Tag: Humor

Russian Roulette Sunday: The Images

Hello! Happy Sunday! (or Friday, if you’re one of the 7 Reasons team editing this post before scheduling it for Sunday)

Images are very important to us here at 7 Reasons and we always try to put them together in-house because, though what we post usually isn’t about an image, there’s always at least one picture attached to what we’ve written. We wanted to communicate the significance that we place on arresting and original visuals to you, so we decided that today we would chose three each of our favourite images from previous posts (plus one we’d used from Google Images by way of contrast) and hold an earnest and thoughtful contemplation of the importance of imagery in our posts and the technical and aesthetic merits of the selected illustrations as pieces of artwork. Obviously we failed, so here’s Marc Fearns and Jonathan Lee bickering about pictures instead.

Hitler’s Hand

Originally used in 7 Reasons That Size is Important.

MF. This is probably my favourite of the images I’ve put together for 7 Reasons. It’s not technically brilliant (in fact, it’s quite flawed), but boring stuff aside, it ticks all of my boxes: It’s black and white; It has Hitler in it; it has some sort of Photoshop-induced oddity (the big hand), and it has a random, bizarre element to it (the triangle apparently embedded in Himmler’s head). If it weren’t for Jon’s civilising influence, 7 Reasons would probably look a lot more like World War II than it does already.

JL. I have a serious problem with this image. It seems to suggest the Nazis were very handy. The Nazis were not very handy. They weren’t even quite handy. The Nazis were rather irritating and quite frankly caused more harm than good. I also have a problem with Himmler. Unlike Marc I am not struck by the triangle in his head, but his the binoculars. Why did Himmler need binoculars? Was he a part time ornithologist? Was he a pervert? Why are they pointing at his trousers? This picture provides more questions than answers. And that I find rather frustrating.

Lamb & Jon Photoshoot

Originally used in 7 Reasons Playing With A Cuddly Toy 2010 Was Not A Let Down.

JL. I like this picture because I look like an idiot. And in this life there just aren’t enough people prepared to be idiots. Sure, there are idiotic people, but that’s by accident. It takes a very special kind of person to deliberately make themselves look like an idiot and I am very proud to say I am very special. It also reminds me of that great day last September with Lamb. Oh, what fun was had. Rock on.

MF. I’m less keen on this picture than Jon. While it does feature a pair of Aviators, which is always a good thing, it’s lacking something quite fundamental. Hitler. Or the war generally. Also, outside of the framing, there barely a straight line in it. And what’s with the archway? What sort of oddball has an archway in their house? And he’s wearing a hat indoors which, as any grandparent would be very keen to point out, is a #manfail. The only thing that makes this image good is the albino monkey.

The Anglo-French Flag

Originally used in 7 Reasons The Anglo-Franco Defence Agreement is a Good Idea

MF. This Anglo-French flag is something that I’m rather proud of. I constructed it from a picture of a British flag, a picture of a French flag and a picture of a silk sheet (which is how I got the creased fluttering effect). It wasn’t even in the post itself, it was the featured image, which means that it appears next to the post on menus as a thumbnail and it was in the Latest Posts window at the top of our home page for five days. You might wonder why I’d go to such an effort to create an image that would be barely seen but, to me anyway, that sort of detail is important, and I like to think that 7 Reasons is all the better for having high standards. That the image of the intertwined British and French flags brought Jon to near-apoplexy is purely coincidence.

JL. As Marc indicates, this picture absolutely disgusts me. I don’t mind the United Kingdom and France joining forces if we are beating up some bad guys, but to merge the Union Jack with the Drapeau Tricolore is nothing less than treason. I have had to ask myself many searching questions since Marc posted this. Should I turn him in? Can I continue to work with him? How the hell did he get that creased fluttering effect? In the end I have allowed Marc to remain living his life in York. The prospect of writing 7 Reasons on a daily basis was just too much to deal with. Rest-assured though, he’s had a warning. A severe one. And, as he’s posted it again, I shall be poking him on facebook too.

Beauty & The Beast

Originally used in 7 Reasons You Should Never Get Cary Grant & Carrie Grant Mixed Up.

JL. Let me clarify one thing, I don’t have a ‘Cary Grant dressed as a woman’ fantasy. I think it’s important to remind you of this now as I can see why you may be thinking such a thing. It’s a disturbing sight. I don’t think there is any getting away from that. So why do I love it? Well that comes down to the photoshopping. Do you know how difficult it is finding a picture of Cary Grant and a picture of Carrie Grant that will go together seemlessly? No, of course you don’t. The consequences of your actions rarely lead you to such an investigation. The consequences of starting 7 Reasons very much do. So, yes, I was delighted that I found two pictures that would work together. It’s not perfect. If I had my time again I would do a bit of work on their skin tones, but for the purpose of the post it did the job. And in 7 Reasons circles that means victory.

MF. For once, I agree with absolutely everything that Jon said about this image. In his third sentence. I do, however, have some observations of my own. Firstly, bloody Twilight: When you’re a vampire and you’re not even the scariest person in the background of a picture, you’re doing it wrong and you should just bloody stop. Secondly, there’s a terrifying bald man wearing an ill-fitting white suit and eyeliner with someone’s severed arm tucked under his own arm. I haven’t slept properly since I saw this. Thirdly, I find Jon’s Cary/Carrie Grant hybrid creature more attractive than the actual Carrie Grant. Or Cary Grant. This is troubling. And Jon never responds to my emails begging him to photoshop more of them.

Lungs, Heart, Asparagus.

Originally used in 7 Reasons That We Should Grow Vegetables in our Lungs.

MF. I put this one together to complement the title of the piece. It’s an original x-ray with the heart and lungs highlighted which I found online and added asparagus to. I’ve chosen this image not just because I’m pleased with the way it turned out, though I am rather. I’ve chosen it because of the almost boundless amusement it gives me every time someone discovers it searching Google Images for x-rays of lungs. I just like knowing that at any given moment someone, somewhere in the world is looking at it thinking, “Blimey! (or perhaps a colloquial equivalent) That looks nasty. I’m going to treat asparagus with more respect now”. I feel certain that one day, this picture will turn up in a medical journal, or on a GP’s surgery wall.

JL. Who eats asparagus whole? Is that even possible? This is just one of the 7 Reasons images that has inspired readers all over the road. A bit like that man in Norwich who – having been so inspired by a post last June – tried to break the world record for number of Jaffa Cakes eaten in one minute and was subsequently sick all over the biscuit aisle. Now, I am not for a minute encouraging you to see how much whole asparagus you can eat at once – that would be highly irresponsible of us – but if you manage more than five I would love to know.

Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang

Originally used in 7 Reasons You Should Always Kiss Properly.

JL. I know what you are thinking, ‘Typical Jon. Two of his three image choices feature him.” Yep, I can’t argue with maths. But let’s look at this photo. At least for as long a you feel comfortable doing so. It is an animated GIF! How bloody exciting! But more than that it is a reminder. A reminder of how far my kissing technique has advanced since last March and – if you’ve been using the above as some kind of guide – how far backwards yours has gone. Lovely stuff.

MF. “AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” was my initial reaction to this image when I first saw it eleven months ago. And now that I am older, wiser and more mature, on reviewing this image I would say that my reaction is now AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”. Note that Jon has attempted to baffle us with maths to distract from the inherent narcissism of his selections, but let’s consider it carefully. This, as Jon points out, is an animated GIF, so it’s not one picture of him, it’s three pictures of him. This means that four out of Jon’s five image choices are of himself. That’s 80%. Anyway, that aside, I like this picture. On the first occasion I viewed it I remembered that I was supposed to unblock the kitchen sink, and the repeat viewing has caused me to agree with my wife that I spend too long on the internet and I’ve now closed my laptop, sellotaped it shut and placed it under a sofa. With an anvil on top.

Raw Sausages

Originally used in 7 Reasons That December 24th Should be Known as the Day of the Sausage.

MF. Aha! I remember this piece. Sadly, I also remember this picture. It makes me feel sick. It’s not just that the raw former-animal bits are shiny and greasy looking and some of them appear to be inside used condoms, it’s that I don’t even remember which of us added this to the (co-written) piece. I realise what must have been going through the mind of the person that uploaded it. “Sausages! Sausages! We’ve written a piece about sausages and now I need an image of sausages – any image of sausages – right now, to go with the piece about sausages!” And, in the grip of a deadline-panic, that person will have just grabbed the first image of sausages that they saw and attached it to the post. Truly horrible.

JL. This is a perfect example of what one calls, ‘shooting oneself in the foot’. Not that I shot myself, Marc shot me. And himself. And our argument. Using this image kind of reminds me of that day I sent my CV out to dozens of prospective employers and realised a week later that it didn’t contain my contact details. That section about my ‘outstanding attention to detail’ lost all credibility after that. Now, I’m not saying that the idea of the Day of the Sausage lost credibility with the inclusion of this image, just that – if such a day ever was created – Marc and I would not be part of the marketing team. And that’s sad.

January 30, 2011
7 Reasons That the IKEA Plastis is the Ultimate Washing-Up Brush

The IKEA Plastis is amazing. It’s truly a thing of wonder. Here are seven reasons that it’s the ultimate washing-up brush.

1. It Creates Envy. The IKEA Plastis washing-up brush is capable of provoking great envy. I first saw one in a friend’s kitchen four years ago and, ignoring all of the more expensive and conventionally desirable objects that surrounded it (almost the entire Le Creuset range of pots and pans, a very swanky digital radio, a fully-tiled kitchen floor), I made a beeline straight for it. “This is amazing!”, I exclaimed, as I picked it up, wide-eyed, to examine it. “It’s a washing-up brush”, my friend replied, helpfully. “Yes, I can see that”, I said, “but it’s got a sucker on the bottom. It’s ingenious*.” And that was it. I had fallen in love with the simplicity and brilliance of the design. I wanted that washing-up brush more than I want a cat that can talk or the ability to levitate (which I would use mostly to surprise people in first-floor rooms). I had to have one.

2. It Creates Anticipation. “It’s from IKEA”, my friend said. “What! NNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” was my rational and measured response during which I adopted a posture worthy of Edvard Munch’s The Scream, but in a well-appointed Bolton kitchen. This may seem like an overreaction to the prospect of purchasing something from IKEA, but it really isn’t. Had the Plastis been available solely from the moon it would have been easier to get hold of. I live in the centre of a city. Because of this I choose not to own a car. This is because I live in the bit that most people drive to and I have no desire to visit the suburbs/industrial estates/retail parks/Frankie and Benny’s so I don’t need one. Public transport is also not a practical option when it comes to visiting our local IKEA and the Plastis isn’t available to order online (I checked. Weekly), so I had to wait four years until we required a sufficient quantity of shelving, lampshades, sideboards and other stuff in order to justify renting a car to get the Plastis. During that time I tried not to think of the brush every day**, but I thought about it a lot. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder and, in the years that the brush was absent from my life, I grew very fond of it indeed. Perhaps too fond.

I stopped short of getting a tattoo of the Plastis.

3. It Makes Grown Men Jump For Joy. “There it is! There it is!” I exclaimed breathlessly to my wife while pointing to a display on the other side of a very large room in IKEA, before abandoning her and hurrying toward the stand of brushes. And there it was. Or, more excitingly, they were. There were loads of them, in several colours, standing upright in serried ranks on their suckers. There was an army of them. This is what it must be like to be The Queen during the trooping of the colour, I thought. After four, long years, I was finally about to get hold of a Plastis!. Obviously, I studied them all very carefully before selecting one and, while my wife was away playing with wardrobes, tape measures and shelving, I made my important decision. Though it wasn’t a very difficult one because…

4. The Plastis Comes In Red. This is important. As one of the rules of our kitchen (immediately after the rule that every time I paint the ceiling, something else will spring a leak and ruin it again) is that nothing goes in there unless it’s red. We have red pots, red pans, red blenders, red mug-stands, red radios, red everything. Josef Stalin and Ken Livingstone would get into our kitchen: Winston Churchill and Joseph McCarthy would not. Unless they’re any good at laying floor tiles (red), in which case, they’d be very welcome.

5. It’s Great Value. The IKEA Plastis is fantastic value priced, as it is, at £1.11. Not only does this mean that you can buy joy and fulfilment for less than the price of a cup of coffee, but – with its preponderance of 1s – should you wish to print this page out, it will be cheaper to do so as the number 1 uses less ink than any other number. Also, should you be near a superstitious type at this moment, the three ones will be causing them to say “Nelson!” and dance around, meaning that you get free entertainment too. Obviously, in our case, the fantastic value was slightly offset by having to buy a sideboard and rent a car to get one, but it’s still better value than paying council tax, which costs many times more and doesn’t make anyone happy.

6. It’s Even Better Value For Dishwasher-Owners. Because, as the people at IKEA will tell you, the Plastis is dishwasher-safe. Which means that you can wash your washing-up brush inside the dishwasher, which is great, because otherwise, if we didn’t have a dishwasher, we’d have to buy another washing-up brush to wash our washing-up brush with. So for dishwasher-owners, the cost of washing-up brush ownership is halved.***

7. It’s Got A Sucker. Obviously the best bit about the Plastis is the sucker, and since we got ours home I’ve been experimenting with it. I’ve stood it up on the draining board, I’ve stuck it to the wall, I’ve affixed it to the (red) biscuit tin and, best of all, I’ve stuck it to my forehead and chased the cat around the house pretending to be an alien (consequently, for the past two days I’ve had a large purple circle in the centre of my forehead which doesn’t look like it’s going away any time soon). There is literally nothing that can’t be improved by sticking a Plastis to it. Even people. The Plastis is awesome and one day, who knows, I might even use it to wash something up.

*I promise you, our conversations are usually far more interesting than this.

**Because that would be weird.

***Yes, I did use this argument in IKEA to justify purchasing the Plastis to my wife, who responded by using a technique that she has developed during our marriage called Smile & Nod.

January 27, 2011
7 Reasons That the Hot Toddy is THE Winter Drink

The hot toddy is the winter drink. Here are seven reasons why.

1. They’re Warming. Hot toddies are hot. The winter is cold. Therefore, when you arrive home after any time outdoors, you are probably cold. Given that the temperature differential between the toddy and your body* is going to be quite substantial, the taking of the toddy will be beneficial to your body temperature and innate sense of wellbeing.

2. They’re Medicinal. Given that it’s winter, you’re probably suffering from some sort of cold/flu/sniffle/sinus-block-green-stuff-induced-torpor. The hot toddy contains cloves, which help you breathe more easily (if you embed them in the lemon properly). If you don’t, you may accidentally get one caught in your throat and choke to death. Still, fear of imminent death makes drinking a hot toddy far more interesting than drinking a cup of tea.

3. They’re Convenient. Don’t have the necessary ingredients for a hot toddy to hand? Well, firstly, sack your housekeeper. Secondly, relax. The hot toddy recipe isn’t some hideously rigid formula that must be adhered to, it’s more a rough guide to creating your own drink: Hot toddy making is an art rather than a science. If you don’t have any whisky handy, you can use pretty much any other dark or oak-aged spirit; whiskey, brandy, grappa, rum are all acceptable (individually, don’t go mad) and bring a different flavour to proceedings. You can also – should you find that you’re out of honey – substitute dark sugar, syrup or treacle. My favourite alternative is maple syrup, which is from Canada, where they have weird canoes and they milk trees.

4. They’re Healthy. Most hot toddy recipes suggest that you use a slice of lemon. They are wrong. If you use a quarter of a lemon and squeeze it before putting it in the mug (squeezing the juice into the mug, obviously, don’t just dribble it over the worktop or onto a passing cat) the toddy is much better. Firstly it uses up a greater quantity of lemon – which is always desirable – and secondly, it puts more lemon juice into the drinker. Not only does this give you vitamin C, it probably counts as one of your recommended five portions of fruit and vegetables per day so, disregarding clove-choking incidents, you’ll be healthier too and may live for ever.***

5. They’re Even Healthier. One of the things you need to do to fight those wintry ailments is to make sure your blood sugar levels are high. This will give you the energy you need to carry on regardless/lie down and complain that you are dying (delete as appropriate, based on sex). This is why they give ill people Lucozade, and this is why you should drink a hot toddy, either preventative or medicinal. That and they don’t taste of Lucozade.

6. They’re Even More Convenient. You might be thinking that the last thing you want to be doing is messing about with spirits, cloves and lemons every time you want a hot drink, but the good news is that you don’t have to. Because you can pre-make your hot toddies. Just put all the ingredients, minus the hot water, into a mug and put it in the fridge (in our kitchen, we have a walk-in refrigerator that we call “the kitchen”). You can put as many as you want in there. You might also consider adding a note that says “in case of emergency, add boiling water, stir, bring upstairs to me” or some such. Your partner/housemates/parents/children/pets/imaginary friend will doubtless appreciate that.

7. They Taste Good. I seem to have forgotten to mention that they taste bloody marvellous. Plus, the flavour is so strong, that even with a cold, it is still apparent. And they smell so nice that other people will follow you around the house as you drink one and attempt to steal it, despite having declined your kind offer of one only ten minutes previously. That always happens.

*Don’t panic, I know it rhymes. I shan’t attempt to turn that line into the start of a song.**

**Well, I’ll try to resist it.

***If you fail to live for ever after switching to the hot toddy as your winter drink of choice, feel free to email your complaint to us.

As a special bonus, here’s the recipe:

Some whisky: Maybe a little bit more. A tiny bit more. Oh, fuck it, another splash won’t hurt me.

Two teaspoons of honey.

A quarter of a lemon (squeezed, if you are at all health-conscious)

Some cloves (4-8). Embed them in the lemon or you will die.

Hot water.

Combine all the ingredients in a mug, then fill with hot water and stir. Remove teaspoon. Drink.

(You can also add a cinnamon stick if you like cinnamon or sticks).

January 20, 2011
7 Reasons The Darren Bent Transfer Rumours Are…er… Just A Bit Strange

1. They’re Memorable. Wait. What. Huh? Never mind people remembering where they were when they heard that Kennedy had been shot by Lee Harvey Oswald/spooks on the grassy knoll/a Wisconsin bear hunter’s epic and unfortunate ricochet. Never mind people remembering where they were when Diana had been killed in a traffic accident/sinister Prince Philip-backed plot/returning of his angel to heaven by Jesus. Those events have now been overshadowed by our own epoch-defining memorable moment. Henceforth, we will all remember where we were when we heard the rumour that Darren Bent was leaving Sunderland for Aston Villa for £18 million.

2. They’re Shocking. ”Eighteen million pounds!”, I exclaimed as I spat my morning espresso at my laptop. “Darren Bent!”. “Eighteen million pounds!”. And suddenly my previously sleeping cat appeared by my side, staring at me, with a curious expression on his face and his ears pricked. And then it dawned on me. The shock of the news had caused me to say “Eighteen million pounds” in a voice so high that it shocked my cat. A voice so high that out of the two of us, only he could hear it. A voice so high that Keith Richards on the seventh day of a bender in an opium den would have to gaze upward to see it. Using a telescope.

3. They’re Incomprehensible. After a bit of a lie down, during which my voice fell back down to Earth from the upper ionosphere and my cat got on with some urgent dozing, I tried to digest the news. Nope. It doesn’t compute. There is nothing about this news that isn’t baffling and incomprehensible, and I’m married to a woman and live in Yorkshire, so I’m one of the world’s foremost authorities on baffling and incomprehensible.

4. The Money. Eighteen million pounds, to be exact (I may have already mentioned this). Now eighteen million pounds isn’t what it used to be. Time was when eighteen million pounds could probably buy you a Premier League winning squad, but those days are gone and with Manchester City paying silly money for every world-class player out there, transfer fees are currently sky-high. But Darren Bent isn’t a world-class player, and Man City aren’t trying to buy him (they already have Jo) so how in all the name of all that is holy can anyone justify paying eighteen million pounds for Darren Bent? Darren Bent! He was overpriced at sixteen and a half million when he signed for Spurs four years ago and he looked a better player back then with more potential. How is he one and a half million pounds better now? We’ve all seen the sitter he famously missed against Portsmouth and yes, Sandra Redknapp could have scored it. With her eyes closed. How can a club that didn’t back its previous manager with transfer funds at the start of the season now justify spending eighteen million pounds now. On Darren Bent? Rafael van der Vaart has been the best signing in the Premier League this season and he only cost eight million. Is Darren Bent ten better than van der Vaart? Really?

5. It’s Aston Villa. Last season, a move to Villa would have looked like a step-up for Darren Bent. But this season Steve Bruce has got Sunderland playing fantastic football (except against Newcastle) and they’re an improving squad in the hunt to get European football next year. And Darren Bent is an integral part of the first team. Villa, on the other hand, are hovering alarmingly above the relegation zone and are fielding a team half full of old men and children every match; it’s a bit like the home team in Berlin in 1945, except that they’re managed by Gerard Houllier. Why would anyone want to change to that side?

Is this a logical move?

6. It’s Greedy. The only thing that can possibly be motivating this move from the top of the Premier League to the bottom is money. It can’t be to improve his game by working with Houllier and it doesn’t seem likely that he wants to return to the Championship, so it must be solely for the money. But it’s not as if he’s earning a pauper’s wage, he’s a Premier League football player! How much more money can he possibly need? There can’t have been avarice on this scale since…well, okay…it happens every day, but outside of banking and parliament, there can’t have been such a naked example of greed since the dawn of time. Or perhaps earlier.

7. Breaking News. As I’ve been writing this the fee has changed. Now it’s twenty four million pounds! It’s gone up. Now he’s three times better than van der Vaart. In fact, Fernando Torres only cost Liverpool twenty million. So Darren Bent is now better than Fernando Torres. I give up! This can’t be real, I’m just going to assume that it’s all some sort of strange dream and hope that when I wake up this whole story isn’t here. There’s no place like home…There’s no place like home…

January 18, 2011
7 Reasons To Stone The Crows

1. Farmers. I have never been a farmer, lacking as I do the necessary sheepdog and accompanying whistle. I imagine, though, it must be tough work. Tiring work. Frustrating work. Especially if you have ploughed your field and sowed the seed only to see a flock of crows engulf the scene. It’s at this point when you have a choice. Allow them to eat your livelihood or revert to the stones. Whichever you choose, you also need to invest in a better scarecrow. *

2. Rivalry. If you live in the city of Adelaide, Australia, you may well support Port Adelaide Football Club in the AFL. In doing so you immediately have a rival. They are across town and are called the Adelaide Crows. You may take exception to defeat at the hands of your nemesis and wish to take matters into your own hands. To, you know, bring some pride back to your end of town.*

3. Attack. Picture the scene. You are walking along the street, minding your own business, when an armoured vehicle rocks up next to you with crows on its roof. And when I say crows, I mean a Common Remotely Operated Weapon Station. You know, one of those things that you can mount a machine gun on and then operate from the comfort and security of the driver’s seat. If this happens you need to get prepared. If he starts firing you need to use whatever means you can to fight back. And chucking stones at the crows might be your only hope. Good luck.*

4. Words. The collective noun for crows is a murder and, if we take that as some sort of corrupted historical instruction, we should be killing them. Now, shooting them would probably be the best way to do this but, as most of the 7 Reasons readership is based in the UK, there probably aren’t that many gun-owners among us. This would leave us furiously hurling bullets at them (which would be expensive) or desperately searching for alternate methods of killing them. Though they live in trees and rope is in plentiful supply from chandlers all around our island nation, hanging them isn’t practical as crows can defy gravity. Basically they’d just flutter about for a bit then fly back to the branch we’d hanged them from so, in essence, we’d just be tying crows to trees. Where they live anyway. This really leaves stoning as the only viable option.

5. Australia. In Australia, where the phrase stone the crows is said to have originated – or should that be aboriginated – the crows eat lambs. That’s right, lambs. Now I haven’t been too close to Australian lambs, but they seem like quite sizeable creatures to me. And frankly, if I lived in an upside-down land where large black birds were capable of swooping up from the sky below me and killing animals that are the size of human babies (which apparently have enough to fear from dingoes over there as it is), I’d be ready to stone them too. Or I’d go even further and rock them. What’s more, being English, my throws would have a better chance of hitting them than the natives’ efforts.***

6. Do The Right Thing. Crows are the proper animal to stone. I – before I corrected a spelling mistake – spent an earlier paragraph exhorting you, the reader, to stone the cows. But cows are definitely not an animal that you should be stoning. They’re large – surprisingly fast – and would probably become quite cross if you were to hurl stones at them. Not to mention the possibility of being shot by a furious and ruddy-faced farmer. Stoning cows is wrong. Stoning crows is right.

7. Kia-Ora. Remember the Kia-Ora advert where crows impersonate a hobo-child’s dog to relieve him of his Kia-Ora, despite his protestations that it’s too orangey for them? You’ll know if you’ve seen it, the music will still be reverberating round your head over twenty-five years later ready to surface when you least expect it to. Or want it to. Which is never.

Enjoy!

And now we all probably want to stone the crows.

*7 Reasons would like to point out that we do not condone the stoning of crows whether they be real crows, the Adelaide Crows or the Common Remotely Operated Weapon Station.**

**No, on second thoughts, fuck them. Stone away.

***We can probably keep this up until the next Ashes series in 2013.

January 17, 2011
Russian Roulette Sunday: Blimey! It’s The Future. Now.
Last week, 7 Reasons took a step backward. We went back in time to the antediluvian age of print when our words – if not our names – appeared in Esquire magazine. How can we top that, we wondered. The present will just seem humdrum now. So we decided to ignore the present and plan for the future.

In historical envisaging of the future, it’s all hoverboards, cars that fly and spangly jumpsuits. But it’s fast becoming clear that the true instrument of the future will be the Kindle. That’s how things will be read in years to come. We determined that the way forward for 7 Reasons was to embrace the Kindle and prepare for it. Well, Jon thought that we should wear spangly jumpsuits and LED watches, but fortunately he lost the coin-toss.

So we’ve got together with the people at Amazon and we’ve made it happen. From today, we have a new thing:

That’s right Kindlers, 7 Reasons is now available on your Kindles. So when you’re out there Kindling in your futuristic world of the future, you need never miss a single 7 Reasons post. They’ll just appear on your Kindle via the combined mediums of witchcraft, space-age jiggery-pokery and the wireless internet. You can subscribe to 7 Reasons : Kindle Edition here; you can even have a free 14 day trial. For the rest of us backward peasants there’ll still be the old-fashioned website but you, Kindlers, the beautiful people of the future, will be experiencing 7 Reasons in many amazing ways.

Things the beautiful-future-people will be able to do with their Kindles:
- Read 7 Reasons in direct sunlight.
- Read 7 Reasons for hours and hours without straining their eyes.
- Spot 7 Reasons spelling-mistakes with their built-in dictionary (but not as a drinking game, a post by Jon could prove fatal).
- Be better than the rest of us.
- Think of a witty and brilliant fifth thing.
Things that the rest of us will be able to do without Kindles:
- Stand in mud.
- Eat a raw turnip.
- Point at the beautiful-future-people.
- Lick a fetid dog.
- Wail with despair and cry until our souls hurt.
So, that’s the future: Available now. 7 Reasons will return tomorrow in many forms. Like the Devil.
January 16, 2011
Russian Roulette Sunday: Badges

A long, long time ago, way back in the mists of 7 Reasons(.org) history, Jon promised that there would be badges for guest posters, and Marc rolled his eyes and said, “SHH! You’ll bankrupt us before we’ve even started.” But now, many months – possibly even a whole year later – we have an announcement to make about badges for guest posters.

We’ve never forgotten the promised badges, and just recently we took another look into the 7 Reasons coffers (once we’d located them in a dusty ante-room) to see if badges were now feasible. As we expectantly lifted the heavy wooden lid of our treasure chest it creaked with reassuring portent and, with the light of our torches to guide us, we peered into the interior of the dark, gloomy box.

To say that we were amazed by what we found there would be an understatement. After we had emptied the contents of the chest into a pile on the floor and methodically totalled it up, we were staggered.

So now, we can announce that the 7 Reasons Badge Fund stands at…(drum-roll)…(go on, just bang on the desk, no one will think you’re mad)…half a dead spider, a creased Post-it® note, the crumbs from several ginger nut biscuits, twelve business cards, a mug with a broken handle and a lemon. Plus some blue stuff that neither of us wanted to touch.

But necessity is the mother of invention and we’re nothing if not creative here so we’ve made badges anyway. For free. In Photoshop. So if you write (or have written) for us, you can now have a 7 Reasons Guest Writer badge simply by sending us a photograph of yourself. And we’ll send it back with your badge on it.

Not only will this help us achieve our goal of not running 7 Reasons at a loss one day, it’s also far more environmentally friendly than an actual, physical badge, which benefits the whole world. So the virtual badge is something worthy, it’s a force for good. It’s actually saving penguins.

A guest poster has already taken us up on our virtual badge offer (in fact, it’s what convinced him to write for us in the first place). Here is Sir Andrew Straussy jubilantly wearing his:

And here’s an owl wearing his (because one day, we hope to convince an owl to write for us (and the virtual badge is less cruel than an actual one)).

We also sent (to the lady herself) a picture of Jennifer Aniston wearing a badge and we received this in return.

So this probably means that marriage is still out of the question.

Anyway, the point of all of these badge-related-shenanigans is to mention that we’re currently looking for more guest posts. So, if you’ve never written for us, or if you have; if you have an idea, or even half an idea (because that’s how we work most of the time), then please get in touch.

We have always felt genuinely honoured and flattered that brilliant people, who write to such a high standard, have submitted pieces for us to use, and we hope that – one day – we will be able to reward their endeavours with something more tangible than our thanks, our admiration and our love (which, to be honest may put people off). Perhaps in the form of a badge, perhaps in the form of money, perhaps we will build a shrine, who knows? Anyway, however we decide to reward guest posters when we are dripping with the riches of Croseous, the fact remains that we aren’t right now, but we do feel genuinely humble – and honoured – that people read us regularly and that people allow us to use their work.

Anyway, if you fancy earning yourself some thanks, some publicity and a virtual badge then email [email protected]. We don’t promise to use everything that’s sent to us (because, well, we might not like it, and if we didn’t have standards, then we wouldn’t feel proud of our own website ). We will always consider it, however, and are happy to offer guidance or advice, where solicited.

Here’s a brief guide to writing a post for us. Thanks,

Marc and Jon.

December 5, 2010
7 Reasons They Were Very Wrong

It’s the 3^rd of December and, to save you wondering why that’s significant and making you worry that you’ve forgotten your birthday or Easter or something, we’ll tell you. On this day, in 1929, U.S. President, Herbert Hoover, delivered the first State of the Union Address since the Wall Street Crash to Congress. But this wasn’t your run of the mill State of the Union Address where nothing much of interest gets said. Well, it was, but in the middle of all of the traditional consciousness-bothering guff, Herbert Hoover said something so obviously, epically and unarguably wrong that he has inspired us to bring you seven of our favourite examples of wrongness.

President Hoover. Talking.

1. Herbert Hoover. “While the crash only took place six months ago, I am convinced that we have now passed the worst and with continuity of effort we shall rapidly recover.” And following those fine, rousing, confident words, America and the rest of the world plunged into The Great Depression, which saw American production fall by 46%, foreign trade fall by 70%, unemployment rocket by 607% and shanty-towns filled with the homeless spring up around every major U.S. city. They called them Hoovervilles.

2. Dr Dionysius Lardner. “Rail travel at high speed is not possible, because passengers, unable to breathe, would die of asphyxia.” The professor of Natural Philosophy and Astronomy at University College London was wrong on two levels here. One; trains don’t actually reach high-speed in this country because there is always a poxy cow on the line, and two; if passengers unable to breathe did get on a train, they would already be dead.

3. Glenn McGrath. The great Australian bowler predicted Ashes whitewashes in 2005, 2009 & 2010/11. With England on the receiving end. He was wrong. The fact that he got it right in 2006/7 is more a testament to infinite monkey theorem than to any logical analysis*. And to the fact that England were rubbish.**

4. Sir William Preece. The chief engineer of the British Post Office said in 1876, “The Americans have need of the telephone, but we do not. We have plenty of messenger boys.” So in Victorian Britain, not all boys were up chimneys or in the workhouse; they were carrying messages which, according to Sir William Preece, is the ideal way to have a chat with your mother who lives a hundred and fifty miles away. “Hello Mother, how are you?”, you would write, before summoning one of the multitudinous boys to bear your message to her. And when he returned, breathlessly, a mere fortnight later with the reply, “Fine, thank you,” you would send him straight back again with a note inscribed, “And how’s Father?”. In the Preecian vision of the future of communication, Americans could have a ten-minute-long conversation with their mothers while the British would have a forty-two-week-long one which would cost the lives of approximately nine urchins. Perhaps to make his idea more marketable to the communications industry he considered the slogan: The future’s bright, the future’s boys. Or perhaps not.

5. Newsweek, In an issue looking into the future of travel, Newsweek magazine carried this prediction of popular holiday destinations for the late 1960s. “And for the tourist who really wants to get away from it all, safaris in Vietnam.” Erm…yeah. Now Newsweek weren’t totally wrong here. Vietnam did receive a massive influx of American tourists with rifles in the late 1960s, it’s just that they weren’t there to safari. Or to sit by the pool.

6. Lord Kelvin. In 1883, the President of the Royal Society, said, “X-Rays will prove to be a hoax”. To this day, I bet he wishes he had said the ‘X-Files’. It’s a shame though really, because if X-Rays were a hoax then that cracked fibula I suffered could also have been a hoax. As would be the inevitable snapped fibula. And all the surgery. In fact, my whole life would have been a hoax. But it’s not. Because X-Rays are real. And so am I.***

7. Major General John Sedgewick. While directing artillery placements, Sedgewick and his corps came under fire from Confederate sharpshooters about a thousand yards away. As his officers and men ducked and scurried away, General Sedgewick loftily dismissed the notion of taking cover saying, “What? Men dodging this way for single bullets? What will you do when they open fire along the whole line? I am ashamed of you. They couldn’t hit an elephant at this dist…”. They were his last words.

*Glen McGrath is an infinite monkey. You heard it here first.

**Except Ian Bell.

***Jonathan Lee is real. You heard it here first.

December 3, 2010
Guest Post: 7 Reasons I am Better Than You

Hi there, it’s Saturday, so here’s a guest post. Curling up on the 7 Reasons sofa today is Horatio Pyewackett Caractacus Fearns who – when he wakes up – wants to explain why he’s better than you. And us, probably.

1. Fur. Ever tried to wear fur? No, of course you haven’t you timorous numpty, you timid wretch, you cowardy, cowardy custard. Because you’re fearful. You’re afraid of PETA. You think that if you don a fur coat you’ll be attacked by a mob of militant lefties who object to your sartorial decisions. But I’m not scared, PETA aren’t going to object to me wearing fur, because I’m better than you; wearing fur is my birthright, and I wear it as if to the manor born, without fear of reproachment. Because I’m awesome! Because I’m a cat!

2. Benevolence. I’m kind to my minions. Very kind. And I’m uber-agile, in fact, I can bend over backwards and lick my own bottom. But you can’t. You have to scrape bits from trees and roll them up into a ball in order to clean your own fetid arses. This is because you’re pathetic and incapable of washing yourself properly. But I’m not, I’m wondrous and supple and can cleanse my own ring with my tongue. Which, let’s face it, saves you a job, so I’m benevolent too.

3. Competition. So who’s the most awesome human that there is? That’s right, Superman. He can leap twenty times his own height; he can hear things that are going on miles away and he can’t be snuck up on while he’s sleeping. Well, me too. Superman, however, can be defeated by kryptonite. But I can’t, I can do all of those things with no fear of kryptonite or of looking like a dweeb at the fortress of solitude. Because I’m magnificent, and because I’m still rocking my fur coat while Superman’s attired in a thin, shiny number with his pants outside outside his lycra leggings. He looks like the world’s worst-dressed cyclist ever, and I just look amazing. Look at ME!

4. Night. You blundering dunderheads can’t even see in the dark. Want to know how many times I’ve fallen over a human when the lights are off? None. When oversized, underbalanced simpletons like you wander around without burning electricity, however, you’re endlessly falling over me (especially the tall one with the ginger beard). Because I’m abso-fucking-beauteously wonderful, and because I like to hang around in the hallway. To mock you. Because I can.

5. Temperature. You mewling, simpering feckless nonentities can’t even regulate your own body temperatures, but I can; I’m the master of my own temperature. The nearest you feeble people come to accomplishing that is the human inhabitants of the North-East of England: Geordies. But they lack my sonorous voice and natural grace. Also, despite their bravura, many of them die of hypothermia on their way home in the winter. But I haven’t. Ever. It would be a waste of one of my nine lives (eight better than you) if I were to do so, and I’m not prepared to do it.

6. Size Is Important. Just look at the size of yourself, you lumbering bioped. Look at the amount of space that your unwieldy, bloated, overstuffed body takes up. Where human designers prattle on about space efficiency as some sort of ideal, I live it. I am space efficiency. Because I take up less space than you. I can curl up into a tiny-weeny ball. Can you? No. Not at all. But I can. I’m fantastic.

7. Nature. I’m just naturally better than you. I am. When you poo, does anyone scurry around to scoop it up? No, of course not. You have to dispose of it yourself. But when I shit, one of my underlings comes and disposes of it for me. Every time. Because I’m a cat, and they’re not. In fact, everything revolves around me, abso-fucking-lutely-everything. Dinner is served at the regular hour at which I require it. Tradesmen come to repair the home in which I dwell and the humans who live here to serve me pay for it themselves. And, when they’re not feeding me or opening doors for me, they even let me use them as chairs. Would they do that for you? No, of course not. But they do it for me, because I’m better than you.

November 27, 2010
7 Reasons I Ended Up Appearing Quite Mad Yesterday (Even Though I’m Not)

Sometimes, when you’re sitting around, minding your own business, an event occurs. An event to which you are compelled to react. And, while your reaction is brilliantly conceived and perfectly rational, a chain of events ensues that eventually makes you appear irredeemably, unutterably, stupendously mad. Like yesterday.

This is not my neighbour's cat, nor is it my cat, nor is it my wall. This cat on a wall is from the internet.

While I was writing, a cat appeared on the six foot high wall at the bottom of my garden. One of next door’s cats. Now, I don’t want any of next door’s cats in my garden, because it’s where my cat lives. I want him to be able spend his time in the garden sleeping, licking, and staring at the gate unmolested by other cats. So I had to let the other cat know that he wasn’t welcome in our garden. Now I know how to scare a cat; it’s easy. But going outside and hissing and shouting at this cat wasn’t going to convey the right message. I needed to let the interloper know he was in another cat’s territory, and that he should stay away.

1. Plan A. I went and fetched my dozing cat from the sofa. My cat didn’t want to know. I showed him the intruder through the dining room window. He saw the other cat and ignored him. This was disappointing. This isn’t going to scare anyone I thought, as my cat fell asleep on the windowsill. This wouldn’t even scare mice. Nervous mice.

2. Plan B. Right, I thought. If the sight of my cat asleep on the windowsill isn’t enough to strike the fear of god into the intruder, I’ll have to escalate things. I’ll have to send my cat out to deal with him. I woke him up, reminded him of the presence of the other cat and carried him into the utility room. I placed him on the floor, next to his cat-flap; I delivered a rousing speech to him and then opened it so that he could sally forth to dispatch his foe. He didn’t move. He sat and purred at me. I tried to usher him through his flap, but he clearly wasn’t going to go. My cat, I thought, is a disappointment.

3. Plan C. I know, I’ll open the back door really loudly. If I can’t scare him away with a cat, then at least opening the door loudly will make the intruder run; and my cat might conceivably think that he’s the one causing him to flee in terror and emerge with feline dignity intact and be that bit braver next time. As loudly as I could, I unlocked the door and, with as much speed and force as I could muster, I heaved the door open. I was rewarded with the sight of a terror-stricken cat, fleeing for its life. Bugger, I thought, as I went to retrieve him from behind the sofa. This isn’t going well.

4. Plan D. I picked him up, returned to the utility room and carried him through the back door. “Look”, I said to the other cat, “I have a cat here and I’m not afraid to use him”. The other cat was not as moved by our presence as I had hoped that he would be. Impassively, he licked his paw and turned his head away.

5. Plan E. Okay, I clearly wasn’t being terrifying enough. I raised our cat above my head so that he was higher up than the cat on our wall. This will do it, I thought, there are only two things that can possibly go through the other cat’s mind. One: “Blimey! What the hell is that hideous giant cat/man hybrid creature over there, I’d better run for it”. Or two: “ Blimey! Look what that man’s doing to that feckless fat-cat from next door. I’m probably next. I’d better run for it.” But if these things went through his mind, he didn’t show it; unless this cat instinctively displays abject terror by blinking slowly, that is. I was going to have to get nearer.

6. Plan F. With my arms fully outstretched, cat held aloft, above my head; I charged toward the other cat. It didn’t move. I was closing quickly and when I got to within eight feet it still hadn’t moved.

7. Plan G. Realising that my charge wasn’t unnerving enough, I decided that I needed a war cry, and I began to roar (at a volume which surprised even me) as I charged through the garden. But the other cat still hadn’t moved, and I was almost upon it. I realised it needed a little more time to realise the desperate situation it was in, so I pulled away at the last moment to run a lap of my garden, still roaring and, as my cat and I rounded the top of the garden and turned to face the enemy once more I saw him react, startled, jump down from the wall and run. My jubilation was short lived. I also saw…

…My neighbour emerge from her back door, the sound of which had presumably – unbeknownst to her, as she couldn’t possibly have seen it – scared the other cat away. I slowed to a halt and stopped roaring. “Hi”, I said, breezily, realising I still had the cat above my head, and that I probably looked quite foolish.

“Er…Hi”, she replied.

I felt self-conscious, and it occurred to me that some sort of explanation of my behaviour was required. “I was just scaring the cat”.

“I’m not surprised”, she replied.

November 11, 2010