The white businessman goes in for a black handshake; the black businessman goes in for a normal handshake. The world holds its breath. Everyone stands in silence, waiting to see what’ll happen. … … THEY LAUGH AND FIST BUMP. RACISM IS OVER. EVERYONE CHEERS AND RUNS INTO THE STREETS. NELSON MANDELA SILENTLY WIPES A TEAR […]
If brief radio flickers and supermarket PA systems have taught me anything about modern music, it’s that kids like to party; the shards of Kesha and One Direction that aggressively force their way into my unwilling ear drums from time to time have certainly shown me that much. However, they never really say ‘drinking’ or ‘dancing’ or ‘hanging out with strangers in awkwardly forced social interactions’, they simply say ‘partying’. Now, I’m not entirely sure when the noun ‘party’, as in an assembly of people meeting with a common goal, be it political, social or celebratory, transformed into this awkwardly misapplied verb that I, for one, feel totally ill-equipped to define. Continue reading
Felix: Okay, starting in 1939, take me through the history of The Second World War.
Ian: ’39 to ’45?
Felix: Uh, yeah. Well done.
Ian: Okay, right. Once upon a time…
Felix: Great start.
Ian: Once upon a time, there was this guy called Adolf Hitler. Got his ass whooped by some English people. Prior to that he was just a young guy growing up thinking ‘How can I conquer the world‘. Who put that seed into his head? Who knows. Uncle? Godfather? Whatever. Anyway, he got his posse of German friends together.
Felix: Haha, right. This is already utterly bewildering, but okay. Then what?
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… because, let’s face it, it’s pretty fucking awesome.
Let’s get one thing straight: you should always avoid standard public transportation. Get a car, ride a bike, use your actual human walking legs, I’d even grudgingly allow you to set foot on a bus, for god’s sake, but whatever you do, just make your way to your destination without having to set foot on a train. So fraught with danger and unpleasant tension are they, that if one is foolish, or desperate, enough to utilise them, they must take the most precise and delicate of precautions to remain anonymous, lest you breathe at someone the wrong way and have your peaceful carriage become the setting for a reenactment of the shoot out scene in Leonardo DiCaprio’s mansion from the movie Django Unchained.
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A few handy hints for the on-the-go traveller who is far too busy (being an important, big shot man/woman-about-town, no doubt) to make time for the dreary underling, the tedious former associate, or the slightly mental, and (as you’ve just remembered) weirdly clingy ex-partner. Continue reading
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Well, the movie has been out for a while now, making the rounds in front of the loathing and loving alike, but one thing that’s for sure: it’s certainly in breach of social etiquette to still own a copy of the book. I don’t care if you’ve had it since you were twelve, the time has come. Worry not, however, because herein lies a list of ways to dispose of your now painfully uncool hard copy.
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Zombie Dentist You seriously want to put your finger in one of those mouths? Good luck, Einstein. Pigeon Loan Shark Oh they’ll take your money, because they like shredding up paper for their nests, but good luck explaining compound interest or the value of currency to a bird, you lunatic. You want it back? You’re […]
Poor little apostrophe. He knows his place, and more importantly, he knows when he’s not in it. Some, or all, will say that it isn’t really too important, and that as long as you get the gist of what is meant, then the grammatical semantics of the written word can probably fall by the wayside. However, if the boat of proper grammar truly is sinking, then I would rather let the weight of a million neglected semi-colons and brackets pull me down to the dreary depths of the abyss, than abandon ship and take refuge upon the misplaced and miserable apostrophe that hangs lifeless between the O and the S in the word: photo’s, or cling to safety upon the second f in the word of.
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