I am starting to think that no stone is going to be left unturned in the quest to point out why everything seems to be spiralling into oblivion. It has reached a point where I am actually becoming annoyed at myself, if for no other reason, the individuals that bear the brunt of my hatred are quietly frankly extremely easy targets. I’m serious, there’s just no sport in it, but I suppose I will just have to resign myself to accepting that these things need pointing out.
The target of my loathing today is youths, or yoot, as I believe they now like to be called. The reason why they appeared on the radar is that they have this increasing propensity to look brain dead. If you are unfortunate enough to be walking through the city centre at the same time as the little cherubs, you probably won’t pay much attention to them. Look a little more closely however and you will start to get the feeling that you have just walked onto the set of every zombie film ever made. That’s not a simile that I reach for easily, as I find myself questioning whether zombies are more or less on the ball than youths.
If you happen to have the dubious pleasure of casual observance in the near future, you may wish to consider looking for the key features displayed by our brain dead under-generation. The eyes will be partially rolled back into the skull - giving the delightful impression of total disinterest - combined with subtle undertones of a pseudo-comatose demeanour. Watch even more closely and you will also notice that they have absolutely no purpose or particular direction of travel and will no doubt spend a number of hours drifting round town with no reason nor purpose.
Personally, I can only speculate that this is down to a combination of 24-hour television and games consoles, but perhaps they just aren’t getting smacked enough by their parentals. I would love to seem games consoles coming in kit form, which would at least mean that they would have to display some level of cognitive thought, before sinking back into the world of the brain dead.
As per usual, any comments, quips or gripes should be directed to the comments section. Alternatively, if you are one of the aforementioned yoot and have inexplicably taken the time to read this, then feel free to mash the keyboard with those chubby little cocktail sausages you like to call fingers.
Thursday 22 May 2008
Wednesday 14 May 2008
The Peasants Stole My Taxes!
Sunny afternoons are great. Or at least they could be, if only Belfast’s very own inbred population of scumbags didn’t also think they were great.
Naturally, I am stuck in an office all day, with the only chance I have of enjoying the sun being a brief 30 minutes interlude at lunchtime. With the exception of the occasional rude interruption from something ”work” related, the remainder of my day is spent looking out of the window, with a strong sense of longing onto the street below.
There is an unexpected bonus that comes with my contract’s particular location. I have the dubious pleasure of a bird’s-eye view into one of Belfast’s less salubrious estates and if nothing else, it ensures that there is always a post midday flurry of activity taking place. Unfortunately, this also means that while I am busy earning money and funding the government’s coffers, there is a counter-culture* in which I am privy to at any time during the day. This inexplicably named “counter-culture” consists entirely of those that seem to have no jobs, and the sole purpose of providing me with a window of opportunity to watch them spend my taxes.
There just seems to be something about the warm and sunny days that raise my concerns about two things. Firstly, if these people are living on £40.00 per week, how can they afford to buy vast quantities of booze everyday? Additionally, I have noticed through my casual observances that the male population of the estate, appear to have no upper garments of clothing. This leads me to believe that they have been reduced to selling their clothing to buy alcohol for the duration of the 10-days of sun; more commonly known in Belfast as summer. However, with this theory now out in the open, the natural question then arises as to just how much does a 2nd hand Kappa t-shirt fetch on the open market?
The other behaviour that is entirely apparent, is the hordes of these young men who have developed a long-term emotional attachment to their genitalia. If you happen to have a spare 20 minutes in your day, you will be able to identify them as the ones who have both hands buried firmly in the crotch region; cradling the only remaining item of value left to them. Of course this could be another explanation as to the source of their income. Perhaps they are regular visitors to the sperm donation centre in the weeks and months preceding summer.
This just raises more question than answers. How much exactly does a sperm bank pay? And most importantly, just how great is the nurture to nature ratio in the development of children?
As per usual, if you have any gripes, whinges, issues, complaints or general grievances, feel free to leave a comment and I will feel free to ignore you. Alternatively, if you know the nurture to nature ratio, or how much a sperm bank pays, you may wish to also take a moment to air your thoughts.
*I feel obligated to acknowledge my reference to “culture” in this entry, owing largely to the fact that the activities of the estate serfs** could scarcely be referred to as culture.
**I am also aware of that the definition of a “serf” is:
“A member of the lowest feudal class, attached to the land owned by a lord and required to perform labor in return for certain legal or customary rights”.
As you can see the use of the word is in part correct, with the minor omission that serfs actually are in gainful employment. If you happen to be a serf and feel aggrieved by my choice of wording, please accept my apologies in advance.
Naturally, I am stuck in an office all day, with the only chance I have of enjoying the sun being a brief 30 minutes interlude at lunchtime. With the exception of the occasional rude interruption from something ”work” related, the remainder of my day is spent looking out of the window, with a strong sense of longing onto the street below.
There is an unexpected bonus that comes with my contract’s particular location. I have the dubious pleasure of a bird’s-eye view into one of Belfast’s less salubrious estates and if nothing else, it ensures that there is always a post midday flurry of activity taking place. Unfortunately, this also means that while I am busy earning money and funding the government’s coffers, there is a counter-culture* in which I am privy to at any time during the day. This inexplicably named “counter-culture” consists entirely of those that seem to have no jobs, and the sole purpose of providing me with a window of opportunity to watch them spend my taxes.
There just seems to be something about the warm and sunny days that raise my concerns about two things. Firstly, if these people are living on £40.00 per week, how can they afford to buy vast quantities of booze everyday? Additionally, I have noticed through my casual observances that the male population of the estate, appear to have no upper garments of clothing. This leads me to believe that they have been reduced to selling their clothing to buy alcohol for the duration of the 10-days of sun; more commonly known in Belfast as summer. However, with this theory now out in the open, the natural question then arises as to just how much does a 2nd hand Kappa t-shirt fetch on the open market?
The other behaviour that is entirely apparent, is the hordes of these young men who have developed a long-term emotional attachment to their genitalia. If you happen to have a spare 20 minutes in your day, you will be able to identify them as the ones who have both hands buried firmly in the crotch region; cradling the only remaining item of value left to them. Of course this could be another explanation as to the source of their income. Perhaps they are regular visitors to the sperm donation centre in the weeks and months preceding summer.
This just raises more question than answers. How much exactly does a sperm bank pay? And most importantly, just how great is the nurture to nature ratio in the development of children?
As per usual, if you have any gripes, whinges, issues, complaints or general grievances, feel free to leave a comment and I will feel free to ignore you. Alternatively, if you know the nurture to nature ratio, or how much a sperm bank pays, you may wish to also take a moment to air your thoughts.
*I feel obligated to acknowledge my reference to “culture” in this entry, owing largely to the fact that the activities of the estate serfs** could scarcely be referred to as culture.
**I am also aware of that the definition of a “serf” is:
“A member of the lowest feudal class, attached to the land owned by a lord and required to perform labor in return for certain legal or customary rights”.
As you can see the use of the word is in part correct, with the minor omission that serfs actually are in gainful employment. If you happen to be a serf and feel aggrieved by my choice of wording, please accept my apologies in advance.
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