Socks Tucked Over Trousers.

Some things are unacceptable. Blatant outright homophobia is one, Jan Moir is another, although you could call those two slightly potato potato* (Ouch, he didn't). Genocide is yet another. I could go on for a long time about how many unacceptable things there are. Really, I mean, there are so many things in this pretty little world of ours that are unacceptable, it defies belief. Lots and lots. Many many. To demonstrate, think of all the things you can do right now, sitting/standing/lying/urinating wherever you are. It's not a massively drawn out list is it? It might well go something like this:

-Continue reading
-Stop reading
-Stand up
-Sit down
-Lie down
-Urinate

And you can't even do all of them- the first two contradict each other, and we've established you're already doing one of the latter. So that's, what, four options for your one choice**. Now think of all the things you can't be doing:

-Riding a bike (if you are, seriously, look up lunatic, this blog has caused enough trouble without your death on its admittedly moderately proportioned conscience).
-Being on a plane (again, if you are I'm going to have to play flight attendant's pet and remind you that internet usage is strictly prohibited, unless you want your captain's instruments to be giving him the impression that he's making an immediate approach on North Korean air territory. Which isn't really fair on him, now is it? Oh and for the record, I would be a flight attendant's pet any day, they are in general to use the technical term "Hot pieces").
-Slaying a badger with your bare hands (yet on this occasion if you are, I can only applaud you for such prestidigitation. Look it up. Although bad form on killing the tiny black and white horses).

The list could and will go on, as, happily for you, I have decided to dedicate this particular post to things perceived by the supreme moral arbiter of life (moi, myself and me and I) to be entirely, wholly and loathsomely unacceptable. Without further ado, well, yes, without further ado. Usually I'd finish a sentence begun by "without further ado" with, ahhm, a fair amount of ado. Very eloquent and sophisticated ado, admittedly, but still ado. Just glad that this time I've risen all above that and am getting to the point immediately. You can trust me that today I'll cut the shit and talk turkey. Well, do you want to know what Turkeys say? Gobble gobble gobble. Clever old Turkeys.

1) Penis jokes. They're coming thick and thin these days... Seriously though, nothing with a bit of unnecessary obscenity every now and again, and occasional childishness can just be good fun and endearing, but there's a word for people who expand childishness to perpetuate every moment of their day: children. I tire of being woken up by the sound of cock, and I only wish it would be of the doodle-doo sort.

2) Marmite. What even is Marmite? Is it some form of hellish black squelched misery coerced into occupying a jar that is entirely pointless, as the Marmite will seize without fail every chance to escape it's restraints, and will accompanied at every turn by it's lingering pong? Yes. Yes it is. Stop it right now.

3) Damn bitches who say my blog uses to many long words and doesn't make sense. I try really hard to moderate my language, I'll have you know. I spend hours minutes ages editing out my more extravagant terminology and bizarre sentence structures, not to mention the hours minutes length of time I spend writing the stuff in the first place, and all for you. And yes, this entire post was a subterfuge to conceal in its ranks this paragraph, to prevent seeming like the only thing I ever talk about on my blog is my blog. And I hope you've noticed how much effort I've put in to making this one vaguely legible, and if you haven't, well then I really hope you've regretted the last few minutes you've spent "deciphering"*** and have thoroughly detested every second, and that you fall into a giant salt grinder. And get grinded. Ground. No, grinded, grinded sounds more vicious. Do you want to know what the real message of this whole thing is?

There are lots of things in this world that are unacceptable, so many it makes your head hurt counting. And when people say "You always have a choice", they're lying, because you never have a choice and if it so happens that you do, the choice will be negligible. Unimportant. Trivial. Potato Potato, without even pronouncing the second potato differently. And I will continue listing things that you can't do in order to restrict your personal freedom, and I will continue using indecipherable language, because to all intents and purposes I cannot presume to impart to you how sincerely that brings an overwhelming potential for resonating schadenfreude throughout every particle of my being. Basically I'm a fairly happy person and will continue to delight in your suffering. Good day.


*I appreciate that the saying potato potato doesn't really work written down. But actually when you think about it, it sort of makes the point even clearer.
**I should point out I get really worked up when people say "You have one/two/no choice/s". You have one choice, and one/two/no options. What? I'd rather be a grammar nazi than a grammar Jew.
***Deciphering, I mean, really. The cheek of some people. Try living in my head, go on try it, and then tell me this stuff isn't deciphered. Actually, after the impression you've given me, you can fuck off, you're not having my brain. And by the sounds you probably wouldn't want it. Get scurvy, in the face.