The anti crapitalist

Madness is decending upon me....

Friday, April 28, 2006

The shit-streak challenge
I have grown to hate one particular shop that cannot stop bombarding me with tat, in some misplaced mission to get my money off me.

For months now my doorstep has been cluttered by its unappealing shiny paper mailers to entice me into buying one wonderful “special offer” or another. They are only second to Dell Computers for their sheer ability to carpet bomb my house with cack in the hope that I am mentally defective enough to be parted with my cash.


Its been hotter his week and fueled by a few pints of lager on Wednesday, I bought a bumper sized Mars bar and having left it in my pocket for a good half hour I decided to visit said shop and try on the wonderful array of goods that filled the flyers that are now blowing around my garden.

And so began my new protest – the shit-streak challenge.

I like shirts - particularly long ones that don’t tuck into your trousers - and spent a good half hour in the store trying on all sorts of high quality shirts, furtively going into the changing room with numerous different colours and styles before leaving on each shirt-tail a lovely chocolaty “skid-mark” for the next potential buyer to see courtessy of my now melting Mars bar. You should try it. Its quite satisfying leaving a subtle brown pseudo-crap strip down the back of a garment just to show your contempt for the disrespect the retailer shows for your mailbox.

I must have tried a good twenty shirts on during my time. I got bored after about half an hour went back to the pub. However, after a few more pints my curiosity got the better of me and I returned to the scene of my dirty protest to watch the look on the faces of people who were now trying on the pre-soiled garments. The look of horror on someones face when they observe an apparent crap stain on the back of something they have just tried on is quite something. “Was that me?” they fear. “Did I do THAT?” Or for the more curious “Is it really shit?” or maybe horror of horrors “Is that really MY shit”. The reaction is priceless. One chap even tried to have a furtive sniff just to check in answer to the “Is it really shit?” question. Then the detective instincts kick in as you can see their frightened minds start to think “That can’t be mine. Perhaps it was that other guy who just put it back on the rack in front of me? The dirty bastard. Where is he now?”

They quietly look around and they can’t see him.
(He's pissed off mate, just like you'd like to)

That’s when the confusion and panic sets in, as they realise the need to blame others is a natural human reaction.

They then extend this logic:

“I’m standing here holding shitty shirt. What if the shop assistant thinks that I’M the dirty bastard?”


“How do I put it back on the rack before anyone sees it?”


“Where is the exit and how quick can get to it?”


Lesson of the week: Don’t send me junk mail for things I don’t want. I know you sell shit, and I have a really effective way of letting other people know you sell shit too.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Welcome to Shite Club

I’m always pleased when one of my all time favourite films is re screened on TV, and it prompted by to read the book again which is probably the fourth time I’ve read it in the last couple of years.

I love Chuck Palahniuk’s core theme in Fight Club; that consumerism stinks and in the end most of western civilisation is no longer living in the real, gritty, piss strained world as we retreat into some pathetic middle class fantasy-land where we don’t have to use brute force and instinct to survive, but depend on assholes as our sole source of income.

The lives we are living today are increasingly false, the branding and marketing people are taking over and so I have decided to set up Shite Club

There are only two things you need to know about Shite Club ….


The system we live in thrives on bullshit, and in order to improve your lives you have to buy into the bullshit around you, and also generate more bullshit that people can feed off. It’s a bullshit multi-marketing scheme.

It goes something like this.

Someone in your street buys a new car. Its shit, and after a few weeks he realises it shit. But in the pub he doesn‘t want to appear like a knob whose bought a shit car so he can’t stop telling you how great his new car is, and how much better his car is than yours. After a few weeks you get sick of listening to him telling you how great his new car is. You go out and buy a new car [that you can‘t afford] that is the one model up from his. He’s pissed off. Three weeks later you realise that you bought a shit car that you can‘t afford. But so that you don‘t want to admit you‘ve been conned, you start telling people down the pub how great your new car is. Three of them go out and buy similar cars they can’t afford either.

Familiar? Welcome to Shite Club

Shite Club starts on, on e-bay, on your banking website; on any web based sales site that relies on “honest” customer feedback to bring in more sales.

You post feedback like

“Shit product. I feel cheated that I bought it”


“Guy took twenty days to dispatch this item and it was broken. What a cunt”


“This phone / camera / gadget is so crummy I am asking for a refund”

You post anything that that offers 100% honest feedback about the product you bought, and the reason you felt let down when you opened the box with the crappy item inside.

I have started this on one of the sites and found out that they pulled the postings off, so I complained to the site manager that they are massaging the feedback to con people into buying duff goods. Bingo. The feedback gets posted and there’s nothing they can do about it.

So …

There’s only one rule about Shite Club - it’s a club for people who bought shite and aren’t embarrassed to admit it.

Membership is free, sign up all your friends.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Christ; harassed until I get of my fat arse and annoy people.

Been pissed off recently thinking about Norman Fucking Kember. I don‘t believe that “fucking“ is his middle name but he‘ll always be Norman Fucking Kember to me.

He is one guy that makes me believe that there a competition going on amongst god-botherers in this world do the most fucked up, stupid, crazy things in the name of God.

You get the most fake war ever convened, that uses some fucking lunatics misguided belief in his God to invade another country, and then it becomes fucking Center Parcs for tambourine wielding, patterned jumper wearing, lunatics like Kember.

There must be adverts in Christian Simpleton Weekly that runs …

“Bored shitless by the lack of non Muslims to convert in Pinner / Reading / Milton Keynes [insert shit-boring featureless UK town of your choice] then why not come to Iraq! There‘s plenty of angry disaffected people to try to convert, and they‘re all armed, dangerous and angry as fuck. If you‘re lucky you get to shit in a bucket with three of your Christian brothers for three months and eat stale bread before being shot in the head. Don‘t believe what the Foreign Office say, book your ticket today. Its fucking brilliant!”


These people are dangerous; they should not be let loose in our society never mind anywhere where people carry AK47’s as fashion accessories.

So I rang my local Christian Aid number and offered my services to “Go to Iraq and tell heathens about God” and you know what?

The bastards tried to talk me out of it.

Straight up. They said it was not a good idea and that there were plenty of ways I could help them staying in the UK.

“But I want to go to Iraq” I said “I want to dedicate my life to helping those who need it most”

Again they pointed out that it was not a good idea and that there were loads of things I can do like stuff used clothes into bin bags and pack food; that sort of stuff.

“But I want to go to Iraq” I said

“Well your on your own they finally relented”

So much for the pioneer spirit!


I bet there would be no risk if ever I got caught. Quick tip to those still out there - just sing “Kum by fucking ah” every fucking night for an hour and you’ll be out by the third day. That’s if they don’t shoot you first.