RIPC

So, 40 might yet be the beginning of my life... but it was the end of my computer's. Last Friday I went to turn it on... and nothing. The motherboard was kaput. A nice local computer-fixing man gave it the burial it deserved and managed to salvage the hard drives and locate them in a new home for a very reasonable price (considering my current lack of funds). So I'm back up and running... just. (I won't mention the Cartman-like Tantrum I had when I thought the new pc didn't work either... turns out I'd plugged the monitor cable into the wrong socket.)

While mourning the pc, I rediscovered the outside world, walked in the sunshine, lived my life without constantly thinking "I'll just pop on the computer for 5 minutes when I get home" and remembered fondly the days before this bloody box ruled my life. But it's back now... and I'm saved having to live without it for one second longer. Because the world is scary without it. How did I ever live before it?

In other news, those robbing b@stards at the Royal Mail are putting up the price of a First Class stamp by 14p. Thanks, guys, that'll really help my already-desperate attempts to supplement my non-existent income via eBay... and will probably mean I'll have to raise the price of Too Much Sex & Violence to nearer £3, giving readers even more reasons not to buy it.

Still, at least the sun's out...

My Personal Apology To Bill Hicks (and you)

By the way if anyone here is in advertising or marketing... kill yourself.


No, no, no it's just a little thought. I'm just trying to plant seeds. Maybe one day, they'll take root - I don't know. You try, you do what you can. Kill yourself.


Seriously though, if you are, do.


Aaah, no really, there's no rationalisation for what you do and you are Satan's little helpers. Okay - kill yourself - seriously. You are the ruiner of all things good, seriously. No this is not a joke, you're going, "there's going to be a joke coming," there's no fucking joke coming. You are Satan's spawn filling the world with bile and garbage. You are fucked and you are fucking us. Kill yourself. It's the only way to save your fucking soul, kill yourself.

That's Bill Hicks there. In case you didn't know. And I do agree with him. Which is the worst kind of irony.

I've worked in advertising for over 15 years now, but that's the day job. I've always tried to draw a line between that and my private creative work. But I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, Bill... I'm weakening...

I know what all the marketing people are thinking right now, "Oh, you know what Bill's doing, he's going for that anti-marketing dollar. That's a good market, he's very smart."


Oh man, I am not doing that. You fucking evil scumbags!


"Ooh, you know what Bill's doing now, he's going for the righteous indignation dollar. That's a big dollar. A lot of people are feeling that indignation. We've done research - huge market. He's doing a good thing."


Goddammit, I'm not doing that, you scum-bags! Quit putting a goddamn dollar sign on every fucking thing on this planet!


"Ooh, the anger dollar. Huge. Huge in times of recession. Giant market, Bill's very bright to do that."

You may remember this post from a few weeks back wherein I got all self-righteous about not selling out, refusing to run advertising on this blog or suck the corporate teet.

Yeah, well, that was before the car ended up costing me £420 for a new flux capacitor. And there's a holiday coming up. And I haven't bought any new clothes since winkle pickers were in. Principles are one thing... holes in your shoes are another thing entirely. And it's not as though my creative side is reaping fortunes... so until it does...

Consider this post an apology. An apology to Bill Hicks, and an apology to you. Because you may notice a few subtle advertisingy things cropping up here from time to time over the next few weeks. Because I really need the money. Feel free to ignore them and just go on about your business. And try not to hate me too much...

Quote Me Unhappy

So my car insurance renewal letter arrives. As usual, it's gone up massively from what I paid last year for no reason whatsoever. So I'm straight online to find a cheaper quote... which I do, within minutes.

I then have to call up the old insurance company and tell them I'm not renewing.

"Oh... sorry to hear that... can I ask why?"

"Because I found a much cheaper quote elsewhere."

"Oh, so it's purely a cost decision? If we could reduce your quote, might you consider staying with us?"

"I doubt you'll reduce it by fifty quid."

"Oh... perhaps not... we could probably come down by thirty or forty..."

The thing is, if my renewal had come through £40 less and I'd gone online to find I could only save a tenner, I probably would have stayed with them. But now they've quoted my £40 more than they actually need to just because they're greedy, that boat has sailed.

And yet, this happens every single year. There must be enough people out there who just automatically renew their insurance, whatever the quote, to make it worthwhile for the robbing bastards to carry on like this. And the best of it is, they actually sound hurt when you tell them you're cancelling.