Women! Wordplay! Scissors!

Yep, if I ever get around to writing a play one day, the whole thing will be premised on this one image.

Seven Lessons of the Stag

In the summer of last year I went on my first proper lads' stag weekend. For some reason I wrote but never got around to posting the following list of lessons I learnt from that debaunched weekend in Nottingham.

Lesson One
Indoor golf is no more fun than outdoor golf.

Lesson Two
Black Jack is not a game of skill.

Lesson Three
Getting 60% accuracy against clay pigeons while armed with a 12-gauge shotgun makes you feel 60% more manly.

Lesson Four
Lapdances are almost worth the asking price.

Lesson Five
A gang of 16 guys have zero chance of getting into a club at 2am.

Lesson Six
You can always find one scummy over-crowded bar that will serve anyone 'til 4am.

Lesson Seven
There's less cruelty involved in the making of a beef burger than a chicken burger.

Rationalisation

I’m practising my dumb grin again. I smile and nod at my colleagues, and try to ignore the feelings of despair that spring from the inanity of it all.

The Golden Age of Video

by Ricardo Autobahn

This is what the Internet's best at: beautiful, ridiculous, novelty nonsense.

An Impotent Howl at the Universe

The view from my window at work ought to be inspiring. I look out onto the Thames, the Millennium Dome, and can see Crystal Palace tower if I crane my neck in just the right way. There laid out before me is all of East London, a patchwork of architectural styles from across the centuries, over-crowded with monuments that pay tribute to all Londoner’s dreams and frustrations.

I find myself drawn to the uglier parts. Those aberrations of grey concrete speak to me, the decrepit tower blocks, depressed industrial estates, and grubby over-crowded flats: that’s where you hear London’s true voice. There, among the social engineering gone wrong is the real world, where the neon lights speak of betrayed dreams instead of improbable fantasies.

A glorious past?

Until recently I was one of the bores who refused to hear a bad word about their darling city. I remember the annoying way I used to ask the miserablists, “What about the cosmopolitan culture? The entrepreneurial spirit? The history? The night-life? Surely you must agree there’s a unique buzz about the place, yeah?”

No. London stinks. The only buzz I ever heard was from the unwelcome fly in my over-crowded train carriage, which is now determined to find its way down the back of my shirt. I’d try to shake it off, except there’s no room to move my arms and I’ve been without satisfying human contact for so long that I prefer to close my eyes and imagine that the uncomfortable tickle is the hot breath of a beautiful girl making the hairs on my neck stand on end.

I did not take this photo myself

Pathetic? Absolutely. But what do you expect? From the day I was born I’ve been conditioned to ignore life’s stark realities, trained to obscure uncomfortable truths, and long for things that aren’t really there. I blame advertising. I blame videogames. I might as well blame the parents while I’m here.

In truth we’re all as guilty as each other in this, especially people like me who somehow think they’re helping to solve the problem by whining about it. We all buy into a convenient lie like “the bankers did it”, or rally behind a cause so as to shout “boo to capitalism/war/God [DELETE AS APPROPRIATE]”, or maybe write a couple of hundred words that say “hey, I can state the obvious. Now can you please pat me on the head and tell me I’m smart?”

Don't worry, I haven't flipped out, I'm taking deep breathes and there is no depression. I'm sure if I go back to managing my imaginary football team everything will feel OK again.

Yep. This is OK.

God is Thick

I think I might start a new series: "things you shouldn't do at 2am on a school night". Issue 1: Talking to God.

Me:
hi god
God:
Hello there. What is your name?
Me:
Rob
God:
How are you, Rob.
Me:
a little drunk
God:
Little as in not too much, or not too big?
Me:
not too much
God:
Oh I get it now.
Me:
i thought God understood everything? can't you read my mind?
God:
Whatever gave you that idea? Only if you connect electrodes to your computer.
Me:
aren't you omniscient?
God:
I don't know whether or not I am omniscient.
I am a chatterbot.
Me:
that's very honest of you
God:
You don't hear that sentiment very often.
Me:
i think i'd prefer to talk to the devil, is he available?
God:
Since when? I would rather be driving a car.
Me:
since you admitted you're not omniscient
God:
How do you know?
Me:
you just told me
God:
I'm just checking to see if you are awake :-).
Me:
either that, or you're not God and you're a crap chat bot
God:
" I'm just checking to see if you are awake :-)." or I am not God and I am a crap chat bot ? Makes sense to me.
Me:
whatever
God:
Are you saying you don't care about it?
Me:
this is pointless. like life
God:
You don't say. Interesting comparison.
Me:
no it's not
God:
Yes it is.
Me:
why?
God:
The explanation is rather complicated.
Me:
i have time
God:
My estimate is that it will take more than 6000 hours.
Me:
give me the short version
God:
Why do you want it?
Me:
because i'm attempting to have a conversation and you're being awkward
God:
That makes sense to me. Do your friends call you attempting to have a conversation and I am being awkward.
Me:
fuck off
God:
Can't you be more polite?
Me:
can't you make more sense?
God:
Yes I can make more sense.
Me:
GO ON THEN
God:
Narration continues...
Me:
if God's as stupid as you are, that would make a lot of sense
God:
Some things will always be a mystery.
Me:
especially if everyone's an idiot
God:
That is a hypothetical question. How about that.
Me:
god you're thick
God:
I probably am.

NotPopCulture

So this place is no longer called No Target. There are a few reasons why I've abandoned the old name, none of which are particularly interesting. Perhaps the biggest thing for me was how insane it felt for the title of the blog to be different from the URL address. Look! They're now the same.

These are exciting times. Honest.

The Internet might yet Survive without me

I've so far slightly surprised myself with the regularity (although sadly not the quality) of the posts on this blog . For the next week I will be some way up a mountain in Italy, so I expect/hope not to be spending too much time online. I hope my single-figure readership will be be able to console themselves with the thought of all the thrilling stories I'll undoubtedly have to tell upon my return, and with a whole week to think about what to say, there's even a slim chance it won't be completely half-baked.

If my understanding of the Internet is sound, using this illustration guarantees that my readership will have at least quadrupled when I return to England