Dear Sir/Madam,
I have recently become a little distressed about the weather. The aforementioned distressing weather has resulted in many an hour walking to and from work, wondering how I can make a difference.
Unfortunately, no ideas have materialised during my solitary rambles, possibly because I have been spending most of the time deftly jumping out of the way of cars that have been sliding in my general direction. I have no evidence that these incidents have been intended maliciously.
However; this morning, I washed and dried my hair. Nothing unusual about this, as I have an image to uphold. Whilst I used my hairdryer, my frozen fingers began to thaw, leading me to happen upon an interesting train of thought:
Ice + hairdryer = thaw.
Why salt? It would not even occur to me to put salt upon my frozen digits, in fact, I feel it would be a little pointless. It is at this point that I would like to share my wisdom. Why haven’t the council invested in a large industrial strength hairdryer? The ice would melt and the cars would be able to safely navigate the (currently) treacherous roads.
I, for one, would be happy to hold it.
If there are any profits stemming from my idea, I would ask for only ten percent. I am quite laid back, with a great sense of humour, therefore would make a stunning business partner.
Just an idea, your thoughts please.
Karina Evans 2010
Saturday, 18 December 2010
Sunday, 21 November 2010
Cigarettes 'no better than paedophiles' state Ministers
Government ministers and anti-smoking groups have abandoned their campaign to stop adults smoking, and are instead focussing their attentions on stopping cigarette manufacturers pasting glitter and cartoon characters on packaging.
Currently, cigarette manufacturers hire illustrators from well-loved children’s television programmes, such as Teletubbies and Pokemon, in an effort to attract toddler smokers. Under the government’s proposal, these pictures will be replaced with either a picture of an old person burning in hell, or someone with the skin ripped clean from their lips, after leaving a cigarette in their mouth for far too long.
‘It’s wrong that children are being attracted to smoke by fucking glitzy designs on packets,’ mumbles Health Secretary, Andrew Lansley. ‘It’s akin to dressing a dirty paedophile in a fluffy teddy-bear suit and expecting a child not to be attracted to him.'
Mother of four, Theresa Sandwell agrees ‘I agree with that bloke. The other day I went into my local shop to buy some sweets for my 2-year-old, Triton. He was attracted to the glitzy packaging on the cigarettes that were stored behind the counter; alongside the alcohol, condoms, razors and knives, and so I bought him some. He’s now an addict. Give him heroin.'
Martin Dockrell, director of policy and research at Action on Smoking and Health (ASH) backs this view; ‘See? I’m right. They use it [packaging] to seduce our kids.' Mr Dockrell looks around conspiringly, before whispering: ‘I’m not a smoker, but I carry empty packets with me. It helps.’
Karina Evans 2010
Currently, cigarette manufacturers hire illustrators from well-loved children’s television programmes, such as Teletubbies and Pokemon, in an effort to attract toddler smokers. Under the government’s proposal, these pictures will be replaced with either a picture of an old person burning in hell, or someone with the skin ripped clean from their lips, after leaving a cigarette in their mouth for far too long.
‘It’s wrong that children are being attracted to smoke by fucking glitzy designs on packets,’ mumbles Health Secretary, Andrew Lansley. ‘It’s akin to dressing a dirty paedophile in a fluffy teddy-bear suit and expecting a child not to be attracted to him.'
Mother of four, Theresa Sandwell agrees ‘I agree with that bloke. The other day I went into my local shop to buy some sweets for my 2-year-old, Triton. He was attracted to the glitzy packaging on the cigarettes that were stored behind the counter; alongside the alcohol, condoms, razors and knives, and so I bought him some. He’s now an addict. Give him heroin.'
Martin Dockrell, director of policy and research at Action on Smoking and Health (ASH) backs this view; ‘See? I’m right. They use it [packaging] to seduce our kids.' Mr Dockrell looks around conspiringly, before whispering: ‘I’m not a smoker, but I carry empty packets with me. It helps.’
Karina Evans 2010
Wednesday, 17 November 2010
Harry Chooses Wedding Outfit
Prince Harry is said to be 'delighted' at the news that his brother, William, will be marrying fiancée, Kate Middleton, sometime next year.
Harry, who is permanently pissed, rushed straight to a fancy dress shop upon hearing the news and purchased an appropriate outfit for the big day. The details of his intended attire are meant to be a secret at this time, but rumours indicate the outfit will be white.
'The outfit is a flowing white robe,' confirmed fancy dress shop owner, David Smythe, 'it's a fairly subtle little number, with a really fucking pointy hat, a mask and a splash of colour in the form of a red badge on the left breast.' The wedding has put big smiles on the faces of Daily Mail readers, who are petitioning for the day itself to be made a national holiday to allow for the middle-class to throw street parties, whilst chavs burgle their empty homes.
'The wedding day should bloody well be a national holiday!' exclaims Terence White, a retired accountant from Northumberland: 'this bloody well has a two-fold benefit: firstly, I will get bloody drunk on red wine and bloody well drive my car, because I'm a retired middle-class gentleman, so the law bloody well allows me to do this.' Mr White rubs at his crusty red-wine lips before continuing: 'Secondly, it will bloody well bankrupt all those smelly little businesses who cannot bloody well afford to pay staff double-time for bank holiday working. I bloody well buy everything on the interweb. Diana is dead. Hold me.'
Prince Philip is also said to be delighted at the news, as this will allow William to engage in traditional sex: 'They have been practising with anal sex for years,' he says 'Just like me and the missus. She allows me up the wrong'un if she does something awful, like that thing with the Corgi and the peanut butter, or if she forgets to laugh at one of my bigoted, racist jokes at a public event. It's a fucking lovely treat.'
Karina Evans 2010
Harry, who is permanently pissed, rushed straight to a fancy dress shop upon hearing the news and purchased an appropriate outfit for the big day. The details of his intended attire are meant to be a secret at this time, but rumours indicate the outfit will be white.
'The outfit is a flowing white robe,' confirmed fancy dress shop owner, David Smythe, 'it's a fairly subtle little number, with a really fucking pointy hat, a mask and a splash of colour in the form of a red badge on the left breast.' The wedding has put big smiles on the faces of Daily Mail readers, who are petitioning for the day itself to be made a national holiday to allow for the middle-class to throw street parties, whilst chavs burgle their empty homes.
'The wedding day should bloody well be a national holiday!' exclaims Terence White, a retired accountant from Northumberland: 'this bloody well has a two-fold benefit: firstly, I will get bloody drunk on red wine and bloody well drive my car, because I'm a retired middle-class gentleman, so the law bloody well allows me to do this.' Mr White rubs at his crusty red-wine lips before continuing: 'Secondly, it will bloody well bankrupt all those smelly little businesses who cannot bloody well afford to pay staff double-time for bank holiday working. I bloody well buy everything on the interweb. Diana is dead. Hold me.'
Prince Philip is also said to be delighted at the news, as this will allow William to engage in traditional sex: 'They have been practising with anal sex for years,' he says 'Just like me and the missus. She allows me up the wrong'un if she does something awful, like that thing with the Corgi and the peanut butter, or if she forgets to laugh at one of my bigoted, racist jokes at a public event. It's a fucking lovely treat.'
Karina Evans 2010
Monday, 1 November 2010
Teenage Girls Don't Deserve to Have Safe Sex
A few people are furious at news that teenage girls in the Isle of Wight will soon be able to access the contraceptive pill at their local pharmacy. In a controversial scheme; girls aged 13 and over who pick up the morning-after pill at a pharmacy, will be given a month’s supply of Desogestrel; a contraceptive pill. Politicians, church figures, and a mother have voiced their opinions on the controversial move, amid concerns that it will force young teenage girls to have sex safely.
‘It’s sexualising young teenagers, and priming them for underage sex,’ rants Antonia Tully, a mother of four. ‘No potentially pregnant teenage girl would ever consider ever, ever, ever having sex again, until a fuckwit pharmacist-bitch thrusts Desogestrel at her with her slutty, cum-soaked fingers, whilst huskily mouthing the lyrics to ‘Move Closer’ through her slightly pursed, pillar-box red, overblown blow-job lips.'
Conservative MP, Andrew Turner, adds: ‘Teenage girls have sex; it’s a sad sex-fact that we need to put an end to. They certainly don't deserve the luxury of safe sex. We don’t wish to condone sex in any way, shape or form by offering them a sex safety-net. We have held a sex meeting and conclude that the only way to stop this sex is to withdraw all types of sex contraceptives available to teenage sex-sluts. This will ensure that they stay safely indoors, pseudo-sexing Barbie dolls with their brother’s sex sperm.'
Ten of the island’s thirty pharmacies will take part in the scheme, implemented by the Isle of Wight’s Primary Care Trust. The Reverend Anthony Glaysher, from the Catholic diocese of Portsmouth is angry and more than a little confused: ‘three hundred unwanted babies are better than none, and also, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. A stitch in time saves nine. Syphilis is a gift; today is yesterday, tomorrow is a present; unwrap it. Fuck me.'
Karina Evans 2010
‘It’s sexualising young teenagers, and priming them for underage sex,’ rants Antonia Tully, a mother of four. ‘No potentially pregnant teenage girl would ever consider ever, ever, ever having sex again, until a fuckwit pharmacist-bitch thrusts Desogestrel at her with her slutty, cum-soaked fingers, whilst huskily mouthing the lyrics to ‘Move Closer’ through her slightly pursed, pillar-box red, overblown blow-job lips.'
Conservative MP, Andrew Turner, adds: ‘Teenage girls have sex; it’s a sad sex-fact that we need to put an end to. They certainly don't deserve the luxury of safe sex. We don’t wish to condone sex in any way, shape or form by offering them a sex safety-net. We have held a sex meeting and conclude that the only way to stop this sex is to withdraw all types of sex contraceptives available to teenage sex-sluts. This will ensure that they stay safely indoors, pseudo-sexing Barbie dolls with their brother’s sex sperm.'
Ten of the island’s thirty pharmacies will take part in the scheme, implemented by the Isle of Wight’s Primary Care Trust. The Reverend Anthony Glaysher, from the Catholic diocese of Portsmouth is angry and more than a little confused: ‘three hundred unwanted babies are better than none, and also, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. A stitch in time saves nine. Syphilis is a gift; today is yesterday, tomorrow is a present; unwrap it. Fuck me.'
Karina Evans 2010
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Baby Modelling Contest NOT hijacked admit Next
High street fashion chain, Next, have admitted that offensive comments and death threats posted on Facebook came directly from them, not a hacker as first reported.
The comments were posted as the chain launched a Facebook page to find two new baby models, and were directed at the parents of the 'really fucking ugly' babies.
'The standard was appallingly low,' states a Next spokesperson. 'We had to swiftly address the issue. Every morning we would check Facebook, praying for a sexy little mite, only to be faced with skinny, ugly fuckers. Nobody wants to buy clothes that have been modelled by a fucking ugly, probably bastard, child. They should actually die.'
The mother of one of the 'fucking ugly' children says resignedly: 'Yes, Lambreeney is fucking ugly, I very much appreciate being told. I have now drowned him.'
Karina Evans 2010
The comments were posted as the chain launched a Facebook page to find two new baby models, and were directed at the parents of the 'really fucking ugly' babies.
'The standard was appallingly low,' states a Next spokesperson. 'We had to swiftly address the issue. Every morning we would check Facebook, praying for a sexy little mite, only to be faced with skinny, ugly fuckers. Nobody wants to buy clothes that have been modelled by a fucking ugly, probably bastard, child. They should actually die.'
The mother of one of the 'fucking ugly' children says resignedly: 'Yes, Lambreeney is fucking ugly, I very much appreciate being told. I have now drowned him.'
Karina Evans 2010
Thursday, 28 October 2010
All New Children to be Named Jack or Elsie
Following the furore surrounding the name ‘Mohammed’ being revealed as the number one boys’ name in the United Kingdom and Wales, the government have hit back by imposing an interim law insisting all newborn babies are named ‘Jack’ or ‘Elsie’.
The official list, which covers the birth of all babies in England and Wales in 2009, reveals that ‘Mohammed’ is officially 16th on the list, but derivations of the name were also taken into consideration, pushing it to number one for the first time.
Government spokesman, Jack White, triumphantly crows: ‘We need to bring back other names, or other names will become extinct, like the dodo did. Therefore, we are absolutely insisting that everyone calls their baby either Jack or Elsie. Depending on gender.'
Jennifer ‘Mohammed’ Sykes, who assisted in compiling the list, states: ‘unfortunately, we hit a bit of an obstacle. We wanted to cause a massive backlash, and induce a little racial hatred, but couldn’t with ‘Mohammed’ at stupid number fucking 16.'
Jennifer wipes away a small smug tear, before continuing:
‘We needed more Mohammeds. It was then decided that any derivation of the name Mohammed would therefore count and push it up the list, thus making people who are fundamentally racist; but pretend not to be; very fucking angry indeed. We ended up counting other names beginning with ‘M’, and it eventually made it to number one. Whoop.’
The derivations of the name ‘Mohammed’ that were included in the final count are listed below:
Mohammed
Muhammed
Mahamed
Mahama
Ma
Martin
Mark
Max
Maxwell
Minnie
Mickey
Bob
Karina Evans 2010
The official list, which covers the birth of all babies in England and Wales in 2009, reveals that ‘Mohammed’ is officially 16th on the list, but derivations of the name were also taken into consideration, pushing it to number one for the first time.
Government spokesman, Jack White, triumphantly crows: ‘We need to bring back other names, or other names will become extinct, like the dodo did. Therefore, we are absolutely insisting that everyone calls their baby either Jack or Elsie. Depending on gender.'
Jennifer ‘Mohammed’ Sykes, who assisted in compiling the list, states: ‘unfortunately, we hit a bit of an obstacle. We wanted to cause a massive backlash, and induce a little racial hatred, but couldn’t with ‘Mohammed’ at stupid number fucking 16.'
Jennifer wipes away a small smug tear, before continuing:
‘We needed more Mohammeds. It was then decided that any derivation of the name Mohammed would therefore count and push it up the list, thus making people who are fundamentally racist; but pretend not to be; very fucking angry indeed. We ended up counting other names beginning with ‘M’, and it eventually made it to number one. Whoop.’
The derivations of the name ‘Mohammed’ that were included in the final count are listed below:
Mohammed
Muhammed
Mahamed
Mahama
Ma
Martin
Mark
Max
Maxwell
Minnie
Mickey
Bob
Karina Evans 2010
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
London's Burning
The heartbreaking song 'London's Burning' could become a stark reality, if the proposed firefighters' strike goes ahead on Bonfire Night this year.
The Fire Brigade Union have told firefighters not to fetch the engines on 5th November, even when begged to by people in pain, squealing with terror, with sparklers stuck up their noses. They are planning to strike against proposed plans to change their shift pattern to something disturbingly shit.
Union chairman, Brian Coleman, states: 'This is appalling. Fight fire with fire. There's no smoke without fire. Too many fires spoil the fire. Firestarter, twisted firestarter. What was the question?'
The proposed shift pattern change is to incorporate community work, during the longer, less fiery, day shifts. London Fire Commissioner, Ron Dobson, defended the proposed change: 'they'll be able to give out free smoke alarms to people who can’t be arsed to buy them themselves. I don't really see the problem. Pour the water. FIRE FIRE, etcetera.'
Parliament’s All Party Fire Safety and Rescue Group member and Tory MP, Nadhim Zahawi, has called for ministers to enforce a no-strike ban on firefighters. 'They should put up and shut up,' stormed Mr Zahawi, 'I'm not threatening them, but if they don't call off this strike, I'm going to hunt them down and kill each and every fucking one of them, then fight all the fires myself. With fucking fire.'
Karina Evans 2010
The Fire Brigade Union have told firefighters not to fetch the engines on 5th November, even when begged to by people in pain, squealing with terror, with sparklers stuck up their noses. They are planning to strike against proposed plans to change their shift pattern to something disturbingly shit.
Union chairman, Brian Coleman, states: 'This is appalling. Fight fire with fire. There's no smoke without fire. Too many fires spoil the fire. Firestarter, twisted firestarter. What was the question?'
The proposed shift pattern change is to incorporate community work, during the longer, less fiery, day shifts. London Fire Commissioner, Ron Dobson, defended the proposed change: 'they'll be able to give out free smoke alarms to people who can’t be arsed to buy them themselves. I don't really see the problem. Pour the water. FIRE FIRE, etcetera.'
Parliament’s All Party Fire Safety and Rescue Group member and Tory MP, Nadhim Zahawi, has called for ministers to enforce a no-strike ban on firefighters. 'They should put up and shut up,' stormed Mr Zahawi, 'I'm not threatening them, but if they don't call off this strike, I'm going to hunt them down and kill each and every fucking one of them, then fight all the fires myself. With fucking fire.'
Karina Evans 2010
Monday, 25 October 2010
Romanian Children Found Working in Magical Forest
Seven Romanian children between the ages of nine and sixteen have been found working in a magical forest in Worcestershire.
The children were discovered by the Gangmasters Licensing Authority (GLA), who described the situation as ‘disturbingly quirky’.
Linda Boyle, of the GLA, said: ‘I had heard rumours that children were picking mushrooms in forests locally, and decided to go and have a look for myself. It was disturbingly quirky. I tiptoed over to watch them work; they picked the mushrooms, then they dried them, then they sold them to a man in a hooded pullover. If they didn't give him enough, he lovingly whipped them with the handle end of a firearm. They held some back and made me a mushroomy cup of tea, as they had no herbal shit. Look. Everything is covered in glitter.'
Ms Boyle pauses before continuing: ‘They are all quite short, therefore have been taken into police protection until suitable accommodation can be found for them. I feel pretty. Oh, so pretty. I feel pretty. And witty. And bright.'
The children were all adequately dressed for the cold conditions, in lovely green suits, pointy shoes and hats with bells on the end. ‘Safety was not an issue,' stresses Ms Boyle. ‘The bell-ended hats ensured the other elves heard them coming. They were having a fucking wonderful time. Fucking wonderful.'
The children were discovered by the Gangmasters Licensing Authority (GLA), who described the situation as ‘disturbingly quirky’.
Linda Boyle, of the GLA, said: ‘I had heard rumours that children were picking mushrooms in forests locally, and decided to go and have a look for myself. It was disturbingly quirky. I tiptoed over to watch them work; they picked the mushrooms, then they dried them, then they sold them to a man in a hooded pullover. If they didn't give him enough, he lovingly whipped them with the handle end of a firearm. They held some back and made me a mushroomy cup of tea, as they had no herbal shit. Look. Everything is covered in glitter.'
Ms Boyle pauses before continuing: ‘They are all quite short, therefore have been taken into police protection until suitable accommodation can be found for them. I feel pretty. Oh, so pretty. I feel pretty. And witty. And bright.'
The children were all adequately dressed for the cold conditions, in lovely green suits, pointy shoes and hats with bells on the end. ‘Safety was not an issue,' stresses Ms Boyle. ‘The bell-ended hats ensured the other elves heard them coming. They were having a fucking wonderful time. Fucking wonderful.'
Sunday, 24 October 2010
Patients' Anger At Being Forced to Have Swine Flu Vaccination
Patients have reacted angrily to the news that they may be forced to have swine flu vaccinations. The proposed programme will see everyone entitled to the flu jab being tied down and repeatedly stabbed with needles containing the H1N1 swine flu vaccination.
Katherine Murphy, chief executive of the Patients Association, is very pissed off: 'The side effects of H1N1 are well documented. They include not suffering from a terrible flu with terrible flu-like symptoms this winter. How will anyone get any sympathy, or get to feel sorry for themselves if they are perfectly fucking healthy?'
It is proposed that patients will be plucked from their beds, whilst they are sleeping, by a giant, government-funded crane, and deposited in their nearest GP surgery.
'It's like Nightmare on Elm Street, all over again,' adds Katherine, before continuing: 'One, two, the crane is coming for you, blah...blah...blah, never sleep again etc. Blah. All I can suggest is that the elderly, vulnerable and impregnated dose up on Red Bull and twist their own genitals to keep themselves awake.'
Karina Evans 2010
Katherine Murphy, chief executive of the Patients Association, is very pissed off: 'The side effects of H1N1 are well documented. They include not suffering from a terrible flu with terrible flu-like symptoms this winter. How will anyone get any sympathy, or get to feel sorry for themselves if they are perfectly fucking healthy?'
It is proposed that patients will be plucked from their beds, whilst they are sleeping, by a giant, government-funded crane, and deposited in their nearest GP surgery.
'It's like Nightmare on Elm Street, all over again,' adds Katherine, before continuing: 'One, two, the crane is coming for you, blah...blah...blah, never sleep again etc. Blah. All I can suggest is that the elderly, vulnerable and impregnated dose up on Red Bull and twist their own genitals to keep themselves awake.'
Karina Evans 2010
Saturday, 23 October 2010
Teacher Banned For Life For Being Utterly Crap
A teacher incapable of teaching stuff has been banned from teaching for life.
Nisar Ahmed was head of business studies at a community technology college in Hungerford, despite being unable to read, or turn on a computer. His utter crapness was discovered when one of his pupils was caught smashing open a computer hard drive to retrieve some lost files; a move, he states, that was suggested by Mr Ahmed.
Mr Ahmed has taught at various schools in the South-East of England for the last 13 years. Former pupil, Matt Brown, states ‘he taught us how to draw a fucking good vagina. And that picture with the big nose over the top of the wall. Although, he struggled a bit with the graffiti element.’
The John O’Gaunt Community Technology College gave Mr Ahmed extensive support for more than a year, but he failed to improve. General Teaching Council committee chair, Rosalind Burford, said: ‘Mr Ahmed, they gave you support; there’s no fucking excuse; they accepted that you may need extra help and tried to teach you the alphabet, albeit phonetically. You failed to plan lessons effectively, preferring to stand at the front of the class throwing stuff and drawing giant penises on the whiteboard. This resulted in a lack of pace and challenge in your lessons. You’re fired. Forever. Fuck off’.
Mr Ahmed says he will appeal against the GTC decision: ‘I will appeal. I liked being a teacher. Since being fired, I have learnt to sing the alphabet and can now recite my two times table, OFF BY HEART. I am being used as an escape goat, although I am not completely sure what that means’.
Karina Evans 2010
Nisar Ahmed was head of business studies at a community technology college in Hungerford, despite being unable to read, or turn on a computer. His utter crapness was discovered when one of his pupils was caught smashing open a computer hard drive to retrieve some lost files; a move, he states, that was suggested by Mr Ahmed.
Mr Ahmed has taught at various schools in the South-East of England for the last 13 years. Former pupil, Matt Brown, states ‘he taught us how to draw a fucking good vagina. And that picture with the big nose over the top of the wall. Although, he struggled a bit with the graffiti element.’
The John O’Gaunt Community Technology College gave Mr Ahmed extensive support for more than a year, but he failed to improve. General Teaching Council committee chair, Rosalind Burford, said: ‘Mr Ahmed, they gave you support; there’s no fucking excuse; they accepted that you may need extra help and tried to teach you the alphabet, albeit phonetically. You failed to plan lessons effectively, preferring to stand at the front of the class throwing stuff and drawing giant penises on the whiteboard. This resulted in a lack of pace and challenge in your lessons. You’re fired. Forever. Fuck off’.
Mr Ahmed says he will appeal against the GTC decision: ‘I will appeal. I liked being a teacher. Since being fired, I have learnt to sing the alphabet and can now recite my two times table, OFF BY HEART. I am being used as an escape goat, although I am not completely sure what that means’.
Karina Evans 2010
Friday, 22 October 2010
Euromillions winners to remain anonymous
The winners of the £113 million Euromillions prize have finally come forward to claim their money. They are believed to be a syndicate of four men, who do not wish their identities to be revealed in case people insist they buy them presents.
'We do not wish for our identities to be revealed' said 44-year-old David Cameron from London. 'I have an important job and lots of money anyway, and more money I can claim back in taxes, and more money from taking money from people, and now I have even more money. I think if people know who I am, those people might want me to buy them presents or give them back some of their money that I took from the money they earned'.
Another member of the syndicate, 24-year-old Wayne Rooney, declined to comment, merely shouting 'Old. Whore. Fisting. Here. Please' out of the hotel window, in the general direction of a local bingo hall. He caught the eye of a passing geriatric, who struggled up the stairs clutching a pot of Vaseline and some fingerless gloves. She also declined to comment, but is believed to be Marjorie Trent, an unemployed 97-year-old, with a DWP-subsidised colour television licence.
The third winner is definitely George Osborne. George has been in hiding since Tuesday. Reports suggest that he had been slowly and miserably masturbating with £50 notes, before his Polish cleaner, also in the Euromillions syndicate, waved the winning ticket at him. Dariusz Wysocki, 16 is reported to be the brains behind the recent UK spending cut, despite only knowing 3 English words: 'yes', 'George' and 'harder'.
The four have stated that the money will not change them, vowing that they will remain 'smug, gerontophile, nationally loathed, mercenary wankers'.
'We do not wish for our identities to be revealed' said 44-year-old David Cameron from London. 'I have an important job and lots of money anyway, and more money I can claim back in taxes, and more money from taking money from people, and now I have even more money. I think if people know who I am, those people might want me to buy them presents or give them back some of their money that I took from the money they earned'.
Another member of the syndicate, 24-year-old Wayne Rooney, declined to comment, merely shouting 'Old. Whore. Fisting. Here. Please' out of the hotel window, in the general direction of a local bingo hall. He caught the eye of a passing geriatric, who struggled up the stairs clutching a pot of Vaseline and some fingerless gloves. She also declined to comment, but is believed to be Marjorie Trent, an unemployed 97-year-old, with a DWP-subsidised colour television licence.
The third winner is definitely George Osborne. George has been in hiding since Tuesday. Reports suggest that he had been slowly and miserably masturbating with £50 notes, before his Polish cleaner, also in the Euromillions syndicate, waved the winning ticket at him. Dariusz Wysocki, 16 is reported to be the brains behind the recent UK spending cut, despite only knowing 3 English words: 'yes', 'George' and 'harder'.
The four have stated that the money will not change them, vowing that they will remain 'smug, gerontophile, nationally loathed, mercenary wankers'.
Wednesday, 20 October 2010
Government are gerontophiles
Government are all gerontophiles.
A government spokesman has admitted that spending cuts aimed to hit everyone under the age of 66 were implemented because they want to shag old people.
'we want to have sex with old people' admitted a government spokesperson. 'This is why we don't want them to be cold, unable to afford to watch porn, or buy lubricant. They are notoriously dry'
'We still think anyone young is a bit of a tosser, which is why we have chosen to punish them. Hopefully they will all die and it'll be just us and the yummy geriatrics'
Amongst other controversial spending cuts, the government plan to increase the pension age to 66 in 2020; six years earlier than predicted; a move which has angered people born in 1955.
'they fail to realise that one day the younger people will be old, then they can shag them too. It's a very short-sighted set of policies and they have neglected to take this into account' says Adam, a builder from Northamptonshire, who was born in 1955.
It is feared that this particular genre of spending cuts have been influenced by the recent behaviour of granny-fisting footballer, Wayne Rooney. Financial forecaster and actor, Frank Mackintosh, predicts that once the dust has settled, and reality sets in, the government may quietly reverse their decisions.
'once it becomes 'fashionable' again to find young people sexually attractive, the government will want to seduce them with money. This will only happen if a premiership footballer takes a liking to prostitutes under the age of 30. Unfortunately, Peter Crouch just isn't attractive enough to instigate a turn-around. I may have a word with Beckham. Don't worry: I'll sort it'
Karina Evans 2010
A government spokesman has admitted that spending cuts aimed to hit everyone under the age of 66 were implemented because they want to shag old people.
'we want to have sex with old people' admitted a government spokesperson. 'This is why we don't want them to be cold, unable to afford to watch porn, or buy lubricant. They are notoriously dry'
'We still think anyone young is a bit of a tosser, which is why we have chosen to punish them. Hopefully they will all die and it'll be just us and the yummy geriatrics'
Amongst other controversial spending cuts, the government plan to increase the pension age to 66 in 2020; six years earlier than predicted; a move which has angered people born in 1955.
'they fail to realise that one day the younger people will be old, then they can shag them too. It's a very short-sighted set of policies and they have neglected to take this into account' says Adam, a builder from Northamptonshire, who was born in 1955.
It is feared that this particular genre of spending cuts have been influenced by the recent behaviour of granny-fisting footballer, Wayne Rooney. Financial forecaster and actor, Frank Mackintosh, predicts that once the dust has settled, and reality sets in, the government may quietly reverse their decisions.
'once it becomes 'fashionable' again to find young people sexually attractive, the government will want to seduce them with money. This will only happen if a premiership footballer takes a liking to prostitutes under the age of 30. Unfortunately, Peter Crouch just isn't attractive enough to instigate a turn-around. I may have a word with Beckham. Don't worry: I'll sort it'
Karina Evans 2010
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Tuesday, 19 October 2010
Government in licence discussion with BBC
Government ministers are in talks to force the BBC to pay for pensioners’ television licences. The talks came about as it was realised that old people are much more important than young people, therefore deserve to watch the television more than they do.
A government minister last night confirmed that ‘young people are mostly wankers, which is why we have only ever paid for old people’s licences'
Government research indicates that middle-aged people won't mind paying an extra £20 on top of their existing television licences, and are happy to be forced to share their hard-earned money with old people. This will absorb any cost to the BBC, thus making them a bit happier about the whole thing.
The government minister continues 'Old people are our favourite type of people; they are all well-behaved and have good taste in clothes. However, we are going to stop paying for their stuff, because we think it would be a nice gesture if someone else did it for a while’.
The DWP, who currently pay the fee, are at loggerheads with the BBC, who are reluctant to dent their budget. The DWP justify this move by likening it to 'it being your turn to call your mother. If you forget, she will likely never speak to you again'.
A BBC spokeswoman uneasily commented ‘We might now be forced to pay for the old buggers' television licences. I’m not particularly fond of old people anyway, so it makes me angry that the DWP people told us it is our turn to give them stuff. They smell of cabbage and lavender; that’s not a myth, it is actually true; I smelt one on the bus the other day’.
The BBC make a paltry income of £3.49 billion from licence fees, an income which, their spokesman states, they can ill afford to reduce. A breakdown of costs reveals that last year they spent most of it on buying an enormous red sofa and some costume jewellery for their news presenters.
‘They have to spend at least £2 billion on shiny stuff for me’, says news presenter Susanna Reid. ‘And they have to buy me stuff to make my tits look bigger too’.
A government minister last night confirmed that ‘young people are mostly wankers, which is why we have only ever paid for old people’s licences'
Government research indicates that middle-aged people won't mind paying an extra £20 on top of their existing television licences, and are happy to be forced to share their hard-earned money with old people. This will absorb any cost to the BBC, thus making them a bit happier about the whole thing.
The government minister continues 'Old people are our favourite type of people; they are all well-behaved and have good taste in clothes. However, we are going to stop paying for their stuff, because we think it would be a nice gesture if someone else did it for a while’.
The DWP, who currently pay the fee, are at loggerheads with the BBC, who are reluctant to dent their budget. The DWP justify this move by likening it to 'it being your turn to call your mother. If you forget, she will likely never speak to you again'.
A BBC spokeswoman uneasily commented ‘We might now be forced to pay for the old buggers' television licences. I’m not particularly fond of old people anyway, so it makes me angry that the DWP people told us it is our turn to give them stuff. They smell of cabbage and lavender; that’s not a myth, it is actually true; I smelt one on the bus the other day’.
The BBC make a paltry income of £3.49 billion from licence fees, an income which, their spokesman states, they can ill afford to reduce. A breakdown of costs reveals that last year they spent most of it on buying an enormous red sofa and some costume jewellery for their news presenters.
‘They have to spend at least £2 billion on shiny stuff for me’, says news presenter Susanna Reid. ‘And they have to buy me stuff to make my tits look bigger too’.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
Government law proposal
The government have proposed to implement a 'child ban' throughout the whole of England and Wales. Current laws mean that children can freely roam the streets, live in houses and flats, attend schools, play on swings and generally be a temptation to paedophiles . Under the new legislation, children will no longer be allowed in the country, and existing citizens under the age of 18 will be sent to live in Bangladesh. Government minister Alice Spring states 'If there are no children to wank over, then paedophilia will be completely obliterated. We are also making moves to ban them from appearing on the television and even the radio. Sometimes even the sound of a minor's voice is enough to get a paedo's loins stirring'.
The move will not be a popular one amongst paedophiles. Career child-molester, Henry DuMonkton, says the new law is not ideal.
'Until now, I was freely able to leer at, and touch, small children. Once this law has been implemented, I'll have to just look at them on the internet. This is not ideal'
Karina Evans 2010
The move will not be a popular one amongst paedophiles. Career child-molester, Henry DuMonkton, says the new law is not ideal.
'Until now, I was freely able to leer at, and touch, small children. Once this law has been implemented, I'll have to just look at them on the internet. This is not ideal'
Karina Evans 2010
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Chain emails
My new favourite pastime:
Chain emails DO work
An email survey has concluded that chain emails DO work. A survey of 75,358,502 recipients of one particular chain email has shown that the ‘forwarders’ of the email all received amazing stuff.
The email involved in the study promises readers 25 years of amazing stuff if they forward the self-harming angel to 100 recipients. The study shows that one percent of the readers do so, mainly because they believe the email curse warning that they will get stuck down a mine, or their ears will fall off, if they don’t.
‘Basically, I didn’t want to be left with no ears,’ states Elyzabyth, aged 29, from Essex, before poignantly adding ‘my ears are useful.'
Not only do Elyzybeth, and about 753,000 others still have the use of their ears, they have also been blessed with other amazing stuff. EeJiT, 12, from West Hastings, states that following the email, his luck began to change:
‘I returned home from burgling to find six pence in smash [young speak for ‘coppers’] under my bread bin. That mashed-up angel bird put it there. Them’s a gift from her. Then I found out that weird man from the telly had been fired from all telly channels as he is a dirty paedo. Innit. This is more than one of them coincidences.'
Tellingly, it is reported that the Chilean miners each received this very email on their Blackberry mobiles just HOURS before the fateful descent into that dark shaft thing. Luckily, they are relatively unscathed; initial reports suggest all ears remain intact. However, a recent email rumour suggests that one miner may have suffered a quite disgusting scratch to the top of his left ear, just by the folded-over bit.
The advice given by head researcher, Eggleton Smith, is to forward the self-harming angel, as otherwise stuff might happen that's not very nice. 'Forward the self-harming ange,', Eggleton says, 'otherwise, stuff might happen that's not very nice.'
Karina Evans 2010
Chain emails DO work
An email survey has concluded that chain emails DO work. A survey of 75,358,502 recipients of one particular chain email has shown that the ‘forwarders’ of the email all received amazing stuff.
The email involved in the study promises readers 25 years of amazing stuff if they forward the self-harming angel to 100 recipients. The study shows that one percent of the readers do so, mainly because they believe the email curse warning that they will get stuck down a mine, or their ears will fall off, if they don’t.
‘Basically, I didn’t want to be left with no ears,’ states Elyzabyth, aged 29, from Essex, before poignantly adding ‘my ears are useful.'
Not only do Elyzybeth, and about 753,000 others still have the use of their ears, they have also been blessed with other amazing stuff. EeJiT, 12, from West Hastings, states that following the email, his luck began to change:
‘I returned home from burgling to find six pence in smash [young speak for ‘coppers’] under my bread bin. That mashed-up angel bird put it there. Them’s a gift from her. Then I found out that weird man from the telly had been fired from all telly channels as he is a dirty paedo. Innit. This is more than one of them coincidences.'
Tellingly, it is reported that the Chilean miners each received this very email on their Blackberry mobiles just HOURS before the fateful descent into that dark shaft thing. Luckily, they are relatively unscathed; initial reports suggest all ears remain intact. However, a recent email rumour suggests that one miner may have suffered a quite disgusting scratch to the top of his left ear, just by the folded-over bit.
The advice given by head researcher, Eggleton Smith, is to forward the self-harming angel, as otherwise stuff might happen that's not very nice. 'Forward the self-harming ange,', Eggleton says, 'otherwise, stuff might happen that's not very nice.'
Karina Evans 2010
Monday, 4 October 2010
Monday? Friday?
I'm considering the merits of blogging on a particular day of each week. Like a part-time job. Monday feels right, but I have nothing to say. Oh, I have...
Maybe Friday.
Maybe Friday.
Saturday, 2 October 2010
Biscuits and vodka
Ok, so the website is up and running, the novel is (re re re re) edited to within an inch of its life, and what am I doing? Eating biscuits and drinking vodka, that's bloody what. I'm going to end up an overweight and perpetually (marginally) angry alcoholic at this rate. I never thought it'd be easy, but I actually only want a £5,000,000 book deal. Surely not too much to ask?
www.wix.com/karina_evans/masks
http://www.authonomy.com/books/25125/volcano/
www.wix.com/karina_evans/masks
http://www.authonomy.com/books/25125/volcano/
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
I'm still here
I have been doing nothing but making my website for the past month. Hopefully, the obsession has paid off. Here:
www.wix.com/karina_evans/masks
Adieu.
www.wix.com/karina_evans/masks
Adieu.
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Apologies
Blogspot, it's all I can do to apologise for my absence of late, but I have been obsessed with another. The fickle world of Authonomy caught my eye and I am afraid to say that my head turned. For this I extend my profuse apologies and assure you that I will return to you soon, my true love...
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Authonomy
http://www.authonomy.com/books/25125/volcano/
The best thing I have decided to do in a long time...
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Thought for the day...
If all you want to be is something better than you are today, are you missing out on enjoying what you have, what you've achieved, who you've become? If you constantly strive to be something different; a similar persona; yet more successful, more loved, more accepted, are you ignoring what you have achieved, ignoring the people who already love you and ignoring the opinions you have created; through life, through love, through hate and through being...well...just being the self you have created?
Just wondered...
Just wondered...
Location:Hastings,United Kingdom
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Oooooh Betty
Right, Assignment 4. Bizarrely familiar, as it's practically the same as Assignment 1, Assignment 2, and, yes, you've got it...Assignment 3. Yawn. This time I have decided against writing yet another article, and so I shall write letters instead. My first being to 'agony aunt' Betty Brisk in The Sun. It is as follows:
Dear Betty,
I have recently been having what can only be described as 'colourfully raunchy' dreams about a character from a popular television soap. I find myself daydreaming about this person, knowing how much he wants me. When I cast my eyes upon him in the early evening of a Monday, Tuesday, Thursday or Friday, I blush crimson red and mutter 'oh, my darling,' which is making my husband suspicious. I am not sure whether to come clean to my dearest, or keep our dirty little secret between me and the young man from the telly. Please help me, Betty.
Yours,
Karina.
Now, let's see what she has to say about that...
Dear Betty,
I have recently been having what can only be described as 'colourfully raunchy' dreams about a character from a popular television soap. I find myself daydreaming about this person, knowing how much he wants me. When I cast my eyes upon him in the early evening of a Monday, Tuesday, Thursday or Friday, I blush crimson red and mutter 'oh, my darling,' which is making my husband suspicious. I am not sure whether to come clean to my dearest, or keep our dirty little secret between me and the young man from the telly. Please help me, Betty.
Yours,
Karina.
Now, let's see what she has to say about that...
Location:Hastings,United Kingdom
Friday, 23 July 2010
Being famous
I may go into hiding, for I am now famous. My fringe and eyes were broadcast on, as Jeremy Kyle would put it, 'national television.' Nobody else refers to the television as 'national television,' mainly because there is no need. 'Television' would surely suffice?
I am frightened that I will be papped if I step outside the house, as the general public will have a yearning to know what is going on 'behind the fringe'. Which, incidentally, will
be the title of my autobiography.
A still from my national television debut is evidenced below:
I am frightened that I will be papped if I step outside the house, as the general public will have a yearning to know what is going on 'behind the fringe'. Which, incidentally, will
be the title of my autobiography.
A still from my national television debut is evidenced below:
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Monday, 12 July 2010
Dutch pie rolls
There is a little bit of me that is Dutch. I have calculated that this part is most probably my left leg, compounded by the fact that my left ankle is aching after the Netherlands extra-time World Cup defeat at the hands of Spain. It could also have been exacerbated by my insistence on leaping in a gazelle-like manner for reasons known only to myself and my equally gazelle-esque colleagues.
On a pie note, I was very much hoping that the Australia thing was the beginning of a pie roll, and that perhaps I would be in line for a stream of publishing luck. This does not appear to be the case, and although I am almost ecstatic that my short story is being published (thus rendering me an actual 'freelance writer), I am also concerned that it is the only story I have ever written that hasn't come from my heart. Maybe the real stuff should be written for cathartic purposes only. A good friend of mine quite rightly pointed out that we all have to compromise, and that perhaps this is mine. Stories that skim the surface of reality; I can live with that. Thank you, my good friend.
I hope that isn't a mosquito that just landed on my face.
On a pie note, I was very much hoping that the Australia thing was the beginning of a pie roll, and that perhaps I would be in line for a stream of publishing luck. This does not appear to be the case, and although I am almost ecstatic that my short story is being published (thus rendering me an actual 'freelance writer), I am also concerned that it is the only story I have ever written that hasn't come from my heart. Maybe the real stuff should be written for cathartic purposes only. A good friend of mine quite rightly pointed out that we all have to compromise, and that perhaps this is mine. Stories that skim the surface of reality; I can live with that. Thank you, my good friend.
I hope that isn't a mosquito that just landed on my face.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Friday, 2 July 2010
A big fat suburban pie
I haven't been in the land of Blog for a while, mostly due to having nothing to say. Today, however, is different, based on that fact that the Australians bought my pie. Oh yes. One story pie, two pages long, entitled 'Suburbia' is being cooked by editors in preparation for its debut in That's Life Fast Fiction spring edition. Oh yes. That feeling I have right now? That feeling is EXACTLY why I bother with the pies in the first place...
PS. I'm still a little annoyed that I haven't got my greedy hands on an iPhone 4 yet, though.
PS. I'm still a little annoyed that I haven't got my greedy hands on an iPhone 4 yet, though.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
Bugger
The Advancement of The Volcano has hit a brick wall. Initial agent has cruelly rejected it. I feel I require some therapy from an amateur.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Round and round and round
I am at work. 'What a stupid time to be at work', I hear you cry, and I am inclined to agree. This is for three main reasons: the first being that it is four-oh-fucking-five in the morning. The second is that I have had to bloody well drive all the way to Eastbourne for the 'pleasure', and the third that I have been temporarily demoted, thus have to walk round and round in fucking circles every sodding twenty minutes to look at people who are, quite sensibly, asleep. Operation Shawshank, for the love of God, will you HURRY UP...
Monday, 14 June 2010
All the best laid plans
Right. Fairly productive morning, as I have already completed the following tasks:
Inadvertently shown the meter-reading man my nipples
Had a cup of coffee
Decided what I am going to do for the rest of the day.
That brings me nicely to the tasks I must complete:
Finish poem that I never should have started: it is the poetry equivalent of emotional bulimia, thus is eating my brain
Finish doodle article
Eat crisps
Sleep
Go to work
Get changed into more substantial clothes, lest I scare the postman.
All the best laid plans...
Inadvertently shown the meter-reading man my nipples
Had a cup of coffee
Decided what I am going to do for the rest of the day.
That brings me nicely to the tasks I must complete:
Finish poem that I never should have started: it is the poetry equivalent of emotional bulimia, thus is eating my brain
Finish doodle article
Eat crisps
Sleep
Go to work
Get changed into more substantial clothes, lest I scare the postman.
All the best laid plans...
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Curious oranges
I used to quite like a programme called 'This Morning With Richard, Not Judy' in which there was a curious orange. The orange was rather cynical, much like myself, and therefore I insist that if anyone decides to liken me to a fruit in the future I am likened to a curious orange. The only problem being that I do not have banana fingers.
PS. Today I was forced to write poems about blue strawberries and sweaty socks. I feel emotionally violated.
PS. Today I was forced to write poems about blue strawberries and sweaty socks. I feel emotionally violated.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Cheese, stories and oodles of vodka
Oh bugger. Back to reality today, the birthday celebrations are sadly over, therefore is time to return to Shawshank. Bollocks. I have had a beautiful week: sun, children, vodka, lots and lots of writing and an unprecedented amount of cheese. That's the life.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Monday, 31 May 2010
Sunday, 30 May 2010
Floundering
I don't bloody like writing bloody non-fiction. Having said that, I would rather do that than do proper work. I have finished writing about doodles and coupled it with two reader letters, which will hopefully amount to the sum of assignment 3. I cannot wait until I get to the fiction part of the course and can allow myself to let my imagination wander once again.
Friday, 28 May 2010
Doodle bug
Ok, so I can write an article about ANYTHING, and I choose sodding doodles. What the fuck is that all about?
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
A pensive moment.
I quite want to write about something boring. Can't think of anything though.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Deterioration
When I arrived at work today, I actually didn't look too bad. Having just looked in the mirror in the badly-lit toilet, I became perturbed at my reflection. My carefully messed-up hair now looks accidentally messed-up, in a 'bush backwards' manner, my eyeshadow has disappeared, and my forehead appears to have grown. Now, what's that all about?
The whereabouts of my pies
I have the following pies:
Short story pie in Australia
Short story pie at the BBC National Short Story Pie Competition
Volcano pie gathering dust on two agents' desks.
That's it for now.
Short story pie in Australia
Short story pie at the BBC National Short Story Pie Competition
Volcano pie gathering dust on two agents' desks.
That's it for now.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Friday, 21 May 2010
Congratulations, me
The nail varnish worked. I now just have to sit and wait for 3 years whilst they fill in their paperwork. Time for a celebratory vodka.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Shawshank
Still waiting. For many things.
Oh, and I am meant to be writing an article for assignment 3, but I do not know what to write about. I keep thinking, but nothing is materialising in my brain. Perhaps I will have a coffee and a cigarette and watch some television and have a granny nap and then think about it some more...?
Oh, and I am meant to be writing an article for assignment 3, but I do not know what to write about. I keep thinking, but nothing is materialising in my brain. Perhaps I will have a coffee and a cigarette and watch some television and have a granny nap and then think about it some more...?
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
The other side of the world
Today, I decided it would be a lovely idea to submit a short story to a magazine in Australia. So, I did. I feel slightly quirky for doing so. It's a nice feeling.
Monday, 17 May 2010
Negative? Me?
Having just read my last post again, I have rendered myself ashamed at the overtly negative tone. Perhaps a spot of arrogance wouldn't go amiss? I have only submitted it four times thus far, resulting in one request for full MSS (resulting in ongoing silence *shocking*), two bog standard rejections and one impending reply. The book is, I believe, publishable, although perhaps a tad introspective. On another positive note, at least I get to watch another space...
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Volcanoes
Well, I have spent my night shift wisely, re-reading Volcano ready for the next bout of submissions. As I pressed the 'send' button, I had a flashback to the rejections I have received thus far. It's a little like stripping off your clothes, writing all your vulnerabilities on a Post-it, packaging yourself up, sending yourself to someone whilst begging them to want you. Unfortunately, they don't, and it takes a while to dust yourself off and believe in yourself again. They may as well just cut to the chase and reply 'you're having a laugh, aren't you? You're really quite shit'. Maybe I'll give up and serialise the book on this blog. At least 4 people will read it...
Saturday, 15 May 2010
A week?
A week? A whole bloody week? I have to wait a sodding week until I find out whether my outfit, my pink nails and my witty charm landed me the job. I strongly feel that it is highly unethical to make me wait for a week. For the love of God.
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
Operation Shawshank
Well, the day has arrived. Time for Operation Shawshank Part Deux. Nails are painted a demure shade of interview-pink, job specification read and re-read, now it's time to plan my outfit. Good luck, me.
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Monday, 10 May 2010
Sunny but cold
Well, what can I say? The weather is cold, but sunny. I haven't written ANYTHING for weeks (not even a reader's letter). Assignment 3 is hanging over my head like an executioner's...erm...thingamajig. My nail varnish is chipped. My vodka bottle is half empty. But Operation Shawshank Part 2 is going according to plan (interview on Wednesday). That's all folks...
Location:Parker Rd,Hastings,United Kingdom
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Longer, thus more boring
A MUSICAL ROLLERCOASTER
‘Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory’ proclaimed Oscar Wilde in 1891. Whether this covered the self-inflicted pain of listening to music to induce tears and helplessness was left unsaid. If you were in pain or discomfort, would it cross your mind to do something that would exacerbate the situation? If you stubbed your toe, would you then hobble to the toolbox to retrieve a hammer with which you could hit it, to make it hurt just that little bit more? Clearly, this would neither assist the situation, nor induce a calmness to deal with it. So, why do we do it? Why do we listen to those songs that take us to an emotional place that, given the opportunity, we would not choose to revisit in person?
Many theories regarding ‘musical expression’ exist, and the title of such research speaks volumes. Perhaps we are listening to these expressive songs as an outlet: an emotional purge. Are we unable to vent these emotions without an aid? Maybe sitting on a doorstep, listening to an emotive song is a therapeutic outlet for emotions that would otherwise remain festering inside. ‘There is no doubt that [people] can be profoundly moved by perceiving, performing, or imagining music, and consequently music must touch on something in their emotional life that brings them into this state of excitation’ states Paul Hindemith- composer and author of ‘A Composer’s World: Horizons and Limitations’- before continuing ‘but if these mental reactions were feelings, they could not change as rapidly as they do, and they would not begin and end with the musical stimulus that aroused them’. This implies that an emotional change when listening to music is not real: merely a temporary and false expression of nothing more than a reaction. ‘We often catch the emotional ambience of our environment or of those around us’ argues Stephen Davies-‘Infectious Music: Music-Listener Emotional Contagion’- and that similarly, when listening to music, the emotion exuded through the music is infectious, similar to that of a bad feeling, fear or excitement in a crowd. Is it that we feel an empathy with the artist who has written, or is singing, the song? Perhaps we find it comforting that someone else is experiencing the same pain as we are, and that person is able to express his or her feelings in a way that we are unable, thus enabling us to ‘reflect’ our emotions upon theirs? Jerrold Levinson-‘Music and Negative Emotion’-states that our emotional response to music ‘mirrors’ that of a response to a real emotional situation, yet the ‘music-emotion’ differs to a real emotion in that it is not directed at an actual object. An arguably more direct theory from Colin Radford-author of ‘Emotions and Music: A Reply to the Cognitivists’-states that ‘listening to sad music does make people sad. To deny this is itself paradoxical because it involves the cognitivist maintaining that when people say this is what happened, they are mistaken’. So, when you find yourself turning into a quivering, sobbing wreck each time you hear the rousing opening bars of that song you call ‘your song’, you could perhaps argue that the emotions are real, the moment is real, and not simply a weak, empty reaction to something that, essentially, means nothing.
Additionally, we use music to motivate ourselves; we generally listen to upbeat songs whilst we undertake physical tasks, such as vacuuming and working-out, whilst we tend to err on the side of the more down-tempo song for those evenings when we turn the lights down low and indulge in a relaxing bubble bath. Swap the genres around, and we may find that the housework takes a lot longer than anticipated, the work-out is not quite as exerting as we had hoped, and the relaxing bubble bath turns into a pre-cursor for a night out ‘on the town’.
The aforementioned theories reflect the reality that we do feel emotion in music. We listen to the lyrics and feel the beat of the song, we use it to vent our own feelings, to reflect our pain onto something that can absorb it, mix it up, and spit it back out at us using sounds and words that we have not contemplated, or are unable to express. We know that our brains react to music, yet we cannot definitively test our cognitive reactions to emotive music, simply because the areas that would be aroused in our brains during such a study could potentially be reacting to something else-to a thought, a memory, a hope, or even a fear.
Consider that perhaps ALL these theories are correct: consider that, as Hindemith theorised, the emotions are experienced, yet are not real: a sort of play-acting. This in itself could be a therapeutic outlet for an emotion hidden inside, and as much as faking a smile cheers one up, perhaps exhibiting a ‘music-emotion’ could, in fact, be a coping strategy for those unable to vent their sadness at particular life events. Consider it a bonus that these emotions are short-lived, for as quickly as you can turn off the song, you can carry on with your daily life, and with the bonus of a weight of the ‘tears and memory’ removed from your shoulders.
‘Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory’ proclaimed Oscar Wilde in 1891. Whether this covered the self-inflicted pain of listening to music to induce tears and helplessness was left unsaid. If you were in pain or discomfort, would it cross your mind to do something that would exacerbate the situation? If you stubbed your toe, would you then hobble to the toolbox to retrieve a hammer with which you could hit it, to make it hurt just that little bit more? Clearly, this would neither assist the situation, nor induce a calmness to deal with it. So, why do we do it? Why do we listen to those songs that take us to an emotional place that, given the opportunity, we would not choose to revisit in person?
Many theories regarding ‘musical expression’ exist, and the title of such research speaks volumes. Perhaps we are listening to these expressive songs as an outlet: an emotional purge. Are we unable to vent these emotions without an aid? Maybe sitting on a doorstep, listening to an emotive song is a therapeutic outlet for emotions that would otherwise remain festering inside. ‘There is no doubt that [people] can be profoundly moved by perceiving, performing, or imagining music, and consequently music must touch on something in their emotional life that brings them into this state of excitation’ states Paul Hindemith- composer and author of ‘A Composer’s World: Horizons and Limitations’- before continuing ‘but if these mental reactions were feelings, they could not change as rapidly as they do, and they would not begin and end with the musical stimulus that aroused them’. This implies that an emotional change when listening to music is not real: merely a temporary and false expression of nothing more than a reaction. ‘We often catch the emotional ambience of our environment or of those around us’ argues Stephen Davies-‘Infectious Music: Music-Listener Emotional Contagion’- and that similarly, when listening to music, the emotion exuded through the music is infectious, similar to that of a bad feeling, fear or excitement in a crowd. Is it that we feel an empathy with the artist who has written, or is singing, the song? Perhaps we find it comforting that someone else is experiencing the same pain as we are, and that person is able to express his or her feelings in a way that we are unable, thus enabling us to ‘reflect’ our emotions upon theirs? Jerrold Levinson-‘Music and Negative Emotion’-states that our emotional response to music ‘mirrors’ that of a response to a real emotional situation, yet the ‘music-emotion’ differs to a real emotion in that it is not directed at an actual object. An arguably more direct theory from Colin Radford-author of ‘Emotions and Music: A Reply to the Cognitivists’-states that ‘listening to sad music does make people sad. To deny this is itself paradoxical because it involves the cognitivist maintaining that when people say this is what happened, they are mistaken’. So, when you find yourself turning into a quivering, sobbing wreck each time you hear the rousing opening bars of that song you call ‘your song’, you could perhaps argue that the emotions are real, the moment is real, and not simply a weak, empty reaction to something that, essentially, means nothing.
Additionally, we use music to motivate ourselves; we generally listen to upbeat songs whilst we undertake physical tasks, such as vacuuming and working-out, whilst we tend to err on the side of the more down-tempo song for those evenings when we turn the lights down low and indulge in a relaxing bubble bath. Swap the genres around, and we may find that the housework takes a lot longer than anticipated, the work-out is not quite as exerting as we had hoped, and the relaxing bubble bath turns into a pre-cursor for a night out ‘on the town’.
The aforementioned theories reflect the reality that we do feel emotion in music. We listen to the lyrics and feel the beat of the song, we use it to vent our own feelings, to reflect our pain onto something that can absorb it, mix it up, and spit it back out at us using sounds and words that we have not contemplated, or are unable to express. We know that our brains react to music, yet we cannot definitively test our cognitive reactions to emotive music, simply because the areas that would be aroused in our brains during such a study could potentially be reacting to something else-to a thought, a memory, a hope, or even a fear.
Consider that perhaps ALL these theories are correct: consider that, as Hindemith theorised, the emotions are experienced, yet are not real: a sort of play-acting. This in itself could be a therapeutic outlet for an emotion hidden inside, and as much as faking a smile cheers one up, perhaps exhibiting a ‘music-emotion’ could, in fact, be a coping strategy for those unable to vent their sadness at particular life events. Consider it a bonus that these emotions are short-lived, for as quickly as you can turn off the song, you can carry on with your daily life, and with the bonus of a weight of the ‘tears and memory’ removed from your shoulders.
Friday, 12 March 2010
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Assignment 2
I have been far too busy and important to blog, due to writing the following pile of words. I am still unsure whether or not they make sense, but have submitted it for marking anyway:
A MUSICAL ROLLERCOASTER
‘Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory’ proclaimed Oscar Wilde in 1891. Whether this covers the self-inflicted pain of listening to music to induce tears and helplessness is left unsaid. Generally, when a human being is in pain or discomfort, the last thing they would consider doing is something to exacerbate the situation. If a stubbed toe were throbbing, hitting it with a hammer would neither assist the situation, nor induce a calmness to deal with it. So, why do we do it? Why do we listen to those songs that take us to an emotional place that, given the opportunity, we would not choose to revisit in person?
Many theories regarding ‘musical expression’ exist, and the title of such research speaks volumes. Perhaps we are listening to these expressive songs as an outlet: an emotional purge. Are we unable to vent these emotions without an aid? Maybe sitting on a doorstep, listening to an emotive song is a therapeutic outlet for emotions that would otherwise remain festering inside. ‘There is no doubt that [people] can be profoundly moved by perceiving, performing, or imagining music, and consequently music must touch on something in their emotional life that brings them into this state of excitation’ states Paul Hindemith- composer and author of ‘A Composer’s World: Horizons and Limitations’- before continuing ‘but if these mental reactions were feelings, they could not change as rapidly as they do, and they would not begin and end with the musical stimulus that aroused them’. This implies that an emotional change when listening to music is not real: merely a temporary and false expression of nothing more than a reaction. ‘We often catch the emotional ambience of our environment or of those around us’ argues Stephen Davies-‘Infectious Music: Music-Listener Emotional Contagion’- and that similarly, when listening to music, the emotion exuded through the music is infectious, similar to that of a bad feeling, fear or excitement in a crowd. Jerrold Levinson-‘Music and Negative Emotion’-states that our emotional response to music ‘mirrors’ that of a response to a real emotional situation, yet the ‘music-emotion’ differs to a real emotion in that it is not directed at an actual object. These theories reflect the reality that we feel emotion in music. We use it to vent our own feelings, to reflect our pain onto something that can absorb it, mix it up, and spit it back out at us using sounds and words that we had not contemplated, or were unable to express.
Consider that perhaps ALL these theories are correct: consider that, as Hindemith theorised, the emotions are experienced, yet are not real: a sort of play-acting. This in itself could be a therapeutic outlet for an emotion hidden inside, and as much as faking a smile cheers one up, perhaps exhibiting a ‘music-emotion’ could, in fact, be a coping strategy for those unable to vent their sadness at particular life events. Consider it a bonus that these emotions are short-lived, for as quickly as you can turn off the song, you can carry on with your daily life, and with the bonus of a weight of ‘tears and memory’ removed from your shoulders.
------------------------------------------
There are references here re quoted research, but they don't like being copied and pasted.
Wibble.
PS. I am soooooo not in Broomgrove Road.
A MUSICAL ROLLERCOASTER
‘Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memory’ proclaimed Oscar Wilde in 1891. Whether this covers the self-inflicted pain of listening to music to induce tears and helplessness is left unsaid. Generally, when a human being is in pain or discomfort, the last thing they would consider doing is something to exacerbate the situation. If a stubbed toe were throbbing, hitting it with a hammer would neither assist the situation, nor induce a calmness to deal with it. So, why do we do it? Why do we listen to those songs that take us to an emotional place that, given the opportunity, we would not choose to revisit in person?
Many theories regarding ‘musical expression’ exist, and the title of such research speaks volumes. Perhaps we are listening to these expressive songs as an outlet: an emotional purge. Are we unable to vent these emotions without an aid? Maybe sitting on a doorstep, listening to an emotive song is a therapeutic outlet for emotions that would otherwise remain festering inside. ‘There is no doubt that [people] can be profoundly moved by perceiving, performing, or imagining music, and consequently music must touch on something in their emotional life that brings them into this state of excitation’ states Paul Hindemith- composer and author of ‘A Composer’s World: Horizons and Limitations’- before continuing ‘but if these mental reactions were feelings, they could not change as rapidly as they do, and they would not begin and end with the musical stimulus that aroused them’. This implies that an emotional change when listening to music is not real: merely a temporary and false expression of nothing more than a reaction. ‘We often catch the emotional ambience of our environment or of those around us’ argues Stephen Davies-‘Infectious Music: Music-Listener Emotional Contagion’- and that similarly, when listening to music, the emotion exuded through the music is infectious, similar to that of a bad feeling, fear or excitement in a crowd. Jerrold Levinson-‘Music and Negative Emotion’-states that our emotional response to music ‘mirrors’ that of a response to a real emotional situation, yet the ‘music-emotion’ differs to a real emotion in that it is not directed at an actual object. These theories reflect the reality that we feel emotion in music. We use it to vent our own feelings, to reflect our pain onto something that can absorb it, mix it up, and spit it back out at us using sounds and words that we had not contemplated, or were unable to express.
Consider that perhaps ALL these theories are correct: consider that, as Hindemith theorised, the emotions are experienced, yet are not real: a sort of play-acting. This in itself could be a therapeutic outlet for an emotion hidden inside, and as much as faking a smile cheers one up, perhaps exhibiting a ‘music-emotion’ could, in fact, be a coping strategy for those unable to vent their sadness at particular life events. Consider it a bonus that these emotions are short-lived, for as quickly as you can turn off the song, you can carry on with your daily life, and with the bonus of a weight of ‘tears and memory’ removed from your shoulders.
------------------------------------------
There are references here re quoted research, but they don't like being copied and pasted.
Wibble.
PS. I am soooooo not in Broomgrove Road.
Friday, 5 March 2010
Thursday, 4 March 2010
Stalking
I have email stalked the agent again. At the end of this post I shall extend the ellipse to indicate the number of years I expect to wait until I receive a reply. Cynic? Me? Here goes.....................................................................I think I will have received a telegraph from the Queen by this time.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Deep, dark depths
I have inadvertently found myself wading through the depths of music psychology research. I'm not sure whether to keep wading, or make things up.
Pet hate of the day...none.
Funniest thing said today (by myself-how arrogant);
Sergeant-'I don't think I'd want to eat cannabis'
Me-'Why don't you lick the grinder out?'
Pause for comic effect
'That's not my nickname, by the way'.
Oh, I'm wasted in custody.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Research
I have not yet decided whether or not research is fun. This is because I cannot find any studies on why people listen to sad music when they are feeling sad already. Possibly a rather narrow area to research, but important nonetheless. I wonder whether a survey of my Facebook friends would provide me with a vast enough cross section of society to merit a definition of 'research', as opposed to 'casual and enforced questioning of like-minded people'. Hmmmmm. Quandary.
Monday, 1 March 2010
Selling my soul
I feel dejected and almost rejected, due to crazy agent ignoring me for 3 months. I am fully aware that it is wrong to stalk people, but I am sorely tempted. Why ask for a full manuscript if not prepared to say yay or nay? I am comforted with the suspicion that aforementioned agent was so excited (not sexually) by my submission that he has suffered a heart attack, and is currently planning his escape from ITU. I might email him again...
Saturday, 27 February 2010
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Being upset
I am upset that when I update this very blog via the medium of email, I keep forgetting to delete my name that automatically appears at the bottom. This is almost as annoying as when people insist upon putting their name at the end of a text, despite knowing that I know their number. Please forgive me.
Magazines
Having read lots of magazines, I have now concluded that they are all shit. What I actually need to do is write a magazine containing only articles that interest me. It wouldn't make much money, but that's not the be all and end all, is it?
Karina
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Assignment 1
Oh, the joys of shift work. I suspect that there are not many jobs in which one can work on an assignment whilst at work. Perhaps I should be thanking my lucky stars? Anyhoo, here is part of it. The brief was to write about an event, fête, fair, place of historical interest etc, observe people's behaviour, then pen 300-500 words about it. Here is my offering:
The generously sized school hall has the ambience of a chicken coop. The smell of crowd-induced sweat hangs in the air, and the shrill sound of spoilt children almost pierces the eardrums. Teachers, forced to raise money for the school fund, are standing behind various stalls, attempting to sell overcooked cakes and handmade toilet roll covers, whilst ensuring that pseudo-contented smiles remain fixed on their faces throughout. The stall with the longest queue is, coincidentally, the one that houses boxes and boxes of pre-packaged sweets, complete with E numbers galore. Children are behaving like wild animals: pushing, biting, screaming, in an effort to gain their fix.
Parents are making regular bids for freedom, and you can see hope light in their eyes as they reach the door, only to be pulled back by a tiny hand attached to a chocolate fuelled child, who wants more, more, more. The bouncy castle in the playground has seen better days, and parents are surrounding it, struggling to remove shoes from over-excited children, and then battling to replace them when the allotted bouncing time is over. Bribery appears to be the only hope of escape, and the promises of a take-away tea or a longer visit to the school fete next term mingle amongst the screams of the frustrated.
I wonder whether perhaps I will re-visit next term, and hope that my usually well-behaved children are selfless enough to accept that five minutes at such an event is, in fact, more than enough. I recall the occasions when I have been relieved that I am working, and thus could not attend, then the ensuing guilt that I felt relief about not attending an event so desired by my offspring. I would do almost anything to put smiles upon their faces, but the school fete is pushing the limits of my patience, and just a tiny step too far.
The generously sized school hall has the ambience of a chicken coop. The smell of crowd-induced sweat hangs in the air, and the shrill sound of spoilt children almost pierces the eardrums. Teachers, forced to raise money for the school fund, are standing behind various stalls, attempting to sell overcooked cakes and handmade toilet roll covers, whilst ensuring that pseudo-contented smiles remain fixed on their faces throughout. The stall with the longest queue is, coincidentally, the one that houses boxes and boxes of pre-packaged sweets, complete with E numbers galore. Children are behaving like wild animals: pushing, biting, screaming, in an effort to gain their fix.
Parents are making regular bids for freedom, and you can see hope light in their eyes as they reach the door, only to be pulled back by a tiny hand attached to a chocolate fuelled child, who wants more, more, more. The bouncy castle in the playground has seen better days, and parents are surrounding it, struggling to remove shoes from over-excited children, and then battling to replace them when the allotted bouncing time is over. Bribery appears to be the only hope of escape, and the promises of a take-away tea or a longer visit to the school fete next term mingle amongst the screams of the frustrated.
I wonder whether perhaps I will re-visit next term, and hope that my usually well-behaved children are selfless enough to accept that five minutes at such an event is, in fact, more than enough. I recall the occasions when I have been relieved that I am working, and thus could not attend, then the ensuing guilt that I felt relief about not attending an event so desired by my offspring. I would do almost anything to put smiles upon their faces, but the school fete is pushing the limits of my patience, and just a tiny step too far.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
Susan from That's Life magazine has kindly suggested the following:
Thanks so much for your email - and what a tricky situation you are in! You obviously feel caught between wanting to tell your neighbour to back off, and wanting to maintain the friendship and the support system you've built up between you.
Like you, I don't think the answer is simply to laugh the whole thing off and pretend it's not happening. That's possibly the right way forward when it comes to your neighbour's flirty behaviour - but she is also criticising your husband, and that's very serious indeed. So while what she's doing may be entirely innocent - just an attempt to bring you closer as friends rather than as lovers - I do think you ought to challenge it.
How can you challenge? You say you don't want to offend your neighbour - but I think that in an attempt not to offend, you may be acting too softly softly. Especially in Britain where we are encouraged not to let our feelings show, we can tend to hide our emotions much too much - so that people never reaslise we object to something that's happening. When others say or do outrageous things we may feel uncomfortable or irritated, but we smile and nod - in an attempt to hide the irritation - and then our smiles and nods give the unhelpful message that we don't mind what's happening and don't want it to stop.
The upside of all this, though, is that because Brits don't normally cause a fuss, it will only take a slight objection on your part for your neighbour to get the message. Here are some examples of gentle but firm messages that you don't like what's happening - maybe you can think of more for yourself.
- flinch next time she grabs you
- frown and say 'that seems too personal to me' next time she offers to tumble dry your laundry
- shake your head and say 'I love my husband very much and he's not a ne'er do well' next time she criticises him
You won't need to throw a temper tantrum or get upset to make your point. You probably won't even need to say very much. A clear body language sign that you are not happy (frown, flinch, shaking your head, wrinkling your nose, grimacing) will almost certainly make your neighbour realise she needs to back off .
If she doesn't realise, of course, then you need to say it more clearly - sit down and have a heart to heart. But I think you're very far from that point - if you act immediately, I think you can nip things in the bud. So start today, and hope she gets the message!
Hugs
Susan
Oh, Susan, if only it were that easy. I am tempted to reply with the following:
Dear Susan,
Thank you for your reply and advice. However, I fear it is too late, for last Tuesday my neighbour invited me over for a seasonal coffee, then leant in for a kiss.
Regards.
Monday, 8 February 2010
The rat race
I am so utterly frustrated with my job, that I have been planning my escape for a vast amount of the 8.5 hours of my shift. Plan A is to make my money writing porn, how difficult can it be? A few choice adjectives, a variety of verbs and I'll be halfway there. I have calculated that I would only have to write (and have published) 20 short, erotic stories a month to bring in a decent income. Super. Alternatively, I could just look for a different job, whilst still focusing on my dream. I can do it. I will make it. Will I?
PS. I didn't see The Gimp today, however, I did happen upon a variety of massive cocks. And not the erotic type.
PS. I didn't see The Gimp today, however, I did happen upon a variety of massive cocks. And not the erotic type.
Saturday, 6 February 2010
Day one...
£5,000,000... that's all I need. A rather modest sum of money, I believe. That's all I require to remove myself from the increasingly frustrating dictatorship of my current employment. All I have ever wanted to do is write; from a rather naive eight-year-old who predicted a life of writing birthday card poetry, to the unpublished novel-writing thirty-one-year old that I am today, it has always been a dream. I am bizarrely proud of 'We Are Disturbed', as it made it to the heady heights of Waterstones' shelves, yet it didn't sell too well; the vision of the pulverised, unsold copies are enough to make me cringe. That's enough for now; it's 2am, and although I have so much more to say, it's nothing that can't wait until the morning.
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