Dear Good Holy Christ On A Bike,
Last night, on a rare occasion I decided to turn on the telly, not because I am so morally superior that I no longer watch tv, but because I find the internet allows me to choose productively what I want to watch, instead of being sucked into an endless, unproductive, timeless vortex of, well, poop. Last night, I was in the mood for poop, wow does that type bad or what? You know, some vacuous, mind numbing, I do not wish to concentrate on one more thing, poop. Be careful what you wish for, indeed.
There it was, Embarrassing Fat Bodies, a title so insensitive that it was the perfect companion to a programme that hauled individuals up in front of the nation and highlighted every single thing that was wrong with them, physically, emotionally and mentally, in the name of entertainment. Throw some more chum in the water, the sharks be circling. And it was at that exact moment that I realised future generations will be able to look back and pinpoint the precise moment that man's intellect began it's steep, steady and speedy decline...