Alas poor media…
The writing's on the wall for CDs, it has been for ages. It's no surprise because historically one form of media has always been surpassed by a younger, better, sexier format that immediately makes the old it feel like a decrepit useless husk and its user embarrassed to be associated with it. Ever was it thus.
The CD Reaper. Camp as hell to you but to CDs he's pure terror.
Of course personal digital transfer now spells the end of single track or album storage media forever, which I will stop discussing immediately, for fear of growing metal from my eyes, wires from my fingers and speaking only in digital screams, which as we all know is the fate of people who write about such things. Yes it is.
I shall miss putting CDs into the stereo. I quite enjoyed the eager glint of the disc and the pleasant sensation of it's sharp but soft edge snugly nestled into my finger tips. I liked opening them and flicking through the inlay. I liked the feeling of having bought something solid from a record shop.
Though I have to admit I won't miss the scratches and the impossibly fragile cases or the fact that when you open the box and it's empty you KNOW you put it away, so it was DEFINITELY someone else and then you get really angry. You start shouting and ranting about how no-one has any respect for anyone else's property and maybe even a bit of spit comes out of your mouth and then you're hitting the CD rack and kicking at it and then the CD rack falls over and it's broken and you finally calm down and realise it's not the CD rack, its your housemate lying on the floor and those aren't CDs on the carpet, they're his teeth along with the irreparable pieces of another friendship, which was doomed to failure by CDs.
So on reflection I won't miss CDs. They're crap. Thank god we're getting rid of them. I hate them, they're a lot like Hitler, only much worse on a very real scale.
The Truth About Michael Jackson
Often it falls upon humble writers to reveal uncomfortable truths. Usually the world turns away, content to keep it's blissful ignorance rather than face the unsettling realities of life. Today I ask, nay plead, don't look away, hold fast and stare down truth. Fix your courage and look into the eye of the storm of actuality and accept that Michael Jackson and Mickey Mouse are the same person. Yes they are.
...just ONE white glove
In case you need any more evidence, here it is:
- They have the same name
- They were both born black
- The have the same voice
- They both hang around children a lot
- Both have a lot of imaginary animal friends.
I rest my case.
Abba Will Kill Me
I'm going for sushi tonight. It's highly likely that while I am there someone will kill me. There won't be any fuss. It will be very quiet, it won't happen immediately but my fate will be sealed.
Of course I'm not talking about my lovely girlfriend who'll be there without, I hope, murderous intent. No I'm talking about the Polonium B pushing Russian secret service. They are going to kill me, I know this because what I am about to write is the kind of information that could bring Russia crashing to it's knees.
I could forget what I know. I could look the other way. I could. But I won't. I owe it it to you. I owe it to myself.
So, this is it. Four little words: Putin danced to Abba.
"Whoa! Get down! If you ever speak of this I'll make a hat from your lungs"
There, I've done it, that is a relief. He denies it of course. As would anyone who had danced to Abba, (yes, yes, it's great pop, but it's still as musically interesting as sand) or who set up a private concert with Abba tributary Bjorn Again.
God bless.
Read it here last.