Interesting Times

I got sick of interesting customer of the week. As you may have noticed. As much as I find the people who come along to my place of business a largely fascinating breed of cock-mops, they are still cock-mops and remain destined to be labelled so forever. Tossers the lot of 'em.

So, on with a rant.

About the same scrotum-sucking bags of pus, shit and crusted over ejaculate mentioned in the first paragraph. Having finished uni for the year, I've been entertaining myself by working overtime, to my eternal regret. The preferable alternative to facing full-time retail work, as I've recently discovered, is to walk naked into the meeting place of a group of violent feminists, and hand out the kitchen utensils. But as all of you pricks would sorely miss me if I stopped writing for this semi-regular foul-mouthed psychosis, I shan't do that.

There are three types of customer in this horrible thing we call a world. The first is the awkward bugger, who wants the item from the top shelf, or wants us to head to the stockroom to find whatever garment they are questing for. This is about the best sort of customer we get. The second is the middle-aged female, having given up on life and now floating through existance with a trackie (Tracky? Trackee? How do ya spell that?) a screaming brat that she's looking after for the mother who's just started her GCSE's and a husband who's so pissed off at his shitty job and total impotance that he gets his kicks from throwing empty Stella cans at those near to him. This broken women are normally haunting the womenswear or underwear sections (Trying to convince themselves that they can be physically attractive, goddammit!) so I don't see them too much. Until they venture into menswear, and ask me if we do tracksuit trousers that would be suitable for a formal occasion. Jesus Christ I wish I was joking about that.

Then, looming over the piss-stained horizon, are the gold medallist scrotum-suckers. If Bruce Springsteen had recorded "Born to Suck Scrotum" then these guys would be on the front cover. (Yes it's a Pratchett joke.) The type of individual who comes along just to be fucking annoying. By pulling apart stands, knocking over displays that I know through experience take about half an hour to tidy. And then they depart, with a smile on their miserable little fucking faces.

Fuckers. All of them.

-Az

Student Finance Indirect

The question "is it worth it for a couple of hundred quid?" rarely has a realistic answer of "no". I mean obviously if the "it" involved killing someone or being tortured for months on end then we'd probably sacrifice the money, but on the whole a couple of hundred quid is worth a moderate investment of time and effort.

Unfortunately, the fates - coupled with my own idiocy and a hideously designed financing system - have conspired against me to make sure I go slightly poorer than I would otherwise have gone. I refer today to the ridiculous Student Finance Direct system. You see, having encountered a small problem with my University Bursary application (I'd filled out the form very slightly wrong), I was required to telephone the Student Finance office and ask them to rectify my mistake.

Upon dialling the number I got a set of multiple choice questions. 'Are you the policy holder?" and things along those lines. I was then asked the question "Please enter your ART ID. This can be found on any correspondence we have sent you". Not one to be disheartened quickly, I set off in search for one of the many letters Student Finance have sent me over the past year. Could I find one? Not a bloody chance.

Slightly angered I ventured to their website, where all I had to do to find out my ID was to enter my password and answer to secret question. I completed these steps only to be told they were wrong. So I tried another possible password. Wrong again. And again, and repeat ad naseum for 50 separate attempts.

Seeing as I only use two passwords for all my official business, I suddenly realised that Student Finance must be one of those that asks for a really obscure password. You know, the ones that are 50 characters in length and contain at least 3 numbers and a pirate flag. Admitting defeat, I clicked on the link to have them reset my password and send me the new details via my e-mail.



"Please enter you ART ID."


....FUCK!!


~Fox.

I think you're fit but my god don't you know it

Whilst all of you out there who read this semi-regular writing all hold similar opinions of me (You either want to be me or spend your time vigorously masturbating over me, depending on gender and sexual preference) I would like to make one simple request, even though you so obviously hold this opinion, never, ever, refer to me, or anybody as being "fit".

Over the top egotisical ranting aside, I really mean it. 'Fit' in terms of physical attractiveness is just fucking stupid and I dislike it. Much the same as the word "Innit" it reeks of laziness and show a remarkable lack of vocabulary. Why not try a new word, like "Pretty", or "Beautiful" or some such, possibly combining words to form an accurate description, maybe injecting some slightly more intellect into your conversations. Example:

Cor, she/he/it's well fit innit?! - Bad sentence construction
I say, what an attractive young lady/unrivalled example of man/lovely statue of the late Linda McCartney. - Good sentence, although if you go after statues of the late Linda McCartney there's something wrong with you.

It might just be me and my obvious southern pansy ways, but these speaking mannerisms are bloody annoying. Especially as they are often found in conjunction with overly jingoistic political views, who wish for England to remain England, largely place immigrants as the sole reason for everything wrong with this country, and complain that they can't even speak the language.

Which to me seems somewhat hypocritical. My advice for these Stella -swilling scrotum suckers is to buy a thesaurus, and get one of your imbecile friends to beat you to death with it.

-Az

Yet Another Teen Suicide

Serious article today, sorry.

I'd like you all to look here:

http://ultimate-guitar.com/news/general_music_news/emo_music_attacked_over_teen_suicide.html

Once again we see the media up in arms, stating that all these horrible influences are warping the precious children. We saw this with the Grand Theft Auto series, Marilyn Manson was (wrongly) blamed for Columbine, and various copycat-killings have been attributed to the influence of films, mostly those of the horror genre. (For example, the ban on Stanley Kubricks "A Clockwork Orange" although that was self imposed.)

However, the total lack of research by reporters into how these so called "emo" bands operate is concerning, an example of this can be found on the Daily Mail website:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=400953&in_page_id=1770

Anybody who sees "emo" as a dangerous cult may possibly need their head looking at. It seems that our scaremongering friends in the media are terrified of freedom of expression, and wish to shield children from things that they may enjoy, could make them think, and god-forbid, help them form an identity. This approach of subtle conformity is truly disgusting.

I would like to say to those who feel this way about "emo" to possibly do some more research on the subject. None of the "emo" fans I know would glorify self-harm, and the whole scene largely works as a way of helping those who may be upset, something which is very common amongst teenagers. Perhaps instead of jumping to conclusions and using examples such as the poor girl who tragically ended her life (as seen in the first link) the media should try asking around slightly more, talking to normal teenagers on the street, or even getting a comment from the bands themselves.

-Az

P.S. This whole post is dedicated to the memory of Hannah Bond, the aforementioned girl, and my thoughts go out to her parents at this time.

EDIT: One of my loyal readers pointed out the following to me:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1935735/Popular-schoolgirl-dies-in-%27emo-sucide-cult%27.html

Which is slightly less uninformed than The Daily Mail, but still pretty bad. One example can be found with speaking about “the black parade” - a place where “emos” believe they go after they die. Pardon me for actually knowing something about recent pop music, but "The Black Parade" is a concept album by the band "My Chemical Romance" and listening to it in no way glamourises death, especially in regards to suicide.

Emo is not a cult, it's simply a fashion trend. Still, despite the abhorrant error in reporting "The Black Parade" as some kind of afterlife, I give the Telegraph some grudging respect. "While most fans simply enjoy the music and dress, others take their fascination to a sinister level." The combination of emo and suicide is not a hugely common one. I pray that the media will not make people believe it to be so.