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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How To Convince Everyone To Believe A Conspiracy Theory.

        The Internet has done many wonderful things for everyone, including (but not limited to): a seemingly endless stream of cat pictures, letting us buy a £2,500 print of Paul Ross at 2:30am, endless footage of people falling over, and all the adult material one's heart could possibly desire. It's even allowed us to get access to an entire map of the globe, where we can zoom in on literally anywhere for a looky-see, only made better by the fact that the first thing people zoom in on is not the pyramids, or huge sculptures, or any other amazing thing that they might not see in real life. Nope, it's their house. From the top. Not like you've never seen that before, people! Then when you're done pointing at the screen and saying "that's where my bedroom is", you can update everyone you know about the make of baked-beans you're enjoying with your toast. Then, you can go on to watching clips of Newsreaders being humiliated by their colleagues and reading the reviews on that lovely Paul Ross print.

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Woody Harrelson Learns About Reddit The Hard Way.

        Once upon a time, there was a thing called a "laptop". However, this "laptop" was merely shorthand for "laptop tray" and it was used to stop your dinner and your sofa becoming one while you watched the Generation Game. Back then, there was such a thing as the Internet, but it was rarely used as "I browse the internet" translated from Computer-speak to English as "I'm going to die a virgin, aren't I". This is a crazy idea to me, you see. The idea of someone working an office-y job without the Internet blows my mind! I mean, I would never get anything done at all if I had to, say, organise a meeting with people by ringing each and every one of them to confirm? I just want to type "meeting at 11. Biscuits available" and be done with it, thus leaving me with more time to think about important matters, like do Pigeons get dis-orientated by the way they wobble their heads while they walk, or why I always seem to wake up 10 minutes before my alarm, like my brain has a pocket-watch or something. Whatever, the lack of Internet is crazy enough, but I really can't get around the idea of lack of computer! I mean, I can't even imagine doing anything if all I had in front of me was a typewriter, and a biro. What can you do with that, besides maybe put on one of those hats with a cardboard "PRESS" thingy in it and pretend to be a 1920's journalist while saying, in gangster-voice "what a scoop, scheee".

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There Are Better Ways To Get Famous Than Big Brother.

After literally a whole night's thought at the pub, I've decided that I don't really want to be a "celebrity". By that, I don't mean someone like Sir Alan Sugar or one of the suited folk from Dragon's Den. They're successful in their own right, and just happen to be well-known due to some pokey show on BBC2. I don't even mean Phillip Scofield famous, where your job is to sit in front of a camera and chat to Jamie Oliver about his latest tomato. No, I mean the ones who are famous and well-paid, yet for the life of me I can't quite work out what it is they do: the "professional Celebrity". Chantelle, for example, turned up on Big Brother presumably for a joke. No-one in the house knew what she did, but she seemed to have the reading age of a chinchilla and the vocabulary of a teaspoon, so they assumed she must be a rich socialite at least... and that's it! That's all she's really done. Yet if she got married again, Hello would be tripping over themselves to be at the do, taking arty shots.

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Despite The Technology, We're Still As Daft As Cavemen.

I'm jus' saying, I really like modern life. I mean, I can walk into a room and press a switch on the wall (sometimes with my head if I'm carrying something) and boom! A light comes on. I can switch on the internets and learn about whatever I want. The other week, I learned how Uranium is refined, whereas yesterday, I learned that a restaurant in Japan has monkey butlers! Instead of hunting for my lunch, I merely asked KFC to prepare some breaded poultry, which they did. My brother has a new eye-phone 4ess, which lets you ask it stuff. I, for example, asked it what the weather is, and it went on-line and found out instead of me having to look out the window like some kind of feral cave-man. I can watch live news from around the world on a TV that's flatter than the voice on most of the singers in the chart today. Modern life is just.... just great! Just 150 years ago, we had to walk everywhere, find out about stuff by asking Beryl over the garden fence, go outside to answer nature's call and burn our relatives just to keep warm. Plus, all of this had to be done before you died of dysentery. I'll take monkey-butlers over all that, ta!

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Who Cares About "Price"? It's What You Get That's Important!

As we screech towards the end of October and slippy-slide into November, you'll find me a very excited Max. This has nothing to do with the up-coming fireworks extravaganza that spans mid-October and finishes some time just after the start of January (known as Bonfire night). Despite my awesome plans, it isn't even Halloween either, for which the great wide world of the Internets has given me an excellent idea to confuse my neighbours. We'll make a door of our own, complete with frame, and place it in front of their front door with a "please knock" sign on it. When they open their front door and see ours, they'll knock on it, then we'll open it dressed as grannies, and coo over their "costumes" while we hand them sweets. Then, we'll pick up our door and move on, leaving them utterly confused as to what just happened. Failing that, I might just look to make an intricate and artistic pumpkin carving, just like this Lord Of The Rings one, this Native American one or this Octopus one. However I suspect that my hours of carving, cutting my finger, whining about it, followed by more carving will actually look like this.

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Blackberry gone down? Could be worse.....

A couple of days ago, a couple from Cambridgeshire awoke one morning to discover that they had £101 million to their names. They achieved this feat by purchasing a ticket for the lott-tree and are now discussing what shade of Ostrich-hide to go in the private jet, I assume. I bet that every single one of you reading this did exactly what I did when I heard about this: planned exactly what you'd spend the money on if you were the lucky buyers of that lott-tree ticket. I don't even know what I would do with that kind of money, it's something like £300,000 a MONTH (that's after tax) if put away properly! What do you spend £300,000 a month on? No doubt I'll figure a way eventually, but the first few months would consist of me being an idiot with the money, I suspect. What I wouldn't do, however, is announce in the Mirror that I am making 20 of my friends millionaires. The only sentence I can imagine are more regretful is Gerald Ratner's "it's all crap".

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