So, poor old chicken gets slaughtered. And all in the name of a little meal, so the kids won’t go hungry. Is that such a crime?
Well, apparently, there are a few people who believe so.
These members of society, for some reason, believe it is morally wrong to kill a little chicken just to stay alive. It’s as if they are saying ‘screw us, save the chickens’. And to be honest, I know a few people like that.
So, with their arguements, which usually end up in ‘it’s wrong, and it’s horrible’ (the usual suspects), what I want to know is what happened to the old ‘it’s tasty, and who gives a hoot where it came from’ excuse?
It’s like saying ‘I’m not driving that car because it came from Russia’. Actually, come to think of it, that is a terrible comparison; who the hell would want to drive a car from Russia?
Anyway, back to the point, if you have a piece of meat placed in front of you and you eat it (that is without thinking about the chicken that it came from) then it’s all good. But if you refuse it, good ol’ cluck-cluck just died in vain. Think about it, if you refuse the meat, then it’ll just get wasted. If the so called vegetarians truly cared about the animals that were killed, they would put the remains to good use and eat them.
Then you get those mental patients who take it all a step further, and refuse to eat anything which happens to be distantly related to animals. We call these crazies 'vegans', mainly because they're a lot shorter than vegetarians, so we shorten their name, too. They won't drink any dairy products or anything of that nature, and totally disregard their own well-being for no apparent point whatsoever; i can't think of any reason why i wouldn't want to drink a nice cool glass of milk, but then again, i'm not crazy, and anyone who challenges this statement will be shot. These vegans are rare, as they are usually eaten by angry chickens that are fed up being slaughtered.
So in my post-review conclusion, i suggest that everyone start murdering every animal they can find before the catch us off guard. You have been warned.
I think.
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Saturday, 18 July 2009
The Moan Landings
So here is what i understand. There are people in the world who are unwilling to believe that NASA put men on the moon, yet they have no trouble believing in one supreme being that created the entire universe. And to be brutally fair, i can tell you which is more probable.
So why do people insist on skepticising the moon landings? Does someone just have it in for America? Sorry, stupid question. But if we look at everything past face value, we see more things than we usually do. Imagine looking at an attractive person wearing revealing clothing. You instinctively feel attracted to said person through their looks or bodies, and never stop to think if the person could be a complete cock.
It's the same when it comes to looking at the facts behind the moon landings; for many people it looks like some unachievable feat for its time; lanching a rocket into space, then landing a man on the moon? Impossible.
But look at it closer.
We think they couldn't have put a man on the moon, because how could they have the technology to do it around that time? But just because we didn't happen to have that technology at that time doesn't mean NASA didn't. You don't see Joe Public flying around in jet-propelled rockets, yet NASA send them into space all the time, so how do we know they didn't have the technology to pull it off back then if they never made their advances public? They wern't going to let Vlad over in Russia catch wind of their plans, were they?
I've also heard it said that there was around a 0.0001% chance of the astronauts survuiving the trip. There is something i want to state here. Are the scientists/mathematicians at NASA just a bunch of idiots, arsing about for a bit of free coffee? Of course not. They spend hours on end calculating precise measurements, probably spending weeks on hinges for a door on the rocket. They will have anticipated these numbers easily; there's a reason they were given the jobs.
And then come the theories put forward to disprove evidence of the moon landings. The theories are based on physics spouted from people who know more about wiping their own asses than physics, and are easily debunked.
Where the moon landings are concerned, few people take the time to view the complete facts surrounding them before making assumptions based on what is apparently classed as common sense.
And as a good friend once said, common sense is so rare it's a god damn super power.
So why do people insist on skepticising the moon landings? Does someone just have it in for America? Sorry, stupid question. But if we look at everything past face value, we see more things than we usually do. Imagine looking at an attractive person wearing revealing clothing. You instinctively feel attracted to said person through their looks or bodies, and never stop to think if the person could be a complete cock.
It's the same when it comes to looking at the facts behind the moon landings; for many people it looks like some unachievable feat for its time; lanching a rocket into space, then landing a man on the moon? Impossible.
But look at it closer.
We think they couldn't have put a man on the moon, because how could they have the technology to do it around that time? But just because we didn't happen to have that technology at that time doesn't mean NASA didn't. You don't see Joe Public flying around in jet-propelled rockets, yet NASA send them into space all the time, so how do we know they didn't have the technology to pull it off back then if they never made their advances public? They wern't going to let Vlad over in Russia catch wind of their plans, were they?
I've also heard it said that there was around a 0.0001% chance of the astronauts survuiving the trip. There is something i want to state here. Are the scientists/mathematicians at NASA just a bunch of idiots, arsing about for a bit of free coffee? Of course not. They spend hours on end calculating precise measurements, probably spending weeks on hinges for a door on the rocket. They will have anticipated these numbers easily; there's a reason they were given the jobs.
And then come the theories put forward to disprove evidence of the moon landings. The theories are based on physics spouted from people who know more about wiping their own asses than physics, and are easily debunked.
Where the moon landings are concerned, few people take the time to view the complete facts surrounding them before making assumptions based on what is apparently classed as common sense.
And as a good friend once said, common sense is so rare it's a god damn super power.
Thursday, 16 July 2009
I Can't Hear the Music
I'm not going to lie. When i look at the music charts today, i am actually scared that the songs on it were written by their producers' ten year old children after they gave them 'the talk.' Does anyone out there actually know how to write about anything other than crack or banging prostitutes?
I want to know what happened to any decent, well written music these days. When I turn on my radio, i don't want Fiddy Cent moaning about how he doesn't have enough cars/girls in his life. Actually, I don't feel like devoting my time or money to anyone who names themself after how much they spend on music lessons.
But the thing that incenses me even more than Michael Jackson's accent? Michael Jackson. Oh, and also how pop singers plant their names on a record and make silly amounts of money to rival Bill Gate's postman's tips, while the session musicians and writters get a tiny fraction of this, and get almost no recognition, unless they happen to be the President of the United freaking States. And that would just be silly. Wouldn't it?
These days, followers of actual bands (i don't use that term lightly; anyone who mentions indie will have their kneecaps blown off) are getting scarce, the term 'mosh pit' all but almost forgotten and metalheads are treated like one could, at any moment, turn up at your door and eat your children.
There is no respect for the true musicians nowadays, those who slave for months/years on end in isolated recording studios to bring fans and dedicated followers a little beauty to their lives, only to be trumped by some blonde who sells records through airbrushed photos and leaked sex tapes.
So i give a heartfelt R.I.P to Mr Hendrix, and i hope he is waiting at the gates with a pickaxe for Gary Glitter when somebody finally finds him.
I want to know what happened to any decent, well written music these days. When I turn on my radio, i don't want Fiddy Cent moaning about how he doesn't have enough cars/girls in his life. Actually, I don't feel like devoting my time or money to anyone who names themself after how much they spend on music lessons.
But the thing that incenses me even more than Michael Jackson's accent? Michael Jackson. Oh, and also how pop singers plant their names on a record and make silly amounts of money to rival Bill Gate's postman's tips, while the session musicians and writters get a tiny fraction of this, and get almost no recognition, unless they happen to be the President of the United freaking States. And that would just be silly. Wouldn't it?
These days, followers of actual bands (i don't use that term lightly; anyone who mentions indie will have their kneecaps blown off) are getting scarce, the term 'mosh pit' all but almost forgotten and metalheads are treated like one could, at any moment, turn up at your door and eat your children.
There is no respect for the true musicians nowadays, those who slave for months/years on end in isolated recording studios to bring fans and dedicated followers a little beauty to their lives, only to be trumped by some blonde who sells records through airbrushed photos and leaked sex tapes.
So i give a heartfelt R.I.P to Mr Hendrix, and i hope he is waiting at the gates with a pickaxe for Gary Glitter when somebody finally finds him.
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
F*ck it, I'm Ginger
I, unlike most people reading this blog, went to school. I can say this with some certainty since school gives you at least some intelligence, and nobody in possession of said intelligence would be crazy enough to be reading this crazy stuff.
Anyway, to the matter at hand.
Being in school and being ginger don't mix well at all. You can't walk down a single corridor without someone screaming the painfully obvious at you. It's as if they think you've never noticed the colour of your own hair, and each day they feel it would be good for your sanity for a little reminder, just in case you look in the mirror one day and scream 'oh my god, I'm Ginger!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'
But in a way, I have to say I'm thankful for the random shouts that were thrown my way every day. In the same way I'm thankful for the brocolli with my sunday roast. In fact, you can even see the similarities between them; they're both absolutely pointless and only seem to be there to leave a bad taste in your mouth.
And another thing. When in god's name did some bright spark come up with the idea that pointing out the colour of one's hair could be classed as an insult? It's like walking up to your boss and punching him in the face; to understand any of the logic, you have to be a complete moron. You could at least understand it if they were shouting some derogatory term at you, but in my opinion, anyone who can only find a single insult to repeatedly call someone is pathetic enough, but if that insult doesn't even happen to be an insult at all, they really need to get laid.
And the bad thing about this 'insult'? There's almost no comeback to it, unless it came from Fat Man Scoop or Danny Devito. And the other downside? It's like Anthony Kiedis. It NEVER gets old. More people use it than weed. Soon it'll be more popular than jesus. And Jack Daniels. And condoms. (ok, maybe not the latter.)
But there is one shiny orange light at the end of the tunnel. When the dark haired comedians get stuck in a cave, where is the light going to come from to help them find their way out? Certainly not their hair.
I bet they never considered that, now, did they?
Anyway, to the matter at hand.
Being in school and being ginger don't mix well at all. You can't walk down a single corridor without someone screaming the painfully obvious at you. It's as if they think you've never noticed the colour of your own hair, and each day they feel it would be good for your sanity for a little reminder, just in case you look in the mirror one day and scream 'oh my god, I'm Ginger!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'
But in a way, I have to say I'm thankful for the random shouts that were thrown my way every day. In the same way I'm thankful for the brocolli with my sunday roast. In fact, you can even see the similarities between them; they're both absolutely pointless and only seem to be there to leave a bad taste in your mouth.
And another thing. When in god's name did some bright spark come up with the idea that pointing out the colour of one's hair could be classed as an insult? It's like walking up to your boss and punching him in the face; to understand any of the logic, you have to be a complete moron. You could at least understand it if they were shouting some derogatory term at you, but in my opinion, anyone who can only find a single insult to repeatedly call someone is pathetic enough, but if that insult doesn't even happen to be an insult at all, they really need to get laid.
And the bad thing about this 'insult'? There's almost no comeback to it, unless it came from Fat Man Scoop or Danny Devito. And the other downside? It's like Anthony Kiedis. It NEVER gets old. More people use it than weed. Soon it'll be more popular than jesus. And Jack Daniels. And condoms. (ok, maybe not the latter.)
But there is one shiny orange light at the end of the tunnel. When the dark haired comedians get stuck in a cave, where is the light going to come from to help them find their way out? Certainly not their hair.
I bet they never considered that, now, did they?
Tuesday, 14 July 2009
The Importance of Being Manly?
When i shave, i feel like a man.
When i watch Arnie fighting a 7 ft alien, i feel like a man.
But when i'm watching an episode of Desperate Housewives, however, i don't. Partly because the men on that show are about as manly as the Barbie Dolls they married. But mainly because there is always one blonde-haired designer-glasses-wearing bimbo who just likes to make life hell for everyone else.
Hold on, don't i know people like that? Oh yes, that's right. They're called teachers. And i don't have a brilliant past with teachers of the female variety. This makes me imagine the super-bitches on T.V as characterizations of my 6th year english teacher. Only with nice hair and straight teeth. So whenever i see these women, i immediately go into bitch mode and hope the gold-digging, lego-faced women go straight to hell for sabotaging someone's car journey to get a pint of milk.
And you know what?
I enjoy it.
It gives you this primal anger no man can get from having someone else spill his pint. So, when the series is on, every Wednesday i'll be at the T.V hoping they manage to drown the bitch before she stops their husbands getting their bowl of Corn Flakes.
Terrible.
But beneath the original 'Oh god, i feel like i'm gonna need some high heels and 12-inch fingernails,' i realise I get the same manly rush i find when listening to James Hetfield wanting to stab priests for letting his mother die.
It's a weird comparison, I know, and one that doesn't really seem to work. But it does. Every man thinks that when he's away from the female in his life, or any, he is free to roam and 'be a man,' opening tins of beans and farting.
But is this manly? Arn't we supposed to make sure life is comfortable for women, and showing them more respect than we show ourselves? When we, as men, are with women, we show them the love, compassion and courtesy they deserve. They then, in return, shout at us for leaving the toilet seat up, or for buying the wrong damn chocolate.
But what we don't notice is that this constant onslaught of physical and mental abuse just drags us further away from the bean-tin-opening, farting cavemen we were born as. It makes us more mature, more confident, smarter and competent at tasks other than eating Beans. Instead, we are introduced to this strange food called Toast. And apparently, Toast goes well with Beans.
Now, isn't THIS what you would call a man, one who cares for others and scratches a cat behind the ears rather than screaming at them until they run away in fear. The image of a man in a suit getting the top job. Now THAT's a man, and the foundations are based not around Bazuka's and beating up the French, but 'Desperate Housewives' and common chivelry.
And do you have a problem with this?
If so, off and enjoy the farting.
When i watch Arnie fighting a 7 ft alien, i feel like a man.
But when i'm watching an episode of Desperate Housewives, however, i don't. Partly because the men on that show are about as manly as the Barbie Dolls they married. But mainly because there is always one blonde-haired designer-glasses-wearing bimbo who just likes to make life hell for everyone else.
Hold on, don't i know people like that? Oh yes, that's right. They're called teachers. And i don't have a brilliant past with teachers of the female variety. This makes me imagine the super-bitches on T.V as characterizations of my 6th year english teacher. Only with nice hair and straight teeth. So whenever i see these women, i immediately go into bitch mode and hope the gold-digging, lego-faced women go straight to hell for sabotaging someone's car journey to get a pint of milk.
And you know what?
I enjoy it.
It gives you this primal anger no man can get from having someone else spill his pint. So, when the series is on, every Wednesday i'll be at the T.V hoping they manage to drown the bitch before she stops their husbands getting their bowl of Corn Flakes.
Terrible.
But beneath the original 'Oh god, i feel like i'm gonna need some high heels and 12-inch fingernails,' i realise I get the same manly rush i find when listening to James Hetfield wanting to stab priests for letting his mother die.
It's a weird comparison, I know, and one that doesn't really seem to work. But it does. Every man thinks that when he's away from the female in his life, or any, he is free to roam and 'be a man,' opening tins of beans and farting.
But is this manly? Arn't we supposed to make sure life is comfortable for women, and showing them more respect than we show ourselves? When we, as men, are with women, we show them the love, compassion and courtesy they deserve. They then, in return, shout at us for leaving the toilet seat up, or for buying the wrong damn chocolate.
But what we don't notice is that this constant onslaught of physical and mental abuse just drags us further away from the bean-tin-opening, farting cavemen we were born as. It makes us more mature, more confident, smarter and competent at tasks other than eating Beans. Instead, we are introduced to this strange food called Toast. And apparently, Toast goes well with Beans.
Now, isn't THIS what you would call a man, one who cares for others and scratches a cat behind the ears rather than screaming at them until they run away in fear. The image of a man in a suit getting the top job. Now THAT's a man, and the foundations are based not around Bazuka's and beating up the French, but 'Desperate Housewives' and common chivelry.
And do you have a problem with this?
If so, off and enjoy the farting.
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