Wednesday, 27 February 2013

Classic Pop Songs Titles; Updated.

Here are some of those classic songs that I felt could be altered slightly to bring them into the modern age, feel free to add your own.

- Stevie Wonder: “I just tweeted to say I love you.”

-Cyndi Lauper:  “Girl’s just want to have fun (and find a job that pays enough to cover their tuition fees)”

-Keith West: “Excerpt From a Teenage Opera, innit thou’.”

- Madness: “Driving in my Car is no Longer Affordable.”

-  The Police: “Text Message in a Bottle.”

- The Beatles: “e-book writer.”

- Elvis Presley: “Heartbreak Travelodge.”

- Pink Floyd: “Another Bug in the Firewall.”

- Beatles: “A Little Help from my Facebook Friends.”

-The Who: “Microsoft Windows Pinball Game Wizard.”

-The Drifters: “You’re more than a number on my iPhone contact list.”

- The Beatles: “Lucy on Skype with Diamonds.”

- Blondie: “Call me, on my Webcam.”

- Lionel Richie: “Hello LOL.”

- Led Zeppelin: “Dazed and”

- Queen: “Bicycle Race Doping.”

- Bucks Fizz: “My Camera Never Lies; must have been Photoshop.”

- Otis Redding: “Sitting on the Dock of EBay.”

- The Rolling Stones: “Wild Horsemeat.”

- Abba: “The Day Before you came online.”

- Elton John: “Sorry seems to be the hardest Word.Doc.”

- Buggles: “Illegal downloading killed the DVD star.”

- Lionel Richie: “Dancing on the Ceiling is not permitted due to health and safety regulations.”

-  Petula Clark: “Downtown Abbey.”

-Eurythmics: “There must be an angel (playing with my account)

- Lulu: “To Sir with a restraining order.”

- Billy Joel: “Text her about it.”

- Bob Marley: “Three Little Angry Birds.”

- Peter Shelley: “Love me Love my Blog.”

- Frankie Goes To Hollywood: “Welcome to the Pleasure Dome; Click here to enter.”

- Louis Armstrong: “Wonderful World Wide Web.”

Sunday, 24 February 2013

I’m still not sure about navigating my way around this blog site but I hear it’s the best one to use so I’m sure I’ll get there in the long run. So, can I declare this blog officially open, I was going to get the Queen to cut the rope but she said she was busy shooting pheasants, or peasants or something along those lines.

So maybe I should introduce myself to newcomers, name of Darren Worrow, age of a ripe pomegranate, brains of a ripe pomegranate, hobby, writing nonsense in hope one person may laugh. Laughter is the best medicine they say so hey, give it a try, giggle more is my motto and if I stuck to it my work here is done.

So, I have other blogs, all of which will have the same posts on, what a rip off I know. I try and update them every Wednesday, so come back on that day and let me know that you read them otherwise I might just give up. I mean I got enough to do without writing to thin air. Too many social networks can surely make you antisocial in the real world. Perhaps the government should put out ASBOS on social networks, I dunno, ASNBOs as in you social network too much, got outside and get a life, trash a phonebox in the holy name of lager or something; but that’s another issue altogether.

Firstly, without straying from the subject any longer the other places to look down my blog is on GoodReads, not to be confused with GodReads, that’s a different thing entirely. The main place I want to drag your gorgeous butt to is moi very own website, there are many things to do there, even, if you are feeling far too adventurous, treat or kindle or ereader to one of my books.

Also I have a Facebook fan page, click like you’ve never clicked before over thar and “like” me page, it’s the new definition of funny (yeah I know you liked the old definition better, but that is too bad.)

Now I think I’ve confused you enough for now, meaning that this blog is officially open!

Supermarket swept

So the supermarkets took a bit of a pasting in the press recently, they’ve only got themselves to blame though. Passing off old, haggard Romanian horses as beef is just not cricket, not even polo. I’m not here though to pull a load of horse gags for that would be far too easy, done by every sad comedian and even a few that are clearly not. Horseplay, horsing around, there’s more material there then Prince Harry. The local butchers are milking it as people are put off buying meat at the supermarket. The thing is though, it’s not the state of the meat that is the problem; it’s the deception, the lie. Makes you wonder what other product’s ingredients are being lied about. I mean take fish fingers, you can’t pull the wool over my eyes; fish don’t even have fingers.

Baked Alaska found to have no traces of any American state; Jaffa Cakes are more like biscuits than cake and gateau with no trace of forest let alone a Black one. I bought some cheese strings to discover no string was actually used. It’s a disgrace that is what it is; Pot Noodles should have a little bit of pot in surely?

Thing is I like supermarkets, from a psychological perspective, any psychologist (of which I’m not, thanks to spell-check I only just managed to spell it proper like) could get a wealth of research here at the supermarket.

I love watching the mums that take their kids to the supermarket for the sole purpose of losing their temper with them. Beating up a child anywhere else is strictly frowned upon today but when in the supermarket you know the bored kid has gone AWOL and accept that they probably deserved it. I mean it’s not like shopping is the ultimate activity to define the word “boring” for the under 10s. It’s not like a team of overpaid designers and marketing experts have carefully crafted the display and labelling of these products to catch ones eye and draw them into desiring them. For your kid to perpetually scream that they want that is a good signal to the customer that the design team have done a good job. I feel a designer and marketing expert should be present in every aisle, ready to assist a young mum whose kid falls into a temper tantrum when they get told no. Content in a job well done they should return the favour. The thing is I’m just trying to work my way through, to get past them as they hog the entire width of the aisle, kicking and screaming snotty nosed brat, it’s not his fault he’s spoiled, and his chaved up mum, ready to drag its sorry arse across the floor while shouting abuse at it. Come on designers, relieve me of this burden, and just make them sweet wrappers uninteresting.

The thing I like is the new self-service till; they are a magnet for annoyance. If the psychologist wants some material for madness here is the best place for them to stand. You stand in the queue keeping one eye on the single basket aisle, to see if it’s going quicker, you suspect that it is but consider it’s too late to make it over there now, you may as well wait. It would be quicker if people knew how to use them, they’ve been around for long enough for every man and his dog to give it a try. I done it a couple of times before I mastered it but if you really cannot manage it why keep trying, just go to the manned till you stupid cow. So the frustrated woman behind me sighs, tells her 5 year old that “these things are not any faster,” but the girl is too young to know any different or to care. Maybe the woman is addressing me I wonder, I don’t want to make eye contact. If I was with my family we would, a short conversation may well even pursue but as a bloke on my own who has no interest in her sexually whatsoever you never make eye contact in a supermarket. This is because of those stupid women’s magazines that spread a lie that your soul-mate can be found in the aisle of a supermarket, what a load of dribble, they are down the pub everyone knows that.

Perhaps she was just sighing to herself which made me laugh, I’m surrounded by them. The laughable woman who cannot get the hang of the system, insisting on muttering at the machine, “I have put the item in the fucking bagging area!” as if the machine is going to say, “oh yes, I do apologise madam.” The supervisor who is whisking around like Torvil and Dean flashing her card over the barcode scanner and zipping over to next flashing light. She’s said “there you go, ok?” so many millions of times today she just says it to herself now, just in case anyone was listening. I stand behind the young lad, he’s a whizz at these things, nipping his can of caffeine based energy drink over that barcode like a true pro. He’s off faster than 100 old people, the first person today who did not need assistance. He’s listening to something on his gadget headphones and causally singing away to himself. Then there is businessman type bloke standing by the magazine rack waiting for someone, busy chatting to himself, or least, upon a second look he’s talking to a Bluetooth headphone set, which, in my opinion is no better than the drunk outside the sliding glass door, muttering to his bottle of wine.

Oh yes, lots of people talking, but not making conversation, only to machines and gadgets. No one makes a discussion, why, where is the need? The cash machine doesn’t argue back or think you are weird for trying to start up a conversation with a total stranger, may as well just chat with that. “Yes, Mr Psychologist, you should check out this place, what a bunch of nutters,” I say to myself. Then I realise, I’m talking to myself too! Supermarkets, if you can’t beat them join them.