What To Really Not Ask An Interviewee For

        As much as I try, I really can't imagine a worse job to do than to be the guy who tests cat food. Yes, apparently, testing cat food is a thing. What it needs to be tested for is beyond me, but there are people in this country, working for cat food makers, who find themselves lying at every party they attend when that inevitable question is asked. I can't blame them though, I mean, can you really imagine trying to defend it by saying that at least the lunch is free and you can eat on the job? Also, how does someone get that job? Do they apply via an advert or do they try and get promoted to cat food taster? So many unanswered questions! Also, how do you know what cats like? They might want hint of mouse, or whatever the tassels on your dining room rug taste like. Either way, It must be tested, and someone's got to do it. It's the same problem you encounter when something goes wrong on a 1,700ft antenna station. Not at the base of the antenna, where it's all accessible and safe and completely non-vertigo inducing, oh no. Right at the top! Well, this happens. If you don't like heights, you'd better be sending off your CV to Go-Cat!

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The Kony 2012 Campaign Highlights An Even Bigger Problem Among Us

        To me, Facebook is like the local pub. Most people pop in just after work for a while, even if they've already stopped by briefly during their lunch-break, and spend most of their time complaining about how their manager could be replaced by a scaffolding pole, with no noticeable difference. There's the person who seems to enjoy making out that their life is so dramatically bad that the people of Darfur should take a break from being shot to hold a charity concert for them. There's the clown who spends far too much time thinking of witty one-liners to belt out at random (that'll be me, then) and let's not forget that ever lovely person sitting in the corner who waits until it's late before starting a massive rant about something or other and blaming every problem in his life on "political correctness" or "immigration", followed normally by an argument. You still get the charity tin rattlers, but on Facebook, they're soliciting for "likes" instead of money. Plus, it provides ample opportunity for people to awkwardly run into their ex.

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Embarrassed About "Drunken Night Out" Photos? Worry No More...

It's been a funny old week, hasn't it! We've slid into October; a time normally of coldness, endless crunchy leafy pavements and that sad first morning where you have to spend five minutes scraping ice off your automotive pride and joy. Not this year. We've enjoyed a very un-British 29C here, and we've seen personal computer legend Steve Jobs pass away. These are indeed odd times, especially as the number one thing that most people seem to be talking about is neither of these two suggestions. Instead, it is the new layout for Facebook. Basically, they've changed it from a simple chronological line (which makes sense) to a mishmash of posts from here and there. Mostly there. Now, I can't quite get the whole brou-ha-ha about it all, as it sits in my priority list alongside a minor political dispute in Southern Bengal, or EastEnders. The biggest thing that people seem to be flapping their arms about, apart from the hilarious claim I mentioned last week about Facebook charging for their services, was the concern about privacy. Apparently, if you go out partying and post drunk pictures of yourself on the Internet, then other people may see them! I know, right?

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Why Some People Will Believe Anything, Because "Someone" Told Them.

Last week, Mrs Max and I found ourselves in Tesco. Nothing out of the ordinary as, just like everyone else, our Sunday was filled with the urge to swing by the nearest zombie holding-pen that we call supermarkets to fill a trolley with some stuff that we might be able to combine into something resembling a meal, and most stuff we really fancy at that time. This is why it isn't a good idea for people to go food shopping when they're hungry as apparently, you will end up with a trolley-full of Smarties. At least, I would be. However I also wouldn't be, as there are only a tiny number of things that I refuse to try and get used to: taking a bus being high up the list, but one of them is weekend supermarket shopping. I can't stand any supermarket when they're busy; why does the weekend turn the shoppers into the living dead? I mean, if I have a trolley and I want to take my time deciding which brand of Wine Gums I can most easily convince Mrs Max are entirely suitable for a Shepherds Pie, I will dump my trolley out of everyone's way. This is because I'm not five years old and can tell that this will only serve to annoy everyone else. So when everyone else seems quite content with just abandoning theirs in the aisle, it starts to make me want to scream. So, to avoid the frustration, I am simply left near the entrance in the magazine aisle, which I have renamed "The Man Creche". I wait. I read Top Gear or whatever, and am collected once the milk and Tiger Bread have been bought.

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So much technology, I don't even have to leave the house!

I like to take time over my appearance. Even if I'm tired, or just going out for a pint of milk, I can't bring my self to just "throw something on". This doesn't mean I'll preen myself for six hours just to pop something in the wheelie bin, but I will make sure that if I venture into a place where others will clasp eyes on me, that I have at least done my hair. Who knows who you will meet. I can't stand seeing some people who are in town looking like they have just woken up. In a hedge. After a night of vodka and heroin. There's a style to the stubbly look, but the hobo look doesn't fall into the category of "win".



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Why We Still Believe Everything People Tell Us: we're Gullible.

People will believe anything these days. Did you know, for example, that you eat an average of eight spiders a year while asleep, as you sleep with your mouth open and some arachnids, desperate for an entry in the spider's version of "Explorer", wiggle their way down your gullet? I'm willing to bet you already know this fact. However, the best thing about this fact is not the fact that you're inadvertently consuming Charlotte while you drool over your pillow, but that it is complete nonsense.

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