The world was plunged into confusion and terror today as it was revealed that a growing number of toasters are using desperately violent measures to make themselves known following a decline in toasted-based breakfasts.
The growth in the “healthy breakfast revolution”, which has seen people more inclined than ever to sprint to work with some sort of energetic biscuit soiling their mouth, has pushed the standard staples of breakfast, such as cereal and toast, to one side and off the edge into the bin. There is such a large range of yoghurts and seed bars, and with 2014 containing less time than ten years ago people just don’t have the time to sit down and heat up bread anymore. The result has seen toasters become not only redundant but sad and a little bit cranky.
Toast hasn’t been this unpopular since 1959, in the year that saw bread publicly state that it, “hated everyone” and that “the world would be better off without humans”. Bread retracted this statement some days later but it had a lasting effect that wouldn’t see toast recover until some years later. At least back then you could argue that this was self-inflicted; the modern world hasn’t been particularly kind to toast. So much so that a large group of toasters has organised an attack in the West Midlands.
Toasters from in and around the Birmingham area have barricaded themselves in a local Wetherspoons and are threatening to singe the ears of several cats caught earlier this week unless their demands are met. So far these appear to simple: more toast, less not toast, more crumpets and bread buns and perhaps a waffle here and there. An official spokesperson for the toasters is yet to comment, although we would imagine that what he has to say would be indecipherable.
The local police have had to call in a specialised Toaster Sheriff, Sherilyn Lucas, to enter into talks with the toasters to smooth over the tension and hopefully come to a satisfying, or snackisfying, conclusion without the need for burnt kitty ears. Let’s hope that it’s less toast fur and more toast her for doing a sufficient job. Only time will tell if these puns are actually funny.
There, I said it. Obsolete technology is everywhere. The human race is such a wasteful set of single-minded simpletons, desperately trying to find the newest innovation to make life that little bit easier. You wake up one morning and someone has invented a quicker way for you to put your socks on. By the afternoon they’re wafting around a gizmo that brings eggs to you at work when you scan your debit card on a moist towelette. At sometime after 7pm your phone has a larger memory than you do and is more likely to be offered a loan by your local bank than anyone at your office.
I do feel sorry for obsolete technology. It sits around charity shops feeling very sorry for itself. The amount of times I’ve walked past the British Heart Foundation only to see an array of VHS video tapes pressing themselves against the window, like wonky pets at an animal shelter, lusting to be taken home and played. And I really want to. My generation was brought up on 3.5 inch floppy disks and video rental shops. Sure they invented the compact disc in 1983 but nobody cared about it until the nineties. Pressing a VHS into a video player and having that hearty clunk sound before the screen screamed into whatever nonsense you have chosen to borrow for the evening was a great sensation. Now all you get is a silent hand giving you the finger as your I-pod breathlessly plays one of six hundred billion albums you have downloaded onto it.
There’s nothing wrong with modern technology. Indeed I wouldn’t be able to type this post without the Mac on my lap. What needs addressing though is thoughtful ways of discarding things that aren’t really necessary anymore. For instance, floppy discs. Sturdy little fellows that they are; couldn’t they be used as coasters? I mean the coaster industry, if there is one, could surely allow a little space for recycling. In the place of tiny cardboard circles depicting pictures of hamsters rolling tobacco you would have small, sexy squares. House building companies could erect sheds made of Betamax tapes. They could unreel all the unsold cassettes of Steps singles and use the tape as loft insulation. Who says you can’t buy your wife a bunch of Nokia 3310s instead of a bunch of flowers for her birthday? They’re just as pretty.
The present is often overlooked for the future. I say we must look to the past in order to create the future. The present demands it, and so do I.
I have been commissioned to write a new period drama for an as yet untitled new channel on the television. I think it’ll sit somewhere neatly between Nat Geo HD and the God Channel. Having watched and been forced with a ped egg pointed at my throat to sit through what the twenty first century considers to be a period drama I have ultimately decided that even though it may have costumes and big frilly wigs it also needs a bit of… well the letters haven’t been invented to write the word out yet but for want of a better word let’s go with pizazz.
You can’t just hire Hugh Bonneville and except everything to fall into place; I learned that the hard way when it came to the shooting of ‘Soiling and Soliloquies’ in 2012. No, what you need is a wonderful idea at heart, an original idea that’ll whack those Johnnys between the eyes and scoop up the awards as well. So we come to ‘The Barrage of Flaps’. It’s a 17th century period drama but, for some reason, the 1980’s have travelled back in time to poison not just another decade but an entire century. Betwixt the poverty and the heartache and historical accuracy there will be Wham playing on a jukebox in the background, everyone is wearing Casio watches and teenagers hassle strangers with Slush Puppies and Sony Walkmans.
I think it’s when they have a synth fundraiser for some orphans in episode four, and Axel F turns up at the last minute to offer his support, that most people will start crying.
Let’s crack open February with something I need to vent.
There is a lollipop man that works in the same place I work. Not the same building, obviously, but further down the road. His beat, if you will, is on the high street and like with most lollipop men and women it is his job to ensure the safety of people crossing the road. Surely this must be a mistake then? What could I possibly have against this person, this figurehead of the people? It’s very simple.
Let’s split this into three sections:
1) He’s a grump. I may be a grump too however I recognise the moments when to revel in the grump and when to respond to people who are being polite. In my first few weeks walking to and from work I attempted on numerous occasions to smile and communicate positivity towards him and he ignored every single one.
2) He only gets his lollipop out (wa-hey!) for mothers with children and older members of the community. He doesn’t move if you’re me, or you, or someone else who isn’t elderly or pulling a three year old like an overturned wheelie bin.
The worst and most annoying of the three…
3) Where he works, where he crosses the road, where he helps people to cross there is a pelican crossing. There is absolutely NO NEED for him to do what he is being paid to do. You press the button, the green man appears and you cross the road. There is no requirement for his being there. He is completely obsolete. I don’t want anyone to lose their job unless they have to but, for the love of flumps, if someone is paying this man they need to stop.
There. I said it. You can all judge me now if you want to.