There was once a time when writers were trusted, respected members of the community. Movie critics used to attend glamorous Premieres alongside the stars, their opinions lauded by the masses. Authors were revered, journalists were celebrated and not a single footballer’s wife was published. Those days are gone. The net has killed the dream with crap writing that is so gut wrenchingly disgusting that you need an osteopath to help you recover from the convulsions.
So what’s changed? The internet. The bloody internet. That’s what. We were sold the amazing concept on the premise that it would bring us closer to the world, it would enable us to communicate better, it would provide us fast access to articles and educational materials, it would allow us the opportunity to shop for things in an instant and generally enrich our lives through a greater, faster, more productive access to knowledge. It is very obvious that I was all too easily led astray by these lovely marketing ideals. I was a sucker. The internet seems to have done a far greater job of peddling vice than any of the virtuous offerings that I had been promised.
The most prevalent themes online are porn, gambling and marketing. Not that these are bad things. These are small little insignificant annoyances when compared to the most threatening, encompassing, choking vice of all: allowing people to talk about themselves. And the bloody web is full of it and that is why I believe it to be a force of great evil. It allows, no, encourages any schmuck to have his say and by christ they do. It has ripped decent writing to shreds by encouraging this mediocrity and I for one believe, “You can’t trust the people. The people like Coldplay. The People voted for the Nazi’s”. So come on people work with me here; I don’t give a toss what you ate for dinner; who you want evicted from big brother or the latest self righteous bloody cause you’re trying to force down my throat. Get your bloody blog out of my face.
Take this article for example. What a complete waste of time.
