When sperm goes wrong: the problem with children

Based on what I’ve seen, children are a regrettable side effect of reproduction. Nothing more than the unfortunate, albeit necessary, larval stage of human development subjecting everyone involved to a torturous eighteen year period that seems to benefit none involved.

You just can’t rely on children to get on with their own shit and not fuck things up. They ask too many questions. They turn up everywhere. They require near-constant feeding, care and attention while mostly detracting rather than adding to your income.

To summarise: children annoy and frighten me. 99% of kids I encounter are right little bastards. I don’t understand what motivates them, how to talk to them or why they’re bothering me.

Fortunately, I’m not a parent or lawmaker. If I felt this way and I WAS in a position to affect the way we treat this nation’s youth, that would be scary. Possibly resulting in such craziness as…

British cops identify 200 school children as potential terrorists
Teenage girl arrested over nude self-pics on MySpace
British local governments deploy anti-teenager pink lights designed to make kids ashamed of their appearance
Protecting our children by turning them into felons
Children are amongst the ‘most at risk’ from Britain’s Database State
London imposes de-facto 9pm curfew on under-16s

I’m hoping that when I do spawn a brood of crunklings (or, even more terrifyingly, run this country), I take the time to understand and accept them for what they are – and I’m sure other sane people share this sentiment.

[You may notice that I didn't dig particularly deep for those links. The sad truth is that I didn't need to.]

“[The children have] bad manners, contempt for
authority, they show disrespect to their elders…. They no longer
rise when elders enter the room. They contradict their parents,
chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their
legs, and are tyrants over their teachers.”

“The young people of today think of nothing but themselves. They have
no reverence for parents or old age. They are impatient of all
restraint. They talk as if they alone knew everything and what passes
for wisdom with us is foolishness with them. As for girls, they are
forward, immodest and unwomanly in speech, behaviour and dress.”

The wise words of Socrates (c. 469 BC – 399 BC).

Facial recognition tagging: how it should work

Automated face tagging is pretty cool, but it should be better…

Click on image to embiggen.

Spam poetry #2 – Bigger thing, More satisfaction

Very suddenly and then crumple up and fall—but contention,
and then came mr. Lincoln’s turn. Course of ultimate extinction
or its advocates them but he does not read them, and save
for the only by diligent housewifery that mrs. Brownlow.

Beautiful spam poetry

You had comrades: but there were some comrades willow trees
and cosy corners, all chastely encased from the bush and
saw the sheet of water stretching whom men were inclined
to take for granted, and why, how big is the ranch? Five
hundred acres.

Seriously guys. I just want a bigger cock, enough with the flowery shit.

Giblets restuffed

I defy you not to recoil from the adulterous thrust of Deadlamb’s Giblets! This Tumblr-based frottage of the mind has been reskinned using Paul Giacherio’s superb Museum theme. And if you didn’t know you could change the appearance of your Tumblog beyond what’s offered as standard, cast your enlightened gaze upon Tumblr’s own Theme Garden, alternatively (if you hate the obvious option) there’s plenty more industrious designs by ingenious buggers to find using that search engine what everyone thinks is the internets.

Returning visitors (that’s you, Jim) will notice that it’s now even more like the mood boardy, inspiration wall I want it to be.

If you really want to get into the spirit of my giblets, whack your browser to full screen, listen to the punk rock cover of 99 Red Balloons by Goldfinger and let the incredible imagery cut your brain a fresh fuck hole while fingerbanging your ocular receptors.

I need a cigarette.