My Generation.

Everyone knows that the next generation are the ones who will be looking after us one day. The hoodie clad youth of today are ravenously receiving information at all times, mobile communications, Facebook, increasingly self-indulgent online blogs... The youth of today are now, more than ever disillusioned with government, out of touch with values and feel repressed by social paranoia - never before have we had so much information at our finger-tips, is this a good or bad thing? Well. Both really. Really?

Well not exactly, this only means that we are now influenced by more things than ever before - For example I draw your attention to any websites hosting pornographic material(s), we visit them with the intent to blow ones load over the likes of 'teen babysitter goes wild' or 'passed out college sluts'. Often upon accomplishing my objective I fall victim to post-masturbatory-guilt, unpleasant. Alternatively a fucking "ENLARGE YOUR COCK IN THREE WEEKS" pop up appears at the point of climax thus forcing me to close the window, delete my browsing history, and repeat the process three times. On those nights I consequentially sleep in a flaming coffin entitled 'Guilt', the aforementioned coffin suspended 6 inches (No more) from my bed, and so the circle continues.

I turn the television on only to find celebrities shitting on other celebrities, for the entertainment of the general public. Cut to commercial and i'm told that i need new car, because if I buy one girls will want to fuck me - Shit I'd love it if girls wanted to fuck me. Then I realize I don't have a car, then I don't have any money and finally I remember that I don't even fucking drive. Now, i'm not too sure this happens to everyone but after a foot-long-blunt my cynical side could take no more (I'm at least 100% cynical). I'm of the bold stance that everything on television is designed to influence you in some way. I don't know who let me read Orwell's 1984 when I was growing up...

The moral of the story is that the youth of today are now, more than ever fucked:

Boys like this -

 Girls like this -

Boys and Girls trying to out-do each other in some sort of fuck-wit fashion war, desperately attempting to achieve the title of 'coolest motherfucker'. I mean figuratively speaking the hair style of the gentleman pictured above is reminiscent to my bellend it's uncanny. "Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be Joshua Charles' penis!"

Facebook pictures appear to be the rule of thumb for being 'cool', here are my top tips on how to be cool:

The obligitory "fashion shoot" photo.

The dance-floor action photo (friends included).

The vampy self-portrait (arm holding camera optional).

The backstage, or on-stage gig photo.

The late night/early morning breakfast group photo.

Photos of your tattoos.

Photos of your cats.

Cool points are deducted for having photographs with ugly people, 'uncool' family members and looking like you're a bad time.

Cool points are doubled by having a combination of any of the above - e.g. A picture of a tattoo of your Cat (Cattoo).

Honestly however, I wouldn't want a twenty-two year old version of myself to be caring for an eighty year old version of me, i'm not even sure if they let dickheads like me work with the elderly, If i'm honest unplugging my own life support machine out of sheer boredom seems like a likelier thought process (Take that theory of relativity).

Anyway, i'm going now to buy some weed, my intention is to put it all in one joint and pray for permanent blindness.

Joshua Charles.

The revolution will not be televised.

It's photographed. Usually photographed by the revolutionists themselves. You often find these Left-wing antics in predominately Right-wing countries (Tiananmen Square excluded). The fucking French formed a whole movement on Leftism and Art - If you're lost by this statement, please, please make your mother proud, and read more.

In the United Kingdom our shambolic state of affairs reaches critical mass. Post-election resent, promises of reformation, change and withdrawal from conflict, however we've learnt that blasé ethical and political changes between parties is now the norm, much the the confusion of the apathetic/intellectuality challenged voter. The center-left are now the center-right, which bares the question - "What the fuck is the 'Center' anyway?" 

From an outsiders point of view the center is a warehouse sized strip club named - The House of Commons. This exclusive club is unfortunately a members only affair, Joe public are denied entry by a large bulldog wearing dark sunglasses, pointing to a sign that reads - "If you're not rich, related to a lizard or have a 'holier than thou' demeanor. - NO ENTRY". Reports show that inside the club they are housing phoenix eggs, a large deposit of bags containing what is assumed to be flour and ashtrays in the shape of Marx's skull. The center can also smoke in any of their four interior public houses. Essentially it stands on par with Lord Vader's executive suite aboard the Death Star.

The faux-ethics of parties have left us thus:

The last time I checked protesters aren't too happy about having horses galloping towards them. "I know what will really calm these angry protesters down, A FUCKING CAVALRY CHARGE." - Dicks.

To the prettiest girl I ever saw.

The easiest way is in the left window, however obstructed by a man's head, the only way I can see your face is by leaning in close to the window, thus making the process of catching your eye impossible. Alternatively your reflection in the right-hand window, this is much better than the left, I see your eyes almost meet mine as you stare out into the night, in my mind's eye I picture you listening to you listening to 'Nothing Compares' by Sinead O'Conner.

This leaves me one option, to stare straight at you across the first class carriage, the middle class gentleman to your left-wing seems to give you the eye, does his shirt and tie really do it for you?  My only option is to stare. But I am not of your kind, I am not a 'First Classer', I was put here due to lack of seating, but lucky for me the snow made it free. I apologise that you've had to bare with my stare. 

You make eye contact over your complimentary cappuccino, I melt as I sip my Fanta. To the prettiest girl I ever saw, you left me in Leighton Buzzard.