What’s the bloody point?

Blog no.23 … What’s the bloody point?

I’m afraid this blog has been poorly written, is grammatically lacklustre and factually wayward in key areas, this is because I’m working fast so that my thoughts will remain fresh and vital when they enter your brainholes. We’re living in an instant world and I’m prepared to sacrifice substance to be part of it. If I was an intellectual like Robert Elms or Paul Morley I’d probably dub this style ‘punk blogging’, and then look all pleased with myself but I’m not so I won’t.

In today’s newspapers (I don’t know exactly how many, I don’t have time for research anymore, but at least three) they gave the result of last night’s football as: Manchester United L Sunderland L … to fans of linear algebra that’s a draw, but it’s also newspaper shorthand for ‘late’, ergo: We don’t know what happened because it ran late and we didn’t have time to witness the conclusion.

So, the journalist doesn’t know what happened in the thing he’s been sent to write about because he has a deadline to file his copy describing the thing he’s been sent to write about, but he can’t adequately describe the thing he’s been sent to write about because he doesn’t know what happened, he doesn’t know what happened because etc etc etc … it’s a circular argument, or a circular something or other, no time for wording things properly now.

There’s even entire reports pondering both possible outcomes, what’s the bloody point? We already know the outcome anyway, we know everything, INSTANTLY! The Evening Standard has similar problems when Andy Murray is half way through a game at Wimbledon and they have to submit a report, but they can’t so they print the latest score, a paragraph about Cliff Richard and the rest of the page gets taken up by a huge full length photo of a sweaty Scotsman trying to retrieve his under-crackers from his sphincter.

Newspapers are doomed aren’t they? The very least we should expect from a newspaper is that it can inform us with some degree of accuracy as to what happened yesterday, if it can’t even do that, what’s the bloody point?
As for my point, I don’t exactly know what that is either just yet but no matter, I’ll photoshop it in later, but here’s some anecdotal evidence to support whatever it might be …

The olden days – when I was about 13, the batteries had gone in my transistor radio so I had no way of knowing how my team were doing in their midweek away fixture at Hereford, you could only access niche information like that on a gadget called ‘Ceefax’ in those days, but we were poor and couldn’t afford such luxury trinkets, we needed newspapers, imagine that. The following morning I bought one at Hounslow West tube and finally discovered the result, Hereford 1 Brentford 1. Well worth the 10 hour wait.

The modern world – Last Saturday evening I was multi-tasking, I had Pointless on the big TV (volume down), Liverpool v Villa on my i-pad (volume up) and Twitter open on my mobile, then about 25 minutes in to the goalless match I’m looking at Tweets exclaiming: “GOAL!!! VILLA 1-0” … eh??? … then of course seconds later on my screen Villa score. Is my live feed of the game on a slight delay? or has news now become so instantaneous that we literally, yes LITERALLY know what’s happened before it’s actually happened?

I haven’t done any research but It’s definitely the second one, thanks to disgustingly fat broadband frequencies tearing new arseholes in the O-zone layer we are now living 10 seconds into the future, I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking this poses a multitude of philosophical and existential quandaries such as: What then is history? Has time’s curve straightened or arced further? Is the present now the past? Is anything actually ‘live’ anymore? and most pressingly, what’s the bloody point of newspapers?

The end.

Here’s today’s actual report from last night’s big game in The London Metro …

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2014 (SPOILER ALERT!!!)

WARNING: The Following blog contains spoilers and unpalatable truths.

Regular readers of my ‘work’ will be feeling rightly smug right now, because this time last year I published my predictions for 2013, almost all of which came to pass. My blog ‘2013 explained’ is a matter of historical record and can be scrutinised here:  https://adamdevlin.wordpress.com/2012/12/31/2013-explained-2/
See for yourself, I was right about everything. I predicted the royal baby (ok I got the sex wrong), I predicted Robin Thick, the demise of Blockbuster Video, although I didn’t directly reference the horse meat scandal, it’s pretty clear in the subtext that I knew it was going to happen. I predicted the cold weather, I predicted the warm weather, Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Shrove Tuesday, Sheffield Wednesday, I predicted the lot, I even predicted that DLT had probably got up to something dodgy in his heyday. I’ve now used the word ‘predicted’ 7 times in this paragraph, so are these mere predictions? … or are they prophecies? (they’re prophecies).

So put your minds in the brace position, because I’m now going to tell you exactly what’s about to unfold in 2014. January and February and probably March and April will bleak months filled with misery and despair, England’s gallant Cricketers will lose The Ashes, sorry about that, best you hear it from me now rather than cling on to any hope that we might claw them back, and Justin Bieber (12) will still refuse to come out of his self-imposed exile from pop (he will also refuse to come out of his bedroom) (and also refuse to come out). The year on TV will kick off with Celebrity Big Brother, featuring the most toxic mix of washed up half-wits ever assembled in one room, but the show will be plunged into controversy one week in when Katie Hopkins (58) declares herself to be a holocaust denier, the other housemates laud her for “being brave enough to say what everyone else is thinking”. Channel 5 will be forced to cancel the show mid season, declaring Shakin’ Stevens the winner by default because he was outside throwing up when the whole Hopkins Nazi love-in was going on.

Then it will be Easter … and on the third day the little baby Jesus will be born again etc etc … I forgot The Oscars, Tom Hanks wins all The Oscars, everyone cries. In May, Manchester City will win at the football, thus disproving Jesse J’s theory about money once and for all. Meanwhile Luis Suarez receives another heavy ban when he’s clearly heard calling Alvaro Negredo “Negredo” which is obviously racist. In the world of Twitter, things get alarmingly dull when it becomes apparent that Tim Vine has copyrighted every available pun known to man and stockpiled them in a lock-up in Hendon.
I predict the arrival of Summer soon after the Spring like period, people will wear shorts and many will go on holiday, I also forecast a World Cup. If you don’t want to know what’s going to happen in the World Cup, I suggest you skip to the next paragraph now … If you do want to know, England stink the place out and the cheating foreigners win. On Big Brother 247, someone will win, probably a man, possibly a woman, maybe a haircut, at an absolute stretch it could be a couple or possibly twins, definitely not an animal though, ok not definitely, anything’s possible.

To Autumn then and the MTV Awards, Robin Thick will blur the lines just a tad too much for this stomach with his new dance routine ‘Twanking’, or is he un-blurring the lines? I’m not sure anymore and he definitely isn’t. Nevertheless Twanking will become the dance craze / indecent exposure act of the year. Even Nick Clegg (22) will get in on the act by posting selfies while Twanking all over his bathroom floor. Trust me, you’ll all be at it.
In the world of politics David Cameron will strike most people as a puffed up moon-faced posho who they cannot relate to on any level, without wishing to blow my own trumpet, I predicted, sorry, prophecized that last year … and the year before that. In other disturbing news, celebrities will run out of genuinely pretentious names for their offspring, resulting in Kim Kardashian naming her new born twins @KKbaby001 and @KKbaby002 sparking a new wave of contemporary Christian names amongst incredibly stupid people.

The year will end on a series of unsavoury notes, Sharon Osborne (92) is forced to quit The X Factor due to her face being no longer able to perform a single expression other than its default setting of startled. Lord Sugar and Piers Morgan have a drunken flabby brawl outside a London restaurant sparked by remarks a liquored-up Lord Sugar had made about Arsenal’s defensive high line. There will be more violence on the beaches of Southern England as Beliebers and Directioners clash in bloody and sickening scenes that aren’t nearly bloody and sickening enough for my money, then there’s the new John Lewis ad, it’s basically Chris Martin weeping on a unicorn, then the oil runs out, then Joey Barton says something, and just when you’ll all be thinking things can’t get any worse, a totally unforeseen meteor shower wipes out all mankind so savagely and suddenly that Katie Hopkins hasn’t even got time to do jokes about it on Twitter. There’s a fuckin’ spoiler and a half eh? Sorry guys, it’s time to make your peace. I deal in the truth: TRUTH IS BEAUTY, console yourselves with that thought when you’re rolling around your back gardens on fire screaming in agony.

Happy new year!!! x

the many faces of 2014 …

Katie Hopkins.

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Justin Bieber.

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David Cameron.

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Sharon Osborne.

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Croydon, the only place on Earth enhanced by the fatal meteor strike.

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