I imagine I’ll be unwittingly ordering more humble pie very soon, even though I still have some leftovers glaring at me in the fridge, but if anybody wants a piece, I recommend it and would suggest you serve it hot with the cream of consideration

Thank you.

Muse and Madness (Originally Published – 28th January 2013)

You know it seems that everytime you are determined to get up on your feet, Lady Fate grows steel fangs out of her vagina and rips your dick off before clubbing you round the head with it until you’re spitting blood and semen then proceeds to shove cold hard realities up your nose with an ice pick. I realise I’m a man who spends all day beating his head against a concrete wall and hoping it’ll fall over, and granted if it does, I will have a huge sense of acheivement in lieu of no other senses whatsoever. Determination and patience are two great virtues to have in life, but aside from becoming a fisherman or a surgeon, it can often seems that these virtues get you nowhere in a world that revolves around the principal ‘I’m alright, thanks for asking, now roll over and die so I can steal the clothes on your back’

I’m not entirely cynical, but give it a few weeks and I’ll probably get there at this rate. Life isn’t all bad, recently managed to convince the staff at college that my attendance isn’t dropping because of a bad case of skiveritus, but simply exhaustion from being me, which is fair enough apparently and warrants emotional support from a councillor if needs be. I thought I was deserving of a medal for putting up with myself for 18 years; I can be awful to live with and I hate my habit of overdoing it today, then paying for it tomorrow, or that terrible ‘Pick it up, put it down inside of a temporal wormhole so it won’t be where I left it’ habit I go about sticking to with every piece of coursework I write, and about four different memory sticks. I do have a number of good friends and family members I can count on and in all fairness, I’m not dead, nor dying, so I’m sticking around for a good while yet and compared to some, my issues are little more than a spec of dust.

So what am I ranting about these days? I notice the subjects are becoming increasingly arbitrary due to a distinct inability to focus on one topic and just vent a vile stream of angry shit at it until my lungs give in and my fingers combust from typing so furious, the laptop will develop consciousness only to scream in pain as I mash its buttons into a plastic pulp on a silicon slab like some bizarre pizza. Well I’m kind of ranting at myself for this concrete induced head trauma I have called life, and not realising sooner some things aren’t worth sticking to. Being a carer is worth sticking to, especially out of love (Yes, I have emotions. Deal with it), and having a social life and an education is also worth sticking to because they’re generally seen as useful things to have in life but my habit of playing the polite butler to every ingrate under the sun who I called a friend in the long forgotten days of yesteryear probably isn’t a good idea. I often find myself pandering to the needs of people who, when the day comes, offer little more thanks than a paragraph of twoddle then vanishing off the radar. Thanks a bloody bunch. Inevitably, I’ll say this then go back to my ‘Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’ approach to these people but maybe if I come back and read this note once in a while, I’ll break out of that habit. Hear that future Jacob, you spineless prick? You have balls, use them for more than just an air flap between your furry thighs!

I would encourage everyone here today to do the same, leave a note to yourself that you can easily access that says ‘Oi twatface, stop doing that thing you wish you didn’t do!’ and maybe we’ll grow as people or just tear up said note and insult our past selves to no avail. I look back at my old self and laugh at a reckless, arrogant twat who thought he was god incarnate, did everything he wanted to do without a care in the world for who it hurt and so got himself fucked up royal by Karma. Moron. Now I’m just the arrogant bit, but it comes with a side order of experience and some consideration for things beyond the end of my nose and or penis. Ultimately, do what you want to do but learn to stop doing the things you know you’re still doing wrong, and I’ll try to do the same (Except the being a prick bit, I find arrogance is great for deflecting insults)

The Debate About Debates (Originally Published – 7th November 2012)

Well folks, it seems that in the end of it all, Barack Obama managed to hold onto his position for four more years and personally, I’m looking at the fella and thinking ‘You got lucky this time round, now you’ve really got to pull your finger out your ass and fix America or they may well take up lynching again’ However, I suppose Obama worked hard to get re-elected and Romney presented him a real challenge in the early stages of the debate (Not so much of a challenge after the 47% statement and the Republican’s response to Hurricane Sandy) So now America is looking towards Mr Obama and hoping, with what they have left, and in all honesty, I’m really not sure what’s gonna happen at this stage. To be honest, this win for Barack Obama will either mark a new age of hope and happiness, or reconfirm the fact we’re all up shit creek without a paddle.

The democratic systems of the western world have forever been flawed concepts, having been based on flawed predecessors and though perhaps a better alternative to a single dictatorship that some countries have or had, we essentially see the same thing each time round in every country. America falls into a two horse race between Republicans and Democrats then get to choose the shiniest of two turds to make decisions for them for four years. I have no right to judge, being a Brit commenting on the entire thing, but America essentially got to choose between the world’s greatest optimist who lacked substance or a religious tycoon with an ego bigger than the United States themselves, whoop de fucking do. I mean, Barack Obama essentially bleated on about ‘Gimme another chance, I can make a change’ like he was desperately clawing back his ex-girlfriend, the USA, and eventually the USA gave in with rosy red cheeks and open arms, whereas Romney just based everything on being rich and powerful and whilst he probably had the ability to dig the country out of debt, he’s more messed in the head than Charlie Sheen’s nightmares. I don’t even know where to start with the earlier candidates, like motherfucking Vermin Supreme and Sarah Palin… yeah, less said about them, the better… Though running for president on the basis of giving away ponies and dressing like Gandalf survived an explosion in his garden shed is impressively bizarre.

So you’re probably wondering what I am actually ranting about? I can’t really be specific this time round; I’d say politics but that’s too vague and a true rant about politics would take me forever to write. I guess I’m just being my usual cynical self and looking at the world of politics as steadily getting more and more shit. At least America has some interesting characters over there they can vote for, the beloved soul-singing, hoop-shooting cool guy or the unashamedly brass mega man of money and Mormonism. Americans amongst you, let me tell you what Britain has to show for their political leaders.

Firstly, there is current Prime Minister David Cameron, a rich and posh imbecile who reckons he’s a man’s man, but doesn’t even sniff a common sausage roll without travelling across the country to find one to prove he’s just like everyone else, only he has money and we don’t.  Apart from the fact he loosely resembles a featherless penguin’s abortion, David Cameron is a man so monumentally out of touch with the real world, he thinks that £65 a week (In the region of $50) is enough to buy a house, pay the bills, have all the latest technological gadgetry available and have a HDTV with satellite. Excuse me but I’m pretty sure that’s not the case. £6500 a week, maybe, but £65? Really? Scarily enough, this fantasy land fucktard runs the nation and thinks he’s made it all better. If he has, anyone living in a house and not a mansion has yet to notice.

Second to David Cameron is his trusted sidekick Nick Clegg. Nick Clegg was supposed to ushering in an age of liberty, freedom and happiness but in the end, Cameron beat him but not by enough to be the sole party in charge and so Clegg joined with him to form a Coalition. The combination of these two is paramount to seeing Lucas and Spielberg work together on a film, the world is gonna suffer through a contorted mess that might have been great once upon a time, but never again. During the debate prior to our last election, Nick Clegg was the only candidate not focused on slagging off his competition and actually sounded promising but I suppose a bright future is too much to ask for this grey country. Nick Clegg is now only known by the reputation he has as David’s lapdog and the most charismatic thing he’s done in ages is become an auto-tuned parody on YouTube, courtesy of disappointed university students (Who are probably bankrupt and in massive debt thanks to his inability to keep a simple promise. You had one job Clegg, ONE JOB)

And the third horse in the race actually resembles a horse, Ed Milliband. You know it’s a shame his teeth can’t just bite through the heads of his opponents or he’d be the Emperor of the Universe. Gordon Brown finally melted, having looked like dripping wax during his time as PM, and they replaced him with one of the Inbetweeners. Ed is the photo perfect image of a nerdy stereotype but with none of the Star Wars trivia and an addiction to repeating his previous sentence at least twelve times in slightly different ways. For a long period of time, this man faced a career in which none of the general public quite remembered his name or knew that he was leader of the Labour party but now, he’s fairly easy to point out to anyone, bar the odd hermit and floating voter. Ed Milliband completes Britain’s terrible triumvirate of gormless faces that will be trying to run the country, each one an expressionless, mindless drone that wasn’t born from their mother’s womb but rather, assembled by suicidal elves.

I worry about the future of modern society all the time but the most worrying thing about the world is the people who run it. To me, the entire planet is controlled by people who know fuck all about the places they live in and the people they represent. I suppose politics is such a complex business you can’t have the people represent themselves, they wouldn’t understand how to do such a thing. By the same token, I don’t promote anarchy because we do need a government, sadly. However, I feel like the higher-ups need a reality check, a reminder that the people of the world are relying on them to serve the greater good. A radical move here would be to do away with the lot of them and start over fresh, including the economy, but that would take forever to do and is most likely impossible. I won’t pretend to know shit about economics, other than; I’m poor but probably better off than a Greek housewife. I hope to God that one day, there is a politician who genuinely stands up for the common man, isn’t in it for money or power, and says ‘Look, this is a fucked up system. Too much money for too little people, how about I even that out and make some changes’ I won’t be that man in my lifetime, haven’t got the ability, and no doubt if ever there was a man who would genuinely make life fair, he’d be shot in the head by a man with more bullets than brain cells. I’m surprised Obama wasn’t shot in 2008 to be honest, thought his dreams of change would be his death warrant. I think it says a lot about this world that we want things to improve but without too much change or by despising those who can make our lives genuinely better.

Like and Share, you mindless mortals! (Originally Published – 10th September 2012)

Hello, Jacob Wolfe clocking in again at the factory of foul ranting, after a lengthy holiday that mostly consisted of working my nuts off, here, there and everywhere I could be made to do something for somebody. I’m sure you’ve all been wandering what happened to these once-upon-a-time weekly rants but rest assured I’m going to try and get back into routine so you don’t have to miss out on the hilarious results of frustration plus keyboard. To those of you checking out my work for the first time, you haven’t missed out on too much. The premise is simple, I vent out my anger at a failure within modern society as a page of fanciful ranting and then put up on the internet for people to either laugh at, or be offended by so I can laugh at them. I must warn you in advance, this isn’t friendly stuff so if you’re of a nervous disposition or easily offended, go read something more cheerful. If you’re still here, you’re no doubt after some entertaining vulgarities aren’t you? Oh go on then

My topic today is related to Facebook and in particular, one of the most annoying things about it. I’m not talking about the ever changing layout that leaves people in tears, desperately clawing at their screens because change is bad. No, I’m on about something much much worse. ‘Like and share, ignore if you’re heartless/hate gay people/want to die a grizzly death involving your eyes, a melon bowler and several burly men etc.’ I don’t really have to explain why this is so bad do I? I mean, it’s smegging obvious what’s so bleedin’ annoying about this airy-fairy drivel and if you can’t see the problem, you’ve probably liked and shared one of these stupid photos or maybe you were the one who uploaded that picture of a dying child, demanding I share the photo or you’ll appear under my bed with a knife? By the way, appearing under my bed would be an impressive feat; it has no legs so the space under my bed is as thin as a sheet of paper.

The offending photos range in appearance, usually something harmless and brain dead along the lines of ‘Share if you like Black Veil Brides. Ignore if you’re a Bieber fan’, which, whilst a strong motivation to not ignore your photo, I don’t like Black Veil Brides either and the idea of giving you my attention makes me feel like vomiting. Occasionally, the photos get a bit wedged up their own ass and preach to you about heaven and hell, saying that God will only save those who like the photo of him posted on Facebook. I have read the Bible and I am pretty sure, there isn’t a Psalm Reading along the lines of ‘And so the loyal shepherd liked thy holy spirit’s Facebook photo and so he and his flock were spared from the vengeful flood’. I may be wrong. God’s losing it if he really has to run heaven as an online subscription service, perhaps he’s feeling the effects of global recession and the economic value of the afterlife equates to an amount roughly the same as a Greek saving account.

However, I can put up with the harmless photos of puppies, cartoon characters and various musicians pulling cute faces at me, hoping I’ll grace them with space on my profile because in all honesty, they’re just the end results of creepy weirdoes using pictures to get a couple more friends and the only real way to avoid them is to scroll past them quickly and hope that you don’t get murdered by a ghost or banished to the void between dimensions. I may be irritable and grumpy but I let this slide because it’s essentially just the only way these monkeys can socialise. On the other hand, there are times where the photos can just go too far. I know what you’re thinking, I dance on the edge of taste myself but if you look back at my other rants, I do not dirty my work with anything much too vulgar. Cancer, specific national traumas, disabilities are just three topics that I make sure not to make crude jokes about because I know it’s entirely tasteless and that I will actually be murdered in my sleep by a victim of such topics. However, the photos don’t stop at the border of what’s a harmless picture for some likes and what’s actually just cruel. The photos and their creators are like some sort of psychopathic comedy nightmare, moving into areas that you just cannot poke at for attention. I’m sure we’ve all encountered the photo of a dying baby, suffering with a terminal illness, an abnormal growth or a victim of cancer and below the picture is a tragic back story and this command to share the photo a million times or the baby will die. Firstly, I don’t want anyone to think I’m a heartless old man who thinks those that are ill should die off and leave room for me and I certainly don’t want anyone in the world to have to live with such horrid illnesses, nor do I wish them upon others, even the people I wouldn’t save from being hit by a bus. I just want to make it clear, the photo is not a miracle of medical science and sharing it has no benefit for the child. Doctors get to work the moment they receive a patient, case studies are not uploaded onto Facebook for the public to decide who gets medical attention and who gets thrown out. If a child receives less than one million likes on Facebook, unless the child has already passed away, the child is most likely stable or on the path to recovery whilst receiving support from a number of trained doctors and surgeons. However good your intentions may be, you cannot save a live by making a photograph appear on the Facebook news feed of half your home country. Correct me if I’m wrong but no global catastrophe or terminal illness was ever prevented by a photograph on the internet

Allow me to tell you the story of a little girl named Isobel, a new-born infant that was suffering with a terrible cancer on her brain that appeared as a lump on the side of her head. I mean to tread softly as possible here and I hope nobody takes offense so please let it be said, anything that is interpreted as rude is not intentional. Please also note the information may not be 100% accurate as I am relying on information received from people who identified with my outburst on the comments of her photo. Isobel was photographed, lying on a bed with this growth and clearly looking uncomfortable as she bravely fought against the cancer but what she didn’t know, nor did her parents, is that the strictly confidential photograph was leaked onto Facebook and made into an attention whoring campaign for admins on various tactless pages (You know the ones I’m talking about, the ones with page names written in something even a dyslexic person can spot spelling mistakes in and that offer you 2000 extra friends if you add their shirtless admin and tell him your name, age, occupation, bathroom habits and so forth). The photo came with a brief misinformed back story and the demand that people must share the photo for the child’s sake and that failure to do so is proof that you have no heart. Comments were disallowed unless it was sympathetic but still, the wiser users of Facebook, albeit the grumpier ones, voiced their disgust at what they saw. I would like to inform you all that the child in the photograph survived and received the necessary surgery to remove the cancer; the parents are overjoyed and the whole family is moving on gradually. Now I can’t understand why anyone would use the personal struggles of a stranger just to make themselves popular, it’s sick. The photo is available across the internet and it seems to just say to anyone who looks at this popularity campaign ‘This is the length that an idiot will go to if it makes them popular’. Heck, you’re not even impressing your friends, you’re trying to appeal to people you’ve never met and never will. Isobel’s family were outraged and awash in tears as they watched this photograph make its way across the world for all the wrong reasons. Isobel isn’t the only victim here. Starving orphans, seriously ill babies and sufferers of natural disasters are all exploited as ploys to get Facebook admins noticed.

I do not wish these people to die or become ill but should they ever suffer, I may just reach for a camera. However then again, I might not, for fear of sinking to their level. I couldn’t live a life where my moral standards sit lower down than the Earth’s crust. I don’t normally end on such sombre notes and I hope you all enjoyed this rant as much as I hope it made you think but to any admins out there, the line in the sand should not be crossed for the sake of a few more likes. I can tolerate your bombardment of photos of Bieber and Biersack, your pictures of Satan, of Jesus and of ghosts but if you ever exploit the suffering of another human being to get noticed, you’re not somebody I want to know

Tattoos and Teenagers (Originally Published – 11th July 2012)

I decided today that I should write out my little qualms with modern society into mock articles simply because of the fact it’s better than going around bitch slapping people (apparently) and I figured that some of you may get a kick out of reading the typed ranting and raving of a teenager who thinks he’s forty-seven. I warn you in advance readers that the subjects of these rants will be subjects that I can get quite worked up about so expect some effing and blinding, some serious sarcasm and general nastiness, which will either be hilarious or tasteless or somewhere between the two so if you want some happy sally story about how Molly the cat was recovered from the wreckage of a bomb site, safe and sound, don’t look here? In all fairness though, I should point out I’m not entirely vile and the vicious retorts are just my style in flow, not necessarily just me being a grumpy prick, however grumpy and prick-like I may well be

So I bet you’re wondering what I’m gonna rant about now aren’t you? No? The title on the article gives it away? Well fuck you then, you know what the article is about so I’m gonna stop pissing around and start being a sarcastic little jerk, deal? My peeve to poke fun at today is tattoos, but not just tattoos in general, I mean as in how modern society treats the art of tattoos. I do not have a tattoo for several reasons, the biggest probably being that it’d hurt like a bitch and I can’t be arsed with that for a picture. I am not here to say that I hate all tattoos, I think that if you get a seriously good tattoo done then that’s pretty cool, I might have to agree with some people there. However, what I hate with a passion are people who get tattoos of totally random shite or in fact, totally predictable shite, simply for the sake of having a tattoo because it’ll decorate their dull personas with a little doodle. Allow me to elaborate on my rant here by going over the categories of tattoos that do my head in:

1.  The Stars, the stripes and other cutesy nonsense

Yes, the stars, cupcakes, fairies and birdies that girls insist on tattooing onto their wrists and ankles as a sign of how magically fantastic they must be, because nothing says original more than copying that picture of a star on your mate’s wrist and then going to get one for yourself on the opposite wrist. I mean, it is all well and good to get these cutesy pictures printed over yourself like you’re a Japanese schoolgirl’s imagination in human form but when you’re thirty-five and trying to get people to take you seriously in life, try to be a commanding presence when you have Pinkie Pie tattooed on your writing hand or when you’re showing yourself off to your boyfriend and he’s giggling at the picture of a budgie you tattooed on your hip. What does the tattoo even say about you? You’re a starry person? A cupcake lover? A pony? I’m Jacob Wolfe and I love cake, won’t see me tattooing furry animals on my ass and cakes on my ankles, no sir

2. Wings

The human body has this large slab of meat (or canvas, if you’re a tattoo lover) that we call the torso and time and time again, it’s made to suffer this inked indignity of tattooed wings across the top of the back. Once upon a time, a man went into a tattoo parlour and got wings done on his back and when he took his shirt off to show his friends and the ladies, he looked genuinely cool and got laid. However, the artist kept hold of the design and passed it around until eventually, every man or woman who can successfully remove their shirt could get a pair of wings done. The wings don’t even work as wings, just a permanent mark to symbolise how much of a massive bell you are. You are not an angel, or a demon, or a bird, you do not have wings and the ink stains on your shoulder blades do not make you some sort of spiritual beauty. You wanna be an angel? I want you to look for a shady man in a hoodie and some second-hand jeans, ask him for a bag of the good stuff and then sit in your bedroom smoking it until you grow wings. Deal? Now go get those wings removed, you tart

3. Names and Faces

I suppose human interaction is inevitable in the modern world if you want to live in a house with food and electricity isn’t it? You’ll meet friends, girlfriends, boyfriends, family members, work colleagues, class members, posh twats, poor twats, smart people, dumb people and every other kind of human being in between. You may even decide you like a few of these people, especially those you share blood ties with, periods of intercourse with or, best of all, the intimacy of you and a celebrity by means of you stalking their every move in the media. So of course, since you are obviously going to forget what this person of obsessions looks like, or is named, you simply must tattoo such precious information onto yourself for future reference! Michael Jackson’s face fits nicely on a thigh and hey, what do you know, your nephew’s name is just long enough to be tattooed across your wrist so why not do that eh? There we go, you’re a fully certified creep now, complete with obsessive artwork on your own skin! You know what, the word ‘dick’ is also just long enough to cover your forehead? You know, because of Dick Van Dyke?

4. Ah why not? Tattoos are cool!

Tattoos are cool aren’t they yeah? You’re so hardcore that you willingly suffered the pain of the tattoo process to get that awesome tattoo of a skull on your arse. You got up one morning and realised you’re a walking sketch book with nothing drawn on it but then, doodling ‘I am awesome’ in biro down your arm doesn’t last does it? How about a tattoo, they’re permanent and you have to be cool to have one right? Why not get five? Five times the cool factor, you’ll be pissing in Charlie Sheen’s face with your winning streak! So many designs to try so give them all a go won’t you? How about the stars, the wings, some Chinese bullshit on your shoulder and ummm… a big-ass tiger picture on your chest, cause you’re that radical!

I’m not saying I despise every single tattoo or tattooed person under the sun, I just think that if you want to make a permanent mark on yourself in picture form, make it meaningful and applicable to you ok? Stars don’t mean anything, wings stopped being cool when they became synonymous with those deep and meaningful sods on the internet that run around topless, don’t tattoo a celebrity on yourself for fear of what it’ll look like when you’re fat and fifty and don’t just go out there covering yourself in crap to look better ok? Please, be tasteful. I will never get a tattoo but if I did, it’d be something with meaning, a motif of who I am as a person. I hope you’ll do the same… oh no, is that your daughter’s name on your wrist or your girlfriend’s?