Professional Moron

We provide lessons in life, culture, philosophy, mind, matter, cake, jam, haggis, and other insane nonsense.

In Praise Of Polite Heatwaves.

 

British summer at its very finest.

British summer at its very finest.

It’s been a tepid and unimaginative British summer to date. There’s been a lot of rain, it’s been rather cool, yet with the odd dash of Miss. Sunshine we’ve all been confused about whether or not to wear a coat. Some British folk refuse to admit this is a cold summer – they parade around in shorts with their tops off, determined to get a suntan amongst the heavy rain, thunderstorms, and relentless cloud cover. It’s the kind of obstinate, pointless commitment which defines Britishness: despite the odds, one shall don a Stiff Upper Lip and go for it all the same. It makes us proud to be part of the massive heatwave which will hit the UK in about 12 hours. Yes, summer is finally here. For one day only!

Indeed, your ears do not deceive you. Friday 17th of July 2014 will see temperatures in the UK shoot up to 30 degrees Excelsior. For one day only. From Saturday 18th July 2014 the temperature will plummet back down to 20 degrees Excelsior, and this had us thinking. Why is this heatwave only going to hang around for 24 hours? What kind of ulterior motives does a heatwave have, other than to make everyone feel clammy and uncomfortable? Our theory is this particular heatwave is in such a rush as it wants to be less of a hindrance to folk. A polite heatwave, as it were. Most heatwaves are obnoxious, tedious, irritating things which are unwelcome but overstay their, er, stay out of sheer spite. This one is apologetic, eager to get out of everyone’s hair, and blast out into the Atlantic Ocean where it won’t be a nuisance. Polite, non? Very British, too. We doff our hats to you, Heatwave of July 2014. We shall endure your presence tomorrow, then wave you off into the sunset. It shall be glorious!

 

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Revealed: The Terrifying and Corrupt World of Sand Castle Building!

This castle's creator, Mr. Epo, was later excluded from the results for taking EPO as a PED (performance enhacing drug). For shame!

This castle’s creator, Mr. Epo, was later excluded from the results for taking EPO (a PED – performance enhancing drug). For shame!

Mr. Wapojif has returned from an unrelaxing week off. It was unrelaxing as our esteemed editor spent the week “off” in a new type of profession – Sand Castle Inspection. He took this duty upon himself as Sand Castle Making is a hectic sport at this time of year – it is summer after all. Without missing a beat he headed off to the nearest beach (Blackpool in not-so-sunny England) armed and ready to take on the dangerous duties of moderating this most tumultuous of sports. It was a task befitting a true hero, and Mr. Wapojif was willing to lay his life on the line for the good of the nation and this much vaunted sport. Now then – what is it all about?

Each summer, peaceful families head out to beach resorts to take in the sun (or drizzle here in England) and compete (often violently) in the highly competitive world of Sand Castle Making. It’s not merely about the height of the sand castle, and the elaborateness of the design, but the quality of the sand. The latter is simultaneously essential, integral, and very bloody important. A Sand Castle Inspector (SCI) must determine all involved in the event fall in line with the demands of the regulations. On pain of death! Mr. Wapojif is a man who takes his duties with the utmost sincerity and severity, and he headed out to Blackpool with a violent gleam in his eyeballs. This is what he uncovered. Brace yourselves; it were not pretty.

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Understanding Geography: Part 1 – Europe!

This is the view of Europe from space.

This is the view of Europe from space.

Alright, we thought we’d cover basic geography today. Why? Shall we say, “The mood took us!”? We wrote it, but we did not say it, which is fair enough on some kind of warped existential level. Anyway, today we’re beginning with Europe as, you know, we are Europeans here at the Professional Moron office. Based in England, we are nonetheless proud to be part of the cultural excellence of neighbouring nations. Europe as a whole is a pretty damn cool place. It consists of 50 countries and there are six which are disputed over. Why are they disputed? It’s believed the six aren’t countries but planets, installed by visiting aliens several million years ago. The dispute erupted when Margaret Thatcher returned to Earth after her hiatus to Pluto in 1774 and decided she wanted to keep the Falkland Islands.

The population of Europe is believed to be around the 743.1 billion mark. Countries include: France, Germany, Paris, London, Milan, Mars, Austria, Belgium, Jupiter, Scotland, Monaco, Russia, Sweden etc. The most common language in Europe is Swahili, although most people speak English, French, German, and Welsh. Being British here at Professional Moron we can only wax lyrical about day-to-day life in England, although we have visited many places in Europe: Germany, France, Spain, and Barbados. So what can we teach you non-Europeans about the place? Read on, Macduff!

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British Summer Explained For Everyone (Including British People).

British cows have evolved to avoid British mud, the latter brought on by adverse weather.

British cows have evolved to avoid British mud, the latter brought on by adverse weather.

A quick post today about British summer and cows. Trying to understand the former is akin to understanding the latter, which is to write this: pointless. Despite cows being confusing, they’re everywhere in England. Now some eagle brained people out there may postulate the above picture is of a horse (note the long, horse-like tail of yore). You’re wrong, dimwits. British cows have evolved a lot after centuries of adverse weather conditions, the need to salute Royalty, and due to the demands of polite British society. Naturally, to appear as elegant as their horse counterparts, cows evolved mane like tails in an attempt to appear more useful to upper class posh sorts. They’re also much more intelligent than cows in other nations, and it’s not uncommon to see cows strolling through English cities such as Manchester, Nottingham, London, Portsmouth, Skegness, Chorley, and Paris in search of the latest fashionable footwear. Why do they want this? To look well else whilst standing around in fields all day. That’s why. Behold the image above for proof of this – at Professional Moron we never lie, dammit!

Anyway, this is what’s happened in the British summer of 2014: Mother Nature has decided to skip June and will probably let summer begin in a few weeks. This means it’s almost July and it’s cloudy and rainy, with the odd sunny spell. As Mr. Wapojif writes this, it’s begun HEAVING it down with rain outside.Frightened? So you ruddy well should not be! This is your average summer here, and although we had a heatwave of sorts last year, Mr. Wapojif is expecting snow and hurricanes within the next few weeks. Being someone who prefers a cooler climate, Mr. Wapojif will be sprinting through Manchester city centre screaming about scones and marmalade should this great British tradition be quashed!

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Dreams Explained For Those Who Do Not Understand Dreams.

A chap dreaming about stuff. It happens.

A chap dreaming about stuff. It happens.

Sigmund Broad once postulated about dreams in his legendary tome The Ignoramus of Dreams. Released in 1899, it postulated (NB: we might be using this word a lot today) Broad’s theory of the unconscious brain (and we mean unconscious as in asleep – not passed out drunk or knocked out by a punch from Begbie in Trainspotting) and how it pertains to the subconscious unreality of our being. Or something. Nonsense, we say, this man was a notorious imposter famed for his alter-ego in psychology (or psychiatry, whatever field he was posing in), and whose real name was Harry Houdini, the Welsh magician.

Whilst Broad postulated dreams as “The Royal Road to the Unconscious”, we’re going to better him one and postulate our dream theory as “The Unroyal Road to the Conscious”. Clever, see? Our theories, and this is from the esteemed minds of the Professional Moron staff, are probably fact as we usually write about this sort of stuff. You know? We’ve come up with numerous ideas, which we’ll be discussing and postulating in great scientific detail in today’s blog post. The (probably true) notions are as follows:

  • The band REM invented dreams in the 1980s.
  • Dreams are controlled by aliens.
  • Great White Sharks dream about daffodils.
  • Dreams prove that Sigmund Broad wasn’t as chronically obese as his surname suggests.
  • Dreams showcase the inherent need for more human/marmalade interaction.
  • Postulation is inherent to dreaming. Without dreams, one cannot postulate. Without postulation, one cannot dream. Without either, you’d be able to get some damn sleep. It is a paradoxical dilemma of some magnitude.

Intrigued? So you should be! Onward, comrade, for edification on our postulations!

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Rik Mayall Tribute.

Rik Mayal, on the left, in Bottom.

Rik Mayall, on the right, in Bottom.

Few people have had such a colossal impact on Mr. Wapojif’s brain as Rik Mayall. Ever since I was a wee one Mayall’s berserk, loveable rogue antics kept Mr. Wapojif, and many millions, massively entertained. Mr. Wapojif particularly remembers watching the final few minutes of the Bottom episode “Culture” on the BBC in 1992. In this iconic series Richie and Eddie, two loveably deranged and unemployable losers (adapted from Mayall and comedy partner Ade Edmondson’s West End theatre run in Waiting For Godot), are playing chess in their London flat. Richie doesn’t get it, loses his temper, and punches Eddie in the face. Carnage unfolds as the two beat the crap out of each other. For Mr. Wapojif’s young brain, this was hysterical.

Bottom wasn’t/isn’t for everyone (it’s not something The Royal Family spent their afternoons enjoying, probably, and stuffy upper class folk were no doubt perplexed beyond belief and/or disgusted), but it was hugely popular amongst those who “got” it. Then there’s The Young Ones (which Rik co-wrote with Ben Elton and Lise Mayer – he starred as the moronic student Rick) from the early ‘80s, which set about a new wave of alternative comedy. Mayall also appeared in the legendary Blackadder and The New Statesman, as well as having a dig at films (like Drop Dead Fred).

It was an immense shock hearing of his sudden death yesterday aged 56, so today we honour his legacy with a collection of some of his finest (and maddest) moments over the years. He was a real star, with the added X Factor, a distinctive voice, incredible energy, brilliant acting, and a penchant for profanity. A true legend, and he’ll be greatly missed.

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In Praise of Tetris – 30 Years Of Glory!

30 Years of Tetris - Happy Birthday!

30 Years of Tetris – Happy Birthday!

Duh most famous video game in history has turned 30 today. Tetris! It’s also the best-selling video game ever with global lifetime sales, apparently, well over the 500 million mark. The next best selling game is Wii Sports, which has about 60 million sales. Kind of says a lot, donut it? Not that Tetris’ World Domination is a bad thing. It’s an excellent thing – it’s a product which unites all ages, genders (ALL genders, yes!), cultures (even the belligerent English!), and could even make a psychopath realise the thing has an inherent brilliance. Indeed, the power of Tetris (which today is enjoying global celebrations to mark the event) has been felt in more ways than… two.

Many of us over 25 will associate it with Nintendo and the Game Boy. Plus, the music. You know it: dun dun dun dun, dun dun dun, dun dun dun, dun dun dun, dun dun dun, dun dun dun. Dun dun DUN, dun dun dun, dun dun dun dun dun, dun dun dun dun dun dun dun. Duuuuh duuuh duuh duuuh duuuh duuuh duuuh. etc. As catchy as a bout of bubonic plague and just as addictively itchy. Ahhh, memories. Tetris is no longer solely associated with Nintendo, though, as its amiable creator, Alexey Pajitnov, formed The Tetris Company in 1996 and finally got hold of the official rights for his creation (he didn’t earn a penny from it for 12 years!). Shhhhhhhhhhocking. Want to know more, read on, Macduff!

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