While not being able to sleep recently, I often find myself glued to my plasma screen at late nights watching silly late night call in game shows. These shows always consist of a wannabe weather girl who either didn't meet the BBC standards (Big Boobies Criteria) or not dish out enough blowjobs to channel executives. These cut price honeys are often just meandering around in a cheap H&M dress, talking to a bunch of sozzled Northerners on the air about their NIGHT!!! while charging them 1.50 per minute. I thought Babestation was bad enough, but least with Babestation your get to see their fake circus boobs.
Upon viewing these moronic shows, I have noticed that; no one ever wins these late night call in game shows. Even the little kiddies can't even get a break om Blue Peter! Amusingly, as one angry parent put it, that BP has more control on their competition call in lines then the Chinese government has on their internet lines and they also have the magical power to make kids lie on live tv... Awesome! I love it when single mums harass TV shows. When that happens producers know they have hit a new low, and not in terms of viewers. However I would lie if Konnie Huq looked like this on air and not just for FHM. (Growl)
It has however become very obvious to me that the greatest hypnotist in the world is that black rectangular box inside everyone's living room. Therefore if Rupert Murdock is going to hypnotize me I at least want some kick backs like Peter Mendleson. Hence I have swapped the crack-like addiction of late night game shows for doing stock research and the Discovery Channel... and snap up some MU shares while they're cheap.
As is always, the Discovery Channel continues to bring to my attention that men were the leaders in the early ages of man. I particularly enjoy the whole idea that a good sense of natural instincts, physical awareness and a spear to hunt food meant that you would sleep with cave girl equivalent of Paris Hilton during that period. And the more I look around as Dr Samsung hynotises me with his High-Def screen of wonders, I start to notice that more and more men are losing the ability to lead. Could it be the scary concrete jungle we now call home or the fact that more and more women are going to Charlie Angles boot camps where the learn to use their feminine abilities to crush our manhood. But as is the case, man invents some instrument or tool to solve his problems.
The very next day, after my lengthly midnight ordeal with the television, I had to meet a friend for lunch at Nottinghill in a unfamiliar restaurant called "Ottolenghi". I have always liked Nottinghill. The area is not to corporate and, unlike Hackney, you don't have bullets whizzing past your ears. However, whenever I usually go to places where the plate’s alone costs more then the house I was born in, I tend to adopt the "Notting Please" attitude. But that's not saying much as a ford escort costs more then the house I was born in. But what I expected from this high price menu is not what I received. Cold food, small portions and over priced to boot. As my girlfriend took me to the restaurant, I played the role of the blind man and she played the role of golden retriever. Totally out of my element, I had no idea where the hell I was. With the combination of bad food and price I ejected out of my seat quicker then a Volvo crash test dummy.
And it became obvious to me that the new concrete jungle I call home, that I was now lost in. And being the man I am, I have too much pride to ask for directions ... especially from women (females reading may think that this is silly but every man reading will sympathize). I might as well give them my genitals on a silver platter. Time was ticking and I had to meet another friend at Kings Cross Station for coffee and there were no stars to help me navigate my way to Bayswater station. Galileo would be turning in his grave around about now. During times of a great distress man puts his hands on his waists, lets out a sigh and waits for that solution to arise to him. Although for my solution to this problem to come to me I needed a spark. And that spark was a petite Eastern European blonde asking me for directions to Bayswater station. And while explaining to her that I was lost as well and trying to get there myself, just like the big bang my supreme brain gave me the solution to my and Mini Pavova's problem. In went my hand into my pocket and out came my blackberry. And being an Orange Business user Senor Blackberry was equipped like Rambo and had unlimited GPS! Thus I got to where I needed to be, and -for a brief moment- I looked like Jason Bourne to a cute stranger!
The point being, we made technology to serve and assist our lives. Not to be digital child minders. It was cool that I had my Blackberry to hand, but what if I didn't? I would probably still be lost in Notting Hill now! Man made tools to overcome problems and inconveniences in life. But it wasn't about when adam and eve existed. By all means cool gadgets for the win. Just don't let them own you. The plus side of having cute girls wonder at your command of the side streets of where you live and making your career dreams come fruition, or you'll be trying to win back your job seeker's allowance on a late night quiz channel so you can call into Babestation for the forth time in a day. Embrace technology to a degree however don’t spoil it by exploding over the keypad.
main feature editor :Shez Bokhari
supporting editor: Liam Farrel
