Part One - The Panic
A couple of days ago an MP who very few people had previously heard of advised the British public to start stockpiling reserves of fuel, petrol, in "jerry cans". His advice following the possibility of a petrol tanker drivers strike.
This comment seemed to literally drive people mental, long queues seen across the country from petrol stations spilling onto main roads. What if a Mother Duck and a cute line of obediently following ducklings wanted to cross the road? Not a chance. People once again hitting their own mental panic button, with absolutely no evidence to support it.
Petrol Tanker Drivers are not on strike. They currently have no fixed date to go on strike. They have to give at least 7 days notice before they go on strike.
If you know someone who filled up their petrol tank yesterday solely based on the possibility that something might happen sometime in the future, please read them the above few lines. And hit them. Hit them hard, and in the balls. If you yourself filled up on petrol yesterday, not because your tank was nearly empty, but simply because you were scared the country was going to run out, take yourself away from your computer/smartphone. You really shouldn't be allowed to operate one. Your technological equipment should be made entirely from cardboard, have no electricity source, and you should be made to wear a crash-helmet before operating.
Today there are reports of people being turned away from petrol stations because the pumps are dry. Some places are rationing output by limiting amounts you can withdraw. Now we have a petrol shortage, and it's all our own fault. And when I saw "our" I don't include myself. Believe me, I will wait until the very last moment before putting petrol in my car. Fucking despise the thought of handing over £80 to anyone, even more so when it's not for new games or blu-rays. Or Adidas Star Wars jackets. "Got a Nectar Card, love?" In fact, yes I do, but there seems to be something wrong with the balance; it goes up so fucking slow I would probably make more money selling my own piss on the internet. Would you like to buy some piss? No? Well stick your fucking Nectar Card up your arse.
Anyone who chuckled at the line "the pumps are dry", I salute you.
"Queues outside garages this morning as motorists hand petrol back, saying they "feel such a fool"" Armando Iannucci, via Twitter.
If you desperately filled cans of petrol yesterday, like you had just seen the 4 Horsemen and were certain Apocalypse was staring you in the face, you should feel foolish. So very foolish. I think about you and the gesture of putting my slowly shaking head in my hands just doesn't seem enough. If TV has taught us anything it's that when the World does end there'll be loads of cars abandoned on highways everywhere. Surely that's enough petrol to go round the few of you left. Providing your car isn't made of cardboard, with no electricity source, not being able to see because you put your crash helmet on backwards, stumbling around in agony from the Nectar Card shoved up your arse.
Part 2 - The Outcome
"York woman sets herself on fire while decanting petrol in her kitchen" THE YORK PRESS
I could barely believe what I was reading. A woman from York managed to set herself on fire while decanting petrol from a "jerry can". She was in her kitchen. She was cooking, so her gas cooker was switched on. I can barely even continue.
Don't get me wrong, the poor lass is now 40% covered in burns and I have the same reactions as most people. It's sad, it really is. But please can you tell me why? Why she thought that transferring an extremely flammable liquid from one container to another, while standing next to something that is essentially on fire, was a good idea?
The York Press also tells us the incident happened just days after an MP no-one had ever heard of advised us to store petrol in "jerry cans". A Labour MP no-one has heard of has called for the other MP to resign following this incident.
Now, lets get one thing clear: I am not here to defend people. I specialise solely in ripping them to pieces. This includes myself. And you. Especially you. I know little about British Politics. I would much prefer to fill my head with TV Shows, XBOX, and tabs. But to suggest this old bastards comment was the full and only cause of a woman setting herself on fire is nothing short of total stupidity. Would the woman have been using a "jerry can" and messing around with petrol had he not made those comments? Who knows. At this time, even the mighty York Press can't give us the answer. But I'm pretty sure this MPs comments were not "People, start stockpiling petrol as it may run out or something. Oh, and if you are going to play around with it, please ensure you are standing right next to an open flame. It really is the only safe way to carry out such a task". Yeah, I don't know much about Politics, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't it.
Part 3 - The Blame
The British Public has spent all of their money on petrol. You can't take a step in a house now without tripping on a petrol can. People have created towers with them, much like "Wall-E" did with people's trash in the film "Rycyclotron 3000". Now there's no petrol, because the British People spent all of their money on it. A woman has managed to set herself on fire.
It's all the government's fault.
Fuck off, and when you're done fucking off, fuck off some more. I'm not defending the government here. They look and sound like walking mouse-traps. But the only reason you're blaming them is because you were told to, and that is so much easier than blaming your own stupid self.
Since when did we stop thinking for ourselves? OK, a member of the government caused a stir when he advised us to start keeping petrol in reserve. But that is just one man's opinion. There was no evidence that Petrol Tanker Drivers were going to strike that very same day. There was information available from their worker's union advising that a 7 day notice period would come before any strike. Yet now there is a chance we will run out of petrol. Because we bought it all. If a member of government advised you that jumping off a bridge was the only way to save your childhood friend, or staying in the house is the best way to make sure you don't get killed by a moving car, would you act on their advice?
You need to think about what you do. Lack of thought leads to people setting themselves on fire. In their own kitchen. The only conclusion I come to when I think about that is the picture of the Jackie Chan meme stating "My Head is Full of Fuck".
And I don't think there's anyone left to blame, for any of this, but ourselves.
Friday 30 March 2012
Friday 23 March 2012
Lower-Floor
"Yeah, properties like this rarely come up for rent" said the Estate Agent as he unlocked the door. The door was imitation wood. In other words, it was plastic, but brown. There was a locking device aside from the key, which James recognised as an intercom system. "The area is very popular with people of all ages, a mixture of houses and apartments and level-access housing" he continued, opening the door and walking in. James followed, watching the weatherboard as he raised his leg to clear it. He was very particular about where he placed his feet. As a young child he would walk on cracks in the pavement so they placed exactly at the centre of his foot. If it missed what he perceived to be the centre, his other foot would have to hit the same exact spot on the next crack. The sense of relief at taking two steps where the cracks in the pavement hit a perfect centre. He thought of this as he cleared the weatherboard, happy that he doesn't do that anymore. Well, rarely.
As he walked into the hallway he noticed the doorways leading to other places. It was empty, the walls were plain but clean. He was thankful for this, as cleaning was never something that stimulated him. The estate agent continued talking, but James had already tuned him out having occupied his mind with ideas. "TV would go there, sofa there" he thought as he followed into the living room. He was pleased that the property was in a nice area, the rent was affordable, the rooms were of a large size. It would be perfect for a single person.
"Single person, living alone" he thought to himself. He often thought of his children; the 5 year old son, and the dead one. The anguish that was supposed to follow never did. Numbness took him by the hand, and slowly reached up around his throat. He never even noticed that his girlfriend had moved back to her mother's place. It was like a trip to the dentist; the novocaine was starting to wear off, but wet drops of saliva on a shirt showed the results of the treatment. There was no going back for either of them. No way to continue, not after what happened. While the feeling of numbness hadn't left him completely, he could only continue.
After the two gentlemen discussed a few details they made their way back to the front door. "Ah yes, it's worth mentioning that this property doesn't come with a bath, but a wet room. The previous tenant was an old man, this was fitted for him a few years ago to stop him falling in the bath". James inspected this room. The floor was like the swimming baths he used to go to as a child. His father would take him there on weekends. While there was no bath, the shower seemed adequate. "I'll take it, please" said James. As they exited through the same door they came in a question appeared in James' mind. The previous tenant was old, old enough to not be able to manage a simple task of entering and exiting a bath. There was an intercom system on the front door, which was unusual for a lower-floor apartment. He asked the question knowing the answer it wouldn't affect his decision, but he asked it anyway.
"Did the previous tenant die here?"
As he walked into the hallway he noticed the doorways leading to other places. It was empty, the walls were plain but clean. He was thankful for this, as cleaning was never something that stimulated him. The estate agent continued talking, but James had already tuned him out having occupied his mind with ideas. "TV would go there, sofa there" he thought as he followed into the living room. He was pleased that the property was in a nice area, the rent was affordable, the rooms were of a large size. It would be perfect for a single person.
"Single person, living alone" he thought to himself. He often thought of his children; the 5 year old son, and the dead one. The anguish that was supposed to follow never did. Numbness took him by the hand, and slowly reached up around his throat. He never even noticed that his girlfriend had moved back to her mother's place. It was like a trip to the dentist; the novocaine was starting to wear off, but wet drops of saliva on a shirt showed the results of the treatment. There was no going back for either of them. No way to continue, not after what happened. While the feeling of numbness hadn't left him completely, he could only continue.
After the two gentlemen discussed a few details they made their way back to the front door. "Ah yes, it's worth mentioning that this property doesn't come with a bath, but a wet room. The previous tenant was an old man, this was fitted for him a few years ago to stop him falling in the bath". James inspected this room. The floor was like the swimming baths he used to go to as a child. His father would take him there on weekends. While there was no bath, the shower seemed adequate. "I'll take it, please" said James. As they exited through the same door they came in a question appeared in James' mind. The previous tenant was old, old enough to not be able to manage a simple task of entering and exiting a bath. There was an intercom system on the front door, which was unusual for a lower-floor apartment. He asked the question knowing the answer it wouldn't affect his decision, but he asked it anyway.
"Did the previous tenant die here?"
Thursday 15 March 2012
The Girl on the Platform Smiled - Part 3
There was a time when a Bard was considered a noble trade. Usually employed by Monarchs and Lords of significant standing in Society they would document historical happenings, stories of heroic proportion. The most famous is William Shakespeare, known as "The Bard". His stories have been performed time and again, many of which are the template for the Hollywood blockbusters we are used to seeing at our local cinemas. I never met Shakespeare, most likely because he died a long time before I was born. My own personal experience of Bards can be attributed to video games, such as the Fable and Elder Scrolls series. Go into any settlement situated in the vast landscapes of Albion or Oblivion, or Skyrim and it's likely that these annoying bastards will show up, Lutes at the ready, to sing songs of your exploits in the game. All you want is to sell your drops (weapons, potions), collect provisions and a few new missions, and head back out into the dungeons to chin some evil necromancers, trolls, or possessed skeletons. However these fuckers will follow you around with their weird shaped guitars intent on ruining your experience. This usually resolves itself when you smash them over the head with a level 61 enchanted mace. Coincidentally this is exactly what I would like to do to the guy from the match.com advert.
His little laugh. Never has the sound of laughter made me grit my teeth so much. "She was a natural blonde" he sings, the girl on the platform smiled but shook her head, prompting him to retort "she wasn't a natural blonde, but that's what made him fond of her". His little laugh while singing the above line makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry. Not with sadness, but with sheer unabated frustration. His faux-embarrassment is betrayed by his smugness. His smugness disguising his true thoughts of whether the hair on her fanny is as dark as the roots showing from the base of her skull. I bet they are dark, as dark as his own thoughts captured by this mirthless chuckle.
Apparently the fact that she wasn't a natural blonde is what made him fond of her. Why, exactly? Many things make me fond of a woman. Finding what I say to be amusing enough to raise a smile. A caring attention to detail. And a great pair of tits. But never the fact that she dies her hair. It turns out that the gimp with the guitar puts about as much attention into what attracts him to a woman as he does his utterly shite lyrics.
As we have noticed many things about this advertisement annoy me, and probably you. Nothing, however, breeds more resentment and overwhelming disappointment than it's conception. The premise that this supposedly represents the feeling of a first meeting with a potential partner. The premise that this could actually work. Lets see what it actually looks like written down.
A young man is standing at a train station carrying a ukulele. He notices a girl on the opposite platform sitting, waiting for her train, generally minding her own business. He catches her attention by beginning a song. The song itself is a tragic effort as he fails to correctly guess her age or hair colour. The daft cunt. As a train impedes their eye line, the young man sits down, deflated that his plan to woo this girl failed. As the camera turns we see she is sitting next to him. It actually fucking worked!
If you are stupid enough to believe this as a possibility then I encourage you to try it. Hang around a train station, sing a song to a nice looking girl and see what happens. I can guarantee she will flee, terrified that this psycho might just follow her home, stalking her while wielding his little guitar as a weapon. A little guitar which probably houses the little finger forcibly removed from a previous victim. You will scare people, and most likely end up being arrested. And rightly so, you absolute berk.
One of the greatest feelings in life is meeting someone special for the first time. It's sheer exhilaration. It's nervousness, the seemingly true possibility that the butterflies in your stomach might turn into giant dragons and rip you to shreds on the inside. It's the excitement of rolling the dice, an opportunity to meet someone you may want to spend the rest of your days with. It's the feeling of success when you grab her by the hand, delicately touching her soft skin, and she doesn't take it away. It's the feeling of love when you tentatively lean in for a first kiss and you smell the lightly applied foundation on her face for the first time.
I simply refuse to let this advert, this stinking rag of lies, let us down so badly.
There was a young man at a train station. He spots a pretty girl on the opposite side of the platform. He is not carrying a ukulele with him, because that's just fucking weird and this young man is not weird, he's just a normal person like you. And possibly me. He catches her eye, but looks away almost immediately, knowing that nothing scares a girl away quicker than a stranger intently staring at her, like a hunter stalking it's prey. A few seconds later they catch a glance once more. This time he offers a polite, warm smile, still not holding his gaze for too long. She smiles back. They share a moment, a moment of intrigue, of safety, of a mutual understanding. The train pulls up to the platform, and the girl gets on. He may never see her again but he is fulfilled by the knowledge that he may have brightened her day, just a little. As she had brightened his the same. "The girl on the platform smiled" he said quietly to himself. "It was the best smile I've seen in a while".
This, my friends, is what happens in the real World.
His little laugh. Never has the sound of laughter made me grit my teeth so much. "She was a natural blonde" he sings, the girl on the platform smiled but shook her head, prompting him to retort "she wasn't a natural blonde, but that's what made him fond of her". His little laugh while singing the above line makes me want to curl up into a ball and cry. Not with sadness, but with sheer unabated frustration. His faux-embarrassment is betrayed by his smugness. His smugness disguising his true thoughts of whether the hair on her fanny is as dark as the roots showing from the base of her skull. I bet they are dark, as dark as his own thoughts captured by this mirthless chuckle.
Apparently the fact that she wasn't a natural blonde is what made him fond of her. Why, exactly? Many things make me fond of a woman. Finding what I say to be amusing enough to raise a smile. A caring attention to detail. And a great pair of tits. But never the fact that she dies her hair. It turns out that the gimp with the guitar puts about as much attention into what attracts him to a woman as he does his utterly shite lyrics.
As we have noticed many things about this advertisement annoy me, and probably you. Nothing, however, breeds more resentment and overwhelming disappointment than it's conception. The premise that this supposedly represents the feeling of a first meeting with a potential partner. The premise that this could actually work. Lets see what it actually looks like written down.
A young man is standing at a train station carrying a ukulele. He notices a girl on the opposite platform sitting, waiting for her train, generally minding her own business. He catches her attention by beginning a song. The song itself is a tragic effort as he fails to correctly guess her age or hair colour. The daft cunt. As a train impedes their eye line, the young man sits down, deflated that his plan to woo this girl failed. As the camera turns we see she is sitting next to him. It actually fucking worked!
If you are stupid enough to believe this as a possibility then I encourage you to try it. Hang around a train station, sing a song to a nice looking girl and see what happens. I can guarantee she will flee, terrified that this psycho might just follow her home, stalking her while wielding his little guitar as a weapon. A little guitar which probably houses the little finger forcibly removed from a previous victim. You will scare people, and most likely end up being arrested. And rightly so, you absolute berk.
One of the greatest feelings in life is meeting someone special for the first time. It's sheer exhilaration. It's nervousness, the seemingly true possibility that the butterflies in your stomach might turn into giant dragons and rip you to shreds on the inside. It's the excitement of rolling the dice, an opportunity to meet someone you may want to spend the rest of your days with. It's the feeling of success when you grab her by the hand, delicately touching her soft skin, and she doesn't take it away. It's the feeling of love when you tentatively lean in for a first kiss and you smell the lightly applied foundation on her face for the first time.
I simply refuse to let this advert, this stinking rag of lies, let us down so badly.
There was a young man at a train station. He spots a pretty girl on the opposite side of the platform. He is not carrying a ukulele with him, because that's just fucking weird and this young man is not weird, he's just a normal person like you. And possibly me. He catches her eye, but looks away almost immediately, knowing that nothing scares a girl away quicker than a stranger intently staring at her, like a hunter stalking it's prey. A few seconds later they catch a glance once more. This time he offers a polite, warm smile, still not holding his gaze for too long. She smiles back. They share a moment, a moment of intrigue, of safety, of a mutual understanding. The train pulls up to the platform, and the girl gets on. He may never see her again but he is fulfilled by the knowledge that he may have brightened her day, just a little. As she had brightened his the same. "The girl on the platform smiled" he said quietly to himself. "It was the best smile I've seen in a while".
This, my friends, is what happens in the real World.
Monday 12 March 2012
The Girl on the Platform Smiled - Part 2
I watched Apocalypse Now simply because I was meant to. It's one of those films that is heralded as a classic, a must-see, a fixture in the "Top 100 films to see before you die". Probably. I didn't enjoy it. While certain scenes are truly epic, it ran too long for my short attention span, and I didn't feel any emotional involvement. For me, at least, it wasn't very memorable.
One part I do remember is when we catch up with Colonel Kurtz, and he has obviously gone mental. Not surprising really, as he was played by Marlon Brando who was mental in real life. More mental than a clown played by Tim Curry. He utters the famous line "the horror, the horror". Many believe he is describing what he has witnessed, a truly bloody conflict. In fact, he simply had a premonition of the match.com advert. Featuring the World's most annoying person singing the World's most annoying song.
The advert is so annoying it makes me want to punch a gerbil to death. I would feel really bad afterwards, probably while cleaning gerbil brain from my still clenched fist. And it's all match.com's fault. They made me kill a gerbil in my head. That's not a safe thought to have, the thought of me pulverising a gerbil then feeling rotten about it afterwards. I should be feeling happy, happy to have finished work for the day. Happy that I ate a very nice home-cooked pasta dish, and watched 40 minute of "The Two Towers". But no, I'm haunted by thoughts of a lifeless gerbil, flattened by my own hand. It's all match.com's fault. The horror, the horror.
Who carries a ukulele with them? Really? I have never in my whole life seen anyone, anywhere carrying a tiny guitar around with them. Bearing in mind I live just outside of Sunderland, a place where you can see a man rave dancing to himself without headphones while reciting excerpts from The Bible. Turn another corner and you can see a silver-haired man resembling a shiny mine-pony escorting his many bags to and from sets of public seats. But never a ukulele. Never a ukulele.
Let's be clear. Anyone who carries a guitar with them, of any size, around a train station is either a busker or a cunt. The match.com guy fell out of the cunt tree and hit every branch on the way down, landing firmly in Cunt Train Station. And what is the one thing a cunt with a guitar does to further annoy you? He plays a fucking annoying song.
The song itself is a veritable whirlwind of unimagination. The tail end of a whirlwind. It's seen better days, smashing up people's houses and chinning livestock, but now it's just slowly giving up as it becomes the size and sound of a particularly weak fart. The best he can do is rhyme "smile" with "while" and fill sentences with the word "really" over and over again. His voice croaks along like a frog that's lost it's will to live. He looks like the "idiots" that Dan Ashcroft so valiantly fights against. The girl is incredibly non-descript, so non-descript that is the best I could come up with.
The above is a clear explanation why this nonsense is the most annoying thing on the planet. There are two more things, and I will leave them til next time.
One part I do remember is when we catch up with Colonel Kurtz, and he has obviously gone mental. Not surprising really, as he was played by Marlon Brando who was mental in real life. More mental than a clown played by Tim Curry. He utters the famous line "the horror, the horror". Many believe he is describing what he has witnessed, a truly bloody conflict. In fact, he simply had a premonition of the match.com advert. Featuring the World's most annoying person singing the World's most annoying song.
The advert is so annoying it makes me want to punch a gerbil to death. I would feel really bad afterwards, probably while cleaning gerbil brain from my still clenched fist. And it's all match.com's fault. They made me kill a gerbil in my head. That's not a safe thought to have, the thought of me pulverising a gerbil then feeling rotten about it afterwards. I should be feeling happy, happy to have finished work for the day. Happy that I ate a very nice home-cooked pasta dish, and watched 40 minute of "The Two Towers". But no, I'm haunted by thoughts of a lifeless gerbil, flattened by my own hand. It's all match.com's fault. The horror, the horror.
Who carries a ukulele with them? Really? I have never in my whole life seen anyone, anywhere carrying a tiny guitar around with them. Bearing in mind I live just outside of Sunderland, a place where you can see a man rave dancing to himself without headphones while reciting excerpts from The Bible. Turn another corner and you can see a silver-haired man resembling a shiny mine-pony escorting his many bags to and from sets of public seats. But never a ukulele. Never a ukulele.
Let's be clear. Anyone who carries a guitar with them, of any size, around a train station is either a busker or a cunt. The match.com guy fell out of the cunt tree and hit every branch on the way down, landing firmly in Cunt Train Station. And what is the one thing a cunt with a guitar does to further annoy you? He plays a fucking annoying song.
The song itself is a veritable whirlwind of unimagination. The tail end of a whirlwind. It's seen better days, smashing up people's houses and chinning livestock, but now it's just slowly giving up as it becomes the size and sound of a particularly weak fart. The best he can do is rhyme "smile" with "while" and fill sentences with the word "really" over and over again. His voice croaks along like a frog that's lost it's will to live. He looks like the "idiots" that Dan Ashcroft so valiantly fights against. The girl is incredibly non-descript, so non-descript that is the best I could come up with.
The above is a clear explanation why this nonsense is the most annoying thing on the planet. There are two more things, and I will leave them til next time.
Thursday 8 March 2012
The Girl on the Platform Smiled - Part 1
Many things annoy me. Not winning the lottery. Idiot drivers who don't indicate at roundabouts. The fact my dishes won't wash themselves. I could easily fill a page with everything that annoys me, the page itself would be the length of the entire universe, and I could still continue over onto the other side. I will shout expletives, I will make an angry face and probably gesture wildly, like some sort of mad clown played by Tim Curry. The majority of annoyances will be petty, the sort of thing you shouldn't really get mad about. There are some annoyances which take you further than anger. It's a feeling that is difficult to describe. Like you've bashed your head into a brick wall for so long that there's no head left, just bits of skin flopping around your neck by the time you realise that no amount of cranial torture will make a difference. Have you ever been so annoyed that the anger just stays in your stomach? You close your eyes, mutter to yourself in disbelief. You know this feeling cannot be resolved by shouting, punching, or indeed, smashing your head into a wall.
This feeling is reserved solely for the match.com advert. The one with the twat and his twatty small guitar at the train station.
Make no mistake, this is the most annoying piece of anything that has ever, ever been brought into the World. If you haven't seen it I suggest you do, only because I am going to write about it and it'll probably help. I apologise for bringing it upon your person. *Please note that the advert on youtube is a full minute long, the advert you've probably seen on the telly is a shorter version.
The video is posted on youtube by ukmatch, the description reading "This is a classic tale of boy meets girl to remind us all what it feels like to meet someone you're attracted to for the first time". Except it's not. It's an advert to encourage people to use match.com because they can't talk to people in real life. It's a tool to get your website more traffic and subscribers. It burns into my very soul. It is not, and never will be a "classic" tale of boy meets girl. Such praise is reserved for greatness, like When Harry Met Sally, The Wedding Singer, and The Terminator.
The description also lets us know that the song featured "She Began to Dance" by Matthew P is available to download on iTunes. I had to fight every urge not to break my fingers so I couldn't type that sentence. It's fortunate that the song is on iTunes and not available on CD. If it were I would have to spend all my money on buying every copy in existence, snap them in half and throw them into the fiery pit of Mount Doom. The song is so bad I would even apologise to Sauron on my way out, "Soz mate, I know your fiery belly should be reserved for such items as the One ring, but I couldn't take a risk by disposing of this shit by any other means. To be fair you're just a big eye on a tower so I fancied my chances of getting away with it. Taraaaaa". Also worth noting that his surname is only an initial, the calling card of an absolute cunt. Like Jessie J, Diddy P, and Anthony B. His surname is quite likely "Piss". In my head, it is.
I encourage you to watch this advert, and I shall continue in the near future.
This feeling is reserved solely for the match.com advert. The one with the twat and his twatty small guitar at the train station.
Make no mistake, this is the most annoying piece of anything that has ever, ever been brought into the World. If you haven't seen it I suggest you do, only because I am going to write about it and it'll probably help. I apologise for bringing it upon your person. *Please note that the advert on youtube is a full minute long, the advert you've probably seen on the telly is a shorter version.
The video is posted on youtube by ukmatch, the description reading "This is a classic tale of boy meets girl to remind us all what it feels like to meet someone you're attracted to for the first time". Except it's not. It's an advert to encourage people to use match.com because they can't talk to people in real life. It's a tool to get your website more traffic and subscribers. It burns into my very soul. It is not, and never will be a "classic" tale of boy meets girl. Such praise is reserved for greatness, like When Harry Met Sally, The Wedding Singer, and The Terminator.
The description also lets us know that the song featured "She Began to Dance" by Matthew P is available to download on iTunes. I had to fight every urge not to break my fingers so I couldn't type that sentence. It's fortunate that the song is on iTunes and not available on CD. If it were I would have to spend all my money on buying every copy in existence, snap them in half and throw them into the fiery pit of Mount Doom. The song is so bad I would even apologise to Sauron on my way out, "Soz mate, I know your fiery belly should be reserved for such items as the One ring, but I couldn't take a risk by disposing of this shit by any other means. To be fair you're just a big eye on a tower so I fancied my chances of getting away with it. Taraaaaa". Also worth noting that his surname is only an initial, the calling card of an absolute cunt. Like Jessie J, Diddy P, and Anthony B. His surname is quite likely "Piss". In my head, it is.
I encourage you to watch this advert, and I shall continue in the near future.
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