Why this blog is only mildly amusing

So, someone, somewhere, wrote me a lovely message telling me how they were ever so slightly defective and to let me know that my blog was hilarious. I don’t know why it’s only ever defective people who tell me this; I just seem to attract that sort of person. In their collective defence though, I must say all the defective people I encounter are much more interesting than the supposedly sane assholes that I know.

Anyway, I was partly really fucking chuffed that someone had taken the time to write to remind me how fricking awesome I am, but I was also partly annoyed. Now, I was chuffed because I’ve never really been called hilarious before. I usually just get called a dickhead. I was annoyed because well, hilarious? That’s going a bit far. At best I’m mildly amusing. Then I realised why it was that I was annoyed. It’s the fact that we need to pretend that everything is super-awesome. We can’t be satisfied with just okay anymore, we have to describe things as better than they are.

We should be ok with things just being ok. It’s a damn sight better than everything being crap, and we sure as hell notice every little crap thing that goes on in life. We should be bloody happy when things aren’t shite. I mean, we’re pretty awesome people; we are, in fact so fucking awesome that everything around us pales in comparison. Other things then can only, by definition, be less awesome than us, and therefore we need to describe such things with less exciting adjectives.

It's a motherfucking French Fries Parfait!

Save superlatives for when you need them. Like for this ice cream, it was fucking fantastic.

If the bread we are eating is super-fantastic, well where the fuck do we go from there? It’s just fucking bread. It might be really fucking good bread, but it is still just bread. What happens when we spend a day’s wages on a steak, how can we describe it? We can’t say it is super-fantastic, because then we’re basically describing it as being as good as the bread we just ate.

I mean, you’ve got to be really messed up to go to a fancy restaurant, throw a load of money at a steak and when you get home and you’re talking to your mum on the phone and she asks how the meal was you go “yeah, they had some really nice bread”.

It’s the same with this idea that everything has to be the bestest evar. It is probably not the best bread you’ve ever had. In fact it may only have been the best bread you’ve had since the last time you had bread. No she’s not the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, she’s probably just the most beautiful girl in the room. Superlatives are not the best thing ever. They have a laxative effect, the more you use them, the more the bullshit flows.

As for super-cool, well, super-cool died out with 90’s electronica. There are, after all, few people that can ever be classed as super-cool as Maxi Jazz (who is so cool that Sony Music seem to have removed most the copies of music videos from Reverence off the internet.), or few tracks that could compete with “Hell is Round the Corner” by Tricky.

If you want to call things “super-awesome”, “uber-cool” or the ultimately horrific “amazeballs”, well that’s all fine and dandy, but if you expect something actually half-decent to happen in your life, you may want to hold off on the hyperbole and the superlatives until you really need them. Until then, just okay is a pretty good place to be.