spEak You're bRanes

Something about Facebook.

What a sad world we are becoming.

It was once thought that technology especially computers would be a slave to man, a tool to ease his burden and give him greater leisure time but it seems to me that man is becoming the slave to technoogy with people spending every spare minute glued to their computer.

If that’s living then its your choice and your welcome to it personally I would much prefer to go for walk in the country and stop and chat with people in the flesh.

Don’y get me wrong, social networking sites have their place in society and are brilliant for the less abled bodied person although experience tells me that many of the so called less abled bodied people would benefit from a walk in the country.
RonC

It was once thought that computers would be a slave to man, but since the advent of the internet they’ve actually just become a massive fucking irritant, like a horrible genetic cross between blackfly and crabs. Who would have thought how wrong we could have been, waiting for our computers to evolve into giant flying fucking cars or something and instead getting people like Ron crowded round the internet eagerly waiting to Have Their Say on a variety of stupid, banal and repetitive topics by posting stupid, banal and repetitive opinions like “Technology was supposed to be a slave to man but now we’re its slaves! It’s the Matrix all over again!” and “I don’t know who this person is!” and “Personally, I don’t watch that/listen to music/breathe through my nose, so I don’t have an opinion, but it’s all shit anyway,” and “Slow news day!” and “These cripples are all faking it. I have much experience with this because I once pitched my mother out of her wheelchair and set fire to the house, and the fire brigade still turned up. Bitch must have been swinging the lead. QED.”

Simple solution to these Facebook so-called-disableds, though. Stick pins in their legs. They’d soon walk. Right, Ron?

Right.

Merry Fucking Christmas.

Perhaps realising that there’s more fun to be had in bitter flame wars, the Guardian and the Mail have apparently been running some kind of exchange scheme. While many of the comments on the former’s website have got progressively dafter and more batshit rightwing, the Mail’s very own Marie Antoinette figure, pensioner-mugging professional train-wreck Liz Jones can’t even lecture the poor on the benefits of a 13-day working week without being lectured in turn by a load of bloody hand-wringing lefty types.

But Lindsay still managed to find this tucked in amongst all that reasonable drivel:

We should bring back domestic service.
Full employment and self-worth and self-esteem for the servants (rather than relying on benefits), and their employers would have more free time to spend on worth-while occupations which require more intellectual creativity, such as politics, finance, etc, so benefiting the country as a whole.
alibongo, Dorset, UK

It is problematic, isn’t it, when the lower orders find themselves with rather too much leisure time, whilst the wealthy have so much on their plates they’re unable to focus on those areas of intellectual creativity – such as politics, finance, etc – to which they’re naturally more suited, having instead to think about dressing themselves and loading their own dishwashers and what have you.

Goodness, I’ve been pestered, I can think of no better word for it, I have been quite simply pestered by Mervyn King, asking – nay! begging – for a solution to all this economic crisis business.

“Dear Mervyn,” I tell him: “dearest, dearest Mervyn. I am sure that your task is every bit as bothersome as you say. However, I am quite unable to help as my mental resources are, at this moment, entirely focused on the hoovering.

“If only that grotty little man Gordon Brown had not rashly forbidden domestic service. The poor knew their place in the days before that ban. They were chirpy and good-natured, occasionally cheeky, but above all, pliant, and always grateful for a chance to address their social betters. ‘Cor blimey, half a crown!’ they would cry. ‘Fanks, guv’nor!’

“Now they belch and scowl and say things like: ‘GIVE ME YER FUCKIN WATCH NOW YOU POSH TWAT OR I’LL FUCKIN CUNT YER DICK UP YER ARSE!’

“I should wager a good twelve hours scrubbing the various congealed fluids from my breeches would soon bring them back to earth.”

Should the Koran-burny man be allowed into Britain?

W Fletcher is worried about the pro-Islamism forces of Benny Hill extremists.

W Fletcher wrote:

Don’t see what the problem is – the spineless UK “government” allows moslem psychopaths to run amok shrieking about killing anyone who doesn’t believe their fairy story. So the presence of another nutter who shrieks about hell ‘n’ damnation etc etc for not believing his fairy story… should make little difference!

If I as normal person who dismisses BOTH fairy stories as tripe, were to stand on a street corner bawling my head off about killing members of either sect, I’d be arrested in 2.3730 nano seconds – but as long as it’s all done within the guise of a load of religious twaddle – then that’s OK matey….!!

Just make sure the police understand that you’re only standing on a street corner bawling in the capacity of a normal person. It might even be prudent to wear a special badge saying “I am definitely very normal”. And be careful, it’s a slippery slope. You start off with a little innocuous public screaming about Muslims, and next thing you know you’re on BBC Have Your Say.

A translation company advertises for Scouse and Geordie interpreters. The Daily Mail goes all weird.

Being a native of Newcastle & being quite able to speak the Queens English too, i’ll be happy to translate , post me the hourly rate..

Fusilier, Newcastle upon Tyne

Dear Fusilier,
Thank you for your interest in working for us. However, we are unfortunately unable to accept applications through newspaper comments sections. Please staple a copy of your CV to an old carrier bag and hang it in a tree. Thank you.

Leave regional accents alone! They are what gives flavor and character to a country.

tea drinker, lipton, usa

I could have sworn this was about recruiting interpreters for them rather than actually doing anything like banning them. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s the same thing. Maybe every time anything is mentioned in a newspaper, it goes illegal, and that’s how it works. I never knew. Am I reading the wrong way? I look at all the words and punctuation, in order usually, and then use their context and my existing knowledge of the English language to piece together what they mean as an ensemble. I don’t seem to be getting the right effect.

Maybe I should take a leaf out of Jane here’s book. Glance briefly at the headline, read eight words at random from the main body, roll it up, place it under my head as a pillow and close my eyes. Then whatever I dream – that’s the news.

What another waste of taxpayers money in this hard pressed times.They chose to come here either live with it or go home.

Jane, U.K

I’m now imagining Jane sitting at her desk, eating a banana, waving it at a colleague and saying through each mouthful “you know they’ve only gone and banned these now”.

Finally, a pompous pair arse of arsecheeks writes:

Sadly TV Channels – notably 5 and 4 pander to ridiculously exaggerated Geordie accents in the continuity announcers – but the truth is these people are virtually unemployable outside such niche areas or labouring. Similarly with the Glaswegian accent which is difficult to undertand at the best of times, but really dreaded by staff in English A&E Departments where combined with drunkeness it is unintelligble. I have often wondered whether school teachers in these areas have the same accent or just give up on trying to encourage the standard English learned by Germans and other Europeans which is a delight to hear.

David Bachauer, Manchester uk

How quintessential, humorous and melodious are the British regional dialects.Symphonic and poetic they are a delight to the ears. Shame on anyone who tries to denigrate them with snobbish rubbish.

Jim Calvert, Penticton, Canada

Such laughable poncy cocks, but with such fascinatingly different poncy-cock perspectives. Maybe you could settle your differences with rusty hooks? Last man sighted wins?

It’s war.

Against a backdrop of global economic instability, the Tories have seized, with crushing, dreary inevitability, upon a once-in-a-lifetime chance to absolve themselves of almost all responsibility for anything that doesn’t immediately and directly generate profit. Bravely hiding behind hyperbole, public ignorance and weak opposition, they’re cutting the state down to its free-market skeleton, and we have to put up and stop moaning because apparently we have no choice and anyway We’re All In It Together.

The humanities provide the easiest target of all. For a start, no-one likes intellectuals at the best of times. And voters are hardly going to miss something when they don’t even understand what it’s actually for, are they? Get rid.

Nevertheless, the likes of Iain Pears are still meekly paddling against the changing tide, defending such fluffy abstractions as ‘ideas’, ‘understanding’ and ‘education’.

Good luck with that. Here’s what they’re up against (thanks to Tony)…

All the humanities train people’s minds in is in reading people’s unverifiable opinions about other people’s unverifiable opinions. Billions have been wasted in educating people in non-subjects like philosophy whilst our economy is crying out for people with the real knowledge and skills that you can only get from studying the sciences.

No matter how far the cutbacks to humanities go there will never be a point at which people start complain about shortage of philosophy or media studies graduates.
AManCalledJayne

And there we go. If you can’t eat it, milk it, rub it, build with it, kill things with it or masturbate over it, then it’s essentially useless, isn’t it? I get it now, and I give in. You win. You have at last defeated me with your dull wits and depressing lack of imagination. I bow my head in deference and submit the remaining few, miserable years of my life to the dull, prosaic, colourless world in which you and your straightforward ilk will have us all live: a world unencumbered by fripperies like education for its own sake; a world without art; a world without ethics; a world bereft of empathy, passion and joy.

Cunts.