The Hills have eyes... but not much between the ears

Ladies and gentlewarts... there are times when the Bloggods bestow a great vision upon me. Today, I have gone to the mountain, and a great voice called out to me:

"Oi, you... yes, the bloke trying to dress like the Joker and in dire need of a shave. Yes, you... put those pissing pop-tarts down and listen. The Hills is on tonight. Seriously, if you like self-inflicted pain, you have to watch it. Sober."

The scales fell from my eyes, and I felt envigorated by the revelation before me. Partly it was the confirmation that improbable-God speaks with a subtle Mancunian accent, combined with the fact that during this time, the afore-mentioned pop-tart had cooled down and I had been saved from third-degree tongue burns. Then the realisation dawned on me what lay before me.

And so, I am prepared. I have coffee, and have put the remote on the other side of the room so I can't succumb to temptation and change the channel.

It begins:

Oh come on... there's an hour of this??? A double bill? My God, why have you forsaken me?

Right, a nice little summary of the story so far... not that it is a story. These are real people you know. They just don't have real personalities, jobs, or breasts.

So, excellent production values and it looks like someone's used an Imax camera to film their mates sitting around talking about their weekends. This stuff is tedious on a bleeding camcorder, so why does a clear picture make a difference?

Heidi has been tasked to do something... organise a party I think. Now we cut to 2 girls discussing one of their friends moving into her own place. And then a bit of music, footage of skylines and landscapes.

[What the fuck is going on??? How is this entertainment?]

Now Audrina is in a bar/restaurant/film set talking to some herbert in a baseball cap. She's just asked him to move in with her, and then we cut to commercial.

7 minutes. 420 seconds. and now we're watching adverts. Can someone please explain to me how this is different to sitting in a pub and listening in to other punters' conversations? At least there you'd hear more than 4 sentences before you are forced to eavesdrop on some other blabbering trollop.There is more character shown by Pablo the drugs mule dog than by any one of these "people"!

AAAANNND we're back. Audrina's showing her sister (face of a man, tattoos of 17 men) round her house. She must be a frigging drug dealer or very high-class prostitute to afford this! Oh goodo, more meaningful pauses in conversation before another music/landscape interlude.


Time for a re-structure of my approach for this blog. With such a disjointed programme, there's nothing to analyse or critique in any meaningful way. I mean I'm watching 2 dolled up bints packing ornaments into boxes... all with full makeup, jewellery, and studio-quality lighting. The level of dialogue is like something out of a badly written porn film, but instead of getting it on they have pauses in conversation and try to remember their own names.

In that whole episode, the only thing that actually happened was Heidi getting fired for being pissed at a party she was professionally organising, and for having her boyfriend there. So how did she react when summarily dismissed from employment... you guessed it, she fell silent walked out and got her bag.

The only option left is to take the people (I can't describe them as either characters or personalities, without some evidence of either) individually, and try and sum them up to remove the need for you to sit through this turgid goldfish bowl of arse.


Ok so first let's deal with Audrina. Brunette, seems to be seeing some rugged looking bloke (i.e. he wears a vest and baseball cap in restaurants, and doesn't shave) for about 5 minutes before asking him to move into her new place with her. No idea about what job she does, so I'm sticking with the dealer/hooker guess from above.

2 girls with dark blonde hair. No idea what their names are. They work in the fashion industry, and seem to be mates with Audrina. Maybe they pimp her out. Probably not. That's it... can't work out anything more about them.

Heidi... now unemployed, and not overly emotional about losing her supposed dream job of 3 years. who'd have thought that getting trolleyed and inviting your boyfriend (Spencer... see below) to a party your boss had been paid presumably thousands of dollars to organise could have a negative effect on your job security. Live and learn chuckles!

Last and by every means least, we have Spencer Pratt. That's right... that really is his name. Seems to be the only regular (by which I mean he's on screen often, not that he's normal) man (I think) in the cast. He seems to be under the impression that he has significance or influence. He has the personality of a belch, approximately half the charisma of a Ken doll.


Sorry... that should have been this photo. What a mistake to make.


Words just escape me. I am genuinely struggling to understand how this has lasted so long on TV, particularly without some crazed stalker gutting one of these bimbos and wearing them as a hat, a la Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs. It's as if some unforseen hand is flicking between high-definition CCTV cameras, cutting between random bystanders having coffee and sampling conversations. The only rule is that the channel must change just before any of these dialogues reaches it's conclusion, or justifies the carbon dioxide spewed out during it.

Will I be tuning in again? I don't even believe I have ever tuned IN yet!

Read all about (sh)it!

Still buzzing with rediscovered for the art of blogging, I thought I would go to the tried and tested review of today's papers. I then had a scout around, and thought it far better to review just one paper's output for the day. I may even make this a regular thing, rotating between the finest publications of du jour (as they probably miss-spell in France).


This week, I am proud to be reviewing the Mail on Sunday. By way of introduction, its probably fair to say that the Mail tends to have a pro-Conservative/anti-Labour flavour... all with fervent support of what makes Britain Great (and loathing for anything that could in any way undermine it).


My favourite story of the day has to be: "The pups of war" What more could your average Mail reader want on a Sunday, but a detailed account of how good old British Tommys are taking time out from battling the terrors of the Taliban, to look after puppies? I am no animal hater, but it is a little frustrating that the British seem to give more of a toss about dogs than their fellow man. Perhaps that's the reason why I have a pet snake... the very notion seems to repel some of the sort of people I have no wish to know!


Having just scrolled to the end of this lengthy piece to try and work out who the frigging author was, I was faced with this surreal preview to the next part in the piece: "NEXT WEEK: The Army engineer panicked and shot the gentle giant dead. Now I wanted to kill him." I have to be honest... there's a good chance I'll look into this again to find out what the hell happened next!
If you do read this article though, please make sure you check out the comments at the end. I swear I didn't post these!


- "You guys are what 'we' are all about. Thank you my friend! Bob Baillie, Southampton" [Just what's this "we" business... I can't help but feel that this is some veiled reference to the difference between jolly old Britannia, as opposed to those Taliban johnnies!]
- "What a wonderful but heartbreaking story. I do wish the media would report more on beautiful stories like this one! What an amazing man. Poppy, Lindon" [Anyone else agree with Poppy, that the media shouldn't focus on all those depressing Afghan civilian deaths and that whole dreary War on Terror, and instead focus on this Bravo Two Zero/Spot's First Christmas hybrid? Anyone?]
- "Best story in the paper today [no argument here!].....Well done daily mail. better than reading about two and a 1/2 billion going to Russian crooks and Bottler giving another two billion to the banks. etc etc- Roge Wheeler, Mexico" [Now hold on a minute Roge, if that is your real name... why are you reading a newspaper if you aren't interested in current affairs, and just want to read saccharine bilge about fwuffy puppies?]


Right, I think it's best to move onto another story before I feel the urge to go and punt a pooch simply to anger these numbskulls.


Moving on, let's bask in the warming glow of anger directed at the BBC's relocation package for employees moving to Manchester. I find this just generally amusing, as it's fairly standard for large companies to offer financial assistance when employees are relocating. I of course wouldn't know this, as I only work for penny-pinching bastardos who are reluctant to pay me for working 60 hour weeks, let alone the cost of a new doormat. The real beauty if the annoyance of "The TaxPayers' Alliance (who) described the package as 'a slap in the face to the ordinary taxpayer forced to subsidise such generosity when they are facing the consequences of hard economic times.'


Now hold on for just a second... firstly, who the chuff are the "Taxpayers' Alliance?" As a taxpayer myself, when was this set up and where the hell was my invitation. Secondly, from a strictly grammatical perspective (foolish me for thinking a national newspaper would be correct on these points) is this really an alliance that belongs to taxpayers? Then finally, what does it have to do with them anyway? The license fee is not actually a tax, so you have about as much right to comment on this as you do about the presence of gherkins in a Big Mac!


Sadly there have been no comments on this story, as I was waiting for some herbert from Bedfordshire to make some snooty comment about the price of fabrics in the Northlands. Sadly I'm disappointed. Just shows though... if there's no puppies, you just don't care.


Speaking of puppies... if you fancy ogling surgically crafted sag-bags, have a look at the News of the Screws' journalistic masterpiece on Kerry Katona. She now has tits like Evan Davies' eyes.


So that's about all the news that the Mail sees fit to print. It seems to have totally ignored anything outside the shores of dear old Blighty, and has made absolutely NO reference to the ceasefire between Hamas and those wacky fun-loving Israelis. Well let's face it. The only way a paper can report that is to show compassion for innocent arabs who've been disproportionately twatted by the IDF... which flies in the face of all this paper holds dear!


All told... you'd get more hardhitting journalism in Bella!

This will (probably) not change your life

There are actually a few things I’ve already thought of to write about though, so perhaps 2009 may be the start of some serious hardcore blogging.

To ease myself into the spirit, I thought I’d go for an un-controversial topic. Seemed like a fine choice to comment on everyone’s favourite open-minded academic, Professor Richard Dawkins and the campaign of advertisements on buses proudly proclaiming “There is probably no god. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.”

I’m not basing any comment on my own theological beliefs, not least because I doubt you could care less what I believe in. I just saw the message emblazened on the side of a bus yesterday and it has stuck with me.

I will say, however, that Dawkins (who i know is only one person, and no more representative of athiests in general than the Ku klux Klan are of Christians) does annoy the living piss out of me. He is undoubtedly a clever man, and may ultimately be correct. Every time I’ve seen him though, he seems to have decided that the most appropriate way to challenge someone’s beliefs is by being an arrogant gobshite, and usually comparing belief in god to the tooth fairy. When he’s humiliating some pleb purely on the grounds they believe in the Virgin Birth, he’s like a first year maths undergraduate trying to embarrass a 15 year old for struggling with algebra! In short, he just seems to be a bit of a dick.

The campaign’s biggest problem, and the point that may undermine their message, is the use of the word “probably.” This has had to be included because no matter what belief (or non-belief) you follow, at the end of the day it is a matter of faith. The change from creationism to evolution wasn’t caused by someone suddenly having a complete brainwave and deciding on a new theory, but on consideration of new evidence. We are only as smart as the evidence allows us to be. Just as we now mock civilisations who believed the earth was flat, we can’t rule out the possibility that in the future people may discover that we are actually living in the Matrix!

Unfortunately, by saying there’s probably no god, the athiests have provided a more effective advert for religion than any advertising executive could have thought up if the Pope himself had retained him! Let’s face it, “What if…” is one of the most powerful thoughts in the human mind. How many times have you left the house, got in your car, and just as you’re about to pull away have you thought “Have I locked the back door?” How many times have you had to check, despite telling yourself that you’ve “probably” locked it?

In a lot of ways (and ignoring the actual theology of a particular faith), one of the most compelling reasons for going to Church/temple/mosque is because you want to have that reassurance that when you kick the bucket, you end up sipping champagne in the VIP lounge of Club Afterlife, instead of an eternity of drinking Diamond white while queuing for the crap-encrusted toilets in the Damnation Arms.

On top of this, does your average bus-reader in Britain pays attention to probabilities? How many people play the Lottery? My mathematic abilities may have faded in the last 10 years, but I think that in terms of probability you could play both the weekend and mid-week draws for 130,000 years and still not win the jackpot. It isn’t logic, reason, or the likelihood of the outcome that motivates them, it’s hope.

As for me, did this poster suddenly make me “stop worrying and start enjoying my life”? No. Because in the same way suddenly believing in God doesn’t turn your life into one long picnic, denying the existence of God doesn’t mean that you can just roll a fatty-boom-batty and not give a shit. This new philosophy will have little impact on the stress I (and you) probably have to deal with every day.

In short, the posters are (probably) not going to change your life.