As can be seen from the picture on the right I was born a Starchild - Neitzsche's theoretcial third metamorphosis of mans spirit - but please, bear with me.

I was born into the Dutch monarchy in the early eighties, though not long after, I was given to a British family in a trade for a rubiks cube and named John by my new parents - Chris "Mad-dog" and Janet "Auntie J" Hobson. I also inherited an older sibling, who goes by the moniker "Lucky Liz", though her christened name is 573a.

Some time has passed since then and nothing of note has really happened until I began thinking the other day about stuff that really pisses me off.

As The Rasmus stated in their tribute to Hank Marvin and number 3 hit: 'In The Shadows'; "I've been waiting", and I have been waiting.

 

Since 1988 I have been waiting for a good film to be released which can find the correct blend between a gripping storyline, good acting, and some gun toting twobitnogoodmaverickrenegade cops.

 

I'm still waiting for people to shut up about Harry Potter. Two perfectly reasonable and well educated memebrs of the public can be casually chatting about proper things such as the El Nino phenomenon or the state of Germany's economy, then all of a sudden the topic may change and the sentence you happen to overhear is "Oh no Dumbledor cant die!" Grow up. Seriously, the book is written for kids, whatever you say. It is. Live with it. And the kids that do read it are all cunts.

 

I am waiting for people to realise how pointless dust covers on books are. [see link - "This guy is out of his fecking tree"] Apparently, they are there to protect the book - which generally has the SAME image underneath. So you keep the cover on and it gets all crappy and torn up - but do you take it off? No. Its there to protect the book. It looks all crap and torn and dirty, but you cant remove it, beacause it is protecting the pristine book underneath. That is like spraying on a fine layer of dogshit onto ones gold jewelery to protect it and keep it looking nice. Isn't it?

 

I'll tell you what else gets on my tits. Why are pictures of mans evolution always laid out like some Abbey Road cover ripoff? Why cant the five stages of man be nonchelantly lounging in a gentlemens club, clad in burgundy smoking jackets, contemplating the mysteries of the world which surround them? Or possibly they could be at a bus stop waiting for the number 27 in the rain, intently listening to neolithic man explain about how expensive things are nowadays, and that he has had to get rid of the digibox to make ends meet.

Its a simple request.

 

Why don't you see vans with sliding front doors anymore? When I was young, it didnt feel like a day out untill I had seen the old, but comfortable shoes worn by a balding chap behind the wheel of a speeding Leyland Daf delivery van.

Is it too much to ask for the automobile manufacturers to reintroduce, nay, retrofit these items to their extensive range of medium sized haulage vehicles? I dont think so.

 

"New road layout ahead". New road layout ahead? Are they trying to say that, if you are a regular driver on a specific route and they do not warn you that there is a "New road layout ahead", you are going to simply charge through the 4 foot high, flowerbedded roundabout, because "it never used to be there". No. People generally havemore sense than that. The regular drivers of that route will know there is a "New road layout ahead" because the pissing roadworks have been ading 40 minutes to their journey time for the last 2 and a half years. And  for those motorists who have never travelled that route before, surely everywhere, there is a "New road layout ahead"?

 

Why is it, when you hand over a some notes at the supermarket/petrol station/pub and you are due, say seven pounds fiftyfour back, does the smug little cashier place the fiver into my hand and then pile up the change on top of it?

I need the coins in one hand, and the note in the other. Or, give me the coins, THEN when they are back in my pocket, give me the note. Jesus H Christ. Is it that hard? I cannot put coins into my wallet, and I'm not putting a note in my pocket, to end up shredding it in the washer next week. Also, it doubles the time of the transaction; the cashier has to carefully pile up the coins atop the note in my palm using TWO hands (he is mocking me). I then have to put down my wallet+shopping/car keys/pint to seperate the tower of shrapnel and deposit the coins into my trouser-pocket. I then have to pick up my wallet and slide the note in. Meanwhile, because the transaction has occured and the cashier has my money, I am now redundant and thus invisible so he turns his attention to the next customer, who insists on barging into me as if I am not there, which I would be, If the cashier had treated me properly. By the way, if you are a cashier who does this and you do it to me, when you have carefully stacked the coins above the note in my hand I will throw the coins at you forcing you to pick them up and apologise to me.

 

"Have you got an invite?" It's invitation you cretin. Invite is a verb ("I will invite them"). Invitation is the noun ("Yes I have an invitation"). It's like saying "Have you made a donate?" I think I've made my point.

 

"Spare some change for rag week" says the orange clad hippiestudent ratling a makeshift bucket reading "Raise and give". 'How long have you been collecting today?' I ask, and the pierced face replies "I'm working nine till five". What a way to make a living I think to myself - 'How much have you raised?'. "About twenty quid I think", the dirty face retorts. I go on to explain that if she had spent that day working for a job agency sorting mail or temping, she could have earned double that. The empty look on her face finally returns back to the original faux jolly expression reminiscent of a doped up loony as she utters "Can you spare any change then", to which I reply 'How much have you put in, and I'll match it.'

Her eyes widen and her gaze drops.

 

Nuf said.