RIP Paul the Octopus

Paul the Octopus. Paul die Krake. Pulpo Paul. Today he died of natural causes. Whatever you call him, he was a legend. A predicting powerhouse of the sea-life world, he became internationally famous, and a rather big tourist attraction. Taking residency in a tank at a sea life centre in Oberhausen, Paul successfully predicted the outcomes of all of Germany's World Cup 2010 South Africa fixtures, and also the outcome of the final. Initially from Weymouth, Paul the Octopus had a bit of an allegiance with England. He was a true fan, and was made an official ambassador of our (now desperate looking) 2018 World Cup bid. Seriously, I couldn't make this up. I'm still talking about an octopus here. A funeral will soon be held for dear Paul, but for now, I think it's appropriate that we all take a couple of minutes to think about him and his wonderful life, and to watch his unofficial song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftUvfi1J0QI

An unmitigated mussel eating maverick, Paul, the oracle Octopus, you will be sorely missed.

Rest in peace.

Oreo - Step By Step Eating Guide

Right then. First you twi-...oh fuck this bullshit, it's a bloody biscuit! What makes it so different from every other biscuit (or 'cookie' if you're from the land of the USA) to enable it to have its own specific method of eating? Divine right?! I don't think so. Although, if there is a God, I would like to think that his preferred biscuit of choice would be an Oreo...! Now don't get me wrong, I love Oreos. Hmm, no, I love Oreos. No, I love Oreos. No, sorry, I LOVE Oreos. No no, I LOVE Oreos.Nearly...but no, I LOVE Oreos. Much better. But anyway, they're probably my favourite biscuit around, so I'm not having a pop at them. I'm merely having a go at the way in which they've been advertised. Why can't any other biscuit have its own designated method of eating, eh? Oh that's right, because it's shit. Pointless, overly intricate for what at the end of the day is only a bloody biscuit, and along with the advert (I could punch that kid...), is incredibly annoying. As far as I'm concerned, if they wanted to be truthful and less commercially retarded in their advertising campaign's methods, the guide would be as follows:

1. Eat the fucking biscuit you prick
2. Enjoy
3. Revert back to Step 1 and repeat the process

(Damn that would make for an interesting advert...!) Job done, have a nice day.

Plagiarism

I’m going to try and be as reasonable and inoffensive as possible here, but I know that I run a severe risk of not doing so. If you’re at all familiar with what goes on here on this mighty fine blog (artistic descriptive licence used here to bend the truth on the subject of the quality of the blog), you’ll probably know that often I use it as a simple way of venting my anger/frustration/hatred on a certain topic/theme and shoving right in your unwilling faces. I’m just that kind. With this heated writing then, comes some often over the top statements, or harsh words that I wouldn’t otherwise say. But today, I can at least say when I look back at this blog entry, that I tried to refrain from reaching the difficult depths of irrational behaviour. Bloody hell, let’s just say it’s lucky that I don’t have a character limit. I do however, have a readers’ attention span limit, and the upper bound duration of such an entity has most probably already been surpassed, even at such an early stage. You know it’s not going well when you’re nearly 200 words in, and you haven’t even mentioned what the blog post itself is going to be about, apart from in the title. Oh wait, let me change that. When you’re over 200 words in, and you haven’t even mentioned what the blog post itself is going to be about. Holy cack, I’m just prolonging it now. Let’s just get down to business, before we all die. Plagiarism is a very difficult issue. It has to be dealt with sensitively and diligently, because at times a lot can be riding on it. Half think of it like your mother. Though nobody ‘deals with her’ sensitively, she certainly has had a lot riding on her. To my misfortune, I recently stumbled upon ‘the incredible’ (according to her official Youtube channel) new single from that thing, Diana Vickers. Is she a squirrel, or a chipmunk, or a gopher? None, but she certainly resembles all three. Is she annoying? Yes, yes, and twenty thousand times yes. Is she talented? No, no, and twenty thousand times no. Do I give a shit about her and her career? Read the answer to the previous question. Bugger, that’s me being overly harsh already. But anyway, back to the story. I click on the link to her new single, and I listen. Now, you may be wondering to yourself ‘Ben, why the hell did you choose to listen to a Diana Vickers song?!’ and my answer to that query would be that after seeing her and laughing in response once (for many reasons), I’d very much have liked the chance to do it again. This video was that chance. So I listen away. The first thing that strikes me is just how ridiculous she looks, and also the fact that many themes from the music video have been lifted from other artists and musicians with little subtlety. Naughty. Take the shots in which she’s in a cage, as an example. I’ve certainly seen it done very similarly by Shakira before. It also begs the question, if they finally got Diana Vickers under control and in captivity, why did they not torture her to death, while maximising the amount of pain she experiences for entertainment reasons?! Hopefully this did still happen after the filming of this video. The next thing that strikes me is that for whatever reason, the song sounds a little bit familiar. The next thing that strikes me is that the song is complete and utter garbage, and is comparable in quality to listening to a brain-dead cat soil itself, while it attempts to screech out the national anthem from its nose. The final thing that strikes me is that I have most definitely wasted approximately 3 minutes of my life, that I’ll never be able to get back again. Once the song is over though, I can’t help but get pissed off by the familiarity of the song’s chorus. I proceed to scroll down and examine the comments, and to my glee I find that the video has received nearly as many dislikes as it has likes. Not quite there, but get in. Crucially though, I also find that a massive talking point is about how the chorus of the song has been nicked from the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ classic Under The Bridge. Very naughty. I begrudgingly listen to the (pitiful) song again, and it hits me. They’re right. The basic melody of the chorus is dangerously similar to that of RHCP’s song. Now it’s not as though the whole song has been ‘lifted’, of course, but a substantially sizable portion of the song is very similar. It’s frankly disgusting to see such a talentless, mentally damaged shrew of a woman prance around to the stolen melody of some absolute legends of rock music history (or to be more specific, funk rock). It’s taboo; it’s common sense to know that it shouldn’t be done. I just don’t understand it. It’s frankly laughable that Mrs Vickers can find HEAVY inspiration from such a brilliant song, and yet turn it into the musical equivalent of rotten faecal matter. It’s beyond belief. Let’s look at it in a completely different way. A long time popular and successful chef bakes a scrumptious cake, with the finest ingredients and it’s a massive hit. He releases the recipe to the public domain. A wannabe chef sees this recipe, tries it, loves it, and decides to modify it and release it into the public domain. However, the wannabe chef is incompetent, and so takes out all of the nice ingredients from the cake and replaces them with such delights as camel pus, dirt, semen, and of course her nan’s pubic hair. Is that acceptable?! No, no it isn’t. So, because of this fiasco, the Red Hot Chili Peppers are indeed suing poor little Diana Vickers, the gimped up, mentally held back tart. Watch this space.

Disclaimer: I have nothing personally against Diana Vickers, and I’m sure that she’s actually a rather nice person. However, I find her intensely irritating, moronic, and incompetent, so I feel as though my over the top expression of feelings is partially justified.

Abbreviations

Abbreviations...how convenient they are. At times they just epitomise the sheer laziness of humankind. Hell, I’m not complaining. I’m as lazy as they come. Think Dimitar Berbatov (sorry non-football fans, I’m sure you won’t mind not understanding this reference) after a couple of days without sleep and a few stone put on for good measure. Roughly in that ball park is the magnitude of my laziness. But that’s aside the point. Abbreviations are pretty useful. But at times, I just can’t help but feel as though they could be...how can I put this...more awesome? Don’t leave, I know you’re wondering what the hell I’m on about, but bear with me. It’s better for you to bear with me than for you to have a bear with you, which is what will happen if you leave right now. I know where you live. The bear knows where you live. The bear has the methods at his disposal to maul, lacerate and demolish you. You know what’s best for you. So stay here, bear with me, and avoid having a bear with you (and the bloody consequences). Wow, I really have gone ‘off on one’. Where was I? Ah yes, of course. It’s second nature to us that being more awesome is a generally good thing, so surely more awesome abbreviations are a good thing too? Let me put this into a much more workable context. Names; often they get abbreviated, and to be honest, it’s not always particularly worth it (certainly not like a regular L’oreal user). But imagine this. Your name is Jonothan. It’s okay, and you’re perfectly content with it. Some people call you ‘John’/’Jon’, and some even ‘Jono’. But aren’t we missing a trick here? What about ‘Han’?! (I must remind you that here, the sarcasm is more apparent than in other areas of the blog). I know for a fact that I would rather be referred to as ‘Han’, instead of the now mundane seeming ‘Jonothan’. I know it makes sense, and you do too. Being named after the most badass pilot in the whole of the universe (sorry Lando) is an honour, and Goddamnit is it awesome. I also can’t help but feel as though I could have had it a bit better too. ‘Benjamin’ is all fine and well (though I do HATE it), and it being abbreviated to ‘Ben’ is reasonable (I don’t mind it) but again, aren’t we all missing a massive bit of awesome naming potential? ‘Benjamin’ becomes ‘Jamin’. Oh yes. Indeed, I would definitely need to be black to pull it off with a shred of respectability or aplomb, but it’s still a kickass name nonetheless. Yes, I will find something more interesting and relevant to write about next time. (No promises made.)

Might as well face it you're addicted to lo-...energy drinks?

I'm quite partial to an energy drink here and there yes. Okay, so that's a BIT of an understatement. I love energy drinks. There's something about the taste that I genuinely really really like. Bit of a bummer really, all things considered. Couldn't I be obsessed with milk, or water? Something healthy? But no, it had to be energy drinks. Not only insanely addictive but also face shatteringly unhealthy. Want excessive amounts of sugar? Caffeine? Obscure flavourings? Energy drinks are for you then, sir or madam. If not, then good on you. You have more common sense than me. I've promised myself that I'll cut the addiction I have, and even go cold turkey if I have to. But first, it's my duty to taste as many different energy drinks as possible and rank them in order of awesomeness. Why? Because my life is a far-fetched box of not much of any importance or relevance, with little consistency or purpose. That's why, God dammit. So here's what we've got so far. I'll update it when a new member or the family is tasted. Note that this is the only context in which I will ever mention myself tasting members of my family, because the 'family' mentioned is fictitious. I can't stress enough that I will in no way ever condone incestuous acts. Thank you.

1. Relentless Inferno

2. Relentless Juiced Berry

3. Relentless Origin

4. Monster Energy

5. Rockstar Energy

6. Red Bull

7. Tesco's Kx (formerly 'Kick')

8. Monster Lo-Carb
9. Red Rooster
10. Morrison's Source

11. Mountain Dew Energy

12. Euro Shopper Energy Drink
13. Relentless Juiced Tropical
14. Emerge

Trailing off at the end of...

...sentences. I had you fooled there, didn't I? I couldn't use the single joke I have prepared for this blog post at the very beginning, could I? I had to complete the line just then. I think we all know how this is going to end now...but it doesn't matter. I'll march on. Trailing off at the end of sentences, leaving them unfinished and most likely nonsensical is something that I find myself unwillingly doing quite a lot of the time. I'll be in mid-flow, perhaps ranting (definitely ranting) and then I'll just stop. The words running through my brain will stop, and so my fast moving lips catch up with me and the sentence dies. I don't know why this is. I suppose it could be because I talk remarkably fast. This, I hate. It means that I have to repeat almost everything that I say. I know it's my fault, but I can't seem to kick the habit and sloooooooow it down a touch. I'll improve in the end, I'm sure. Funnily enough, my desire to write has totally dried up. My head has more words to frantically type, but I'm having none of it. Just a short and completely meaningless blog post today then. I guess you could say...

They're gonna taste great, apparently.

Frosties Kid! Where are you?! I can't help but laugh every single time I think about THAT infamous advert. Shocking, pitiful, terrible, awful, dreadful, horrendous, horrific, painful, cringeworthy, dire, abominable, atrocious, poor...I think we all get the picture. It's so instantly quotable (for all the wrong reasons) it's nearly untrue. Why did the poor guy never take a quick step back and look at what he was getting himself involved in? I mean, seriously - you can hear the sound of Frosties hitting your PLATE? Seems like somebody has a bad case of crockery deficiency...! Nobody with an ounce of dignity or with the mental capacity of something more than a half-dead badger would ever consider eating Frosties off a plate. It's illogical, not to mention highly impractical. Picture the scene. You carefully tip the Frosties from out of the packet onto your plate, with minimal mess. They bounce and ricochet a bit, but they all stay on board. Well done, that's a good success. Took a bit of determination, concentration and skill, but it's an encouraging start. Next up, milk. Here's when it goes udders up. How the FUCK could you possibly pour milk onto a PLATE of all things?! A presumably almost perfectly flat plate, with only the slightest of indents, that's already covered in God knows how many grossly overpriced sugar coated flakes of corn?! What a fucking disaster. We all know what happens next. Milk runs all over the place, causing what can only be described as kitchen based white river rapids with little cereal canoes to flow from the worktop, down to the ground, and across the tiles (or whatever style flooring you so wish to be ruined by fast moving milk in this particular analogy) until eventually it reaches a carpet which soaks it up in remarkable time, leaving a stink of stale calcium based goodness to be wafted around the house. If this doesn't seem appealing to you, which it sure as hell shouldn't do, then Kellog's advertising campaign definitely failed in hilarious fashion. This is most definitely why we haven't heard from the so called 'Frosties Kid' since the shit skit was last aired. Remember the internet frenzy surrounding the poor guy's future? It was bloody mental. I think it was the first time I truly experienced the unique behaviour of the internet and its people. Rumours spread like wildfire. Some say he killed himself (the means in which he did so have been hotly debated - did he ram a pencil up his nose, jump off a bridge, run in front of a bus, or even provoke lions at a zoo?). Probably not...apparently he went back to his native South Africa, to escape all the outrageous hatred that he was on the receiving end of. I can't blame the guy if he did. So what if the advert was a pile of wank, he doesn't deserve that! Frosties Kid, if you're still around, I wish you all the best. You've had your taste of fame, was it really Grrrrrrrreat?

Irony - A beautiful, beautiful thing.

Oh comedy, I love you. I honestly do. There's so many different types of it too, that appeal to different people. Personally, I love a bit of stupidity but I also love something clever and well worked, that's perhaps not so immediately accessible. This is probably why I'm such a big fan of Mitchell and Webb (the former of the two I have been compared to many times, which worries me a bit) because they've found such a brilliantly funny and dynamic medium of silly antics and intelligent humour. For me personally though, I'll always be more hungry for more high end humour, if you like. I was never a fan of Catherine Tate, or of Little Britain. I found them too unnecessarily crude at times, and crucially, reeking badly from a distinct lack of laughter. But hey, it's all down to opinion, and (for the first series) I could see the appeal of the aforementioned programmes. One branch of intelligent comedy then, is irony. It's so hard to explain what it even is...I suppose it's something that will just click after a while (or after a few failed attempts at using it, as a certain cousin of mine found out, bless him). It's just like the way in which Will Ferrell's Ron Burgundy struggles to get to grips with the phrase 'When in Rome...', in what is almost certainly my favourite film of all time, Anchorman. Once correctly grasped, irony is such a fantastic tool. It can be so simple, but yet it always feels quite clever. There's just so many examples of it. A fire station burning down is funny. The RAC breaking down is funny. An escapologist being trapped and dying in a lift is funny. An anti-claustrophobic astronaut is funny (he hates space...). The fact that repeating the word 'quench' will eventually make you feel thirsty is funny. The fact that saying 'cringeable' instead of 'cringeworthy' is in fact cringeworthy in itself, is funny. The day I lose my grip on the general concept of irony is the day that I feel as though I should die. Life just wouldn't be the same without it...

Marmite

Oooft, what a controversial beast of a foodstuff! When you think about it, it's pretty damn strange that an opinion has to be so black or white. Even weirder that it's an opinion on a vegetable based spread. Normally, to avoid ridicule, you'll sit on the fence - right down the middle. But no, not with marmite. It won't let you do that. You'll offend EVERYONE that has an informed opinion on the stuff, and you'll look like a trend bucking idiot. But that's not it. You genuinely can't win. If you love it, you'll be loved by the lovers and hated by the haters. And if you hate it, you'll be loved by the haters and hated by the lovers. Marmite ensures that in some way, people won't be able to get on swimmingly. And while we're on the subject, I hate the stuff. Ah, but I used to love it. Does this not mean that I can be friends with both sides, AND the middle ground? No...? Bugger. What makes marmite so 'love or hate' though, seriously? The fact that there are some people who genuinely don't mind it surely indicates that it in fact isn't love or hate! It's near enough normal. Perhaps if the fanatics and the loathers recognised this, we'd all be happy right now, and there'd be no rivalry. You know what, yes. I'm going to go one further. I firmly believe that Marmite is at fault for all that's bad in the world. Let's sort this out once and for all.

As you can see, I have come to an utterly absurd conclusion in this blog post. It was entirely intentional, and crucially, entirely sarcastic. I actually think that the whole 'love or hate' status that Marmite has been labelled with is a bit bloody brilliant. A bit stupid, yes, but a bit brilliant.