98 %

.…of everything is crap

I vaguely remember this maxim being uttered by some real person in the cold light of day of this harsh realm we find ourselves in.
Or perhaps I was the only one who heard it reverberate through my septan cranium during one of the many chemically induced stupors I used to call Friday night, or Tuesday afternoon.
Regardless, someone, somewhere has said it and if they haven’t, they should have, for it is true.

This theorem is easy to prove.
No doubt, you will all nod your wise and recently washed heads in silent agreement when I say that for every ‘One, by U2’ and ‘One headlight, by the Wallflowers’ one will be tormented by 98 “Achy Breaky Hearts, by Pretentious MulletHead” or similar auditory offense against good taste and common decency.
Likewise one can, without even trying, point at 98 heinous and horrific visual infestations of the ether, disguised in the innocuous sounding euphemism ’television programming’, such as; Dancing with the tarts, American Dilhole and The News, before one, exhausted and delirious, can state that Shooting Stars and Fawlty Towers are well worth watching.
However, like all good rules there is an exception to this one and that is, of course, people talking on their mobile telephones (usually loudly) in public.
Of every one hundred ‘conversations’ that are forced into my immaculate and well-shaped ear exactly zero are of any interest to me whatsoever.
I’ll admit that I may be a wee more punctilious than the average citizen.
I’ll even grant you, perplexed reader, that I hover towards fastidiousness.
Oh sod it! All right,I’ll admit it;I am a cantankerous old fuck,but when is the last time you overheard anyone saying anything remotely interesting on their wireless monstrosity?

“We have just landed and we are almost at the gate”, “ And, like, she was, like, uh, oh no you didn’t, and I was, like, Whatever!”, “ dude, wassup ?”, “fo-shizzle, ganizzle I’s be out the dos, hos”.

Aren’t we lucky that we have satellites orbiting our troubled blue sphere that are linked up just so that we can,with digital clarity, send to and fro these important, beautiful and wise communications?

About every 5 years another alien spacecraft carrying inhabitants from some distant galaxy comes a-speeding towards Earth, eager to meet the creatures that hurl these millions of strangely coded messages into the universe.
However, when they come close enough to hear what we are actually saying, they invariably shake their over-sized heads and mutter, disappointed and slightly pissed-off;
“Dude, that’s one lame-ass species. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”