Visit our new
Want to link to this
In case I didn't make this clear enough last year, I fucking hate Halloween.
Oh yeah, I need to mention that this is my last update ever. This is my last update ever! I won't go into too much detail 'cos I wrote everything I needed to write in this week's Friday article, relevantly entitled I'm Off.
[Today's update concludes the cleaning out of my 'Emergency Backup Update' folder, in case you were wondering why I was ricocheting between so many topics during my last week in England]
Some people are beginning to raise awkward questions about the practise of giving retiring big city bosses fifty million quid even if all they did was blow their nose on company shares and be expertly fellated by hookers in the office. This renewed sense of reason has caused many newspapers wishing to get on the good side of the proletariat to blare triumphant headlines like "The fatcat culture is coming to an end!"
Bollocks it is.
I'm afraid there are always going to be rich buggers raking it in from all sides. It's an inherent flaw of the system. Now, in theory, capitalism should keep the world ticking over like a swiss watch.
work for companies
See, that's how it's supposed to go. But elementary chaos theory teaches us that all orderly things eventually disintegrate into sweet, sweet chaos. The reason? Well, there're always some crafty buggers out there looking for ways to cheat the system for their own gain. These are the same crafty buggers who, in the very early days of capitalism, said "Hey, shouldn't people who do more important work get more money?" A reasonable suggestion, but over the years it mutates. Now we've got some bizarre anomalies like football players being handed the keys to the treasury and told to help themselves.
The most infuriating thing about capitalism is that it's the only system that has any staying power. Let's take a look at some of the alternatives and see why they all got kicked in the head.
Again, in theory, communism is a pretty good system. IN THEORY. Everyone's equal, everyone does work, and the goodies are all shared out equally. A perfect system, if the human race were some sort of hive mind. Unfortunately, the human race is most emphatically NOT a hive mind. Also, if you're a communist, America Officially Hates You. For no good reason as far as I can see. They will blame you for everything from missing defense satellites to crooked pictures on the walls of the White House. And let's not forget that communism doesn't fucking work. Except in China, but then everyone's the same in China.*
* DISCLAIMER: I have never been to China, nor have I ever met anyone from China, and as such it is probably safe to assume that this statement is utterly wrong and I am a fuckhead.
Now, this is the fun one. Whereas in the capitalistic system you get, say, an exercise bike by working hard and saving up money to purchase it, in an anarchic society you basically just punch the current owner of the exercise bike in the face and run off with it. Kind of like cutting out the middleman. Now, anarchy has a firm precedent; we were all really into it before we got into the 'evolution' lark, and most animals in their natural environments still practise it to this day. The main problem with anarchy is that no-one gets any work done, nothing is manufactured, there are no public services and we'll probably end up eating each other within a few generations. But once you put that aside, telling everyone you're an anarchist is kind of sexy in a pretentious kind of way, and when capitalism does inevitably collapse this is the system we'll no doubt end up with.
I just made this one up. Whereas in capitalism the money is controlled by the companies and in communism it's controlled by the state, in randomism all the money is handed over to a randomly-selected member of the populace for a week, regardless of that person's merit, then another random one for the week after, and so on. As insane as it sounds, this system already exists on a small scale; it's called the National Lottery. On the up side, this system makes no less sense than any of the existing ones, but on the down side, even if we pick the most popular guy on Earth it will become the personal mission of everyone else in the country to break his face.
'Busted' are a three-man band comprised of a trio of overprivileged former public schoolboys with madly-styled hair, piercings and baggy khaki clothing. They deliver shitty pop songs which always go into the charts because the boys are fairly good looking and preteen girls like to squeal all over them. Very much mutton dressed as lamb, if by 'lamb' you mean 'indie' and by 'mutton' you mean 'shit'. I understand they used to be called 'Buster', but changed it to how it was mispronounced by Geri Halliwell (former Spice Girl turned dangerous lunatic). Good to see they put a lot of thought into a name they care about! At least they have SOME integrity. Bitch bitch. Anyway, here're the lyrics to one of their shitty songs.
when I came home at lunchtime,
me he built a time machine
been to the year three thousand
me to the future in the flux thing and I saw everything,
drove round in a time machine, ********
a trip to the year 3 thousand
* 'Back yard'? What country are YOU living in, Busted? Or as I like to call them, 'Cunt'-ed?
** We live in hope. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
*** We all know what film they're talking about, but they won't say it, either because of copyright or because nothing really rhymes with 'future'.
**** Let's expand on this, shall we?
I've been to the year three thousand.
***** If someone told me he had come back from the future (unlikely) and had the hots for my unborn descendant, and if I believed them (extremely unlikely), my initial response would probably be to deck the blighter. I mean, I don't like the idea of my neighbour drooling over a blood relative, however non-existent she may be. Also, negative 1000 is technically under 18, the fucking paedophile.
Hold on, great-great-great granddaughter? That'd only be around the 22nd century at the latest! Either they come up with some amazing life-expanding technology or 'Peter' has a thing for the older woman.
****** If this line is supposed to be satirical, it's really fucking hypocritical, too. If it isn't, then this song is describing my own personal vision of Hell.
******* Well, congratulations, lads, you've just graduated from 'immature' to 'sophomoric'. Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy references aside, it's that exclamation mark at the end that really tips me off to the fact that no-one involved with this song has ever known the touch of a woman. Also, take note of the word 'swim'.
******** 'Drove'? 'Drove'? Are we still underwater? It's an amphibious time machine, now, is it? I hate this fucking song.
********* Ha ha ha ha ha (snort) ha ha ha.
********** Ha ha ha haaaaa (cough). Seven albums in 1000 years? That's pathetic.
*********** BWAAAAAA HA HA HA - hold on, Michael Jackson? He's still alive in the year 3000, is he? I suppose all that replacing his body with plastic and shrink-wrap has cursed him with immortality. I wonder how much more of him he has to replace before he's no longer officially classified as human? Suddenly the 'robot' sequences in the film Moonwalker seem oddly prophetic.
************ Okay, now it's gone from being funny to rather worrying. I think this is supposed to be an 'ironic' line. Well, for 'think' read 'pray to fucking Christ'. If these were heartfelt sentiments, I don't like to consider that the person who wrote them is still alive and walking around free on the same planet as I.
Whoo! I feel really invigorated after writing all that. I should do this all the time. Oh yeah, I FUCKING DO.
Career profiles off the port bow!
First Person Shooter Protagonist
What is a first person shooter protagonist?
A first person shooter protagonist is a person who acts as protagonist in a first person shooter. They are required to run at full speed 24 hours a day and jump roughly their own height on demand. They must also shoot guns. Many guns. At other people and murderous aliens. It is not a career for the unathletically-minded. You will be required to allow your body to be put under total control by some greasy slob who thinks seeing people fall fifteen storeys and die in a bone-wracked heap is the very zenith of comedy.
What are the qualifications?
First person shooter protagonists can come from any and all walks of life, civilian and military, and the best qualification to make the leap into a career as an FPSP is the ability to come miraculously back to life after death a few moments before you made a fatal error. Also, having a camera built into your face.
Here's the usual list of qualities that would be an advantage:
- Ability to conceal large quantities of heavy weaponry upon person without ruining the line of your suit
- Ability to acquire equipment by stepping on it
- Sidekicks with a tendency to walk into walls a lot
- Military background, OR ability to understand exactly how to use a gun seconds after picking it up, possibly through some kind of telepathy
- Bodily fitness which can be summarised as a percentage
- Numbers superimposed inexplicably on vision
- Curious factor (possibly pheromones) which causes everyone to immediately open fire as soon as they clap eyes on you
- Large mechanical external garment
- Ability to heal multiple gunshot wounds by drinking huge quantities of caffeinated beverage
- Experience working in global troubleshooting organisations
- Gravelly voice / Mute
- Dark glasses
- Severe, short haircut
- GCSE/GNVQ/City & Guilds Antisocial Studies
How do I get into being a first person shooter protagonist?
The first thing to do is get the camera installed if you don't already have one. There are many backstreet surgeries who offer the service. The most basic package is an implant to the base of the spine overriding your own nervous system and a small buttonhole camera installed in your left eye. For slightly more expense the more squeamish can have the camera jammed up the left nostril, and have a small screen for displaying numbers placed over the eye.
Once the camera has been affixed to your face, all you are expected to do is wait around for everything to go pear-shaped. This will generally be in the form of an alien invasion, because all aliens obviously have nothing better to do other than invade one piddling little planet in the middle of nowhere. What allies you do have will probably be quickly despatched, leaving you alone with only a pea-shooter against the monstrous hordes, all of whom attack you for some reason in single file.
You will then be expected to spend the duration of the catastrophe shooting things, crawling through vents, pressing buttons, jumping between conveniently-assembled platforms and pushing boxes around.
Where could it lead?
Once you've crawled, jumped and pushed boxes arounded the fuck out of the game and your controller has grown bored of watching you dive artistically into highly corrosive industrial chemicals, you may well find yourself facing a Boss. You'll be able to tell the difference between an ordinary enemy and a Boss because a Boss is bigger than a fucking house and will have their very own energy meter floating overhead. At this point, it will be up to you and your controller to fight with your every last breath until the hellish creature is dead, or until your controller gets bored of trying and decides to play Deadly Deaths of Death VI instead.
After that, that's it. Career over, unless there's a sequel, in which case you get to do it all over again.
What's the pay like?
There isn't any. Your reward for killing monsters is ammo with which to kill more monsters.
Why would anyone want to be a First Person Shooter Protagonist?
Beats the fuck out of me!
Have you ever been in this position?
Let's say you're in your family home at the computer, connected to the net. You have two browsers open, we'll call them Browser A and Browser B. Browser A is currently displaying Website A, a perfectly innocent-looking messageboard or news site you are catching up on. Browser B, meanwhile, contains Website B, which is one of 'questionable content'. You all have your own favourites, so I won't give any specifics, like for instance 'moist fanny flaps' or 'dickgirls gone wild'.
For some reason, you have to leave the computer. Perhaps you need to go to the lavatory, or fetch some more Kleenex (BECAUSE YOU HAVE A RUNNY NOSE, NO OTHER REASON). You leave both browsers maximised, Browser B hidden safely behind Browser A. And when you return refreshed and ready to face the world wide web once more, you find Party A has taken your place, using Browser A to look up their own favourite website.
Now, Party A is a person whom you most emphatically do not want to see the contents of Browser B, as they may see you as a freak or smack you or shoot you or something. They have not noticed the other browser in the taskbar, they're clicking merrily away oblivious of the damning material that lurks but one click of the 'close' button away.
Assuming you can't kick them off again because you've had it for ages and it's their turn, you have on your hands the closest you will ever get to defusing a timebomb. Your task is to close Browser B without Party A noticing, and before they close Browser A or glance at the taskbar.
There are several ways of pulling this off.
Assuming Party A is using the keyboard for whatever reason, perhaps to type a URL into the browser, it's possible to hijack the mouse, rapidly right-click the appropriate button in the taskbar and click 'close' very fast. The downside of this is that Browser B will flash up on screen for however long it takes to close it. If it remains up for one tenth of a second or less, there's a good chance Party A won't even mention it. Any longer, and if they catch a glimpse of some compromising image of something quite horrendous, you're going to need an explanation.
You could pretend it was a perfectly innocent site. "Yes, I just closed that perfectly innocent site I was looking at earlier, in order to free up bandwidth." If they press you, raising such subjects as moist fanny flaps, frown in confusion and leave them to wonder if they have some weird Freudian brain disease.
Alternatively, pretend it's a pop-up. Crease your forehead and flare your nostrils, hissing "Bloody popups!" with hate in your voice. Hopefully Party A will not press you, blame having been shifted away from you. You just need to rely on Party A not being net-savvy enough to know that the BBC website very rarely produces pop-ups for urination fetish hentai (FOR EXAMPLE).
If you'd rather not take the risk, you could always wait for Party A to look away from the screen long enough for you to dispel your shame. This may take a while or not happen at all, what with Party A probably being transfixed by the miraculous spectacle of the colour monitor. You could accelerate the process by subtly throwing something into the corner of the room that they would instinctively turn to look at. Here are some suggestions:
3. Smack the reset button
To disguise the action of smacking the reset button, simply start a lengthy and impassioned speech on a subject you feel strongly about, like illegal immigrants or the Jew-run media, making a series of increasingly extravagant hand gestures to illustrate your points. When you get particularly heated, make a sweeping gesture, and bam, 'accidentally' smack the reset button and apologise.
4. Throw yourself out of a window
Scream "Look what I can do! Look what I can do!" before hurling yourself through the nearest sheet of glass. Party A's first priority at this point will be to call an ambulance, and hopefully the internet will be forgotten until you can get the opportunity to turn the machine off with one of your plaster cast-encased shattered limbs.
material not otherwise credited by Ben 'Yahtzee' Croshaw