DJANGO UNCHAINED

Nigger. Nigger. Nigger.
Nigger. Nigger. Nigger.
Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. Y'see, my name's Quentin Tarantino and I was just going over the script for my edgy, exciting, confrontational, and edgy new film - Django Unchained.

This is the poster. There's blood in the
 background (but it's not real shhh).

It's the touching story of 2 bros who are bounty hunters or something. Bounty hunters are cool. And edgy. One of them's a black man (but I decided to call them 'niggers', coz it's confrontational and edgy hehe lol).

Anyways, the niggerest of the 2 bros wants to get his wife back from Leonardo DiCaprio - who's in absolutely top form. I've talked it over with him and we've both agreed that he should do his angry shouty head thing. Y'know, when he's all crazy and shit and sometimes spit comes out of his mouth and goes down his chin because he's so angry. Actors call that serious business and they do it when they need to act crazy and shit.

This is a really great example of Leo acting crazy and shit.
He has a gun and everything. Careful, y'all!

So I got sooo carried away with making things legit and being confrontational and edgy that I kind of forgot to make the film make sense :( sadface. But that doesn't really matter because it's all about the dialogue, y'know? Edgy dialogue. Y'all remember when I made the major motion picture, Reservoir Dogs? Or Pulp Fiction? There's memorable scenes where the characters chat a lot of shit about a lot of shit. This is called 'a monologue.' Or 'fucking gay.' 

People don't talk like that in real life. 

In fact, thinking about it, a lot of stuff that happens in my films wouldn't happen in real life. 

Some people call this my unique direction and style but the joke's on them 'cos it's mostly just BS. The quality of my work started to fall apart towards the second film in the Kill Bill trinity. (doubleinity? duo? 'Not sure what just 2 films are called hehe lol.)

Now I just say, "Fuck it" and make it up as I go along. I'm in a really great position where I can just put out any old tat and everybody loves it. Feelsgoodman.jpg.

I get to write myself into scenes like this, too
haha lol.

Anyways, like I was saying (typing hehe lol) in Django Unchained they want to get Jamie Foxx's wife back. Well that's the plan - but things don't go smoothly :) happyface! 

Instead of just going and getting her directly, I wrote the characters into a series of situations to create tension and more situations. This is called a 'plot contrivance'. Or 'padding'. Or 'BS'. 

I don't want to ruin the ending for you but the ending isn't very good. Sorry, y'all :( sadface. 

It's basically 3 hours of me standing in front of a mirror stroking every inch of my penis. 

Pleasuring myself. Indulging myself. Being an visionary and an confrontational.

You can come and watch and celebrate me.

Or not. Y'know. Whatever. 

Peace out, niggers. xoxo

LIFE: CATS OR DOGS - WHAT IS BESTEST?

Hullo, my name's Adam and tonight I have a) massive insomnia and b) a thirst for knowledge. I'm like a sponge. A sleepy sponge.

It is 5am. My handsome penis is flaccid and I have that feel when you've just woken up and can't get back to sleep. I've put a load of washing on. I've drunk some pop. I've tidied my room. Normally, it would be time to go back to sleep by now - but after half an hour of tossing and turning it's dawned on me that I won't be getting back to sleep any time soon.

So I've decided to do something constructive with my time. Is it as constructive as, say, curing cancer or touching myself? - no not really - but it might be more rewarding.

Cats. Dogs. What does it all mean?

Once again, the internet provides startling insight,

I am completely unbiased when it comes to this matter. Yes, I do own a cat - and yes - I don't much care for dogs. But as always, my journalistic integrity comes before all other concerns. So take my digital hand, friend - our journey is about to begin.

---

1) WHAT IS MOAR USEFUL?

Dogs can pull a sled. Dogs can detect drugs. Dogs can detect bombs (I think. I'm not sure). Dogs can save someone from a mountain top (and bring them nutritious booze). Dogs are Man's Best Friend ™.

Cats can purr and stuff. 

A cat wouldn't even go outside
in this weather.

This really is a no-contest. Cats are useless. They contribute nothing and take everything - much like something to do with politicians? (I'm sure that there's a joke there somewhere. If you're cleverer than me and can make the connection, let me know.)

Cats are selfish. Cats are independent. They don't really care about humans.

A dog will come to your aid if you're attacked and it'll bite and it'll bark and stuff. A cat will look at you and give approximately 0 fucks as you bleed out on the floor.

***** WINNER: DOGS *****

Very interesting. Dogs take an early lead.
Lead. (Because dogs have leads.)

---

2) WHAT IS CUTER?

To solve this situation, I've consulted Google Images and cross referenced the top 3 results for each animal. A highly trained team of scientists then processed the results using complicated algorithms and pie charts. It's been really scientific and shit. Behold:

Grey Kitten Snoozes With Toy

If you look closely, you can clearly see that this is a kitten. What’s fascinating is that this kitten has a toy kitten with it. It’s a kitten within a kitten. A Kitception if you will.

Sad Kitten Is Sad

I think that in this kitten has daddy issues. I wonder what its story is? What has it seen? Why does it not want to talk about it?

?

Someone’s been playing silly buggers with Photoshop. This definitely does not look legit to me.

Running Dog

This dog looks so far in the closet I think that it’s broken through to Narnia. This is the kind of dog that someone takes to a special place to have its hair cut. Weak.

Sleeping Puppy

This puppy is sleeping.

Sleeping Puppy

This puppy is the same puppy as the previous puppy but painted brown.

***** WINNER: CATS *****

This clearly proves that cats are cuter.

Why? Because fuck you. That's why.

---

3) A CAT / DOG IS NOT JUST FOR CHRISTMAS, IT'S FOR LIFE. BUT DO YOU WANT TO HAVE IT FOR THAT LONG?

A baby cat is called a kitten and a baby dog is called a puppy. I used to work at an aquarium, so you can trust me in all matters involving animals.

Giraffe.

Remember all those Disney and Pixar films with adult animals as the main character? No, me neither. They're always young; you have Nemo, Bambi, Dumbo, and then there's one-hundred-and-one fucking Dalmatians. Even if we count only the kittens - you still have Simba, The Aristocats, and Oliver.

From Oliver and Company. You're most welcome.
I always, always have your back, gentle reader. <3 heart symbol.

Whereas older animals in Disney and Pixar films are usually the villain and old and ugly and scary. Like Nicki Minaj. /thread.

My point here is that kittens and puppies are cute - but when they grow up, sometimes not so much. So let's now compare the young animal to the adult animal. I'm sure you'll agree, my discoveries were most irregular.

***** WINNER: CATS *****

This was a really tough call, but several many species of dog look quite cute

as puppies, and then grow into ugliness as they become adults. Several many. 

---

4) WHO WOULD WIN IN A FIGHT?

This is how I solve any arguments in a relationship. Normally, I date slender, pretty little things - so when it comes to fighting them I usually do quite well - which of course makes me right.

But enough about me; who would win in a fight between a cat and a dog? I think that there's 3 tiers to this: Kitten Vs Puppy, Domestic Cat Vs Domestic Dog, and Big Cat Vs Wild Dog. To examine all the angles here, I played with the idea of setting up an arena in my flatmate's bedroom. The animals could then be filed in there 2 by 2 for a brutal, Pokemon-style, battle to the death.

I aborted this idea pretty early on because, realistically, where would I be able to get a Tiger from? I mean honestly, sometimes I don't know what I'm like. So instead I'll use careful research to simulate the fights.

I fed all of the information into an old copy of Street Fighter 2 and let it play out. It was like Tron but without all the neon crap.

Kitten Vs Puppy
Winner: Puppy

Domestic Cat Vs Domestic Dog
Winner: Domestic Dog

Big Cat Vs Wild Dog
Winner: Big Cat

***** WINNER: DOGS *****

Well, that proves that. 
2 to 1 in favour of dogs. 

---

5) WHAT IS MOAR SMARTER?

 Dog's are stupid.

***** WINNER: CATS *****

---

CONCLUSION

Well, cats win 3 to 2. It must be true because you’re reading it on the internet.

I think we’ve all learned something here today but probably not. The absolute last thing I want to do is cause trouble on the internets. Hopefully you don't disagree with any of the careful, careful research submitted here. I mean, how could you? I was so thorough and careful.

And it could've been a lot worse.

I was planning on writing about what's bestest: baby humans or baby animals. Imagine the fallout from that lollercoaster? Delicious. 

SWEDEN: 2 OF 2

Sweden, what are you?

In this post I answer the tough questions. I've just come back from a week in Stockholm, or as the Swedes call it, 'Jogdaskfdbaljfalfh'. They do this a lot to words. More about that later.

My friends said before I left that it'd be mad expensive. They said a lot of things. The women are pretty and have long legs, they said. The city is beautiful, they said.

I know whether they were right or wrong - but I don't want to ruin the ending for you.

The flight was cheap as £70 worth of chips. Fucking win. It costs more to go to the edge of England on a train than it does to fly to another country on a plane. A return ticket to New Quay is about £80. Fucking fail. I went with 2 business associates of mine. 2 of the baddest dudes to ever walk the mean streets of Brighton.

From left to right - Me, Danny, Jez.

Danny 'Crack-Daddy Switchblade' Montez and Jez. (Jez doesn't have any nicknames. :( sadface). Danny's wiry and tall, with a sea of brown curly hair, and a face like a sad mole. Jez is squat and powerful, like a Henry Hover. Jez can do a shit-ton of push-ups. Jez doesn't fly well. He doesn't like the take off, he doesn't like the landing, and he doesn't like the bit in the middle. But that's okay, because you can buy booze at the Duty Free at the Airport and you can buy more booze on the plane. We stocked up on 3 litres of the good stuff before we left England. We thought that 3 litres of spirits would last us the bulk of the holiday. It didn't.

We also got loose on the train up to Gatwick.
Guess who's booze is who's? This blog has fun activities.

About 2 hours into our journey - Jez and I are as drunk as a Hen Do. Our tiny, piece of shit, plastic treehouse, economy flight seats are our nightclub. We are drunk and we are fun and we are cra-a-a-azy. We are pissing everyone off. We don't care. We are a 2 man Hen Do. The flight attendant refuses to give us any more ice for our whiskey cokes and our rum and cokes. "I have a medical condition and I need ice to cure me," I say. I think they must have a procedure about not dicking around with medical conditions. He brings us moar ice. I am lol. By the time our return flight comes around, I'm calling the flight attendants "Little bitch," and "Motherfucker". Stockholm did something dark and sinister to our language. More about that later.

I was so drunk by the time we got to the hostel, it felt like the whole journey - the train, the flight, the bus, the walk - took about 3 hours. I think door-to-door it took 7 hours.

This was the view from the bus.
Beautiful. Just beautiful.

We set up camp in the hostel. We're rooming with Some Spanish Guy and His Girlfriend Who Has a Sweet Ass, and another European couple, Steve and Judith. Steve isn't called Steve. Steve is Dutch and his name is Sietce. We can't pronounce that - so we offered to call him Shih Tzu, Schnitzel, or Steve. He likes Steve the least, so obviously, that's the name we choose for him. Obviously. 

Steve is a 6 ft Ken Doll. He's so asexual I think if I pulled his shorts down I'd be greeted with a perfectly smooth, penisless sheet of pink plastic. He also has the lulziest speech impediment I've ever heard. He occasionally drops a word to the back of his throat and stammers it out in a low hum, like a fridge compressor turning on. I've laughed right in his face like twice now - but I can't help it. He is offering the lols. The lols must we answered. (Judith is just called Judith). We like Steve and Judith very, very much. 

Steve and Judith. Guess who's who?
This blog has fun activities.

It's a beautiful city. It looks like someone started building a dolls house and didn't know where to stop. It's a gingerbread house made of stone. It's a toy built for grown ups. I've lived by the sea my whole life but this is the best I've seen it done.

Yes, the women are lovely. Their legs extend a full 12 inches longer than they should, like they start at their diaphragm or something. But facially, I'm on the fence. It's like all the features are in the right place but the maths is wrong. I haven't seen 1 OMG IT IS STUNNG! woman since I got off the plane. I am :( sadface.

You can dress up like a Viking and stuff
at the National Historical Museum.

I meet some drunk Swedish guys outside. Danny's with me. Jez's having serious dicky-tummy issues. More on that later. One of the guys is being really obnoxious, but in a harmless and fun way. I think he's going for the shock lols. Brother, let me stop you there. I'm a veteran. I've seen stuff on the internet, man. I've seen some shit, man. Forget about the internet’s original purpose – the bold new age of shared learning. Instead it's devolved into the deepest, darkest ocean of shit known to man. Even sunlight doesn't penetrate that far down. Only the most highly adapted and specialised kinds of life can survive down there. They all look like abortions.

However, he did give me the purest lol I've had since I got off the plane. He's talking about this woman he's dating. "I know I've had a good date with a woman when she starts to cry," he says. I mean, what the fuck is that? What do you even say to that? I am lol.

I am always lol.

There's a slower pace of doing things here. There's no hustle or bustle. There's no rush. Maybe it's because it's an opulent holiday city. Or maybe we're just in the right part of town. It reminds me of how much I dislike London. There's no serious businessmen in suits charging around from A to B, or people beeping one another like mechanical 'fuck yous,' or dozens of people shoehorned into streets that can't contain them. It's just nice. Very pleasant. 

So far we've done things by the numbers. 'Got fucked up the first night. 'Went out to dinner (and got fucked up) the second night. The third day we jumped on a guided tour of the city by boat. It includes a bus tour too. Hop on. Hop off. It costs £35 for a 24 hour pass.

Our boat does not look this cool. Not at all.
Outside the Royal Warship Vasa Museum.  

Also, I'm off the booze today. I woke up at 5am and then again at 7am to be sick. I haven't been sick from booze for as long as I can remember - but doing the maths, I think I've gone through at least 1 litre of whisky in 2 days. Far too many alcoho-lols. I think, 'Imagine if I hadn't woken up and I'd just choked to death on my own vomit in some hostel?' Oh dear. Oh dear, I think. I'm off the booze today.

Which brings me to the price of booze here. We are hemorrhaging money. We're hemorrhaging money like a city council trying to come up with a recycling initiative. A single spirit and mixer is £10+. A beer is around £8 for 400ml. 

This. This cost about £7.

And the heads on the beers are far, far too big. Like the mushroom cloud looming over Hiroshima. For a £7 beer I expect no head. I also expect 2 beers, but then that's just me. Also, it's another one of those cities where you can't buy precious alcoho-lols just anywhere. You have to go to the Special Shop. It's called something real plinky-plonky, and like many of the words here, I cannot pronounce it. 

But it's cool - everyone seems to speak English dead proper like.

Some Spanish Guy and His Girlfriend Who Has a Sweet Ass both tell us to keep the noise down. This is on the first night. They're gone by the second night. Replaced with another plucky young adventurer, Rapey Dom. Rapey Dom's not his real name, of course. He tells us this story about how he once pulled a 14 year old girl in a club and made out with her accidentally. Accidentally, he says. Rapey Dom. Paedo Dom. Dom the Rapist. These are the names that we call him for his sins. He volunteered this information during a game of Kings. Part of the game is an I've Never section. I can't even remember what the fuck it is that he's never done - but it was genuinely an innocent mistake. 

Accidentally, he says.

We like Rapey Dom very, very much. Rapey Dom says that he thinks English women are ugly. We can't argue with him. But Brighton has some absolute gems, we say. We spend the third night convincing him. 

Then this happens. 

Daisy. Daisy is English.

Daisy looks like a birthday party that nobody turned up to. She's all slight, slumped shoulders and nervous laughter. Daisy is a half eaten bowl of custard. Beige. All the work we put into convincing Rapey Dom the merits of English women is undone the minute she walks into the room. And, man, does she like faffing around with her bags in the morning. She's there an hour every morning. Rearranging. Checking. Organising. I want to scream at her, 'Daisy, you disgusting animal, what the fuck are you doing down there?! What are you?!' But I don't. 

Danny and I go to the museum. Danny and I go for a walk. Danny and I go for a walk through the Old Town. Where's Jez in all this? Well to understand that, you need to understand about Chorizo. 

I didn't take any photos of the Chorizo.
Here's Danny in the brush museum.

Like I said, we can't afford anything. We can't afford to eat. Like cavemen discovering fire, we learn that we can buy hotdogs from Stockholm's street vendors for £3. Most of them are skins of old animal carcasses, and eyelashes, and dirt. And then there's the Chorizo - the Spanish sausage, the life giver, the angel with Paprika deodorant. We ate a ton of them the first 3 days. We try to mispronounce it as badly as we can. The Chorizo. The Chozero. The Chozerzorio. We do this to torment the street vendors. Whoever can speak the sacred word as poorly as possible, not laugh, and still get the nutritious hotdog wins. Oh, Chorizo. Oh, angel with Paprika smile. Jez supplemented this diet with booze and medicine-ball sized bags of Wotsits. Or, Wijslgflsgf, as the Swedes call them.

Here's Jez in his cesspit, hostel, hospital bed.
It was his tomb. He rarely left.

He got very, very ill. His bottom bunk bed became his death bed. We check on him every now and again for signs of life. There aren't any. Jez isn't here right now. Jez can't get to the phone right now but please leave a message. Danny and I press on.

The city is gorgeous. It's like that dream city from Inception. I can't be bothered to check on Wikipedia, but it was probably filmed in Stockholm.

I meet some gypsy people. They read my palm and say that I've been in love 3 times. I have. They say I'll fall in love again in August. I will? I think they robbed me, but I went on a charm-offensive and I think they reverse-stole all my treasure back into my pockets. Thanks, guys. I am :) happyface. 

Rapey Dom knows these 2 women and we go to meet them. They eat Reindeer meat. I wonder what Rudolph tastes like, because he looks like shit. 

We have a new hostel-mate. He's this Russian chap. Again, really, really lovely guy - but he looks liek a serial killer. I may not wake up tomorrow because I have been killed to death.

Stolkholm has these little parks and organic areas set aside. They shine all around the city like Christmas tree lights in July. Potted plants wouldn't survive in Brighton. Or London. They'd get replanted with empty cans of Carling and cigarette butts. Or vandalised out of meanness. Also, they don't lock up their bikes in Stockholm. 2 bikes have been stolen from outside our flat, back home in Brighton. Maybe it's a 'respect for your city' thing.

Some little island in the middle of the city.
It is pretty.

There's a lot of heritage here. Lots of galleries and museums and churches. The 3 of us walk into a church in the middle of a funeral. The woman on the front desk looks up from her books and her papers over equilateral glasses and gives us a look like, 'Guys. Guys, are you fucking kidding me?' We leave.

SO EMOTIONAL!!!1ONE

The 3 of us walk around the city for 2 days straight. Popular opinion before we came here was that the city has a beautiful X, Y, and Z - but no one had any specifics. Yes, it's attractive and historic, but it's sacrificed change to maintain that. I've only seen a whisper of red hair since I've been here. The only Black and Asian people seem to be tourists. If I'd had £1 for every handsome, blonde guy or long-legged, blonde woman I'd seen since I'd been here - I wouldn't need to shop at Lidl here. There's no variety. There's no diversity. The citys best selling point is also it's weakness. It hasn't changed.

This photo. This is the beginning of the end.

"Yo. That motherfucker's beautiful," Danny says about the building above.

"Ima gonna take a photograph of that bitch," I say about the building above.

It was the beginning of the end for our language skills. Everything - everything - became 'bitch,' and 'motherfucker,' and 'nigga' - OMG this got so out of hand. We talk like we're from Compton, or from N.W.A., or part of Snoop Dogg's entourage. 

"Don't move, motherfucker. Ima gonna photograph your ass," I say. To a statue.

OMG this got so out of hand. God knows why. Maybe we've been away too long. 

It was time to go home.

CONCLUSION: 

I like Stockholm. It's a nice city but a week's too long to stay there. Jez and I were done after 4 or 5 days. It's maybe somewhere I'll return to when I'm old and grey and retired. 

We met some lovely, wonderful people. The hostel (Old Town Best Hostel. See links and shit below. This blog is informative) was great, and great value, too. It was about £25 a night. Bargain.

You will not be able to afford stuff there. We had to shop at Lidl just to get by. I haven't had to do that walk of shame since I was a student. Apparently, if you live there, then it's all relative. Even minimum wage, crap, shitpiss, pisspoor jobs like McDonald's pay about £12 an hour. The women who work there are pretty hawt too. 

At £70 a flight, do it. It's well worth the mission.

Just stock up on booze at the airport.

http://www.ryanair.com/en - Cheap flights. 'Nuff said.

http://www.besthostel.se/en/ - Where we stayed. £25 a night. Bargain.

http://www.nationalmuseum.se/ - Fucking sweet gallery. Ignore the name. It's a gallery. £12 entry.

http://www.historiska.se/home/ Historiska Museet. 'Museet' means museum. I am clever. £4 entry with a discount book from the boat tour. 

http://www.stromma.se/en/STOCKHOLM/Tours/Stockholm-Sightseeing/Boat-Tours/Hop-on-Hop-off1/ - Boat Tour. Hop on. Hop off. £35 for 24 hour ticket. PROTIP: get it in the afternoon. Blag 2 days. Win.

SWEDEN: 1 OF 2

Fuck me. Just logging in to the site from here has been one of the single most painful experiences of my life - and back in the day I had 2 ingrowing toenails at the same time. Maybe you were right. Maybe I can't backpack into the sunset.

I have no internets here. This foreign language keyboard is kicking my ass. '@' is a '>', a colon is a 'фтв', and pressing 'Caps Lock' backs me out of the page. Truly, these are the most primitive of days, pour vous vous.

But I digress. I am in Sweden and I want to share my first impressions. I had a real malfunction trying to log in earlier, so papa's had to go real old school and use a pen and paper for the evening. I've been taking notes and stuff in the field. I ain't even got a notebook. The 'Receptionist / Door Man' don't sell no notebooks. I'm using like 8 A4 pieces of paper stapled together. Fuck me. 

This has taught me 2 things. 1) I cannot spell and rely far too heavily on the spell check function. 2) As I like words I really should have a notebook on me more often. (Also my hand writing is awful. Just awful). Anyways, I'm writing this from some hostel in the middle of Stockholm. I'm in some shitty internet cafe built into the building, where the energy efficient light bulb keeps turning off unless I wave my arms around like a retard every 5 mins and stocky blonde people keep bursting in like they're auditioning to be bad guys in Die Hard. You've got the part, Hans. Now jog on. But I'm full of duty free whisky and lols ‒ so I must press on.

This will be a 2 part affair. 1, when I came here. And 2, when I lerned stuff about here. Because of the technical limitations in this situation, there will be no pictures because I don't even know how to download stuff on this piece of crap computer. I am sorry, the internet.

I wasn't that sold on the idea of a hostel at first. I thought it would be full of annoying fucking kids keeping me awake. Turns out, we're the annoying fucking kids. We just got told off by some Spanish guy because he needs to get his snooze on. He can eat a dick. I'm by far the baddest dude here because everyone else is asleep and I'm the only one still awake and still boozing. But we have moar serious problems.

There's 3 of us here ‒ and the guy who should know the most about Sweden (he's dating a Swedish woman) has lost his bank card. He's only marginally less drunk than I am (we got pretty boozed up on the plane. And the bus), but he's very much the Aragon to our Pippin and Merry. We need him to get to Mordor. He's cancelled his card and shit, but I guarantee it'll turn up tomorrow in the bottom of his bag. We shall see.

We went out for a booze but tbh we don't have a clue where we're going and it was a pretty timid first step. A tentative toe into the pool. But the city is simply beautiful. I feel like the world is my crustacean. There's a lot my ex would've loved here. Architecture, history, culture, a disproportionately high number of American Cadilacs ‒ it's diverse. I like it. It reminds me of that village in Professor Layton on the Nintendo DS. Win. However, there's a lot of cargo pants here. More then should be seen in a major city. It's moar like an All Saints gig.

So that's my first impression. Normally I'd buff and polish this situation up before posting, but I don't think this piece of shit computer has got my back. I'm going to break it before we check out. Like really fuck it's situation up like in Office Space.

My friend asked me before I came here, "So, are you going to sleep with some Swedish women?" It's a fair question. There're some beautiful women here. Very long legs. But so the hair's blonder and the legs are longer but then there's some beautiful women back in sunny Brighton. I don't really know what I want to do. I'm just here for the lols mainly.

The thing is downtown Stockholm, reminds me of downtown Toronto, reminds me of London, reminds me of anywhere. The starless night of the inner city is as blank and impersonal as a city anywhere. It's the people who make it worthwhile. Do I really need to travel to know that?

I know that you'd love it here.

I noes that I need to go to fucking sleep. 

Good night, the internet. I love you. x

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DIET COKE MAN? (AND OTHER GENDER INEQUALITIES)

Hullo, my name is Adam and I today I'd like to talk to you about gender inequalities. Please don't get me wrong - I'm not trying to White Knight all womenkind here and I've been accused of misogyny more then once by stupid, idiot women - but something's gone wrong somewhere and men, once again, are massively in front. Well, in popular culture they are anyways. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

I was keeping it real casual on the way to work when I stopped to buy some pop because I am addicted to pop. As the bubbles began to dance the dance of life on my tongue I thought, 'What happened to the Diet Coke man?' The one from the black and white advert back in the 90's. That guy emasculated me just by being. He was built like an Adonis, effortlessly handsome, and aplha as fuck. And then a few years later there was a gritty reboot - in much the same way that the film studios are already working on another reboot of Batman, the franchise that was just grittily rebooted like 5 years ago.

This is legit. Go check IMDb and then punch the internet.

But I digress. The guy in the New Diet Coke advert - what was his situation? He was a little rat, but conversely all the women in the new advert had become hawter and stupiderer. It doesn't really seem fair on women. How did this happen? Well, I've no idea how this happened but I'm going to write words about it anyway and try to find out why equality became unequal. Again.

There's a lot of BS circling the Old Media these days about how all women are beautiful, strong, independent black queens. Dozens of stoopid programs, like the ones Gok Wan seems to endlessly churn out, are built around this ideal. Don't get me wrong - I agree that most women are beautiful, strong, independent black queens - but I don't think these programs are helping the situation at all. So it doesn't matter what women think about about how their bodies look, so lets make a program about what women think about how their bodies look? That doesn't make any sense to me - but then I'm just a big, dumb male.

'What a man tells you to look like doesn't matter, Moon Sister.
Welcome to my show where a man tells you what to look like.'

IMO it just preys on women. If it was such a non-issue then there'd be no need to make a program to celebrate it. Like, how many programs are there about my complete lack of interest in football?

Meanwhile, it seems like for us guys things have just gotten easier and easier over time. As long as you're funny and witty and all that good stuff - you can get away with all sorts of ugly. Just ask
Jason Segel. There's not that much expected of us. I know a guy who's the spitting image of this other guy that I went to high school with. These guys both look a little bit funky, but that's cool because Gok Wan says that it's what's on the inside that counts and there's no amount of unattractive that can't be remedied with a high-waisted belt. 1 of these guys is a lady-killer. 1 of them not so much. The only real thing that separates them is personality. Take the Indiana Jones films for example. 30 years ago, vaginas everywhere were trembling at the sight of this:

Ladies.

Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones is dashing and charming and made of win. He's also a sexual tyrannosaur and he absolutely loves killing stuff. In the first 3 films he straight up fucking murders like 50+ people. Win. Do you know how many people he killed in the most recent film, Kingdom of the Crystal Skull? 1 person. Well, not even 1. He just blows a poisonous dark back at some guy who shot him with a poisonous dart. So what's that - like half a kill? Weak. Also, the best my generation can muster in the handsome-adventurer / lady-killer department is this:

He has done more damage to the 80's
then cocaine cut with rat poison.

Shia LaBeouf. I had to check the spelling and Wikipedia says his full name is Shia Saide LaBeouf. That's like 3 1/2 names and all of them could be names of effeminate flamingos in a Disney film. Whereas women in films, even women in lol films who used to look like tubby, bleached dinosaurs, have become crazy hawt. Just ask Mila Kunis. A bit of a double standard has developed. And while I'm glad that I'm on my side of the gender divide - I feel bad for my sisters on the other side.

So that's just one example, but standards in guys have been dropping for years. As I do with the decline of modern music - I pin the blame squarely on the grubby little shoulders of the Arctic Monkeys. I will now type some more words. Just after the millennium The Strokes looked upon the world through artfully tussled bangs and said, 'Hello, world. We are the epitome of cool and we would like to show you how to be a better you'. I was at college at the time and within the next month every guy had wandered out and upgraded himself with skinny jeans, vintage jackets, and some very bon marché scarfs. The benchmark had been set and the world answered with one voice, 'Ok, The Strokes. Thank you for your guidance. We will do better'. Everything looked amaze. Then this happened:

'HE'S JUST NORMAL
LIKE WHAT WE ARE!!!1'

The Arctic Monkeys were just a bunch of kids and they made the dream of being a successful band more accessible to the masses. Just like Chatroulette made the dream of seeing like 500 dicks per hour accessible to the masses. If you want it - just go and make it happen. In some ways it's great and in other ways not so much. If everyone can be in a successful band it becomes less desirable. I don't want to feel like I could bump into a famous musician in the supermarket. I wouldn't be at all surprised if I bumped into Brian Monkey, or whatever the kid from the Arctic Monkeys is called, walking around Morrisons. I want an air of superiority and pomme de terre to surround my famous musicians, like dry ice and pubescent boys tears do at a Limp Bizkit gig (they're still cool, right? I'm very down with the kids).

Looks cool to me. And edgy. Moving on.

So that's why I think the New Diet Coke man is muggly shrew compared to the original Diet Coke man. We, as men, just enjoy far lower expectations then we had back then. You don't have to aspire so high.

But why are the women in the advert suddenly smoking hawt and a sutty? Let us find out.

I just watched both videos a minute ago on YouTube ('probably should've done that before I started writing but I pride myself on being poorly informed and lacking in factual content. Like those SWAG pictures that keep popping up on the internets).

I swear to God this is a real thing. If you could weaponise
this level of stupid you could destroy nations.

WHAT I LERNED FROM THE DIET COKE ADVERTS

Original Diet Coke Advert

• The whole idea behind the original advertising campaign was taking a 'Diet Coke Break'. I forgot about this entirely and for that I'm sorry. It's also not shot in black and white so I got that wrong too. Please forgive me.
• 60% of the women in the video wear glasses (because glasses = intelligent = office).
• I'm not gay, but handsome Diet Coke man is handsome.

New Diet Coke Advert

• The new advert makes no sense. So the women go to the lift to break the lift and then New Diet Coke man comes through a hatch in the top of the lift to repair the lift but he was there like immediately so what New Diet Coke man just spends all his time at work sitting on top of the lift in some tiny metal office probably built into the lift or something on standby in case it breaks? Oh my God I just went full retard.
• 100% of the women in the video are cumdumpsters (every other shot they're licking their lips = that's where the penis goes during a blowjob = sexy?) 
• The guy just looks like a normal dude. 

Admittedly, this gritty reboot of the Diet Coke advert is now about 5 years old, so if they remade it again today the male lead will probably look like a stinky neckbeard. I'd bet he'd be fucking sweet at Call of Duty though. But why in the new advert are the women moar pretty and moar trampy then in the original? Do bitches be trippin'? (You put an apostrophe at the end of it to be like a rap man. Fred Durst lerned me that).

The women in the new advert are this way because that's the direction women have evolved in media. I saw the major motion picture Friends With Benefits last week and it pretty much sums up the message of every romantic film and sitcom of the last 10 years - 'Be an intelligent, driven woman but always be on the lookout for the amazing power of a big dick'.

Again, don't get me wrong here. I'm not trying to champion women's rights or any of that noise, but I (as a man) realise that you (as a woman) have got a pretty crappy deal. Be smarter, be sexier, be prettier. Whereas men just need to be a bit funny, a bit cute, a bit LaBeouf.

Ladies.

At least we can all agree that Diet Coke is made of win and Coke Zero is watered-down, fizzy tar. So where do we go from here? Honestly I don't know. I watched that film Suckerpunch and it was made of win. It was also the only film that I can think of in the last few years where the female leads were not in thrall to some dude. Let us examine some more recent, popular films and try and find a woman who's not portrayed as a complete spare part:

Salt: Angelina Jolie started the film being rescued by her husband and then spends the bulk of the rest of the film trying to be reunited with him. Then she seems to forget all about that and saves the world or something. I don't think I understood that film.

The Proposal: Sandra Bullock is a successful serious business woman until she gets in trouble and only the amazing power of a strong, white man (and his penis) can save her. So she's independent for like the first 15 minutes of the film before she needs the amazing power of a strong, white man (and his penis)? Well at least she lasted that long.

Sex in the City: Pretty much everything these 4 do and say is about dick. Meeting a dick, touching a dick, keeping a dick. /thread.

Black Swan: Well ok, I don't think that this was about a womans never ending adventure to find love with a man, but it was probably shoehorned in there somewhere. Didn't she date her teacher or something? It was certainly intense. I couldn't sleep without the light being left on for about a week after watching it. So intense.



So yeah, that Suckerpunch film and that's pretty much all I can think of as a recent film where women are capable without the direct supervision of a man (and his penis). And even then, some old boy drove them around and organised all of their situations. And they were dressed like nazi schoolgirls or something for the whole film. After all, going into war not wearing a mini-skirt and heels would be utter madness.

All I know is that at present guys have got it sweet as hell.

You just have to care about looking like you don't care. Some woman came past my stand a couple of days ago and said, "OMG this is so Shabby-Chic!" I was like, 'WTF are you saying about my wooden dreams, bitch?' Just as I was about to cut her she told me that apparently Shabby-Chic is a good thing. How can a thing be both shabby and chic?

Oh. Right.

But then guys can (mostly) just dress up however we want (no baggy jeans, nothing neon ffs). It's a luxury we enjoy along with waking up in the morning with an erection and standing in front of the mirror, basking in the reflection of our totem pole (penis). Gok Wan doesn't pander to men with his shows because he knows we'd tell him to STFU. We don't need it.

I could wade into the whole inequality with 'women in magazines', 'women in music', and 'women in adverts' minefield - but tbh it's getting late and I needs to gets my snooze on.

So that's what happened to the Diet Coke man. The world moved on and traits such as looking like a boss and being clean shaven became undesirable in men. It seems like lols are more important. This is good because I like lols and it's one of the most important things I look for in a woman. (Obviously, the most important things are a pretty face and whether or not she likes my cat). Fast-forward another 10 years and who knows what the desirable traits will be?

It will probably look like a complete clusterfuck and we will only have ourselves, Gok Wan, and high-waisted belts to blame.

Goodnight, gentle reader. I love you.