North Korea: Just another naughty kid.

Communism - It's just one big party!

I don’t know a lot about foreign policies, but when an alone, isolated nation like North Korea starts pounding an Island just outside of it’s jurisdiction with more explosives than a Ramstein concert; then I know something is up. Ever since the Korean war over half a century ago, North Korea has been the lonely child in this school of mixed nations. Rather than playing along nicely with it’s more spoiled brother to the south, Kim Jong Il’s pesky country cries out for attention by beating it’s family down with more fury than a bunch of poor and bored university students. At the end of the day North Korea is no more than a naughty school kid. But still the international community of teacher’s doesn’t know what to do with them.

So we now press onto a question which has mystified the education sector for years – just how do you deal with bad behavior? It’s simple, you make the culprits look more stupid than Sarah Palin’s perspective on international relations. Now god help the kids I’ve been working with, but by teaching in a secondary school the past few weeks, I’ve developed an effective means to put them attention seeking bastards back in their place. I embarrass them.

Embarrassment is an amazing emotion. When triggered correctly it’s like a double blow to the person you’re dealing it too. The first blow stops them dead in their tracks, as they turn more red than Ronald McDonald’s pubic hairs, and while the second blow isn’t immediately evident, it will soon reap major benefits, because every time the victim goes to open their mouth with an audacious comment again, they will be overwhelmed by the horrible memory of humiliation, like that time you were caught having sex by your other half’s partner (you do remember that, don’t you?)

Forget detention and deducting house points, being dominated by this cringe reflex is the only way that bad behavior can be curbed. This can just as easily be applied to a problem like North Korea, bewilder the misbehaving juveniles to the extent they’ll never want to deploy another warhead ever again.

We’ve already have Team America come along a do half the job for us. The first point of call is to set up thousands of PA systems around the perimeter of the Korean Border, and then have them play I’m So Ronery on a loop – twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Not only will this put North Korea’s government to shame, but also introduce their citizens to Music, something they are not familiar with. Russia will keel over with laughter, India will join in with the song, even Switzerland will nod approvingly, and Kim Jong Il will feel about 3 inches tall – which isn’t too far off his actual height in actual fact. Follow this with a poster campaign of photo-shopped images depicting their fearless leader being molested by Fidel Castro, and the process will be complete.

Either this plan will work and we can let the hyperactive teenagers back in the class room, or the North will just nuke the living daylights out of South Korea in retaliation – but hey what have they done for us anyway?

Do Computers feel fear?

A laptops equivellant to a straight line on a heart moniter

I mean actual fear, as in near the end of one’s life horror. When the battery icon in the top right corner of your laptop turns red and is the width of a human hair, does it start hallucinating? As in life flashing in front of it’s Random Access Memory, recalling all the times it’s had active – the good times, like when it used to run classic Super Nintendo games; and the bad times, like when it inadvertently erased hours worth of work because Word “Unexpectedly quit” (don’t worry it wasn’t your fault).

In their last running moments do laptops start questioning the meaning of longevity? Do they quickly execute Firefox, surf to Wikipedia and query what is awaiting for them on the other side? Do they start cursing their luck, upon realization that their warranty expired a fortnight ago? Possibly they start to feel envy and resentment towards the one they perceive will replace it on top of the computer desk. Maybe they start contacting other systems they once knew, mobile phones, games consoles, televisions: informing them of their departure by any means possible – blue tooth, infra red, even bleeping may do the trick in saying goodbye.

Or maybe Laptops are survivalists? Perhaps they dig down deep into their energy banks, to seek out every last bit of electricity of their battery reserves. They start shutting down unessential systems – Skype, MSN, Facebook, iTunes, Minesweeper, etc: in a desperate last ditch attempt to remain powered just that little longer. The back light has turned itself so low, that the screen is barely visible, and the machine has miraculously muted itself.

But alas it is no use, the reserves are almost out – the battery icon is hardly perceptible, the screen is flickering, and the system feels a deep sleep coming to inducing…..

…..Only for you to jam the life support back in at the last dire looking moment: the LCD ignites back to life, Facebook screams into animation – imploring that you check all four of your new notifications. MSN does that swirly dance shit with the cute silhouettes, and Gary Numan blares out of nowhere. It’s a new lease of life for your once exasperated machine, as all 160 volts of electrical juiciness seep up the wire to be sucked in by the hungry instrument. it’s back in action, as good as the day it left the factory.

If all of the above is true it makes me a mean bastard; because this is a cruel cycle that my poor MacBook has to suffer, about five times a day

A Wasted Life.

As 2010 comes to its conclusion, it is only natural that I reflect back on the years events, and recall nothing but a blur of alcohol abuse, that time I almost won a tenner on the National Lottery, and frustrating nights of me shouting at Photoshop until the veins in my neck pop. In all honesty though I think its been a productive year: I passed my second year of university, my life became busy enough that I had a reason to start using iCal, and I discovered that Marmite is in fact the secret ingredient in all of my mothers curries.

I sometimes use moments of reflection like this to evaluate my life as a whole; the people I have met, the places I have visited, the many foolish hair cuts I have donned. Now I’m not going to declare that I’ve boldly gone where no one has gone before: I for one have not climbed Everest with nothing but a roll of Sellotape and a Boost bar; neither have I successfully trained a Donkey to perform open heart surgery; but I like to think I have had a fulfilled life thus far. It is only recently however, that I have realised there are a number of ‘gaps’ in my life that are generally seen as ‘normal’. Let me give you some examples.

I have never visited the Dentist.

Dentist + Anastetic = You looking fucking retarded.

When I tell people that I have never been to the Dentist, I am met with looks of disgust and repulsion, as if I’ve just declared a love of eating Terry Wogan’s pubic hairs. The fact I have never visited a Dentist should tell you one thing; that I have a capable set of teeth, probably better that yours. I have never had any complications with my teeth: none of them ache, they don’t fall out, and they remain a snowy white (at least whilst I’m not eating Wogan’s pubic hair). This is why I have never been to a dentist, there has never been a point in my life when I have needed to. I don’t visit the dentist for the same reason I stay away from doctors when I’m feeling perfectly fine, or open up YouPorn the moment after sex. I know as soon as I enter through a dental experts clinically pristine white doors, that he/she will condemn my teeth with the fury of a hundred Daily Mail readers castigating teenage homosexual immigrants. Of course there will be nothing wrong with my teeth, but Captain Canine will argue otherwise, either because business is slow, or he just wants to full on torture my gums with a drill bigger than the one Bruce Willis used in Armageddon. I don’t hate dentists, there’s a time and a place for them, but going to one for a check up is like a tax for morons.

I have never tried Mustard.

Not this kind of Mustard

A bit of an odd one this. I love trying new and exotic foods, I regularly buy weird sounding shit from the ‘World Foods’ aisle in Tescos, with no actual knowledge of what I am buying; only to take them home to discover that I’ve purchased Cinnamon coated Caterpillars, and Chipmunks preserved in engine oil. Inspect my kitchen cupboards, and you’ll just find the most obscure brands in the country, most of which you won’t be able to pronounce, seeing as they don’t feature any vowels. One condiment which has evaded my taste buds however, is the mysterious yellow sauce known as Mustard. I haven’t purposefully prohibited it’s pungent flavour from my diet, it’s just that as far as I’m aware Mustard is only used in conjunction with Hot Dogs and Ham Sandwiches: and seeing as Ham is the worst of all the meats, and Hot Dogs are fabricated from the remains of Ewoks, I have never had a genuine opportunity to try the yellow stuff.

I have never been to the Circus.

This is nothing to do with a destitute up-bringing, neither is a fear of clowns responsible (though you may debate this if you bothered reading my last post). I have had a number of opportunities to see midgets breathe fire in an over adorned tent, but I have chose to just stay at home on all of those occasions, simply because it all sounds tainted. Circus’s have no appeal to me what so ever, to me a circus would just involve a bunch of imbecile’s hurrying around squirting acid from an over sized flower into my face, hairy and sweaty men in leotards tossing each other about (ZING!), and breaking all limits of animal cruelty by forcing a blindfolded, fully grown, African Elephant to jump through a Hula Hoop the size of a necklace on fire. If all of these things appeal to you, then I’m sure you’ll have a brilliant time underneath the gazebo, but please just don’t take any children with you, they don’t deserve to be exposed to this sick filth – it will corrupt their minds more than a Japanese television commercial. If the government were to shut all the roaming freak shows down, and replaced them with a traveling Suicide guild, than it would be a slight improvement.

I am sure that there are countless other things I have failed to acknowledge in this short list, but I am more interested in seeing what other people are yet to do in their life times? Post an interesting or creative response in the comment section below.

Dexter Paine Vs Ronald McDonald.

When I was a young boy I used to love McDonalds. I was at my most content when I was sat in one of their horrible, Plasticine, twenty decade old interior laden restaurants. My meal of choice was a plain hamburger happy meal, which thinking back now tasted like MDF, but I often detracted to their sandpaper McNuggets. My grandmother bless her, took me twice a week after primary school, to step under the golden arches and pick up a Disney themed or Hot Wheels toy, depending on what propaganda the corporate giants were percolating, in an attempt to make young children flock to them quicker than the Pied Piper playing on LSD. I would follow every chemical ridden feast with an Ice cream (a McCone?), and then another dinner once I got back home to mum and dad. As you could probably imagine I was quite a chubby little lad.

The constant exposure to McFlurrys and Big Macs lead to teenage obesity and spots, lots and lots of spots, I made Scary Spice look vaguely attractive. High school bullying then commenced, which probably wasn’t helped by the fact that I was part of the Chess club, spoke of nothing but Game Cube, sucked up to teachers, and was generally a wimp. Still though I am certain the majority of my hard time at Chace Community School, was down to the evil tyrant named Ronald Mcdonald. I began to despise “Maccie D’s”

Once I started Sixth Form I wanted change. It wouldn’t be easy but I was determined to wipe to stain of the Hamburgular and company from my life, and introduce the world to a leaner, ‘cooler’ Dexter Paine. I boycotted McDonalds, and started eating healthy. A couple of years I was still a loser, but I had shed the weight, and was generally satisfied with life – I had remained abstinent from the Cow Slaughtering Bastards and was now reaping the benefits. I swore never to visit that horrible place again. . . . .

. . . . . My story would end there if it wasn’t for the fact that I made my first visit to a McDonalds in almost five years this week.

I know what you are thinking. I’ve finally fallen of the bandwagon like some Chicken Royale addicted loon. A relapse has commenced which is more strenuous then the plight of Pete Doherty, Amy Winehouse, and the guy from Keane combined. It’s only a matter of time before I’m the size of Peter Kay and shoveling Fries down my mouth faster than Mayor McCheese can make them.

Picard on the news I've given in to the darkside.

Fortunately for my health, I decided against purchasing anything. I was in the establishment I hated so much out of shear curiosity.

Just a few weeks ago just looking into my local McDonalds was like starring into a wormhole which pierced time and space; interior design which would look amiss in a Starsky & Hutch episode, and furniture which less comfortable to sit on than an electric chair. However, like some Laurence Llewelyn Bowen make over show, everything has suddenly changed. For starters the walls have been lined with actual wallpaper, the seats look relatively relaxing, and establishment as a whole, doesn’t look in the slightest bit sinister at all.

My first thoughts are that this is all just an illusion, they may have morphed into a ‘greener’ and ‘hipper’, ‘Progressive burger’ chain, but underneath all the layers of foundation, still remains a whore. But upon closer inspection, the place genuinely looks as though it has been through some what of a revolution. There is no longer advertising contaminating the building and warping our fragile minds, the staff no longer look as though they are being held in Guantanamo bay, and most importantly of all there are no fat little children running around. Just happy ones.

I thoroughly evaluate their ‘healthier’ McDonalds menu, and am pleasantly surprised to find vegetables, actual vegetables available, and not just revolting gherkins. They have salads, fruit, and juices which will rot your teeth at a slightly slower rate than Fanta. I also come to the verdict that the rest of their range must have been improved health wise, as I am astounded to see that they willingly display the nutritional of their meals; a practice which before would have alienated people away faster than a Gary Glitter themed Karaoke night. After scrutinizing the surroundings I leave, contemplating what has just happened.

I concluded that, even though most of it is probably superficial, Mcdonalds has changed. I still am dubious about their methods, but I see them in a different light now, like a slightly comical Hitler as apposed to the one history always portrays. I suppose in this modern day and age, they simply couldn’t continue as the hell hole which ruins childrens’ social lives; they had to radically change their ways or they would have risked being leapfrogged by the Subways of the world.

I still won’t eat there, but I promise to stop being a snob to people who do.

Why I Don’t play sports.

As above. That is all.