Ok, I admit it, I’ve been dabbling in the world of online dating. It’s been an interesting and, occasionally, eye-opening experience.
Earlier today, I was looking through a few online dating profiles and the following irritating phrase came up several times:
“I’m a lil like marmite – you either love me or hate me.”
Ah, ok, so you’re not a “lil like marmite” because you’re thick, pasty and smell like shit? Why include such an inappropriate and over-used slogan in your profile? If you do include one, at least use something interesting, like:
- “I’m like Gillette – the best a man can get”
- “I’m a bit like your MasterCard – I’m your flexible friend”
- “I’m a bit like Kelloggs Frosties… I’m grrrrrreat!”
Are you addicted to Facebook – the social media website? Do you find yourself logging on whilst at work, at home in bed, on the toilet and in the bath?
Following on from my popular article, The Self-Importance of Facebook & Twitter, I aim to find out just how addicted to social media you are, using this simple story test.
Select the options that best apply to you…
1. It is 8am on Monday morning and you wake up feeling weary, having ended a late-night Facebook Poker game at 5am. You lost $8,456,947 to a guy named ‘Billy J‘, who you’ve never met (it’s a good job the money isn’t real). You stare are your alarm clock in disbelief – in 10 minutes the bus leaves for work. Which of these best applies to you?
- You get dressed quickly, grab a piece of toast and scamper to the bus stop, with your shoes on the wrong feet and your underwear sticking out of your trousers.
- You log straight on to Facebook to check your messages and your poker balance (hey, they give you $10 worth of chips just for logging on, reducing your balance to -$8,456,937). You then post a message onto your boss’s wall to say that you’re going to be late for work (he’ll forgive you because you can get him into trouble with his wife by tagging him in those ‘Christmas office party’ photos from last year, where he was caught in a compromising position with Angela from Accounts)
Having read the Timewaster Letters, by Robin Cooper (a brilliant book – do buy a copy), I have been inspired to write and send a few humorous letters of my own. These letters will form the Pointless Letters section of my website.
Before Christmas, I sent this letter to the Executive Director of WAZA – the World Association of Zoos and Aquariums – to ask for some help with an event that I was planning. As yet, no correspondance has been received from them (why not, for goodness sake?).
You know what? Snow reminds me of a distant Auntie’s visit on Christmas Day. Everything seems very pleasant and enjoyable for the first 5 minutes and the children enjoy playing with her. But then you realise that she hasn’t really brought anything nice with her. She then overstays her welcome, irritates you to the point of hatred and gives you a frosty reception when you attempt to reshape her into a man.
Still, at least you can rely on teenagers to provide a smile in the snowy weather. I don’t know about you, but I feel positive that the future of our country will be safe in the hands of our young folk; particularly the ‘sensible ones’ who walk around in the bitter cold wearing t-shirts (or hoodies) and writing “amusing” messages on the front of parked cars. I watch them walk down the road, hoping that at some point they might slip over and impale themselves on a fence post. Should it happen, I intend to nip out and transcribe the word “twat!” in the pool of blood lying next to them. Hey, I may even draw a little picture.
So, you’ve just finished watching the lunchtime news on the television. The economy continues to struggle, there are concerns about terrorists wearing explosive underpants and snow is on the way. For some reason, the first two things don’t worry you (even though you’re due to fly to Manchester next week to take part in an episode of Mastermind, in which, incidentally, your specialist subject will be ‘Insect Secretions’). However, the mention of snow is a serious concern.
Worried by what you’ve heard, you switch on the weather forecast and, within seconds, it comes up with a no-nonsense summary of what is to come: Severe Weather Warning: Heavy Snow. You go into a momentary state of shock and, for a split second, the weather forecaster transforms into the Grim Reaper and points his scythe at you. Sensing the need for urgency, you make a quick decision: It’s time to panic in a way that only British people can… *begin Benny Hill music* Continue reading