Friday, August 31, 2007

Whose fault is it that little Connor is a cruiserweight?

I was in Dublin for an overnight from Tuesday to Wednesday afternoon, and guess what I found out? Turns out that Irish children, much like their American or British counterparts, have a weight problem. At least according to the Tuesday night edition of the RTE newscast, they do.
The reporter said that a healthy, normal waistline for a 12-year-old boy is 26 inches, which is true. My own waist was only 25 or 26 inches at that age. She then related that school clothes for boys are currently being sold in the 30 to 42 inch range alongside the normal-sized clothing. Similar-sized school uniforms are also being manufactured for girls.
The reporter—a slim, gym-toned woman herself, it is definitely worth noting—then dared to suggest: "It is, however, not necessarily the parents' fault as there can be other factors." OK, granted, there certainly could be other factors, such as a genetic or other bodily problem such as a thyroid disorder or abnormally slow metabolism. But how many little Oompa-Loompas were there even just a generation ago, in Ireland (or Britain)? Certainly not enough to merit a special line of school clothes with only 26-inch lengths but 42-inch waists.
In other words, how the hell can your 12-year-old child have a 42-inch waist and you be absolved of any responsibility?! At what point would you deem it necessary that the little bastard stopped having three bowls of Frosted Flakes for breakfast, six cupcakes for lunch and McCrap or a large pizza for dinner? At what point do you think you'd consider it to Paddy Jr.'s advantage to start getting some actual physical exercise when it takes him ten sloth-like minutes to climb upstairs to bed? Mary have mercy!
But, then again, it's very much in-keeping with the politically correct notion that children and their parents are never at fault for anything. It's that old goon society's fault. These yout's are clearly not getting enough self-esteem at school, so how many more history, English or math classes can we cut to make way for even more hippy indoctrination? So little Johnny O'Farty weighs more than a newborn sperm whale—let's not let that stand in the way of his precious self-esteem, even if hospital visits become routine in his life by the age of 25 and he dies before 50.
If this "parents aren't to blame" malarkey is the attitude we're expected to have, then we as a society will never tackle the obesity epidemic.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

What's the real "deeply offensive" issue here?

If you want a great example of why the thugs control Britain, you could do worse than the condemnation of the "Class Wars" short on YouTube (note: this particular vid has been modified, with commentary by the holier-than-thou BBC.) The video shows upper-class young people assembling for what is assumed to be a fox hunt. Instead, the hunters go after chavs, running them down, shooting them and beating them.
A "chav," for those who don't live in Britain and are unfamiliar with the term, is an abbreviation for "Council House and Violence (or Vulgar)." Chavs are young people who live in ghettos or substandard housing, are aggressive and usually white ("wiggers"), aspire to a life of crime, and are less educated than a second-grade pupil, making Anna Nicole Smith look like a scholar by comparison. They always wear the same thing: NY Yankees baseball caps—or any caps that are "loud"—usually worn sideways, nylon jogging pants (sometimes stuffed into tube socks), Nike, Reebok or Umbro sneakers, and a "hoodie," that is, a hooded sweatshirt. They also tend to wear quite a lot of jewellery, most of it cheap, though there's always a good chance that they're wearing high-quality—hence, stolen—goods. Chavs can be either male or female; female chavs are often called "chavettes." You get the point, dear reader. They are a bloody nuisance. No normal, law-abiding, hard-working person who lose a moment's sleep if they all disappeared tomorrow.
However, political correctness dictates that we accept these morons. The warden of Glenalmond College, where the film-makers were once educated, stated that he "strongly" disapproved of the video and found it "deeply offensive." The Scottish National Party attacked the video as well. One SNP politican said, "Doubtless, it is intended as humour and irony but it comes across as brash, crass and arrogant."
Arrogant, eh? Deeply offensive? What I find arrogant and deeply offensive is the idea that no-one can apparantly take a joke anymore. Because some former students of a posh school decided to have a little fun and film a harmless spoof video where fox hunters chase after and run down a few nogoodnick hoodlums, everyone in Scotland seems to be bending over backwards to declare, "How awful! 'Class wars,' my God! What will people think?"
The title of the video was a spoof as well. It is not about picking on the poor or underprivileged or putting down the "lower" class as a whole. The video's ethos seems to reflect what most non-Chav Britons have long dreamt of: a group of hunters who really would rid us of this imbecilic menace. That such an otherwise harmless short would become so popular—and so despised by airy-fairy, Guardian-reading officials—speaks volumes about how chavs are regarded. No-one takes pleasure in people being underprivileged, but neither do most people think being poor is a valid excuse to look, sound and act like an idiot. Being poor was always one thing, but revelling in it is quite another.
Having seen it for myself, I can report that the video is hilarious. You can imagine Monty Python's Flying Circus containing a skit just like this. (Though I must say, given the Python crew's penchant for liberalism, they probably would have sided with the "deeply offended" over this.) Just forget the whole "class wars" junk and take it for the joke it was meant to be and laugh at it.
But that's just the problem. We're not allowed to laugh anymore. Our politically correct overlords don't approve. We must spend every waking minute of every day agonizing over the problems of the world's underprivileged criminals instead. Then, with practice, we can became as dull, dour and humorless as them.
What a life.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Belgium—yes, Belgium—must win this fight

Canada and Belgium are currently battling it out in front of the World Trade Organization. Belgium banned all Canadian seal products, to which Ottawa has taken umbrage. I have mixed feelings about this, but there's no doubt with whom my sympathies and support lie.
Canada is America's neighbor and usually a trustworthy ally. Canadians fought and died in World War II (on behalf of Belgians as well as the French and other Europeans), and they have been instrumental in helping to fight the Taliban since NATO's invasion of Afghanistan in October 2001. Belgium, meanwhile, rolled its eyes, sighed and pretended not to know. Belgium's capital city, Brussels, is the home of the dreary, soulless, socialist-fascist Eurocracy. More often than not, just the very mention of the name "Brussels" can cause hairs to stand up on British backs.
However, the annual harp seal hunt, which Canada not only supports but bankrolls, is barbaric. It's not solely about controlling numbers of seals; Canada is complicit in the fur trade. It has nothing to do with protecting the Inuit way of life. Newfoundland isn't known as an Inuit stronghold, yet it's Newfoundlander fishermen who commit the slaughter.
The U.S. has banned Canadian seal products since 1972, and thousands of American seafood retailers and restaurants have banned Canadian seafood. We are not only trade partners with Canada through the WTO but NAFTA as well. Yet you haven't heard about Canada threatening us, have you? Far easier to pick on little ol' Belgium. This is awfully strange behavior for a nation that prides itself on not being seen as a bully on the world stage!
But Canada is frightened. Germany, too, could impose a ban on seal products, and Belgium is very influential in the European Union—and the Canadians know it. If the EU as a whole bans Canadian seal products, that will be a severe blow for the Canadian fur/fishing industry.
That, however, is exactly the point. In order to try to end this yearly slaughter, it is incumbent upon us—Americans, British and Europeans alike—to twist Canada's arm to the point of breaking it. Luckily, that appears to already be happening, and in ever greater numbers. The surest way to end the Canadian seal-killing spree is to not purchase any Canadian seafood nor give patronage to any restaurant that still purchases Canadian seafood. In fact, don't even go to Canada; don't contribute to their economy at all. Canada is being stubborn, so they've got to be hit where it really hurts.
So, having said that, there's really only one thing left for me to say here:
Go Belgium.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Low-rise jeans: Puke-a-licious fashion

Could there possibly be a more revolting item of clothing than low-rise jeans?
Sunday afternoon, while traveling about, I spotted a woman in front of me with about three inches of pasty white ass sticking above the waistband of her jeans. She didn't exactly have a becoming figure, but even if she had the body of Kate Moss, it would still be disturbing.
Since when did women decide that "builder's bum"—the sort of thing normal people used to laugh at and be disgusted by at the same time—was fashionable or sexy? Again, I don't care how much of a babe you are—approach me wearing low-rise jeans and I'll run and hide from you. Guaranteed.
Why not just cut out the middleman and prance around in a thong? At least that would be sexier. Exhibitionist, to be sure, but sexy. However, a few inches of asscrack suspended above dungarees is not sexy nor alluring. It's a turn-off of immense proportions.
Of course, the fun doesn't end with women. Some men have jumped on the ass parade as well. I'll never forget the time I was standing in line for a train ticket from the machines at King's Cross station. A twentysomething man wearing low-rise jeans bent over to collect his ticket. Mere words cannot convey how ill I suddenly felt.
I'd faint with embarassment if I was informed that I was showing even the slightest hint of bum. I'd rather be a Simon Cowell-like "Priest of High Trousers" than wear my jeans or shorts too low.
I can't help thinking that the sort of people who wear low-rise jeans are either not very intelligent or that they (wrongly) assume that the rest of us share their obvious rear-end fetish.
It's just disturbing that what used to be the hallmark of less-than-slim people sitting or crouching in distressed pairs of pants has now become fashionable to the point where no-one seems to blink an eye at it. Except for me, that is. I not only blink, but keep them firmly shut.

Monday, August 6, 2007

Pet of the Month: And the winner is ...

She won Pet of the Month: February 2007 by 53 percent. She now automatically goes into the "pet-off" for Pet of the Year later on. Again, this is great PR for rats (well, that, and Disney's Ratatouille).
Thanks again to all who voted—and will continue to vote—for her. We very much appreciate it. Especially the gentle, pink-eyed rattie at the center of this!

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Star for "Pet of the Month!"

Our little girl Star was named "Pet of the Day" in The London Paper back in February. The newspaper is now looking to crown a "Pet of the Month" for February, and Squirrel and I would be delighted if Star won. Although I loathe the idea of saying that one animal is more deserving than another, it would be wonderful if Star won the "pet of the month" award, not only because she's our special darling, but it's good press for domesticated rats. Most people remain ignorant about just how intelligent, cognizant, loyal and loving they are. It's high time perceptions about rats started to change. If Star wins, it's one small step in the right direction.
Star is currently winning, but we still need all the votes we can muster up.
Please cast your vote for Star. If she wins, she would then be in the running for Pet of the Year! Trust me, you have never met a more gentle animal than our Star; she deserves this award.