The Worst Good Idea All Year

 I can’t cook.

 At all.

 I had a burrito the other day, wrapped in foil, and was genuinely on the verge of microwaving it until I remembered that that was bad. Not because I know about cooking, but because I saw an episode of “Brainiac” that showed what happens when you microwave foil.

 If I have to toast a sandwich under a grill, I’ll stand there, bent at the waist, glaring at it intently, because I know if I turn my back for more than a few seconds I’ll end up fucking things up somehow. Food doesn’t like me. We don’t get on.

 So I’m a little worried by recent suggestions that we, as a society, need to get rid of sell-by dates.

 This is out of character for me; I’m on record in several places as having called for the removal of most safety instructions. So, in one of those moments that make me suspect that there is a God, but he’s just straight-up fucking with me, they’ve decided to get rid of the one safety instruction that is probably keeping me alive.

 I know that my lack of food knowledge is a product of my own ignorance, and that there’s no excuse for it, but it bears reiterating that I really am an idiot when it comes to food, and should be supervised by an adult when it comes to cooking, or, failing that, at least by some clearly marked instructions that let me know what’s safe.

 There are plenty of other warning labels that need to go. That one you get on hairdryers, for example, that says “Do Not Use in the Shower.” Surely, if we did away with that one, the resulting spate of deaths wouldn’t be much of a drain on society?! “Silica Gel: Do Not Eat.” If we removed that warning, the worst that the human race would suffer is the loss of the sort of people who eat packing material from suitcases. “No Smoking” on petrol station forecourts. “Not To Be Taken Orally” on products and medicines that are patently not for internal use. There are dozens of glaring examples of things that functional people shouldn’t need to be told, but that are still printed in big, bold letters everywhere you look, just for the preservation of fuckwits.

 But no; instead there’s a movement to scrap sell-by dates, and the only people that’s going to take out of the equation are hapless culinary ham-fists* like me.

*Ham doesn’t actually come in a fist, does it?!

Bored of the Rings.

 There’s been a bit of a furore lately because, in my opinion, a trade unionist has gone and had a fucking good idea.

 Apparently, Len McCluskey, the Unite leader, has called for a mass strike during the London Olympics, to put the government in it’s place, protest at the general state of the world, etc.

 This suggestion has been branded “appalling”, “unpatriotic”, and “unacceptable” by the government, the Olympic committee, and a lot of other people who don’t do very much for a living.

 I think Olympic striking is a fantastic idea – the idea of public strikes during the Olympics, not of making “Going on Strike” an Olympic event. Although I fancy my chances in the Slogan Shouting, it would ultimately prove very difficult for any of the competitors in the more mobile events to cross the line.

 Anyway, public strikes during the Olympics are a great idea for two reasons (ignoring the obvious one of “not having to go to work.”) Firstly, the look on David Cameron’s smug, look-at-me git face would be worth everything to the working classes. You can occupy London all you want, but it won’t be as uplifting to the proletariat as watching a pile of elitist Tory wankers skulking around in embarrassed silence, or foaming at the mouth with the kind of impotent apoplexy many of us feel on a daily basis because of their policies. They’d look like a bunch of children who’ve just had their sandcastles kicked over. It'd be brilliant.

 Secondly, it would prove to the world that the Olympics aren’t really that interesting anyway. Think about it. Do you watch the Olympics every four years because you care, or because it’s a mildly interesting distraction that happens to be on all fucking day? I’m not averse to watching it, personally, I even enjoy it in an aimless, cup-of-tea-and-a-biscuit way. But does anyone really care? Let’s be honest, most people have one or two sports that they genuinely, passionately care about, and all the rest is just background noise. When it comes to the Olympics, the most popular sport in the world (football) is under-represented, rugby doesn’t even get a foot in the door, and the last time we did well in boxing we ended up with Audley fucking Harrison on our hands.

 What about the more traditional Olympic crowd-drawers, then? The hundred meters? Waste of time. Usain Bolt’s going to win it, everyone knows that. Hurdles? How many currently competing hurdlers can you name? Swimming? That was only must-see TV when the competition included that African fella from a country that had no swimming pools. (I know his name was Eric, but it really should have been “Bob.”)

 Nobody really cares deep down about the Olympics. If you did, you’d be on your computer and think “Ooh, I must just check the latest results in the international parallel bars competitions before I go to bed!” But nobody does that because the Olympics, by and large, serve mostly as a platform for sports that nobody plays or watches for the other 47 ½ months of the cycle.

 Really, that sort of thing is commendable; it's good to give lesser-known sports a chance. But when there’s this much pointless, self-congratulatory fanfare made over the games by a government that’s almost exclusively full of cunts, I think it’s time we got our priorities in order. Fuck ‘em. Let’s strike!