This week we’ll learn how not to get a day off work, that we’ve lost all respect for ourselves when it comes to words we communicate with, why it could be necessary for people to get a license to procreate, that hell might be too good for some people, and finally why in some countries democracy is simply wasted on the voters.
We’ve all been in a situation when we’ve felt that we would do just about anything to get a day off work. Plenty of people would admit to lying to the boss in order to get a bit of time off to do whatever we want.
A young Finnish woman thought she had the best of ideas in the history of thinking when she asked her boyfriend to call in a bomb threat against the company she was working for so the two lovebirds could spend more time together. The only problem is that he called the cops from his private mobile phone so it took them all but an hour to piece the mystery together.
Apparently we live in an era when words, in many cases, don’t really mean anything. It’s not the first time acronyms have become contemporary folklore, but when a “word” like yolo makes it into the Oxford dictionary there’s a time to draw a line in the sand.
Unfortunately, side-boob and selfie also passed by scrutiny and can now be counted as things we can say in everyday situations. An old news hound as myself can only marvel at the on going dumbing down process in affect. If it weren’t for a spectacular side-boob across the street I wouldn’t be compelled to take a selfie with said boob in the background. In all honesty, this is some serious douchbaggery going on.
The decision to breathe under water with a tank of oxygen on the back is normally called diving, and it’s an activity that requires some sort of license in most countries. It’s not like a person who didn’t have a valid certificate would jeopardize anybody else, but paperwork is still necessary.
Then there is the small matter of brining another human into existence. It only takes two to tango, but neither is ever checked for any dilapidating traits. A woman in Ohio, US, recently became living proof that maybe there’s a need for certificates to be introduced when it comes to breeding human life when she decided to post a couple of pics of her granddaughter.
In the land of the free and home of the brave, the residents of Cormont, Minnesota, elected a dog to be its town’s honorary mayor. The pooch was, for obvious reasons, unaware that it was running a political campaign, but it didn’t stop the locals from making sure that the canine won by a landslide.
Making a mockery of the democratic process may seem amusing to the simpletons of Cormont, so please don’t be surprised if none of you will be eligible to vote for President in 2016.
One of the greats decided to check out recently. It was his decision. After decades of entertaining generations, Robin William, Oh Captain, My Captain, committed suicide. It was never a question of if but rather when fanatics would crawl out from their filthy existence to make claims they had no way of backing up.
The Westboro Baptist Church, famous for appearing at funerals of US soldiers fallen in Iraq to preach that they are now being tortured in hell, decided that the death of comedy icon Robin William would be a suitable moment to chant that he too is now burning in hell. Unfortunately, comments like these warrant a spot in the same place, but that would be too kind. You’d still be entertained for eternity.