I went to have my haircut recently; yet another of those tedious tasks that I perform, partly as a sort of ritual to show that I do (or at least, pretend to) take some pride in my appearance, and partly because my hair kept poking me in the eyes, and it was on the […]

So some friends and I went to the woods the other day, and decided that we were going to temporarily form an alt-rock indie band for some pretentious photography. We mostly just use tambourines. Anyway, this is our totally serious, legitimate photo shoot.

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There’s a little rant that I’d like to get off my chest, but I certainly don’t want it to misunderstood, or misinterpreted.

I hate religion.

Now, this is a very bold statement of course, and any initial presumptions you might have for my meaning need to be set aside for a moment. I don’t hate religious people; I don’t hate people who believe in god, or worship him, or put their faith in Jesus, or believe in a higher power or a creation theory. I don’t hate any of these people much in the same way as I don’t hate an owl for eating a mouse, a cloud for blocking the sunshine, or my girlfriend for using a Mac instead of a Windows. Every life form on Earth operates in the way they believe to be in optimum equilibrium with what they want, what they need, and what they perceive of the world around them. If a person wants to find their strength and faith in something supernatural or religious, then I’ll gladly march for their right to do so. No, I don’t hate any religious person, even to the level of zealots and extremists taking lives and terrorising people. They too are simply trying to live in accordance with what they have been taught to, or chosen to, believe.

Religion itself however, as a singular entity, is something I can hate.

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I got home from work today to find my 22 year old girlfriend watching children’s TV show, Charlie and Lola, so being the easily amused dullard that I am; I, also 22, decided to watch it with her; and yes, of course I was bound to find something amidst the bright colours and soft voices that would irritate me into writing something to post here, for you all to see, and hopefully validate, my anger.

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I’ve always been the youngest in my family, so I’ve never had to interact with kids all that much; but after four years living with my girlfriend and not far from her family, of whom she is the eldest in her generation, I’m forced to interact with young kids an awful lot.

Now here’s the thing. I’m occasionally roped into ‘helping out’ when it comes to entertaining them; and I’m fine with that, honestly, it’s cool. However, every now and then, this will evolve into more than looking at a drawing or throwing them up in the air, and I’ll perhaps be forced to play a board game with them… And therein lies the problem.
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