Monday, May 31, 2004

The death of Reality TV

There was a debate on the radio today, the gist of which was that we are all bored to tears with Big Brother, and that Reality TV has had its day.

I can't agree. The problem with Reality TV is that it is not real. Each version of Big Brother, for instance, is a completely contrived exercise, ergo we find the whole thing as dull as a dead dog.

If any TV producers are reading this then take note: what we want is real excitement, and if I can be modest, I have devised the ultimate reality TV show.

Called simply REAL, it would feature eight contestants living their normal lives over seven weeks but on camera. Each week, a terrible fate would befall one of them.

The format needs some fine tuning but for the working draft I am suggesting that week one would see a contestant violently mugged, week two would see a contestant run down by a car or light van, week three a contestant's house would be burned down, week four a contestant would be raped (male or female because I don't want a sexist charge to be levelled at me) week five would see a member of a contestant's family kidnapped, week six would see a contestant being wrongly imprisoned for child sex crimes, and then with just two contestants left, week seven would involve one of them being bloodily murdered in their own home.

I envisage some legal problems but just think of the viewing figures, especially in the final week with both contestants knowing that one of them would be dead by the end of the show.

Another small detail to be finalised is the prize, because I just can't make up my mind, and would like your help. Originally, I thought £1million for going through such an ordeal, and then I thought bugger it they should get nothing, their prize is to be the only one not to be traumatised or dead. All suggestions welcome.

Copyright Spluttermonkey Productions May 2004.

Sunday, May 30, 2004

Legal action will follow

I demand a recount.

The day I scooped the jackpot

There were extenuating circumstances for the non-appearance of this blog yesterday. The main one being that I drank wine all day and couldn't be arsed.

I was drinking wine to celebrate winning the triple rollover lottery. I felt lucky when I woke up. I always feel lucky when I wake up. One day I won't wake up and I can only see things going downhill after that.

A quick cup of coffee later and I was down the newsagents with 200 or so other deluded souls, who didn't realise they were in the presence of the winner, and who were needlessly lining mine and Camelot's coffers with their hard-earned.

The excitement of being a multi-millionaire overtook me and eventually so did the wine. The result being that I haven't yet checked my numbers but I see that as purely a formality.

I'm very busy next week so not sure when I will be able to pick up my cheque. I could try to squeeze it in on thursday afternoon I suppose.

Friday, May 28, 2004

Blogs and logs

When a tree falls in the forest and there is no-one around does it make a sound?

When a blog is written and no-one reads it has it been published?

Thursday, May 27, 2004

Earliest memory

Someone asked me at work today what my earliest memory was. A good question. I couldn't remember where I parked my car two hours earlier, what I had for breakfast, or what day it was yesterday, but I clearly remember my mother changing my nappy.

And before you ask I wasn't 26 at the time but about 1 or 2.

We came home from a shopping trip and she layed me on the floor while she lit the fire. This she did by putting on paper, kindling, coal, and then after she applied the match, a big handful of sugar, which made the flames leap upwards.

She then changed my nappy. Can't remember whether I had done a No1 or a No2 though.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Road rage

We all have something to say about road rage: in my case, after today, it is sorry, sorry, sorry!

I am sorry for all the shouting, I am sorry for all the swearing, and I am sorry for all the rude gesticulations at the incompetent, infirm and inhibited motorists who have remained stationary in front of me over the years at traffic lights despite blindingly green filter arrows lighting up the sky.

Today, while hopelessly lost in Cambridge I not only remained stationary while presented with one of the aforementioned green filter arrows, but I remained impervious to the beeping of fellow motorists and the remonstrations of my passenger.

I only became aware of my incompetence when an irate cyclist finally began banging repeatedly on the back window of my car in frustration.

My shame was such I drove at 30mph all the way home on the M11.

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Why is nothing too good for you?

Alcohol, caffeine, cars, chips, chocolate, cigarettes, computers, drugs, milk, microwaves, pies, pizza, speed, sunshine, television. Why is it that all the good things in life are bad for you? Even sex can have nasty side effects like gonorrhea and babies.

In fact I can't think of many bad things which are bad for you once you take violence and sex crimes out of the mix. There are no bad things, there are just good things, lots of tempting, life-threatening things that you aren't supposed to eat/commit/watch or put into yours or anyone else's orifices.

What good things are good for me? Sport is ok but I'd rather have a pie dinner and both seem equally responsible for heart attacks. Going for regular walks is recommended by the government but all walks end at the pub or the off-licence, both strictly off-limits.

I want some research body to tell me to stop doing something because otherwise I will be in a permanent state of euphoria, and will never grow old or get sick. There must be something that is too good for me apart from the Piranha, and that's only according to her mother. She doesn't have any conclusive scientific proof, although I suspect she might be right.

My quest to find something I can do safely to excess starts now. Right after I finish this fag and cup of coffee. Oh bugger.

Monday, May 24, 2004

Nothing to say

Finally taken the decision to start/launch/float/inaugurate my blog. I've chosen the name, chosen the template, and all I need now are the words. Ah, yes, the words, and not just one lot of words but a new lot of words every day...every day until I die. Only three sentences into my new blog and the first dilemma: I want to write as few words as possible but without condemning myself to an early death. Tough stuff this blogging.

Actually writing very little should be easy, as there is a dawning realisation that I have absolutely nothing to say of any interest whatsoever.

As spluttermonkey I thought I had created a slightly cheeky personality that would allow me to fulminate about everything that annoys me. Unfortunately nothing does. Well actually that's not true; I hate the Iraq war, I hate council tax, I hate people dropping 'Save the children with Aids' collecting envelopes through my letterbox and then coming around to collect them, and grimacing when I return them empty. The trouble is everyone else writes blogs about that kind of stuff.

So today I will splutter about this: absolutely talentless wankers who write blogs in the mistaken belief that their sad meaningful lives hold even the smallest nugget of interest for anyone else. They don't so here's mine.



big brother
cheap flights
2 fast 2 furious
justin timberlake
harry potter
david beckham
matrix reloaded
avril lavigne
10. wimbledon