Wednesday, 24 November 2010

In which I uncover the dire deeds of the Illuminati!

Boredom is a funny thing. I was supposed to be at uni today, but decided the time would be better spent working from home. this went well until the boredom set in, and, predictably, I fired up google for something to pique my interest.

Nothing interests me more than things that make me angry, and there are few things that leap up and down on my annoyance button than slack jawed, hooting fucking stupidity. But what is there on the internet that could possibly be stupid enough to annoy me out of this boredom funk I was in?

It didn't take long before I started reading, through screwed up eyes and with gritted teeth and clenched fists, 9/11 conspiracy theories.

Have you ever seen these things? Jesus Christ, it beggars belief! All the tinfoil-hatted lunatics urging us to "wake up, sheeple" and pointing at other, equally demented lunatics' wild allegations as infallible evidence that George Bush personally pressed the big cartoon plunger that blew up the world trade centre. It was annoyance gold! Content with my klondike, I settled in for a good read, and was soon fuming with rage at the sheer boss-eyed mongolity of some of the world's inhabitants.

There are a lot of conspiracies, each constructed around the premise of the attacks being perpetrated to achieve one of a small number of agendas, from legitimising a war for oil to population control (yes, population control. I know. I KNOW! Ha!) Some of them are quite sophisticated, with "professionals" quoting a lot of confusing jargon to prove that the towers were blown up or that no plane hit the pentagon. Of course, as soon as any bona-fide research or experimentation provides proof that the claims are exactly what they seem to be (shite) then that's all part of the cover up! WAKE UP SHEEPLE!

Some of them are classic. Here are some of the more hilarious ones.

There were no taxis in the area around the WTC before the attacks, as mostly all taxi drivers in america (as everyone knows) is an Arab and they had been warned about it. Yep. And they all still know about it.... that's right! Every taxi driver in New York is in on the "cover-up", making it so vast and widely known that it's not a cover up at all. This largely springs from the fact that dumb-as-shit twats trying to flee the scene were unable to hail a taxi, as there weren't any (probably because a vast terrorist attack had just taken place and normal work-day hours had been suspended or some bizarre thing like that) and their brains couldn't grasp the fact that there were no taxis so THERE MUST BE A REASON! Quite why the large volume of Muslim victims of the attacks both on the planes and in or around the towers were not warned to stay away isn't explained. Maybe they were all martyrs, eh? Stayed there on purpose? Yeah that must be it. They're all mental aren't they? Yeah. Jesus Christ.

The planes that hit the world trade centre were not the ones reported as hijacked. They were, in fact, replicas. The actual planes were diverted to secret runways and the passengers are being held in secret prisons. This one is genius. Quite why this is supposed to have happened escapes me...... why save the lives of the passengers and not the people in the towers? And for what? So they can live forever in prison so they can't reveal the secret? For fuck's sake. And why fly replicas in? Why not just fly the original ones in? Why? WHY? NNNGGGGG!

Another brilliant version of this is that no planes hit the WTC at all. They were actually missiles! Variants of this one swing between the missiles being hidden in plane shaped containers, the planes being photoshopped into footage later (and somehow, amazingly, into the memories of the eyewitnesses too as proponents of this theory have no explanation as to why people there saw the planes with their own eyes apart from "They're in on it". Maybe it's mind control. Yeah. Mind control. I used to love the X-files.) and, hilariously, that the missiles projected a hologram in the shape of a plane in a sort of star trek like cloaking field. It's absolutely hysterical! What happened to the actual planes and people on them is a mystery, probably the same as in the one I mentioned before. Why they went to all this trouble to disguise missiles as planes rather than, say, just use planes, is a mystery only the luna..... "theorists" know.

No plane hit the pentagon, because on the footage there's no wreckage and the hole's too small. Another magically disappearing plane involved in this one as it has no explanation as to what happened to the plane that is reported to have hit it (probably stored in a big x-files type hangar somewhere in area 51). Yep, again it was a missile. They fired a missile then constructed this huge, easily uncovered conspiracy to cover it up. Well..... it WOULD be easily uncovered if it had happened, so easy, in fact, that it would be far simpler to simply hijack a plane and crash it into the pentagon, creating (if the theorists are to be believed) far more damage. Then no-one would poke their noses in and find out we'd told a fib. OH! I said we! I must be in on it too! I'm in the illuminati! I'm a lizard person! We eat babies in ice cream while watching streaming videos of you in your house! Sheeple!

The controlled demolition theory is probably the biggest and most widely known one. This one basically states that the two towers of the world trade centre and the other one that fell down "mysteriously" (because it contained "secret information" and not because two huge buildings had just collapsed virtually on top of it) were blown up on purpose. Yes, secretly (that's the pertinent bit there, remember this is all done without anyone noticing) three large buildings, including two of the tallest buildings in the world, were laced from head to toe with demolition explosives which were then set off to bring them crashing to the ground, then everybody who knew about it, from the demolitions teams to the building security managers kept shtum about it. Now. I'm not an engineer. Or a demolitions expert. But explosions make flashes. And Bangs. I've seen enough Bruce Willis movies to know that. There weren't any. If you were one of these nut-cobs, sitting there reading this, your face glowing with rage as me, an ill-informed drone picks at your elaborately constructed reality, you would no doubt already have begun furiously typing in a reply stating all sorts of expert testimonies from engineers who watched the towers fall on the telly like the rest of us, interspersed with lots of threats, suppositions about the size of my penis and questioning my parentage and moral background. You would, if you were one of them, be constantly stating that there is no explanation as to why the towers fell because, with a limited grasp of all the things involved and a vast array of internet "research", you are now an expert on structural stress. I'm not an expert either..... though I would say if you fly a jumbo jet into a building, it's not really an earth-shattering surprise if it then falls down. Like I said, I'm not an expert, here. I've watched documentary material and read enough stuff about the towers falling which completely debunks all the claims made, they've done a good enough job without me weighing in. What I would say, however, is why would they do this? Why? WHY? "They" (the illuminati? Israel? Corporations? You name them, they're implicated) have just flown two passenger planes into two densely packed buildings. Isn't that enough? Why blow it up too? That will be more that needs to be covered up. Surely we should just use the planes? Isn't that enough?

See that's the whole thing. "Why." That's the thing that's missing from the whole conspiracy equation. The froth-mouthed crackpots claim it was for many reasons, but mostly unanimously it all boils down to "justifying the war". Well, first off, I can just about see where that comes from. If, on an episode of 24, Jack Bauer had to stop a terrorist attack orchestrated by the american government to sway public opinion towards a vastly lucrative yet extremely destructive war, I'd think it was one of the less imaginative plots. But for fuck's sake, stop there! Right, I can get my head round the planes flying into the towers on George Bush's behest, but why add all this stuff about the towers being detonated and missiles hitting the pentagon? It makes it, frankly, unbelievable, because there's no fucking reason for any of it. The planes would have been enough! They really would! The theorists claim it gives credence to their claims about the attacks being orchestrated from within the U.S., but actually what it does is expose them for the idiotic lunatics they are, willing to believe any old shite that even accidentally backs up their drivel.

Having said that, the whole crux of the thing that there is a belief that the american string-pullers co-ordinated the attacks themselves to promote the war is really top-class bollocks as well. First...... massive success there. Second...... what? Why? If they wanted a war, they could fucking well have one. See, the WMD thing..... that was cooked up to promote the war. Limited intelligence was passed off as unequivocal fact that Iraq had nukes or dirty bombs or sharpened sticks with shit on the end of them or whatever. That's about as sophisticated as "cover ups" get..... using the limited knowledge of the public to sway opinion towards one thing or another. It's called spin, these days, and the toffs use it all the time. The idea that such a huge terrorist attack could be organised in secret and then that everyone who knows about it (for they would number in their thousands) would keep quiet is just ludicrous, the stuff of multi-seasoned drama series. That they had to do all this to persuade people to support the war? They're the government, they can do what they like, and if they need public opinion they'll garner it through either fact or, unfortunately, misinformation, not vast, paper-thin conspiracies that every nutjob in internetland can start ripping into thin strips before the blood has congealed. Third..... call me naive, but I like to hope that the upper echelon of society isn't populated solely by unfeeling, ice-hearted maniacs who would willingly machine gun children into paste to avoid paying inheritance tax. I realise fully that there are grasping, power mad people in the world who will do anything for wealth and position, but I'd like to hope that there's at least enough human decency among the many who would HAVE to know about the cover-up, were it to exist, that someone would at least have the conscience to speak out about it if not try to stop it, considering it's vast scale.

In short, 9/11 conspiracy theorists are fucking idiots. The attacks were perpetrated by delusional religious fanatics striking out at innocent civilians in retaliation to injustices they perceived had been laid upon them by western powers. Were they right to do what they did? Nope, of course not. But the world is full of lunatics and equally full of policy-makers who rile them up. It's a great big shite sandwich and we're the crusty wheatgerm bread. You don't need to invent some cock-and-bull conspiracy theory to make the world seem like a bad place.... it's bad enough as it is.

Oh, and just as a final aside..... grasping at every ill-informed fact that will back up your over constructed reality no matter how unlikely or stupendous it has become does NOT make you an open minded champion of free thinking. It makes you a moron who cannot accept anything but your own version of event. Moron.

Next week - kittens in bobble hats.

Thursday, 6 May 2010

Staring into the abyss.

So for about the last month or two, I've been suffering from every major disease you can think of.

Ever since I started feeling a weird wee pain in my guts, the feeling of dread has been growing. I finally worked up the courage to go to the doctors a few weeks back, and was sent for an ultrasound of my gall bladder and liver. Convinced I had exploding guts syndrome, as opposed to the exploding head syndrome I had last year, I hunkered down and waited for my appointment.

See, I've always liked a drink. We all go mental when we're younger, and I was no different really. I used to stagger about with the best of them, but nothing over the top and only ever on the weekends. Then I got divorced. I held it together ok, mostly thanks to my mates, but, well..... 2 bottles of vodka a weekend for a guy my size is quite bad. I cut it down a lot after a while, but I still like a good drink. Thinking back, I've shifted a lot of drink in my life, and it gets you thinking...... to put it flatly, have I fucked my insides up?

So I'm worried. I'm a hypochondriac. I was worried about that too til I found out it wasn't terminal. I mean, though, I have a weird little dull ache that comes and goes right where my liver is...... surely that's not good :o I'd stop drinking altogether but my brain keeps saying "Go for it, you're fucking dead anyway." Which is nice. The doctor told me it could be gallstones, which reassured me, then said "Hopefully we won't have to remove your gall bladder" which pressed the big red button with "do not push" on it in my brain once again.

So today was the day. Here is how it went.

The alarm went off. I switched it off. Then it started going off again. I spent a good minute switching the radio alarm by my bed on and off til I realised it was the one on my phone. I switched it off and got ready to get up. Then I started rebuilding that run down old house in the woods I had found with all the other survivors of the nuclear holocaust, and my brain shouted "WAKE UP YOU'VE FELL ASLEEP AGAIN!" It was now 35 minutes before my appointment and I was well and truly late.

Somehow, I got there in time despite being trapped behind the slowest lorry in the universe. I pick my way to the radiology dept. and wait my turn. For a while. I eventually get taken to the barium room..... and now I reckon I'm getting a barium meal. I ask. The woman says yes, I'm to get a barium. I shit my pants. It turns out I'm not getting a barium, I'm getting an ultrasound as previously thought. So I wait.

For some reason, I dunno maybe God decided to have a last poke at me before the bad news comes, it would appear that I was to be given an ultrasound examination by the winner of Miss World 2010. Jane. Aaaah Jane. If it turns out I'm on the way out, I'm coming back to that radiology dept. with a ring and proposing. Absolutely lovely. I felt like a slug being massaged by an angel :P So I pops the old gut out and lie back, trying to look as cool as possible with my pants hiked a clear 4 inches above the waistband of my jeans and my one-pack glistening in the harsh hospital lights. She approaches, a tube of jelly in her hands. I push that thought out of my mind. And that one. It's hard not to think sexy thoughts in Jane's company. Then I remember the difficulty I had combing my hair into a reasonable style and realise how fucking awful I look after taking a whole 3 minutes getting ready this morning. Then I think how it wouldn't really have mattered if I'd had 3 days and Gok fucking Wan to help me, Jane is so far out of my league I'm lucky I can still see her. Suddenly, I'm not thinking sexy thoughts any more.

*Cold jelly on the ribs!*

She presses the wee doofer into my guts. The machine pings. She says "Big breath in for me please" and as I do so, some bloody alarm goes off in the hall outside. For a fraction of a second, I think I might have set off some sort of emergency "We need to get this guy to the ICU STAT!" type alarm, and try my hardest not to shit my pants. No men in environment suits descend on the room, however, so I relax. We continue with the deep breaths. "And hold it there................"

Four. Five. Six. Seven.

"....................."

Going a bit blue now.

"........................................"

Has she forgot to tell me to breathe out?

"..................................................."

She must have. Maybe it's like a test. Maybe they want to see if I'll just go ahead and breathe on my own?

".........................................."

Fuck this, I'm going to bre...

"and breathe normally now."

Christ. Never mind if I'm ill, am I going to survive this ultrasound? I hear a noise like a rumbling tummy. I guess Jane aint had her breakfast this morning. Bollocks, nope, it was me, my guts are rumbling like a maniac. Not a flicker on her face though, such a professional. I think I might be in love. Jesus she's firm with that doofer. In fact, that's actually quite sore. Ayah.

"Big deep breath"

AAAaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

This goes on for about 15 minutes, with me in various poses. My left hand side is also checked, which sets off the brain into action again "Why is she doing that? She must have found something!" She then goes and gets the Doctor to check her images.

The doctor didn't know how to work the machine. This is slightly disconcerting. However, Jane (who I have now already fathered two imaginary future children with and who's name doesn't really suit having my surname after it, I have determined) steps in and shows her the ropes. "What's he in for?" says the doc. "Query gallstones" "Oh yep, he has one".

I'm fucking SURE! SURE AS I SIT HERE TYPING! She said "Oh yep, he has one." They had a look through, then the doc had a go at me with the doofer herself. Apparently, they couldn't find my pancreas. Great. Wonder where that little fucker has got to now. Anyway, they didn't bite their hands or look unduly shocked, but after Jane (aaaah Jane. Jane Jane Jane :) ) told me to go to my GP in 10 days for the results, the doc added "Everything looks normal, though. Now, I know Doctors. When my Mum was ill they skirted round the houses for days rather than say "there's nothing we can do", but usually they don't say things look OK unless they are. There's a difference between not unduly worrying the patient and outright lying, in other words, so I feel a bit more reassured, and as I'm BLOODY POSITIVE AS SURE AS EGGS IS EGGS the Doc said "oh yep he has one", I reckon it's a gallstone. I just always thought a gallstone would be sorer than this. Ach, I must just be a double hard bastard. As I suspected.

So there we are. It was too late for any meaningful time at college, especially as I had to take my dads car because I slept in and had to bring it home first, so I got myself a subway, a nice new fineliner pen for sketching, put on a hairdresser's appointment and a dentists a appointment and came home to tell the internet about my adventure.

I know it's premature, but after months of thinking I'm probably dead, I think there might be a 1% chance I'll see Christmas! The down side is I won't marry Jane, she won't want me unless she'll be inheriting my millions quickly, but it's all swings and roundabouts.

My liver, if it is normal as the doc said, is a fucking tank.

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Voting.

Alas, the once proud bebo is on the way out, like a little floating jobby caught in the swirling water after you've pulled the plug. To be honest, I'll only faintly miss it as I migrated my drunken midnight ramblings to facebook long ago. The chat thing is better and I'm addicted to Farmville. Yes, I know. I'm shit.

The only problem with this, though, is Facebook lacks any kind of Blogging facility. Can you imagine? Staggering home early on Sunday morning with nothing but status updates to vent your overflowing brain with? It's horrific, especially for the people on my friends list who awake on a Sunday to find their updates page filled with me swearing (creatively, I might add, but swearing none-the-less). I often find myself scared to go back on the internet ever again when I wake up.

Ah. Aaaaaah I hear you say. You have a blog, but! You do! You're writing in it right now, you'll probably be saying, you sharp little tack you. Yes, I would reply, trying not to sound too patronizing (that's when people treat you like you're stupid....... pfffffft I love that joke) but I have a grand total of zero followers on blogger. Yep, that's right! None! I don't come here enough to have amassed any. So whoever it was who said that about me having a blog, I must have imagined you. Still, needs must, because something has been on my mind. I hear there is to be a general election. And for the first time in recorded history, I could not give a dog's fart who wins it.

My reasons, dear imaginary reader, are many. And, uncharacteristically for a quiet soul like myself, I shall let you in on some of them.

Here we are.

Firstly, the idea that my vote counts as much (or little) as someone who likes N-Dubz is just wholly unacceptable. I mean, I'm all for equality when it comes to almost anything, sex, race, religion, I don't care! We should all play nice and share our toys, but I cannot be doing with twats. For fuck's sake, one of them looks like someone has put a bobble-hat on Pob from Pob's Playtime. It beggars belief that someone could make their way home from HMV (presumably after stabbing the bus driver) and put up a massive poster of them on their wall, then nip out and decide who runs the country for the next four years. In short, you should have your IQ (and possibly musical tastes) vetted before being allowed to vote. I realise not all N-Dubz fans are twats (God that tasted bitter) or stupid, but I'm merely using the most twattish band I know for illustrational purposes.

Second. I went to put petrol in my car the other day. I am now looking to consolidate my debts into one easily affordable monthly payment. The tax on booze has just increased. Meanwhile, we pay for all the MP's petrol, booze, orgies, fondue parties, mistress's houses and whatever else they can get their greedy, fat little claws on. Whoever we vote in, it won't change. I genuinely believe that, now. Anyone calling me apathetic is...... well, right, but can I be blamed?

Also, on the subject of petrol prices. We're running out of oil (apparently) so the price goes up. The world is sweltering in a haze of greenhouse gasses thicker than a guiness fart at 4 in the morning. Now, and I swear this is true, I saw last year, on one of my late nights, a TV programme from 2004-5 about gadgets (maybe it was the gadget show). They had a fully working hydrogen fuel powered car. Fully working, went over 100mph, no emissions, had it's own home-station for creating hydrogen fuel from water. This was 5 years ago at least, and they confidently predicted we'd all be driving them in 5-10 years time. What have we now? Hybrids. That need petrol. Apparently water powered cars are in development, but the fuel costs so much to make it will cost just as much as petrol. BULLSHIT. I saw it on the bloody telly! They had one, and there was a wee baldy guy with big ears driving it! But if we all had water powered cars, who would lose out? Mmm hmm. Another wee nail in the coffin of my giving a fuck about anything there. We could save the planet and take one step closer to a star-trek like utopia, but what stops us? Greedy little rich cunts clinging on to their monopolies. Sorry for sounding like a conspiracy nut, but I swear to God I saw it with my own eyes (well, on the telly, like). (Don't get me started on the shits that petition against wind farms because "it spoils the view, whinge fucking whinge, how would a 300 feet thick curtain of fire in the atmosphere brighten your day you short-sighted jism-stain? I might have embellished global warming a bit there, but poetic license.)

I haven't blogged for ages, I'm getting into it again :D

Thirdly, if none of the big parties are going to make it legal to stab someone who refuses to shut up/stop texting in the cinema then I'm going home and I'm taking my ball with me.

Fourthly, I'm far too busy playing Final Fantasy XIII to move out of my room on polling day. At least I have a chance of seeing that through to a successful conclusion.

Fifth....erm.... ly, the war. I've put a lot of thought into "the war" over the past nine or so years. The way I view the world really is this. There are bad people and there are good people. Most people are neither fully one way or the other, but basically, if you're a dick then it's your own fault if no-one likes you, even if you do occasionally crack a funny joke between bouts of arseholishness. (coincidentally, there are very few people who I genuinely don't like, if you can believe that. There are some though.) Translated to global sized policy, if you look at "the war on terror" that ITN keeps banging on about, it seemed like a good idea for us (the goodies) to bomb the shite out of them (the baddies). Having scratched the surface though, and realising that "us" might in fact include quite a lot of the baddies, and "them" probably includes a fair old whack of innocent goodies, who now think we're ALL baddies and want us to die in a big fire, and things become less black and white. What to do though? Pull out our troops, leave the countries in a shambles for the proper hardcore baddy-types to come in and take over? Or keep spitting brave young troops and money into the fire. Well, both seem like a bad idea to me, but theres no third option is there? Nukes? No. I didn't say that, shh, moving on. Confused? I fucking am! I used to care about this stuff, but it's such a royal clusterfuck that now I don't even care, we're going to be buggered right up the chuff either way. I'll play Killzone 2, I know who the fucking baddies are in that.

Lastly, for now, whether it's true or not, I cannot be arsed listening to how seemingly important political arguments are reduced to pathetic childish whingeing every single day on the news. We shouldn't dumb stuff down for stupid people...... stupid people don't care! They're all off playing their x-boxes or burning out cars. What next? I'll tell you what's next. Wayne Rooney for bloody Prime Minister, that's what's next. Christ on a bike.

In short (well, after the long version) the whole thing is just a pointless waste of effort I could better employ setting a fire in a field or shooting a cat with an air gun, both of which would probably have more effect on the country than my vote will.

I'm going to draw my own box and vote for Stephen Fry. I really, really am. Probably.