19 05 2008

There’s a skincare advert circulating on TV at the moment, which starts with the line “too busy to breathe?“, and then proceeds to sell thousands of women a miracle sludge for their kebab/tartrazine induced pallor. Now, if I ever needed a reason to not buy into the marketing gimmick this would be it; if I ever doubted that advertising creates, rather than satisfies need, then this would be it. Today, though, I am too busy to breathe. I am surrounded by a wall of large packing boxes and I can’t seem to pick one thing up without ten other things falling down around my ears. I am living in a veritable house of cards. 


I composed this letter on Friday:


Dear Dentist

Thank you for charging me £46 to poke around in my mouth and stab my gums with a sharp pointy instrument. The whole seven minutes it took was worth it. I enjoyed sitting in your pristine waiting room, but please stop playing James Blunt, he’s nasally – might be a job for you in there, maybe his teeth are bucked. 

Have a nice weekend, dining out on my cold cash.

Big kiss

– My shiny teeth 


I’ve nothing to write on Dirty, Sexy, Money because I’m such a doofus I can’t read the Radio Times website and I thought it was on at 10pm not 9, so I’ll have to wait for Donald until the repeat tomorrow, but you know, he’s worth it (Loreal, don’t sue me, they’re just words, and I know you don’t really exist, you’re just a 2D figment on my television screen, created by the Big Wheel o’ Marketing Power). As for Britain’s Got Talent – pah! Same old, same old. All the audience wants to see is a modern day George Formby. Some catchy, jingle jangle nonsense that appeals to screaming women in the audience. Did you see the way they went wild just because a man slapped his booty on stage? A sudden movement and they’re reeled in, wide awake, and the valium has suddenly worn off. I’m quite sure I saw a woman this week who flashed her midriff at the stage; I’m not kidding, she lifted up her top and flashed her stomach. How cheap! Anyway, I think Amanda Holden’s the one with the real talent. Is she acting every week? How can she force out those tears every time a child comes on stage, trailing their snotty hankies, with onion juice still in their eyes, dripped from ever hopeful parents? She must be feigning interest, she must be!  




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