Dr. Gintang: Online Agony Aunt #2

Now, is it the red tube? Or blue? Shit. I really shouldn't have taken all those pills at med school. How lucky are you feeling, buddy?

The doctor is in. And though he may not have one of those fancy-pants real doctorates, he does have something his competitors don't: a sense of humour and a litre and a half of budget bourbon. Yes, that is two things. Thankfully we can strike basic arithmetic off his list of things.

Remember, if you have an issue you'd like Dr. Gintang to address, just stand in front of a mirror at midnight on the night of a blood moon and intone his name three times.

Let the advice commence!

[NB: As before, all of these questions are from real people with real problems that apparently they really asked a complete stranger about.]

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David from Lincoln asks:
'Dear Dr.,

I have recently moved into a townhouse. It is lovely except for my next door neighbors. They are a pair of lawyers who are savvy about staying within the letter of the law and pushing the townhouse association’s rules.

They have annoying behaviours such as claiming unassigned parking spaces in such a way that puts the rest of us at a disadvantage. They drive their motorcycles off their patios, filling our homes with exhaust and noise, and leave on bright floodlights for nights on end, which lights up my window and is annoying.

The other neighbours have adjusted to this pair’s limit bending. I seem to be the neighbour most affected by their behaviours. Is there anything I can do? I'm about ready to lose my mind, it just isn't fair.'

Dr. Gintang says:

Now David,

I don't want to say this is what you get for moving in next to lawyers but this is exactly what you get when you move in next to lawyers.

As you have already (and I can't stress how fucking boringly enough) mentioned, the problem when fighting the Man, is that he has the law on his side. The way to fight back is to ambush your enemy with your Orphic knowledge of planning law.

Here's a good way to start: Did you know that it is, according to the Lex Vicinus Bitchpiss, perfectly legal to take a roaring, public shit on your neighbour's doorstep if they've given you suitable cause? Neither did they.

Hope this has answered your question.

Fight the power.

Dr. G.

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Charles from Hoxton asks:
'Dear Dr.,

I am twenty years old. I have the opportunity to work as a silent partner in fake ID production shop for the local college students. In exchange for a small capital investment and access to some of my contacts, I can own 40% of what could be a very lucrative business.

I would want to be to be a silent partner with absolutely no paper trail linking me to the business. I think this fake ID business could be a gold mine. What do you think of the problems it could present?

Dr. Gintang says:

Dear Charles, 

I can't believe you bothered to write in with this of course it's an excellent idea with absolutely no possible negative reprucussions. I can't think of any problems it could present. I can think of opportunities though. Lusciously-juicy opportunities that should be turning your pupils to dollar signs not making you run sobbing to me, an online agony aunt to ask if it's ok.

Also, what's this nonsense about leaving no paper trail? You always, always leave a paper trail dammit otherwise how will you be able to rub it in bitches' faces when they say 'ya can't afford it honey'? What would you do? Drag them to the nearest ATM and show them your balance? Once bitches start badmouthing your credit history in the street it's a slippery slope, my friend.

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Aggie from Milton Keynes asks:

'Dear Dr.,

I love my partner dearly but I can't cope with his aversion to soap and water and clean clothing. He wasn't like this when I first knew him. He lives in my house and helps with the bills but I hate him being in my bed because quite frankly, he smells.

The idea of sex with him is abhorrent for the same reason. I've tried dropping hints and also just being direct but nothing works. I don't want to ask him to leave but I will have to if he can't respect me enough to spend five minutes a day in the shower. He has enough time to spend 4 hours a day in the pub when I'm at work. Any suggestions? Many thanks.

Dr. Gintang says:

Dear Aggie,

You know, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a clean freak. You guys are the worst. Always up in our grills about changing clothes every month and washing our sheets every year, where do you get off? If you wanted to be regularly fucked by a washing machine, they have adaptable cycles you know.

Why is cleanliness such a big deal anyway? You could put your panties through the most vigorous sanitary programme possible and they'd still harbour more micro-organisms than a clumsy, hyper-allergenic Biology student's Petri dish experiment.

Luckily, I have the perfect response to your bitch girlfriend's question, Aggie's boyfriend. Just remind her that her chopping board harbours more bacteria than her toilet seat and she'll be too busy screaming to ever bother you again.

Hope this has answered your question.

Dr. G.

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Lucy from Croydon asks:
'Dear Dr.,

I'm ready to find love this Christmas, but always end up going out with the same friends, who are partnered up. I'm wary of online dating sites, so what else can I do to meet someone dishy in time for a New Year's kiss?'

Dr. Gintang says:

Dear Lucy,

Did you know that suicide rates are higher at this time of year than any other? Or, wait was it incidence of domestic violence that's higher? Hey no it's totally both! Yeah you can't win. Your options seem to be finding some fresh meat for New Year's and getting brained with a casserole dish when he realises how much of a humourless bitch you are or spending the festive season alone and braining yourself with a casserole dish.

Maybe you should just go get blitzed with these friends of yours and blitzed enough that they'd consider a swinger's party.

Hope this has answered your question.

Season's Greetings,

Dr. G.

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A Bible For The Modern Gentleman

According to the previous generation's definition of what constitutes a real man, I am a failure in every direction at once. I know nothing about cars, sport, politics and apart from a cursory understanding of which end of the hammer you hit a nail with, DIY either. But the world is a different place now; the human race has made remarkable strides in all fields, and a different world demands a different breed of gentleman. So here are the commandments which all men should live by in this age of drinkable yoghurt and fuckable dolls. 

***

I. Thou Shalt Read

Don't listen to your parents - literacy rates are higher than ever before. Cynical bastards have made the logical fallacy that as material media continues to die, reading is sure to follow. 

While it's certainly true that books, newspapers, magazines - the written word in all its forms is on the decline, the ease of access to the internet means your average Joe, no matter how inbred, is constantly bombarded by literature.

What you're doing right now is a fine example. If the floating shapes on the screen in front of you are forming coherent sentences with a deliciously sardonic slant, then congratulations, you're absolutely in the majority. And that is exactly where a real man wants to be. Besides, when evolution takes its course and we're all non-ambulatory, amorphous people-sacs connected by the hivemind network that finally rendered all human contact obsolete, you're going to want to understand exactly what that Nigerian Prince's lawyer means by 'collateral'.

II. Thou Shalt Know Things

COMMENCING RAPE IN: 3...2...

By things, I mean things that interest you. Knowing the bullshit that enables you to be a better accountant or whatever you do for a living only enables you to be a better accountant, not a better person. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a job that’s interesting to themselves, let alone anyone in earshot of you drunkenly pontificating. It's almost tragic that the people who are the easiest to despise are those with the least interesting things to say. Don't be this person. It doesn't matter what interests you -- pursue it.

The search for knowledge doesn't have to be academic, a gentleman should learn about shit that he enjoys. If all you like to do in your spare time is wear a gigantic red squirrel costume and masturbate into a grey gym sock in convention centres, there are more forums for that than you could ever send blurry photos of your tiny dick to.

III. Thou Shalt Know Thyself

Commandment number II is clearly facilitated by this one – to pursue what interests you you need to know what interests you. This one sounds easy but actually isn't. Basically, as a young gentleman growing up in a confusing world that contains things like this and an internet to make it all way too easy to find, you're bound to come under some pressure to display interest in things you couldn't give two flying ape carcasses about. 

But stay strong, young gentleman. Sure, all your peers couldn't be more excited about that cool new blog about a cat with no face but you just want to settle in every night to watch endless playlists of tortoises fucking inanimate objects. Don't worry. Thanks to the internet, you'll always be able to find people who share your sick, sick hobbies in future so there is no need to fear social ostracism now. You might have to wait until university, but trust me, those kindred souls are out there.

Nosce te ipsum, my son.

[You better have been checking up on all the links I assiduously put in this entry. God help you if not.]

IV. Thou Shalt Not Experiment In The Bedroom

You are genetically programmed to find sex fun without a Carrot Top-size trunk full of props. Don't listen to Cosmo. I'm sure I once empirically proved that they don't have a bloody clue about anything and if their latest biannual article for men told you to mix something stupid like food with sex, don't listen. That's exactly how inconvenient fetishes crop up and eventually, you won't be able to even get an erection without having three fingers in a Viennese Swirl while Mr Kipling watches.

V. Thou Shalt Sleep Around

It is now absolutely normal to get married, have kids, grow old, hate, get plastic surgery, relove, rehate and then die with number n in your black book. I can't personally speak to having a magic number that looks like something Paul Erdős would masturbate to but this is what I hear. Get out there, don't spread your seed but find out what you like and what women, on the whole as far your experience extends, like. Think of it as sex research. Knowledge can't harm. Right? Right?

VI. Thou Shalt Choose Your Chaps With Caution

Not everyone's interests will appeal to you and vice versa. I've always found it confusing that people like Meatloaf for example. Not ironically. Just like him. Even though he sings like he's got a mouthful of dong and false sense of entitlement. Or Phil Collins. Who never hasn't got his mouth around one or more dongs.

'I hereby solemnly swear not to screw you over eight ways from Sunday.'

But the people you spend your early years with (and in this case, early can mean anything from age 15 to 21 depending on your talent for networking) will have a profound effect on how you turn out as a gentleman. In this case, I was lucky. And you, as an aspiring man will need to take great care in choosing the kind of people you associate with. Not because you're planning a career in politics (although if you are, try to downplay your relationship with your wonderfully enterprising drug dealer) but because of the effect they will have on the development of your own identity. [See all the above commandments]. 

Also, I truly hate to mention this, but everything you heard about 'life' being about 'who you know and not what you know' is basically true. There is no fucking substitute for nepotism in careerism but as I thought I pointed out in Commandment II, knowing interesting things as well will hopefully result in everyone who isn't busy employing the shit out of you, not hating you.

VII. Thou Shalt Try Not To Die

Yep. Don't feel self-conscious about this in the slightest.

OK, that is perhaps a marginally excessive way of saying ‘just take care of yourself’. Wash occasionally, wear deodorant and aftershave – hell, throw some moisturiser on there too. No woman will ever be grossed out to such an extent that she swears she’ll never self-lubricate again because you have soft, smooth skin.

This commandment also includes slightly more peremptory self-maintenance than personal hygiene. Nobody wants to hear this, but men tend to die younger than women because when something like a brown mole appears on their thigh their first thought isn't: ‘Should probably get this checked out. Maybe by a medical professional.'

No, it’s: ‘Hmm. Probably a smudge of gravy’. Sixth months later when it’s the size of a fist, your average man is seeking medical advice by showing it to their mates and measuring their reactions for sarcasm.

Get yourself a spine and drop your pants in front of your GP now and again.

VIII. Thou Shalt Not Aspire To Tolerance, But To Not Giving Much Of A Damn

Tolerance is great. The whole 'equal opportunities' thing is great. But I would hazard that what people who consider themselves part of a minority group want, is for everyone else to not care. If you find yourself working in HR, the Raiden of careers, every single person who applies to you is (provided they aren't a raving narcissist) praying that you don't give a diggety hot damn that they are white, black, Asian, Mesopotamian, Presbyterian, or whatever. The art of tolerance isn't having to make a concerted effort to not hate someone on the basis that they are, say, ginger, but not caring that they are anything at all and just judging them on their merits or lack thereof.

Tolerance isn't something you should have to work at, at all. 

IX. Thou Shalt Not Concern Thyself With Pointless Gender Stereotypes

Aha! It's only romantic 'cause I can afford all these martinis.

All men, at some point in their lives, have been victim to this (on the face of it) seditious feeling that 'just because I'm a man and you're a woman, I should have to front the entirety of this dick-withering restaurant cheque?' And responded (often internally): 'FUCK. THIS. NOISE.'

It's natural. A product of the fifties and not much else. This: 'Here's lookin' at you kid!' kind of 'gentleman' knocks back their twelfth scotch, lights up a Lucky Strike and casually tosses a conveniently unlimited American Express card onto the waitress's frothing crotch and, would you look at that? The entire fucking universe suddenly decided that this is the only kind of man that existence is going to feel the need for for the next sixty years.

To hell with that. Men, if your woman is making you feel bad for suggesting something as chronically unmanly as splitting the cheque, then you have officially shacked up with something that has the common sense of a Flying Destructive Dragon Punch.

X. Thou Shalt Make At Least A Token Effort To Not Be A Total Dickhead

If I really have to explain this one to you, then you are truly beyond saving. I would say: 'Enjoy your decades of sexual, cultural and emotional fucking desert you vile, caustic stain on our gender', but I know that kind of person didn't pass the first challenge of making sense of all the floating shapes on their screen.

As I began by saying, I am about as entitled to preach about the tenets of manhood as Jeremy Kyle and he appeals to women in the same way as yeast infection. And yes. I definitely do not adhere to many of these commandments consistently. But as De Botton once said: 'Yeah but Proust was all self-righteous about how we should act around bitches and he got, like, no pussy at all.' Or something like that.

Worst Things Ever: The 5 types of Facebook user

Put your hand up if you think you use Facebook too much. That was an order. I know no one put their hand up because you're all too busy using both to molest everyone else's news feed. Facebook is one of the great time-wasting staples and the only reason it isn't beaten by masturbation is because everyone spends a few minutes trawling other peoples' photo albums while their porno buffers. 

I'm not suggesting we do something stupid like try and boycott the social network, firstly, because boring, self-important types have already tried and second, because you might as well try to boycott blinking. I am suggesting we take a long, hard look [I see the porno users have now joined us] at the kind of people who use it most often and usually, in the most clearly defined ways. 

***

The Stalker

If you don't think you're any other kind of user on this list (but trust me, you definitely, definitely are) then this one is you. You log onto Facebook for the occasional few minutes just to see how everyone else is doing. Which usually boils down to: 

'FUCK ME SIDEWAYS. She got fat, didn't she?'

 And, 

'Yep. Still doable.'

Those are, by the way, the typical female and male responses to Facebook intel respectively. 

The Teenage Mother

Stop doing this. Please, please just stop doing this. I know it's wonderful. Miracle of life and all that but some of us couldn't give two flaming shits that you managed to get yourself knocked up. 

I know what you're saying. It's something along the lines of: 'OMG look! He's trying to unscrew my bottle of Jack! Isn't he da ceeewwwttest?!'

What? You're telling me that your child did something vaguely people-ish and it was funny? I had no idea. It's not like the internet has any photos like that.

The Poet/Motivational Poster

If this one is you, then congratulations. You might actually just be one of my all-time most hated things, after bus drivers, Bon Jovi and Catholicism. Nah, just joshing Benny. You're alright by me these days.

Seriously, when will people learn that the place for asinine fridge-magnet philosophy is nowhere? If I tried to stick a card that said something like: 'Inspiration is 99% perspiration and 1% actual, reasoned innovation!' to my fridge I sincerely hope that it would swing the door open in my face, simultaneously shrugging off that fucking stupid note and causing a little mild damage to the brain I clearly no longer needed.

You! You right there trying to close this tab. Yes, I can see you. This also includes your type that laboriously types out song lyrics to pose as a poetic or motivational status. You might actually be worse. Sure, we're all glad that those two lines from a Fallout Boy song made you feel better about life. But we're also pretty sure we hate you.

The Narcissist

Now we come to the meat and potatoes of the Facebook user base. All due emphasis on the meat. You, the narcissist, spend hours meticulously erasing all evidence of your existence in posts and es-extra-fucking-specially photos that make you look like anything less than the idol you frantically believe that you are.

You detag yourself from more photos than Bigfoot and all for the sake of your already grossly inflated ego. You spend more time on Facebook looking through photos of yourself than playing Bejewelled like the rest of us and silently seethe about a person looking pretty good in a photo while you type: 'Loookin gawwwwgoouuusss darlin!' in the comments.

The Braggart

Sigh. You can't believe how normal it is that you're just sitting by the beach in the Caribbean. You don't know, maybe you kind of expected this to be more, I don't know, impressive? Doesn't everyone do this?

Well no. No we don't Braggart Facebook users. Some of us don't spend several months backpacking through the Himalayas on a suspiciously comfortable budget. Some, in fact most of us, have never gone backpacking in the Himalayas on a suspiciously comfortable budget. But that isn't going to stop you posting motherfucking hundreds of photos of yourself looking bored in parts of the world that we'd burn down whole orphanages to visit? Does it?

Dr. Gintang: Online Agony Aunt #1

The most common question I get asked is: 'who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?' Usually posed in an all-in-one breath, panicky kind of way. Like: 'whoareyouandwhatareyoudoinginmykitchen?!' And usually followed by 'ohmygodwhatareyoudoingtomypeanutbutter?!' The point is, as someone who spends most of their time and exhausts most effort on the internet, I have a lot of salient advice to give. I've been doing it for months (See: Figures A, B and C), but have just now decided that broaching general topics wasn't getting me very far. From up here on this high horse it still looks like most of you are awful at much of everything.

That's why, in all due accordance with my community service, I'll be taking specific questions sent in by you: nobody and answering them as me: Dr. Gintang (Spaceman was taken). If you have a question, and it can be on anything mind, anything at all, I will not give two shits, please send them in the usual way by smearing them in blood on your walls.

Please remember, Dr. Gintang cannot be held accountable for you being a pussy and not liking his response. Also note, that this is an advice column. Dr. Gintang will provide suggestions as to how to improve your situation, not an ultimatum. So if his advice is to go swallow everything in your medicine cupboard, remember, it is only advisable that you comply.


[Fun fact: All of these 'problems' are taken from genuine agony aunt columns. Obviously, the names are fabricated, so if any of these cases resemble real people, alive or dead, stop being so damn paranoid.]

[Fun fact 2: All of Dr. Gintang's advice is more useful than the real agony aunts'. He also uses punctuation.]

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Josie from Cheshire asks:
'Dear Dr. Gintang,

My sex life has dwindled from doing it every day to never doing it at all, and we’ve only just turned 30.

I’ve tried talking to my boyfriend about it, and buying sexy underwear and sex toys. I try to initiate sex but I’ve stopped dressing up now because I’m afraid of rejection and feel like a fool.

He says to me, “I just don’t want sex any more,” but I do. I miss the intimacy. What can I do?'

Dr. Gintang says:

Dear Josie,

Have you considered the possibility that this is revenge for you being such a frigid bitch up until now? Are you so power hungry that the only way you can get in the mood is if you're the only one with the authority to initiate pounding? 

Have you also considered the possibility that he no longer finds you attractive and/or is parking his dong in something less megalomanical? Here's an easy way to find out - schedule a threesome and if during, he looks at you and withers like a daffodil in December, buy a Rampant Rabbit and prepare for a lifetime of sexual starvation. 

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Kate from Teddington asks:

'Dear Dr.,

I’ve just found out he [my partner] has another family. When I met my partner two years ago he said he was divorced with two teenage sons. We now have a beautiful baby. Recently I discovered an old profile of his on Friends Reunited, which stated that he had been married twice and had a five-year-old child.

When I confronted him, he denied that it was him. His sister refused to tell me anything but eventually admitted it was true but that he had no contact with his ex-wife or child. She made me promise not to tell my partner that she had told me. Should I tell him that I know and alienate his family?'

Dr. Gintang says:

Dear Kate,

Haha, seriously? If he managed to keep a whole family secret, imagine what else he could be keeping from you. Look I'm not going to sugarcoat this, you've almost certainly just had a beautiful Aryan baby with a Nazi war criminal whose been in hiding the last few decades. You're clearly a sucker for the Silberfüchse.

More importantly, do you feel, you know, ethically, that it was alright to go snooping through his Friends Reunited profile? Was Goebbels on there? Because I bet he's still out there. I have this theory that he just changed his name to Uwe Boll and kept producing films. 

I get this feeling that you're slightly resentful that this guy has knocked up at least two other women. Don't be. Clearly, he's still got the old Wehrmacht marksmanship. 

Hope this has answered your question. 

Dr. G.

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Danielle from Newcastle asks:

'Dear Dr.,

I have been feeling really down about my weight for some time. I used to be 13st 11lbs, I have lost 1st and that's all I seem to be able to lose. I have been with [a] personal trainer and done Slimming World but I have stopped going as for the past couple of months they don't seem to be working. 

Due to the weight not moving I have started to become disheartened and in turn started eating junk food which in turn makes it worse. I just can't seem to get motivated again to try and lose this last stone that I would like to lose. 

Also, I have a partner who will just sit there and eat chocolate and junk in front of me. I can't talk to him about it as he just gets in [a] mood and says "well I'm not the one who is trying to lose weight."'

Dr. Gintang says:

Dear Danielle,

Sorry I wasn't paying attention to the last bit, god this pop tart is sooooo good. Right, yes. Yes. Well, weight is a delicate issue to deal with. Fatties get all sensitive when you try to address it. I remember this one time one of you people got upset when I said I wouldn't look them directly in the face because I didn't want to fall in. Can you believe that?

The only advice I can really give here, seeing as I maintain the body of a Classical Athenian bronze statue with no effort whatsoever, is that the only secret to dieting is, there is no fucking secret. And the reason there are so many dieting programs is the same reason there are so many religions. Everyone's wrong, but the question is, how stupid do you want to look going out? 

Your boyfriend seems to have the right idea. When people diet, they get this ridiculous idea that everyone around them should be suffering as they are. 

Hope this answered your question. 

Dr. G.

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Neil from Cardiff asks:

'Dear Dr.,

I'm 19 years old and my best mate is the same age. We have known each other for years but he moved away and has now moved back and I think he likes me. Sometimes he acts distant and when we're alone he brushes against my hand. 

Since he has came back I realised that I am attracted to him. I'm a lad too and I'm so confused when we are together I do stuff that I wouldn't do with girl mates like sleep in the same bed or change in the same cubical at the swimming pool and I find myself brushing against him too. 

I have feelings for him but I dont want to make a move because I don't want to ruin our friendship and he has a girlfriend and a baby on the way. Please help.'

Dr. Gintang says:

Dear Neil,

W-wow. You people really get yourselves into some tight pickles. And when I say 'you people' I mean everyone. But I'm sure you people like the sound of tight pickles. 

Well, Jesus where to start? Firstly, this guy's 19 and has a baby on the way? You're still sleeping in the same beds and getting excited by 'brushing up against' each other. You guys don't sound like you're ready for puberty let alone a child. Are you even sure his girlfriend's really pregnant? Because you can't impregnate someone by dry-humping, you know. Urgh. I bet you three flirt like kids at Christian camp. 

Also, are you sure he isn't in the closet? There was a time when having a wife and kids was empirical proof that you were gay. If he was, perhaps you could try tempting him out? I don't know what you guys like, err, campness? Musicals? ...Tapas? I'm out of my league here. You could move to New York maybe, that makes everyone either gay, Jewish or both, I think.

This is kind of pointless actually. If you touch men like you touch your keyboard, judging by the schizophrenic septic tank of a message you sent, he could do better than you. 

Good luck anyway.

Dr. G.

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That's all we've got time for today, but remember, if you have a question for Dr. Gintang, write it in burning oil and send him a PrtSc of it on Google Earth. 

Worst Things Ever: Greetings Card Joke Writers Should Be Destroyed

Trying to be funny on purpose is like masturbating in your friend's mother's bath in the hope that she walks in and asks if you need a hand with that, big boy. It's almost certainly going to end with you being humiliated but every once in a while, on a perfect night, the stars align and everyone is happy you made the decision. People who write jokes for birthday, Christmas, Halloween and every other meaningless life event themed card, are the exception. They haven't even been funny yet by accident.

Sure, they're not the only ones making a career out of sucking joy from the world. When you're eating a Penguin bar and you're foolish enough to read the joke on the wrapper, at least you can wash all that disappointment out of your mouth with industrial waste-flavoured 'chocolate'. But cards are worthless. It's just the message inside (if there is one) that counts, and in the end, you're just going to throw it away. It's like you're ritually hoarding and discarding the kind thoughts of your peers at every significant point on the calendar, every year. And if you don't, you're a complete weirdo for keeping all the cards you've ever received in your life. You can't win. But worst of all, you have to go through the same old cheap setup to a punchline you wouldn't hit your worst enemy with to get to that sweet note about how great your penis is. You could have just texted that to me, you know.

Quick question: what's worse? A racist or a rapist? Doesn't matter, card joke writers are both. I've never met one, which is largely the reason I'm not writing this from prison, but I'm pretty sure they think in stereotypes. Stereotype code. These no-talent hacks only have like eight jokes in their repertoire. And the repertoire goddamn includes the art design. At even the briefest glance, you can almost always guess the nature of the joke from the visual design and what kind of person is involved. Is it a woman? Is she every woman circa 1950? Then she's drunk.

QED, motherfucker.

Is it a man? Does the card look like it was rejected by the Dandy on the basis that the cartoonist drew it with his dong? Then he's a pervert.

Urgh.

Seriously, look at this bullshit. In this case a tiny prick could be a desperate grasp at reviving the allusion to a tiny cock! What innovation. I fucking hate these people. I know this sounds a bit early in the article to be saying this, but that's basically it when it comes to people-related jokes on cards. Writers think we men are all in our late forties, manically-obsessed with vaginas, borderline rapists and drunk. While women are all in their late twenties/early thirties, manically-obsessed with shoes and weight loss, frigid as all hell and really drunk. And as if there wasn't enough for you to worry about with Death's grim gaze and rigid schedule looming over you, but if you're old (and in card writer years, that's about forty, if you're male, thirty-five if female), this is the only kind of birthday card you're ever going to get again:

Haha. Old people are so gross. I'm sure this didn't break Nanny's heart or anything.

Double money shot, grandma! Deafness and incontinence. Literally the only two things old people are known for in the minds of greetings card writers. Ah. Sorry. I forgot technophobia. I hope the man who wrote this card gave it to his mother for her birthday. I also hope she punched him right in his colostomy bag.

If I had to pick the most consistently awful themed cards, it would be a knock-up between those for the aged, or involving animals. Long before I Can Haz Cheezburger was a thing, card writers were driving home the lesson that if you're looking for a way to spread misery and despair across the land, you can do a lot worse than putting a shit joke under a photo of a gorilla wearing a Stetson.

How do you fail so hard at humour? I came up with 'Objects in mirror appear more awesome than they are. Happy birthday!' in maybe, thirty seconds. And I'm only, like, one quarter retarded.

If I was in the DOD and we decided we wanted to weaponise paronomasia, the maker of this card would be who I rang first. Just imagine if you laughed at that. That you found train-wrecks like this funny. You'd be simultaneously the happiest and most punched person in the world. Maybe you're the one writing them all. And it's only you who enjoys them. Actually, I can empathise with that.

Oh for FUCK'S SAKE.

Worst Things Ever: Why Seas Should Be Banned

I've touched on my intense distaste for sharks here before, briefly, but believe it or not, they're not my greatest marine fear, and shouldn't be yours either. Every patch of salt water, no matter how minuscule, is a breeding ground for slimy, serrated, toxic Lovecraftian horrors and I want nothing more to do with it. The seas are fucked, and if I had my way I'd have every inch of them fired into the sun. That's not to say I approve of fresh water, rivers can and do hide this kind of goddamn thing, but I accept that we kind of need water, to make tequila and irrigate our fields of agave, to make tequila. But no amount of tequila could make me forget these reasons to move to a landlocked county, right fucking now. No time to grab your possessions or loved ones, just run.

 ***

They're Deceptive

Ok, so if you're reading this, you've made your first mistake by not listening to me. You may come to regret that. I'm going to assume you're sceptical, in which case, I'm also going to assume you're a cretin. Every second you don't spend screaming and firing a gun wildly into the water at your local beach is a second something in there spent plotting your end. But you probably didn't spend the last five seconds doing that, you spent it reading this. Saying that, I didn't either. The coastguard at Weston-Super-Mare took my assault rifle. 

The thing is, people like the sea. They love going to the beach, even the British, and we're so safety-conscious we can't take a piss without an under-paid official patting down the urinal for switch-blades. And yet at the first sign of sunlight, the whole country drops everything and makes a screaming dash for the nearest stretch of grey, dismal sand or shattered razor-pebbles. Although, to be fair, we're mostly already drunk. Our first impulse when the weather wizards prophesise the two hours of sunny conditions we get a year are imminent, every off-license in the country sells out of Pimms and Gordon's within seconds. Then we head for the seaside. At least these ridiculous people I call countrymen understand the Second Law of the Oceans after: You Keep What You Kill: Leave Your Limbs, For They Are Mine Now, and that is - The warmer, brighter and more beautiful the sea is, the more prehistoric killing machines it contains. The British think the freezing, sewage-flavoured waters off Brighton beach are safe, and they are so wrong.

There's Lots Of It

Someone with far too much time on their hands said that 2/3s of the planet's surface is ocean. Clearly, the guy also didn't have much compassion. He might as well have said 66% of the floor around me is lava and the rest is covered in prison rapists with dossiers of all my childhood fears for all the good it did my sense of security. But tragically, I can imagine he's right. There certainly is a lot of salt water, which means the only marginally safe places on the planet's surface, other than my water-proof bomb shelter, is the Atacama desert and a shallow grave. 

What that also means, is they're aren't a whole lot of physical barriers stopping every godforsaken creature in the depths from turning up in, say, Portsmouth. I know, why would anyone go to Portsmouth?

These Fucking Things Are In It

Ssssskkkkrrriiiiiiyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Didn't I say you'd regret staying here? This is, apparently, a Sarcastic Fringehead and feel free to join me as I say, f-f-f-fuck you, Sarcastic Fringehead. Fuck you for existing.  

And then there's this:

I know what you're saying to yourselves now: 'Will my good man, do you think me slow? That's clearly H.R. Giger's early concept art from the original Alien.' Well it brings me no joy to say that, no, unfortunately, you're quite possibly fatally, wrong. That thing is known to people with exponentially more balls than me, as a Black Dragonfish. Because screw it, you might as well be killed by something with a badass name than something that sounds like a passive-aggressive bitch, right? Aaaaaannnnd, smash cut.

No. No way. That cannot be a thing. That's a fucking Draugr if it's anything. A marine biologist might call it a Northern Stargazer, I call it proof that God wasn't paying much attention when he came to underwater life. 

'Gotcha again, Mr Franklin. Those are budget voodoo earrings.'

I know it's hard,  but try and look again - that's a squid with dentures. Or, what I will forever think of when I remember this.

As if the universe wasn't terrible enough without a jellyfish that's ten fucking feet across. And before you ask, yes, of course they're poisonous.

There Could Be Anything Down There. Anything. Yo. Anything.

Someone with even more time on their hands and even less compassion posited that we know less about the floors of the world's oceans than the surface of the moon. Granted, that's not saying much. The mind boggles at how much is not up there to know about. Lunar observation is a more boring job than trainspotting during a London Midlands strike. Space travel doesn't have the popularity it used to when Houston put a man on a low budget set in Michigan, but people are still content to be ignorant of our planet's soaking basement. And so am I. And yet, it seems like every month some intrepid team completely lacking any sense of basic self-preservation pulls another ancient monster from the depths:

Figure A. (for Awful).

Meet the goblin shark. Yes, that's it's name. Guess where one was found, very much alive? Look I know you know it's Japan so let's just get on with this. I'd rather not dwell on it. This thing has been kicking around since the Middle Eocene, roughly 56 to 34 million years ago.

This monstrosity survived and far larger, but only marginally more monstrous things, didn't. That should tell you all any right-minded person would want to know about it and every other species older than a round million. Like this old-timer, and not forgetting the granddaddy of everything that ever crawled out of your nightmares to feed on your screams, the lamprey. And we don't even have a clue what else is down there.

Thanks a bunch, creationist God. Now that's sarcasm, Fringehead. Seriously though, fuck you both.

Worst Things Ever: 4 Cases of Animal Cruelty in Children's Films

We live in a world where a whole nation can be united by nothing more than a soothing voiceover from an octogenarian and stock footage of penguins fucking. And yet, there are still people willing to get all angsty about a fictional Italian plumber wearing the skin of a raccon dog. Organisations like PETA need to get off Nintendo's back and focus on the people who are really sending the wrong message about treatment of animals to kids - the creators of our most beloved children's films. 

***

Juju - The Princess and the Frog

It's almost hilarious how this film swings between moral extremes. It starts off with a spoilt, demanding young girl tormenting the shit out of her kitten, but she's quickly reprimanded by her responsible adult maid. Thirty minutes later a blind, ageing and presumably drug-addled Voodoo woman is using a snake as a walking stick and loving every second of it.

There are three clear messages driven home by The Princess and the Frog. One - all black people care about is an almost masochistic obsession with hard work. Two - all white people care about is playing ukulele and getting laid. And three - life as a frog sucks harder than Aquaman. Literally everything in the Bayou tries to kill our two heroes on their quest to turn themselves back into humans, in order to do the only things they respectively do: manual labour and partying. On that quest, they meet the above mentioned blind lady. Now I'm not saying that Mama Odie acts like she's tripping balls but she clearly is and after a predictable song and dance number, points out the important distinction between what a person wants and what a person actually needs. But apparently neither of them really need to be human, because guess what? You can be a more passive-aggressive workaholic than Geoffrey from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air or a slovenly, hedonistic douchebag and be a frog at the same time.

Imagine that you're a child watching this, and you have a shitty home life with an abusive parent: the film is basically telling you to man up and deal with it you little bitch, leave it to a complex series of events you have no control over to fix your life. And also that if you see a frog, fucking destroy it. Even disregarding that, Odie's treatment of her poor snake Juju is criminal.

Abu - Aladdin

Life as a street rat in Agrabah ain't easy because there's no such thing as a petty crime. Sure that loaf of bread or melon looks both tasty and unguarded, but is it really worth tangling with a platoon of militia with scimitars for it? Because they seem to have nothing better to do.

What annoys me most about Abu is that he only gets irritated by one thing throughout the film: the possibility of Aladdin parking his homeless dong in the Sultan's sultry daughter. Not, say, a life of abject destitution.

The Squirrelettes - The Sword in the Stone

Sometimes the aspiring animal abuser just doesn't have time to spare from their other evil doings to give their non-human companions the level of abuse they so richly deserve. At this point, they usually send their magically inept apprentice into the woods in the form of a rodent to cocktease squirrels.

Squirrels are kind of adorable, when they're not savaging park-goers, but this scene from The Sword In The Stone seems a little unnecessary. By this point, Merlin and Wart have already, pointlessly, robbed an innocent pike of a probably much needed meal, in order for young Arthur to learn about the circle of life. Then, in order to teach his young ward the vital maxim: 'look before you leap', England's most successful wizard turns the boy into a squirrel and does his utmost to ensure he breaks his neck. Along the way, they both attract the attentions of the opposite sex, and instead of embracing the opportunity to teach a young'un about the 'birds and the bees' as well, they both add some broken hearts to the trail of chaos the two have left in Pendragon's hold. Annoyingly, I would have thought being groomed for royalty had exactly the opposite benefits.

Scrat - Ice Age

No animated organism in the history of cinema has received more punishment than Scrat. Another squirrel/rodent of some description, his only involvement in any of the four films is purely for the audience to laugh at while he desperately starves. Don't get me wrong, it's hilarious. As are all of the above, but for that to be true for me, something must have gone wrong in the minds of these directors.

Mother Nature's a bitch, sure. And I'm all for kids learning that at as early an age as possible. Nurses shouldn't just be slapping newborns on the rump, they should be screaming at them that they'll never achieve anything in life. But Scrat is such a tragic figure, removing him in the next goddamn instalment would be a mercy killing. They even introduced a romance for him, just for the opportunity to see heartbreak and a look that says 'I'm definitely not going to survive this winter' on his pathetic face at the same time. The monster who pitched this character probably knows exactly how long every major brand of hand lotion is good for before it turns to paste when he's masturbating to UNICEF adverts. Shit. Even I felt bad about that one.

Happy holidays, kids!  

Worst Things Ever: 5 TV Shows Too Insane To Think About

TV is like religion. For every one suicide bomber there are a hundred Catholic choir boys getting all the sex they could want. Also like religion, a lot about TV is crazier than a shithouse rat. The following are five of the goddamn insanest programs it wasn't really that hard to find. What was harder, was understanding what went through the minds of all the presumably un-institutionalised people that saw this madness before it made it to small screens and let it happen.

I should note, that in the spirit of fairness, I didn't consider anything made in Japan for this list. I'm sure you were expecting Takeshi's Castle or something like it here, but that sort of thing is like Midlands Today to them. Being Japanese means you couldn't see something being unremarkable harder than Banzai without actually being Prince Charles sniffing through a schoolchild's used-pantie vending machine. 

***

Finding Bigfoot

You know how you always start to get the feeling that TV producers can't seem to finish what they start, right about the same time they completely run dry of interesting ideas? Then they go on for a few more seasons? Well Animal Planet hit on the best damn idea to sort that out. Every week they send four douchy backpackers into another corner of American forest to search for the totally-not-mythical creature. Now that's a pitch with legs. They could, quite literally, keep this show going until the end of time. Along the way, the 'experts' have every kind of emotional breakdown. It's like a fat camp, except fat camps occasionally achieve something. Don't these morons realise that airport security also pay people perfectly good money to search for something that obviously doesn't exist? 

Steven Seagal: Lawman

Look, I'm not saying Steven Seagal doesn't have superpowers, but he sure as shit thinks so. And who's going to argue with an Aikido 7th dan blackbelt? Not me. I appreciate my bone structure just as it is. And I don't even know what Aikido is. I considered Armed & Famous for this spot, where CBS gave established jackasses like Wee Man, La Toya Jackson and Erik Estrada badges and guns and set them loose in Indiana as, I really, really goddamn wish I was making this up, officially sworn-in reserve police officers. But sadly, the idea of attention-whoring idiots taking the oath to 'Protect and Serve', is actually less terrifying to me than 600 pounds of 90s action star stalking the streets of Jefferson Parish, Louisiana.

Watch, as he hypnotises some poor homeless guy with ancient Chinese zodiak mysticism, and then at some other time, for no reason, shoots the heads off matches. There's no point being coy about this, I've seen many a Seagal flick in my time, so I can say, quite safely, that Steven solves most of his problems with femur smashes. And mostly recently, in (my personal director's soft spot Robert Rodriguez's) Machete, where he solved the problem of Danny Trejo's wife, by katana. Seagal has spent the last 20 years in worlds where he walks into a sports bar, and everyone tries to kill him. Who wouldn't be effected by that? It doesn't surprise me that petty crime in the great state of Louisiana has gone done 40-odd per cent, because most of the county's muggers and vaguely-gothy looking men are just puddles of meat in dimly-lit alleyways these days.

To Catch A Predator

I just don't see the appeal of To Catch A Predator. Any hunter would tell you, it's no fun putting down deer if they just stumble blindly into your trap one after another. There's no challenge. And therefore, no satisfaction. If you're the kind of person that enjoys watching the stupidly helpless destroy themselves, then you're probably Chris Hanson anyway. If not, South Park took the piss out of this show better than I ever could. So just watch that episode, I guess. 

A Shot At Love With Tila Tequila

Plenty of reality tv shows offer sex with a 6 as a prize, few offer Uatu, the alien super-villain from X-Men. The votes are in, and apparently, no-one wants to have sex with you, Tila. Sorry.

Bridalplasty

The concept of Bridalplasty, where a dozen brides-to-be compete for plastic surgery, sounds like something a terrified husband would scream to the police when his deranged wife takes him hostage in her wedding dress. And predictably, E! didn't choose charming, relatable women who happened to be on the large side for this, because, how would that make good TV? No. They're all screeching, self-important psychopaths whose only motivation is some fucking botox up in those billowing cheek bones. Plus everything else they ever dreamed of. Every tummy tuck, jowl limitation, wing clipping, neck-hot-dog reflapping that they ever wanted. And for what? Their dream wedding? Fuck that. Every second these whingeing pork shoulders live, one micron of the essence of human achievement is sucked from the world. If you asked any of these vacuous cro-magnons what 'enlightenment' meant, they'd say it was that awful, particular camera angle that illuminated their knee fat. 

I'm no stranger to hating on reality TV series, but I truly believe that TV is pissing in our collective cornflakes with this. It does not, deserve, to exist. Where the rest of the shows on this list defy logical reasoning, Bridalplasty manages to violate every moral or ethical standpoint I hold. And I don't even value human life. Don't be like that. You've been here before, it shouldn't surprise you. Watching these horrendous excuses for humans squabble and scrounge for cosmetic treatments, in even the briefest of moments, is honest to god, the most fucking depressing thing I have ever seen. I mean, one of these twats actually pawned her engagement ring without telling her fiancee.

It wasn't my intention to depress anyone with this, or turn people off TV as a whole, which as an industry, continues to produce great products, occasionally. I didn't even mean to mention the fact that some shows (reality, obviously), actually make you stupider for watching, according to genuine, scientific study, which I conveniently can't be bothered to post links to. But seriously, TV is fucked. I can sort of understand that a certain demographic might want to watch Steven Seagal karate chop perps, or desperate bisexuals fighting for a skank's attention. But Bridalplasty crosses a line. Making it far, far, too insane to think about.

Worst Things Ever: The 8 Worst Black Eyed Peas 'Lyrics'

I'm now going to prove beyond reasonable doubt that the Grammy award-winning Black Eyed Peas outfit are the laziest sons of whores to ever hold wet fart contests over the mouths of producers and sell the recordings as pop music. They've been shitting in the ears of us all for years and I mean to destroy them. I'll be measuring the mathematical degree of shitness in their lyrics in three, easily quantifiable categories: Stupid, Gross and Repetitiveⁿ. They're all represented by the appropriate number of cartoon faces, Stupid is measured in Ralph Wiggums; Gross in Ursulas and Repetitiveⁿ in Slippys. Keep an eye out for the special Tragic Bonus, aces are low and always roll to save against Losing the Will to Live. Alright? Let's do this.

***

"Check it out, Check it out
What?
Check it out, Check it out, Check it out
What?
No you
Check it out, Check it out
What?"

(Party All The Time)

Stupid:

Gross:

Repetitiveⁿ: 

Some people spend their whole lives examining the lyrics of their favourite songs, grasping for implied meanings or allegory. Good luck trying that here. You could spend your whole life on some of BEP's songs and not find any meaning, they're total violations of sense. I mean, what are they trying to do here? Set off their cyborg agent's secret self-destruct code?

"Girl, me and you were just fine (you know)
We wine and dine
Did them things that couples do when in love (you know)
Walks on the beach and stuff (you know)"

(Shut Up)

 
Stupid:

Gross:

Repetitiveⁿ:  

Will.I.Am is such a pussy that he could dare The Punisher to a bare-knuckle boxing match in the tongue of Mordor and still sound like a hypochondriac begging for a pap smear.


"Fill up my cup (Drank)
Mozoltov (La' Chaim)
Look at her dancing (Move it Move it)
Just take it off"
(I Got A Feeling)

Stupid:

Gross:

Repetitiveⁿ: 

When Google finally unveils its master plan to wipe out 75% of the population leaving only the brightest and best for its Utopia in the sky, having 'are any of Black Eyed Peas actually Jewish?' in my search history is exactly what they'll use to justify having me humanely destroyed.

"They always standing next to me,
Always dancing next to me,
Tryin' a feel my hump, hump.
Lookin' at my lump, lump."

(My Humps)

Stupid:  

Gross:

Repetitiveⁿ:  

When Fergie lifts a leg up, every divorce lawyer's eyes turn to dollar signs for miles around, and every gynaecologist shoots himself. What's more horrifying, is that she apparently doesn't mind attracting the kind of man that likes his deadbeat hookers to come with cancerous growths.

"Hello hello hello hello hello.
Cause the girls want ding a ling a ling ling,
Ding a ling a ling ling, ding a ling a ling ling,
Ding a ling a ling ling, ding a ling.
Dam dam dang a lang"

(Ring-A-Ling)

Stupid:  

Gross:

Repetitiveⁿ:  

The saddest thing about the Black Eyed Peas is I thought the mentally disabled were meant to be lovable.

"Give it to me baby, yea, get off your stump
Brothers on the floor just wiggle your front"

(Ba Bump)

Stupid:

Gross:

Repetitiveⁿ:  

Fergie has so much semen on her breath that by the end of a gig, the roadies can't pack up her mic without a certified abortionist present.

"Chicks say, she ain't down
But chick backstage when we in town (ha)
She like man on drunk (fool)
She wanna hit n' run (errr)"
(Pump It)

Stupid:

Gross:

Repetitiveⁿ:  

I didn't add that pause at the end, they really meant to say that. Called for Hesistation, am I right Just a Minute? Check and mate, Black Eyed Peas. This is actually starting to feel like torture now, I think they really do enjoy making those of us with human hearing and a primary school grasp of English suffer. Why else would they keep, fucking, coming back? It's not like they need the money or anything, by this point they must be suckled and fat on the collective pocket money of millions of morons. They can't just be in this for the money? Can they?

"I'm way out like NASA
I'm way over here I done past ya
I get stacks of cash, you get cashews,
I go hard, statues"

(The Hardest Ever)

Never mind.