Further Complaints

To: The MD, Dupli-Kit Copying

Subject: Malfunctioning Photocopier

Dear Sir,

A few days ago, I had occasion to do some photocopying. I should point out that this was for my place of work, as I rarely approach a photocopier for leisure. There are people who will approach a photocopier for leisure, but these people are generally drunk, and imagine that Xeroxing their buttocks is Just the Thing.

Buttocks aside, I entered my passcode into the machine, loaded the original document, selected the number of copies (100, 000, 000 – it was just some light copying; nothing for the environmentalists to complain about) and awaited the appearance of my freshly-duplicated tree-fodder. All went smoothly, for about five seconds. At this point, I received an error message: ‘Clear jam in Tray 4′. Now, I admit I hadn’t had any breakfast, and the idea of jam was not unappealing. Aside from the fact that the machine had appeared to stop copying my document – and really, you can expect things to break if you’re going to put jam into them – I opened Tray 4 in anticipation of said fruity snack. You can imagine my profound disappointment on discovering that Tray 4 contained nothing but paper.

May I suggest that, in future, you do not mislead your customers in this way? Might I furthermore put forward the proposal that you send the toast-rack attachment that should clearly be a working feature of this machine?

Permit me to still further insinuate that the instructions for clearing the jam, in case of its rightful inclusion, need to be greatly simplified. Having to Open Door B, Turn Knob C, Lift Lever D, Calibrate Spring P, Lift Ratchet J, Crank Handle K, and Augment Cartridge G is the last thing anybody wants on a Monday morning. God knows Mondays are a trial enough without being faced with every letter of the damn alphabet.

Such was my frustration with the machine by this point that I threw it out of Window A, whereupon it smashed to pieces. Therefore I would be grateful if you would send a replacement as soon as possible, with the aforementioned features.

Yours,

P. Rustbucket.

To: Microsoft

Subject: Windows

Dear Sir,

I recently purchased your product online – something of a gamble, as I’ve never heard of your tinpot company before. How you have managed to stay afloat in the world of glazing with a name like that is beyond me. The last thing you want from a window is for it to be tiny and malleable, as your name would imply. In my experience, windows are large and fairly solid structures, in spite of their transparent appearance. But I digress.

It came as something of a surprise when, a few days later, I received a disc through the post. Now, my first thought was that the disc was intended to temporarily cover the gaping hole in my wall where the window should be, until such time as a qualified glazier could call with the necessary tools for the job. However, it was too small, and indeed round, whereas the hole in my wall is fairly square. It also had a hole in the centre, which afforded no protection against the elements.

Having put this and that together, ‘this’ being my brain and ‘that’ being some thoughts, which I can occasionally have, it occurred to me to place the disc into my PC. I’ve seen them do that on the television. Anyhow, I was shortly told that Windows was installing (I would also like to complain about this grammatical error: ‘windows’ is a plural, and so ‘Windows are being installed’ is the correct phrase). ‘At last’, I thought, ‘an end to draughts and having to pretend that I can see through walls’, which I admit, I can’t. Since I am well aware that windows are somewhat bizarrely made of sand, I have also tried filling the gaps with sand, but it just fell out. But, I digress again. It would seem that my reservations about your company were entirely correct, as I am still without the required glass articles.

I await your response, with details of a mutually convenient appointment to fit said windows. May I also suggest that you change your company’s name. It might help.

Yours,

P. Rustbucket.

Procrastination

The OED defines ‘procrastinate’ as follows: ‘To postpone until another day; to put off, to defer, delay’.

Bollocks to the dictionary. Procrastination is an art, and moreover, the art of deferring a task whilst apparently still engaged in its completion AND simultaneously justifying the reasons for delaying it in the first place. If you can explain why you’re looking at a website dedicated to humorously-shaped vegetables when you should be dealing with a backlog of e-mails querying the nature of the word ‘product’ in your updated version of the corporate mission statement, then you have raised procrastination to its highest form. However, for those whose levels of procrastination have not yet reached this acme, here are three key points to follow. If you’re looking at this blog, you have made the first step towards embracing the art. Well done.

i) Maintain continuity

There must be some link, however spurious, between your activity of choice and the deferred task. With a little ingenuity, anything is possible. Say, as in our previous example, you are looking at a website dedicated to humorous vegetables when you should be dealing with the backlog of queries relating to the word ‘product’. Firstly, the fact that you had several queries led to the need to clarify the exact dictionary definition of the word. (NOTE: Dictionaries are excellent tools of procrastination. If your supervisor wishes to know why you’re looking up the words ‘bum’, ‘poo’ and ’shit’, you need only quote the poststructuralist argument that each word in the language is inextricably linked to, and gains meaning from, its surrounding context. So, it can be argued that the words ‘bum’, ‘poo’ and ’shit’ are in some way related to the word ‘product’, and, in the case of some companies, this is probably true).

NOTE: Notes are excellent tools of procrastination.

You looked up the word ‘product’, which is defined as ‘a saleable or marketable commodity’, or ’something produced by a natural or artificial process’. Now, this doesn’t really help matters. This is where the humorously-shaped vegetables come in. You can now argue that the humorously-shaped vegetable represents the interface (NOTE: jargon is an excellent tool of procrastination) between the natural and artifical modes of production, and that you were simply looking up illustrations for the next PowerPoint presentation. Your supervisor will praise you for your lateral thinking, leaving you to laugh yourself silly at turnips in the shape of nadgers.

ii) Use jargon

As repellent as it may seem, the kind of verbal diarrhoea favoured by HR managers, leadership training courses and corporate communications is your friend. The art of procrastination would be dead without it. Firing off an e-mail telling your supervisor that you will complete the task by 9am tomorrow morning, and that the file will be on his desk, does not fall into this category. You won’t have the task completed by 9am tomorrow morning, as you’re too busy looking at all those humorous vegetables. But, you need to give every impression that you will do so, whilst also buying time for more valuable procrastination. If you fire off an e-mail containing indecipherable phrases and buzz-words, the chances are that you will be asked to clarify its content (WARNING: there is often a fine line between procrastination and making more work for yourself, so exercise caution).  Use words like ‘configuring’,  ‘calibrating’ and ‘actualise’. Affix ‘ise’ and ‘ment’ to every other word. If you can use both, so much the better. In fact, go the whole nine yards and say ‘configurisement’. All being well, your boss will simply accept that the task is in hand without further questioning.

iii) Drink a lot of coffee

Ostensibly the fuel of the labouring classes, coffee is the beverage of choice for any procrastinator. Not only does it guarantee that you have to make repeated visits to the canteen or coffee shop on the premise that you can’t function without it, what goes in must also come out. This ensures that once you’ve factored in toilet breaks, coffee breaks and the humorous vegetables, your working day amounts to around half an hour. Congratulations.

Religion

‘And Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground. And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought the fruit of the ground an offering unto the LORD. And Abel, he brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering: But unto Cain and his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell…and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.’ (Genesis iv 1-8)

The death of Abel: the first murder committed. But let us, in the manner of Inspector Morse, or Barnarby, or any of those crime-solving sleuths so beloved of doily-knitting old ladies everywhere, examine the circumstances surrounding his murder. Its contemporary equivalent would undoubtedly be a barbecue, and the argument would arise over a plate of vegetarian kebabs, proving that God likes a charred sausage in a bun as much as anybody. Here is the updated version, annotated for the modern reader.

‘And Abel was a keeper of Birds’ Eye Steakhouse Burgers, but Cain was a vegetarian excuse for a human being. And in the process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of Asda an offering unto the LORD. And Abel, he brought of the meat of the Pig and of the Sausages thereof.  And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering: But unto Cain and his offering he had not respect. (1) And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell. (2) … and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.’ (3)

Notes

1. The Lord dissed Cain’s well shit offering.

2. Cain was proper mental, like, he was out of order.

3. Cain kicked Abel’s head in.

From this, we can conclude that the basis of Western religion has been fundamentally wrong, and that the one true deity is the God of Burnt Sausages. The God of Burnt Sausages is a vengeful God. Barbecues are thus an attempt to appease him by presenting him with his likeness. Fellow adherents of the religion must greet each other with the following salutation: ‘It Just Looks Burnt on the Outside’. The vestments of the Church are an apron with a humorously cunning trompe l’oeil through which its male wearer appears to be i) female and ii) wearing a black lace basque, irrespective of the fact that a black lace basque is hardly appropriate apparel around hot fat. Women are not permitted to be ordained.

May the God of Burnt Sausages smile upon your endeavours, and anger him not, lest he smite you with meatballs.

Complaints

To: Managing Director, Seeing Double Pub Entertainments Ltd <www.drunkenarse.co.uk>

Re.: Your Product

Sir,

During a recent night out with some friends, which was otherwise a pleasant experience, we happened to come across a public house which had installed two of your machines for the entertainment and delight of the clientele. I believe the machines were the ‘Dale Winton’s Grocery Bonanza!’, based loosely on the popular ‘Supermarket Sweep’, and the ‘Penny For Your Thoughts’ pub quiz machine.

I wish to register a number of complaints against these particular products. Firstly, the premise of the ‘Grocery Bonanza!’ machine is fundamentally flawed. In case you had not noticed, the currency of this country is GBP, and not fruit. Nor is it bells. I have never attempted to deposit or indeed withdraw a bell at the local branch of my bank, nor have I ever written a cheque to the sum of fruit. Should my employer pay me in lemons, I would be decidedly surprised, but I find that lemons, generally speaking, cannot be exchanged for goods of any value, not even more lemons.

But all that aside, it was much to my annoyance and frustration that your machine failed to vend either bells or fruit as advertised. In fact, no product of any kind was forthcoming, despite the number of coins that both I and my acquaintances fed into it. The machine simply kept taking our money. This went on for a few hours, until the machine finally decided to cough up £3. Now, this was all very well, but the fact that we had already pumped £20 into the thing leaves us at a loss of £17, which I am unwilling to pay for the privilege of owning three pound coins. Therefore, I demand that your company reimburse the £17, and exchange the three pound coins for the lemon, cherry and kiwi advertised.

Things did not improve with the ‘Penny For Your Thoughts’ pub quiz machine. Again, the premise of this machine is seriously at fault. For some reason, every answer that we gave was wrong, and therefore, myself and my acquaintances were in effect paying to be insulted. Moreover, had the financial loss incurred been simply a penny, this would be slightly less irritating, but again, we were down by £20. I think it is safe to say that my thoughts are not worth £20.

I therefore expect a cheque for £37, and the fruit as aforementioned.

Yours,

P. Rustbucket.

To: The Manager, Drop-Off Sleep Solutions <www.zzz.co.uk>

Re.: Recent purchase of Memory Foam Mattress

Sir,

I recently purchased your ‘Cumfee’ Memory Foam Mattress, and am writing to request a full refund due to my dissatisfaction with said product.

My complaint arises from the fact that, in spite of the advertised facility, the mattress cannot remember a damn thing. Consequently, I have now missed the birthdays of a favourite aunt and my dear old mother, both of whom suffered emotional trauma as a result. It was similarly useless in remembering any of the major Capitals of the World in a recent game of Trivial Pursuit, causing again much distress and humiliation.

I anticipate your reply, and a refund for the cost of the mattress, together with compensation for loss of earnings as a result of the deep depression into which I have sunk since its purchase.

Yours,

P. Rustbucket.

Technology III: The Future?

We have seen the countless ways in which technology enriches and improves our lives today. But, what of the future? What advancements in science and medicine await us? What marvels of engineering? Such programmes as ‘Tomorrow’s World’ enthralled and inspired us all with dreams of airborne cars, meals in a pill and self-closing curtains. The possibilities seemed endless. For what could not be achieved with self-closing curtains? But, alas, many of the projects paraded in front of the spellbound viewing public were destined to remain undeveloped and unfunded, their inventors left bankrupt, insane, or living in a skip just outside Newport Pagnell. Your author tracked down one such architect of the future and, following much cajoling and assurances that I was not a talking giraffe, managed to wrest from him, Promethean-like, the secrets of Tomorrow. Accordingly, here are showcased some of the latest prototypes for future living.

Satellite Navigation: Road Rage Edition

Pileup Industries (tagline: ‘Leave in one piece, arrive in many’) proudly presents their Road Rage Edition sat nav. Upon powering up the unit, the user is greeted with a string of expletives. There are several voice options to choose from: White Van Driver, 4×4 Mom, Mid-Life Crisis, Inarticulate Teen.  After selecting your route, the Road Rage sat nav will guide you to your destination with such friendly and helpful injunctions as ‘Get off the f***ing road’; ‘You should have turned right there, you stupid w***er’; ‘Come on, wake up – it’s on green, you ****head’; ‘Did they forget to put indicators on that f***king model?’ and ‘I said the third exit, the THIRD exit, you cloth-eared ****!’ The politically-correct need not worry – the Road Rage Edition sat nav is family-friendly, and comes with a built-in censorship programme in which you can choose between a blush-sparing beeping noise, or to replace all expletives with the words ‘fudge’, ‘wallaby’, and ‘camel’. Either way, the Road Rage sat nav also ensures hours of educational entertainment as you explain all of those words to your younger passengers.

The Rising Intonation Generator

Are you tired of being left behind in conversations? Do your children seem unable to understand any instructions issued to them? Then you need the Rising Intonation Generator. This handy device automatically tunes in to the special, whining pitch registered by teens, checkout assistants and call-centre agents everywhere, allowing you greater ease of communication. Suddenly? Everything becomes a question? Casting doubt on everything that you say? You’ll wonder how you lived without it? A word of warning: the mechanics of the Rising Intonation Generator have not been fully perfected as yet, with the result that if you ask a genuine question, the unit will explode. The dynamic young company behind the Rising Intonation Generator is also scouting for funding for their next project, the Random Sock Generator.

The Inferno! Breakfast Maker

The labour-saving device of the future, the Inferno! breakfast maker simply cuts out the tedious process of having to watch your sausages, egg and toast by burning them immediately to a cinder. What better way to ensure that you obtain your recommended daily intake of charcoal? Again, as with the Rising Intonation Generator, the Inferno! is still being road-tested. One of its slightly inconvenient quirks is that it does tend to burn your house down. However, its inventors are hopeful that this will be ironed out in the near future, probably with their new Scorchio! ironing system.

Technology II: The Advent of the Internet

In the beginning, there were stone tablets. The stone tablets were cumbersome and heavy, and if you had anything to say to posterity you first had to smash the bejesus out of a nearby rockface, chip away for hours at the piece of granite thus obtained, possibly losing one or two fingers in the process, and then carry it to the intended recipient. The exchange would go something like this.

‘I’ve got a message for you’.

‘Well, let’s hear it, then’.

‘No, no – it’s on this stone tablet’.

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, why? I’ve just spent six hours hammering at the damn thing and you ask why?’

‘You could have just said it’.

‘It’s for posterity, innit! My words, handed down from wossname to wossname!’

‘I can’t read it’.

‘Look, you bastard, do you want this or not?’

‘Yeah, go on. It’ll do for me new patio.’

 The age of stone yielded to the age of paper, which was more lightweight but didn’t make such a great patio. And so time rolled on, bringing with it the marvels of the technological age. The television. The telephone. New channels of communication opened and buzzed, connecting individuals across time and across space. Information propagated and flourished. And then, there was the Internet.

The Internet. Democratic tool of the masses, or the worst thing to happen since the Gloucester Cheese-Rolling Contest of 1967 went horribly wrong, and a wheel of Danish Blue decimated three local schools and crushed an elderly Daschund called Jip? The jury is still out. In the meantime, here is a guide to some of its highlights.

Google Maps

Lost? You will be. Google Maps will take a simple query, such as “Indian restaurants in Leicester Square”, and mangle it into a search for square Indian restaurants in Leicester. By default, Google Maps confines its search parameters to North America. It knows where North America is. The rest of the world is a dead loss. ‘Bed and breakfast in the Cotswolds’, you instruct. ‘Where the f**k?’ expostulates Google Maps, before offering you details of a restaurant in Wyoming. Google Maps now offers Google Street View, giving the population the unparalleled opportunity to i) spy on their neighbours, ii) find their own house and say ‘look, there’s my house!’, or iii) be caught emerging from a shop of dubious wares.

YouTube

Occasionally, the Internet has a bright idea, and this isn’t it. The fact that illegal content far outweighs legitimate user-generated content does little to offset the fact that most of it is shit. How many times do you want to view that video of a puppy with a hilariously quizzical look, or witness the drunken antics of Neanderthals who have only just mastered the art of breathing? ’HA HA HA LOLZZZZ!’, read the legends, unfeasibly. ‘DIS IS A PROPER CHOON!’, comments another on a video of a can of Spam.  Avoid.

Spotify

The successor to YouTube. If you like your music continually interrupted by gargling thirty-somethings with chronic rising intonation then this is the service for you.

Facebook

In the quaint days of yore, it was generally accepted that certain topics regarding one’s personal life were not fit for public broadcast. Then, there was Facebook. What better place to display the 300+ friends you don’t have, post updates proudly relating how many fingers you can fit up your own nostrils, or be tagged in photographs drunkenly cradling a toilet?

E-mail

There were stone tablets, then there was paper, then there was e-mail. This medium of communication is increasingly favoured due to its ‘green’ credentials, despite the fact that by the time you’ve left your PC running for twelve hours in the hope of some bastard replying to a message marked ‘Urgent’, your carbon footprint is already the size of a small continent.  Many companies now include the following jaunty question in their e-mail signatures: ‘Consider the environment. Do you really need to print this e-mail?’ Why, yes, otherwise I won’t know where the f**k I’m going or what I’m doing when I get there. If it’s between a tree and my sanity, then I’m afraid it’s no contest.

A Guide to Modern Art II: The Gallery

Girt with our newly-acquired skills in the interpretation of Modern Art, let us today visit the hushed and culture-steeped rooms of that temple to Art, the Gallery.

The first piece of art to greet us upon our arrival is a sculpture: four interlocking panels in a harmony of metal and glass which turn round and round in mesmerising fashion, clearly inscribing the inexorable cycle of life and death; the transparency of life and the opacity of death. Moreover, its ponderous sweeping movement insinuates the grand narratives of history that interweave with the individual dramas of humanity. And indeed, two figures appear to be enclosed within its panels, figuring the hopeless imprisonment of hopes and desires within a life that is all too brief. Oh - no – wait – this is the revolving door into the Gallery. How embarrassing. Well, let us hasten in.

Here are some examples of the fine pieces of Modern Art on display.

‘Semaphore Underpants’ (Arthur Grout). 2004. 80% Polyester, 20% Cotton.

The ever-shifting media of communication. The semiotics of modern society. The pressing need for leg-holes. Such are the compelling and sensitive issues boldly addressed in ‘Semaphore Underpants’. Grout’s work is inspired by the poverty of inner-city shopping precincts and the urban patois of teen culture in which the humble underpants have been elevated, quite literally, to the status traditionally accorded the Victoria Cross. ‘Semaphore Underpants’ is testimony to the powerful message transmitted by a pair of Calvin Kleins at half-mast, namely, that the wearer is a tit.

‘At Your Convenience’ (Jurgen Roos). 2007. Brass mounted on porcelain.

They said it couldn’t be done. In fact, they ran away screaming, but this enterprising young sculptor proved them wrong. ‘At Your Convenience’ proudly displays the full musical range of the unassuming toilet. Strange as it may seem, very few people are willing to take up the opportunity of test-driving this interactive piece of Modern Art. However, your intrepid author ventured a brief toot, and can report that it emitted a pleasing baritone in the key of G. Roos’ work has been commissioned by the Skipworth Brass Ensemble who later this year will stage a performance of Elgar’s ‘Enigma Variations’ for bidet and toilet. A real treat.

WTF (Baz and Jonno Pickleworth). 1997. Various.

The Pickleworth brothers epitomise the keen and edgy aesthetic of the late 1990s. Quite what the keen and edgy aesthetic of the late 1990s represents is not entirely clear, but it is undoubtedly i) keen and ii) edgy.  This piece celebrates the rise of Britpop: the limp Cockney curdlings of Blur; the nicotine-stained rantings of Liam Gallagher; the stringbean insouciance of Jarvis Cocker. To the untutored, this is simply a shoelace in a Union Jack ashtray. But let them mock. Modern Art is not within their reach.

‘Consumerism in an Ageist Society’ (D. Hewitt). 2009. Dentures mounted on toffee.

This piece, the work of an extremely promising newcomer to Modern Art, takes a fresh look at a stale subject: the elderly. In the poignant ‘Consumerism in an Ageist Society’, the viewer is ‘wrought to sympathy with hopes and fears he heeded not’, namely, the difficulty of eating toffee when wearing false teeth. The shameful disregard society displays towards its more venerable contingent is perfectly captured by the unclaimed dentures, forever parted from their owner and hopelessly engaged in a struggle with the inflexible, harsh world of bureaucracy. Moving.

‘Pub Carpet #4′ (Peter Haywire). 2008. 100% undetermined.

In the words of William Blake, ‘What immortal hand or eye / Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?’ It is not widely known that Blake’s poem refers not to the dread form of the Tiger, but to pub carpet. Haywire expertly captures this special, eye-watering phenomenon. It is said that as one gazes into its random, garish pattern – and here ‘pattern’ is used in the loosest sense of the word – suddenly the mysteries of existence become clear. Your author simply came away with a crashing headache and a sudden thirst for cheap cider.

Join us on our next visit to the Gallery, when we will be drawing moustaches and spectacles on the Old Masters.

Technology I: The Age of Computers

Technology. Such a harmless word. But no. Technology wants you to die. Moreover, it wants you to die clutching a manual printed in Portuguese, a nest of cabling, three different but similarly useless sound cards, the number for Microsoft Helpline and what remains of your sanity.

Technology is integrated so completely into our day-to-day existence that it is hard to conceive of life without it. But what would technology look like to the uninitiated? Let us imagine.

Ctrl+Alt+Delete

A mystical incantation with the power of dispelling evil influences. Ctrl+Alt+Delete calls up the all-knowing Task Manager, who alone has the power to restore order by uttering the command ‘End Now!’ However, the Task Manager is on occasion a little forgetful, which leads him to ask  ’Are You Sure You Want to End Now?’ Tradition dictates that the appropriate response to this question is to beat the keyboard repeatedly with your fists.

‘Internet Explorer has performed an illegal operation’

Who is the fabled Internet Explorer, and why is he such a shifty character? Theories abound that the Explorer is in league with pigeons (see Stationary Thoughts II: Pigeons) and their fraudulent activities. The Explorer is wont to hang around bars bumming free drinks, hence the expression ‘You’ve opened a new tab’. To be avoided at all costs.

Java Update

Technology makes life easier in myriad ways, and one of them is offering to refill your coffee.  Two sugars, please. If you press the button on your PC tower, a small tray becomes available in which to rest your cup.

Command not found

The Task Manager, being forgetful, has temporarily mislaid his Book of Incantations.

Fixboot

Yet another of Technology’s many advantages; in this instance, repairing that hole in your shoe.

‘Microsoft Word has encountered a problem and needs to close’

Just occasionally, Technology goes wrong. But don’t worry! That 100-page document you were working on will be perfectly safe. Moreover, Word will take the heathenish language contained within your document and convert it into something infinitely more legible, like ‘&&££ulbd+&^£^*£(%£’, which roughly translates as ‘you’re screwed’. Hand this to your line manager. Promotion? Certainly.

Jazz

Having outlined the basic concepts responsible for the eyeball-insulting phenomenon that is Modern Art, here we turn our attentions to its aural equivalent: Jazz.

Let there be no misapprehension: there is nothing pleasant about listening to Jazz. The term alone offends the ears. This is a word that takes the arse-end of the alphabet, and just for kicks, repeats it. Jazz. Note the extraneous ‘z’. For those new to the genre, this serves as some indication of the sort of nonsense one can expect from Jazz.

So what is Jazz? Picture to yourself the following scenarios: a piano keyboard being danced across by midgets in steel-capped boots. A walrus hiccuping into a trumpet. Corks being fired repeatedly at a double-bass. Corks with the bottles still attached being fired repeatedly at a double-bass. An over-excitable sugar addict burbling into a saxophone. A snare drum in a washing-machine. Now imagine, if you will, all of the above happening simultaneously, and you have some impression of the chronic flatulence that is Jazz.

Nor is Jazz confined to the aural plane. The 1950s saw experimental writers attempting to capture the spirit of Jazz in prose form, with variable results. This mode of writing gave Jazz its own language, which unfortunately - or perhaps, fortunately – did nothing to clarify the matter. The following extract from the novel ‘Be-bop!’ by Cal Rutz is typical of the genre.

“Me and Fats Cheeseburger and crazy ol’ Gummy Ninepins, we were souls spilling and crashing like the flush on a broken-down toilet. Headed in the night with the sweet knives of the stars pricking and stabbing the sky. We knew cress! It was cress and the word was with the Big Ol’ God of Cress. Into the bars and clubs with the smokelight jazz noodlings of Slim Tinfoil, he was like wild and holy in the shroud of Jazz. ‘Skee-ba-bop! Skee-bop! Ska-ba-be-ska-bop!’ farted the trumpet. In all and above the cheeks of Slim Tinfoil bulged and puffed like watermelons in a parcel on a train bound for Now. We jumped.”

Notice to our readers: Jazz may sometimes cause the following side-effects: numbness; loss of vision; hallucinations; renal failure; allergic skin reactions; death. We can accept no liability for any personal loss or injury incurred as a result of reading this account of Jazz, and advise our readers in the event of any of the above to consult their doctor or pharmacist.

A Guide to Modern Art

Modern Art is an anagram of Shit.

This is by virtue of the fact that if you take a lot of shit, and rearrange it, then with very little effort you have Modern Art. Yet whilst the creation of Modern Art lies within the reach of any cretin with a paintbrush and a pair of safety scissors, the interpretation of this particular aesthetic is a skill requiring many years of study to perfect. For the benefit of our readers who haven’t the patience to learn how to tie their shoelaces, let alone embark upon a lifetime of scholarship, here we present a basic introduction to the major schools of Modern Art.

i) The Square School

Squares. Basically, squares, and then some more squares, possibly enclosed within a square. The Square School takes the geometric simplicity of the four-sided shape and hammers the crap out of it. The Square represents the closed-off sections of the human psyche; in its echo of the frame in which it is contained, it enacts the inevitable conformity to one’s surroundings; in its regimented form and hollowness, it depicts the duplicitous nature of modern society. Or, as the great art critic Walter T. Shovepenny so succinctly put it, ‘Gee, that’s a whole bunch of squares’.

ii) The School of Lines

The School of Lines is much like the Square School, only slightly more pointless. These are squares that can’t be bothered making the effort. In vertical form, lines encode the sickening exploitation of the paper-clip in office culture. In the horizontal trend, lines urge the viewer to consider the way in which the pages of a magazine stick together, only to reveal a double-leaf advert for the Honda Civic when finally separated some hours later.

iii) The Primary School

This School employs paint like it’s going out of fashion. In an accurate representation of the behaviour of five-year-olds everywhere, the aim of the Primary School is to arrive at an end product that appears to be the brainchild of a chimpanzee on acid.

iv) The Heap of Metal

This is a heap of metal, skilfully rearranged to look like a heap of metal.

v) The Functional School

The ethos behind this school is that form is function, and therefore nothing should exist that does not in some way answer a purpose. Though if you’ve ever actually sat on one of the chairs designed by a student of Modern Art, you will quickly realise that this is not the case, as you hurriedly collect what remains of your teeth following their sharp and often painful contact with your knees.

vi) FITD

This School is currently experiencing a rapid upsurge in popularity. F**k It, That’ll Do, commonly abbreviated FITD, has produced such great masterpieces as ‘Unfinished Breakfast #3′, ‘Yesterday’s Bus Ticket’ and the seminal ‘Curry Stains’, which has recently been praised by the leading art publication ‘The Chin-Stroker’s Weekly’ as ‘following in the footsteps of Turner’.

This Guide has introduced you to the basic categories and schools of Modern Art. It is now in your hands, and we advise you to rip it up before any further damage ensues.