200 - The Stuart Awards 2013

Six years. Who would have thought I would carry this self-indulgent awards 'ceremony' on for this long? Certainly not me. Quite rightly, past years have had people spoiling the fun, and commenting on how nobody cares about my (expletive) awards; but I question why they read it in the first place then.

So, I take this opportunity to allow any would-be trolls to press the close button on your browser - thank you.

Have they gone? Great. I often think they should put a similar announcement over the speakers on trains and planes, asking any would-be terrorists to kindly vacate.

Anyway, on with the show! Another year has passed, and enclosed in it has been many terrible things that mankind wishes to forget, like Margret Thatcher, the Woolwich terrorist attack, and sitcom failure on BBC1: The Wright Way. However, many great things have happened. A baby was born, Andy Murray won Wimbledon, and we found out that horse meat doesn't taste too bad. As well as that, this year I wrote my 200th post for this blog… In fact, this is that 200th post.

Wow… What. A. Year.

The Doctor at 50

I chose to stay at home to watch Saturday's episode of Doctor Who; I'll choose pizza over popcorn any day. But many others elected to sit in a cinema full of other fans, and pay to watch something they could have watched at home for free. I imagine there were moments when cinemas across the country erupted in cheers as they saw their old favourites grace the big screen.

Over 10 million UK people tuned in to watch the 50th Doctor Who episode, Day of the Doctor. However, you would be forgiven for not bothering to watching it, after the overkill lead up that we have been exposed to over the past few weeks. I enjoy Doctor Who, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad that the hype is finally over; at least until they want to celebrate the 75th anniversary.

We have spent six months waiting, after being teased at the end of series 7 with the words 'Introducing John Hurt as The Doctor'. As a result, Doctor Who fans have been suffering from a half-year-long headache, as we all tried to figure out what Stephen Moffat was up to. However, it has certainly been worth the wait.

#RiseOfTheHashtags

#It #seems #every #word #on #the #Internet #now #has #to #have #a #hashtag #in #front #of #it.

Failing that, at the end of a normally-written sentence, people will put a series of hashtags after it, in an attempt to summaries it; and then confuse. #lol #satire #observation #hashtag #blog #twitter #pizza #sexy #YOLO #watermelon

If David Cameron were himself a hashtag, he would be the most popular prime minister of all time, and there would be no doubt of him getting a second, and third term in power, as well as going down in history as more popular and successful than Churchill. But he's not; he's just a man who dreams of being a hashtag. #justsayin #talkincrap

Quarter Of A Life Blogging

Today, 5 years ago, I made my first post to this blog when I was a spotty-faced sixteen year old. I am an almost spotless twenty-one year old, which means I have spent nearly a quarter of my life sharing my ranting through the medium of writing. It was a bit depressing when I realised that fact, and makes me feel old.

However, I am glad I started and glad to have carried on. It has shaped me into the type of writer I am. I feel I now do reasonably well at taking a sly look at the news stories and general things that happen or exist. My particular favourite this year has to be Major Congestion Reported Getting Into SimCity from March. One of a number of blogs that I posted this year for dual purpose: University and this blog.

Amateur Misanthrope

If you ask me what my ideal job would be, I would reply by saying 'I want to get paid for writing about my detestation for mankind, and for being a bastard - just like Charlie Brooker'. I love him, which is a hard thing for a fellow misanthrope to admit. Some young men love women in magazines who show off their perfectly shaped mammary glands. I love an angry man in his 40's who doesn't suffer fools gladly.

Charlie Brooker's most recent book is called 'I Can Make You Hate', which is certainly true, as he is the person who opened my eyes to how shit our world is. His writings are a mix of hilarity and wit, along with disdain and a lot of sneering. Thanks to him, I now realise that humans are nothing more than walking, talking, flatulent haircuts. I am no longer deluded, and share his outlook on life.

Theatre Review: Barking In Essex

On Thursday, 19th September, we went to see the matinee performance of Barking In Essex at the Wyndham Theatre, which stars famous names Lee Evans, Shelia Hancock and Keeley Hawes. This play has incredibly mixed reviews, with some saying how it's the worst play of the year, and others celebrating the wonderful humour which exuberates from it.

Barking In Essex is a dark, tragic comedy about the Packers, a hapless criminal family, who are obviously from Essex. It's the story of a family whom, having spent the proceeds from a robbery undertaken by notorious gangster and younger son Algie, face having to cover their tracks before he returns home from seven years in prison. This involves dead bodies and fleeing to a not-so exotic location for the second act, where they begin to hatch various plots against each other, and eventually reaching a loud and tragic ending.

Sexy Reality

Think of a sexy uniform. If you're a man, you are stereotypically thinking of a nurse, a maid or an air hostess. If you're a woman, it might be a fireman, a mechanic or a builder. An initial analysis shows that men like women who do stuff for them, such as look after, clean or fetch drinks for them. Women like men who do dangerous jobs and get filthy doing them; maybe so they can clean them after.

However, the uniforms you are probably thinking are not the uniforms people actually wear doing that job. Chances are you're thinking of the sort of costume a strip-o-gram might wear, or what one might find at the back of Ann Summers.

In reality, nurses, maids and air hostesses don't wear dresses that only just cover their bum, so that when they bend down to pick up a needle, feather duster or napkin, they flaunt their red thong in your face like a baboon. Also in reality, firemen don't attend fires topless for very obvious reasons; they'd singe their chest hair. And chances are, if you're a woman lucky enough to have a mechanic or builder who works topless, you're unlucky enough to have a mechanic or builder who has larger breasts than you.

Armchair Activist

A few days ago I took a bump to the head. And by that, I mean I accidentally whacked my head against the wooden door frame of a shed, multiple times until it culminated in one final blow which made me cry and punch said shed in a fit of emotion. I'd say I suffered for about two days after. Partly because the top of my head was bruised in such a way that a gentle breeze hurt. Partly because my personality took a minor detour towards selflessly wanting to help thy neighbour.

I took to Twitter to vent my rage at how Twitter is being mistreated at present. Within 10 minutes I had signed an online petition, vowed to join a Twitter boycott and shared my activistic opinions regarding 'trolling' with my followers. All within half hour of waking up and hearing the news of journalist Caroline Criado-Perez being inundated with rape threats. I lost two followers.

Following the story from its beginnings last week, through to the time of writing, is incredibly interesting if you like studying the evolution of stories. Last week, this story was originally the successful campaign by Caroline Criado-Perez to get a female back on English tender. Then some men who obviously felt women were getting ideas above their station, decided to send rape threats to her. And then people complained. And more men sent rape and death threats to more high profile females on Twitter. Then, on July 31st, one man tweeted bomb threats to three female journalists. As understated as this sounds, it got VERY out of hand.

Katie Hopkins Eats The Souls Of Disabled Children

I figured that Katie Hopkins wouldn't mind me writing that about her. It might even give her an idea for her next topic to be outraged on. You see, her diet actually consists of outrage directed at her. She is a monster who feeds on incandescent fury, and it makes her grow bigger, stronger and more opinionated, until one day she will defeat Holly Willoughby.

The media attention surrounding her has grown since the start of 2013, but particularly in the past few weeks. She is arguably one of the most famous Apprentices to come out of the show after causing much controversy and finally quitting the show. Since then, she's not really had a proper job, as far as I can see from Googling her name. Her career highlights include going into the I'm A Celebrity jungle, appearing on Question Time, appearing on This Morning, taking Alan Sugar to court and having her name trend on Twitter.

Instacrap

So, you have a few hundred pounds laying around. You want a new, cool phone. However, you also want to take pictures and easily share them with friends. You also want to look as if you can take a good picture without really thinking. And not only that, but you're looking for a passing bandwagon to jump on and go for a long boring, monochrome journey on.  Well, what is one to do? To buy an iPhone and download an Instagram app like every other blind sheep in the world.

Perhaps I'm being a snob and I've not really 'gotten it', like most other fads, but I don't get what the hell you all like about it. I just typed 'Instagram photos' into Google, and it occurred to me that had I entered these photographs into my A level Photography coursework, I would have lost marks for bad editing. All that has simply changed is the 'warmth'; they have cooled the picture, which simply means putting a blue tint to the picture. That's bad editing skill. Honestly.