Still My Bloody Space

I’m currently racking my brains for ways in which potato waffles are indeed ‘waffley versatile’. So far I reckon that as well as a food substance, they could be used as a tony portcullis for a breakfast based castle, as a fencing mask for someone with a tiny face, or maybe even as tiny windows for potato houses. Or a climbing frame for worms. Ultimately, they are just waffles and I feel once again let down by advertising lies. I stopped popping my corn after only a few bowls of Corn Poppers, and I’m still disturbed that when I’m drinking Ribena its the squished blood of tiny Ribena berries. Advertisers should think about idiots like me when they make slogans.

What I will be spending most of my day doing, once I’ve put waffles through a series of versatility tests (what about sticking two together to make your own variation of Kanye West’s specs?), is trying to finally delete my myspace account. It just doesn’t want to die. I click ‘delete account’. It says it’ll send me an email which I will have to click to properly delete my account. It doesn’t send me any emails. I believe this is its own bizarre method of survival. Its time is up. It knows that. Tom knows that. From his little mansion where he used to cackle thinking that he always had the most friends out of anyone else, finally achieving his childhood dream of popularity – a far cry from the school yard torments he actually received as chubby boy who ate his own bogeys and wet himself in class. Yet that dream has now burst. People have realised that actually myspace is hugely primitive.

There are possibly people reading this blog now who don’t even know what it is. Well you know facebook and Twitter and all those things? They started many moons ago with the creation of myspace. It was designed in medieval times so that knights could post just how the crusades are going whilst decorating their page in the garish colours of their king’s flag, and using new fangled speak with lots of z’s and x’s in, such as ‘thanxz’. Bards then ursurped it to play people their songs of old, even when people didn’t want to hear their songs of old and the scroll would take so long to load that the song would play for a long time before you could close the scroll. Finally wenches and minions from Spamalot started to discover they could destroy myspace, or as it was called then, thyspace, by covering everyone’s walls in messages to check out their ‘chuuuunes’ (which no one ever really knew what it meant) or to ‘click to c my sexi pix thanx’.

We’ve hugely surpassed it now. What with facebook allowing all those people I really hated at school, and loads of people I dont know and are slightly scary to find and get in touch with me and tell me to get chickens for my Farmville farm or do a poll to see who actually gives much of a fuck about anything except avoiding doing their day job or having real friends. Then you’ve got Twitter, which has reduced everything back to basics and doesn’t use the sort of headache inducing colours to do so. So Tom needs to retire. Or at least let my page die please. If I can’t get the email I need, I will send myspace some threatening messages and eventually resort to going to the shops and buying super strength myspace killer spray. Or maybe you could all just report my page for racism/pornography/spam? Any of you fancy doing that? That’d be ace. I’ve never more wanted to be unfairly framed for illegal activities. I bet even then they’re so desperate for people to stay that they’d tell me to ‘link up with other sex offenders/kkk members and why not use myspace IM to chat about your illegal activities?’

They could also be used as snowshoes for weasles. Dammit. This is really going to ruin my day.