Tag: moustache

7 Reasons To Love The Statesman!

Apart from waking up to the news that it is both International Women’s Day and Pancake Day, you may have also heard that 28,000 Police jobs are – in all likelihood – going to be cut. If your reaction to this news is one of fear, you need not worry. A new crime fighting force is out there. The UK’s answer to Kick-Ass is a real-life superhero. Let me introduce you to… The Statesman!

This powerhouse of a man is out there, right now – in Birmingham – protecting us. Protecting us all. Do we need 7 Reasons to love him? Of course we don’t. Are we going to give you 7 Reasons anyway? Well, obviously. Here they are:

1. Costume. The last person to try and spread a little love by wearing a Union Jack outfit was Geri Halliwell. The Statesman, though, has the eye mask to go with it. Which in my opinion makes all the difference. Everyone likes a superhero who can effectively combine fierce loyalty to his country with a bit of camp mystery.

2. Utility Belt. Savlon? Check. Plasters? Check. Maglite? Check. Swiss Army Knife from that Christmas cracker? Check. Let’s be honest, Superman was great, but he never took a strip of Elastoplast with him. The Statesman does. And a tube of Berocca to help the inebriated among us.

3. Moustache. The last time I saw something like this it was Movember 2009 and I was looking in the mirror. I scared people that month. Which only leads me to believe that The Statesman must scare baddies 24/7/365. Awesome man, just awesome!

4. Persuasive. Until the identity of The Statesman was splashed all over The Sun, his girlfriend thought he was off playing poker every night. Whether she ever questioned his choice of attire is, at present, unknown, but I suspect she did. I can only conclude therefore that The Statesman is a very persuasive chap. And let’s be clear about this, when you are faced with two bad men, each with a crowbar, the best way of unarming them is the mighty skill of persuasion.

5. Allies. That’s right, he has friends. Possibly in high places. Possibly in phone boxes. Possibly in the back of the Satesmobile. It doesn’t really matter where they are, the fact is they are out there. Fighting. Fighting for us. So go out, wear your bling, leave your car doors open, nothing bad will ever happen.

6. Weapons. There’s no gun, taser or baton sticking out of The Statesman’s trousers. He is unarmed. Well, except for his quick wit and boxing mitts. Given that gangs have ready access to a variety of kitchen utensil you have to applaud The Statesman’s ‘no violence’ approach. If only wars were fought in such a way.

7. Heart. Many superheroes are pre-occupied with fighting, not The Statesman though. If there is no crime to be fought, he’ll happily help the drunk across the road or give a blanket to a homeless person. A clever villain would probably try and use such a scenario as a diversion tactic, but I just have a sneaking suspicion that The Statesman will be ready for such an eventuality. He’s a superhero after all.

March 8, 2011
7 Reasons This Magazine Has Ruined Everything

Somethings in life, you just don’t expect. One such thing was my rejection from the 2011 London Marathon. It’s me, Jon, by the way. Just in case you are my co-writer Marc, and are wondering when the hell you entered the ballot. It’s the fourth time I have entered the ballot and failed. That’s quite unlucky. And for someone who despises failure in all its forms, a horrendous turn of events. I was so sure I was going to get an accepted magazine this year. It was my turn. It was my year. But I didn’t. I got a poxy, ‘Commiserations, your ballot application to run the 2011 Virgin London Marathon has been unsuccessful but there’s still a chance to run…’ magazine. Poxiness. Complete poxiness. And it’s ruined everything.

1. Targets. I work best when I have targets. Something to aim for. A deadline. A tea-break. Dinner. Mainly though, it’s a deadline. When I have a deadline, I know what I have to do. Everything is in front of me. Everything is clear. I can plan, I can re-plan and most of all I get whatever needs to be done, done. The same goes for my running. If I have an event to prepare for, I prepare for it. I have the motivation of a medal – and one of those foil sheets that make me look like a spaceman – awaiting me on the horizon. Without that though, the only thing on the horizon is an old woman waiting for a bus, and between you and me, I can’t be bothered to run all the way over to her. So I don’t. I stay in. And eat a biscuit. And yawn. And scratch. And eat another biscuit. And life sucks. (Apart from the biscuits). So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined motivation.

2. Money. This ‘Commiserations’ magazine is going to cost me a bloody fortune. Which, considering it was free, seems both ironic and calculating. If I had got one of the better ‘Congratulations’ magazines, I would have gone on a health regime. No biscuits; no crisps; no beer; no fun. Quick calculations show that would have saved me at least £15 a week. Multiply that by the twenty-four weeks until the London Marathon actually occurs and we are looking at a minimum of £360. £360! I could have bought 28,800 tea-bags with that! Instead I bought biscuits, crisps and beer. Unbelievable. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined my tea-based caffeine addiction.

3. Trainer Manufacturers. Nike; Adidas; Reebok; Asics; all other running footwear brands. One of them has lost a sale. Actually, probably two sales. If I had been successful in the tombola, I would certainly have invested in a new pair to carry me the 26.2 miles and a spare pair in case the others got dirty. As I’m not even going to be running 26.2 metres, I am not investing. Which means one the sports good manufacturers is not going to achieve as good a turnover as they may have done and as a result someone will no doubt get sacked. Hopefully a Frenchman. That at least will bring me some comfort. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined child labour.*

4. April 17th 2011. This is the date of the London Marathon. A marathon I will not be watching. A marathon I will be avoiding. A marathon that will make me frustrated and tetchy for the whole day. In my frustrated and tetchy state, I will probably be looking for trouble. I will probably want to kick something. And that’s bad news for any living thing. Or, if I choose something more sturdy, my foot. Either way, I’d avoid me. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined next door’s cat.

5. Alternatives. Last year, when I failed to attain ‘congratulatory’ status, I went looking for alternatives. Something else to fill the void that had been left in my life. I found it in the shape of a moustache. Or, more accurately, the shape of Movember. For a whole month, people’s eyes were abused by the sight of a ginger handlebar** adorning my face. And I didn’t enjoy it much either. Due to the London Marathon’s foresight, I may well have to do it again. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined humanity.

6. The Amazon. Not only have the organisers of the 2011 London Marathon upset me, they have also upset a tree. Well, actually, they’ve gone further than just upset it. They’ve beaten it to a pulp. And it’s not just me they’ve let down. It’s 100,000 others too. And that’s a lot of tree. Now, somewhere, in the middle of the Amazon Rainforest, is a clearing they call, ‘Commiseration Place’. And, somewhere, up in the atmosphere, is much more carbon dioxide than there ever should have been. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined the planet.

7. Peaks. My sexual peak was ten years ago – though, for many reasons, that seemed to pass me by. My cricket peak was eight years ago – though, for many reasons, that seemed to last little more than a couple of hours. My writing peak was last week – though, for many reasons, it didn’t equate to much when written down. My running peak is now. Right now. In the year that I am 27. But thanks to the London Marathon, I will not be able to utilise it. Instead I will have to wait until a year/two years/five years/ten years after my running peak to take part. And that’s a long time to rent a deep-sea divers’ suit for. So, to sum up, the London Marathon has ruined peaking.

*Thinking about it, this might be a good thing.

** Sounds more impressive than it was.

October 6, 2010
7 Reasons You Don’t Feel Like a Real Man

Society has a very rigid idea of what constitutes masculinity. Often, our definitions of what is masculine are rooted in the conventions and gender roles of the past, something which makes them unachievable ideals rather than anything tangible, or real, to aspire too. Despite knowing this though, sometimes you feel that you don’t quite measure up. Here are seven reasons that you don’t feel like a real man.

1. You use moisturiser. Using moisturiser doesn’t feel manly. It’s very good at keeping your skin soft and preventing the premature aging of the skin, but it’s not manly. I once moisturised my face, exited the bathroom (which my wife then entered) and tried to open the bedroom door. I couldn’t, as my hands were slick from the moisturiser and I couldn’t grip the doorknob. I was trapped outside the bedroom for five minutes. “This never happened to the captain of the Titanic”, I remember thinking, as I waited for my wife to rescue me. Real men don’t use moisturiser.

2. Facial hair. Real men – Victorian men – sported impressive and elaborate facial hair. Who, apart from Daniel Day-Lewis and Sebastien Chabal, can even grow such magnificent face furniture today? Certainly no one at this website – the best we can manage are a sparse ginger moustache and a slightly less sparse – but still bloody ginger – beard. Modern men also trim their facial hair too much. Real men have natural and wild facial hair – not prissy, neat goatees (and you should never, ever trust a man with a neat beard. Noel Edmonds has a neat beard). Real men do not have neat beards. Real men have substantial, flowing beards that are the same colour as their head-hair. Real men probably don’t even have scissors. In fact, real men probably eat scissors.

3. Coffee. Coffee is an amazing beverage and real men drink it. What real men don’t do, however, is go into Starbucks and order a venti soy-hazelnut-vanilla-cinnamon-white-mocha-choca-latte with caramel and an extra shot of espresso. Real men drink their coffee black, from tin mugs around a fire – or some sort of black-lead-coal-stove-thing with flames and a chimney – and the stronger and viler tasting the coffee is, the better. Also, real men don’t drink their coffee from cups – even if that is the only receptacle that fits into their espresso maker properly – and they don’t have a muffin with it. Not blueberry; not zucchini-walnut. Real men have no muffin.

4. Pain. Real men shrug off pain. Pain isn’t good – it’s er…well…painful – and it can be undignified. It especially hurts when you’re plucking the middle of your eyebrow to pluralise it. That sort of pain is reasonably manageable though. Real pain, however, can only dealt with by real men. I injured my knee last year (in a very manly way – up a mountain). The next day, when I woke up, it really hurt. As I climbed out of bed and put weight on it I suddenly – and quite unexpectedly – shrieked “I yi yi yi yi”, in the manner of Carmen Miranda. Real men don’t react that way to pain; Sir Ranulph Twisleton-Wykeham-Fiennes chopped his own fingers off with a fretsaw in his shed to save himself a six-thousand pound surgeons bill. I bet he didn’t shriek “I yi yi yi yi” like Carmen Miranda – or like anyone else. Never mind exhorting men complaining of pain to “man-up”, they should be told to Fiennes-up (I’m really hoping that will catch on).

5. Décor. You actually care about what the inside of your own home looks like and have an opinion about it too. You have even bought Laura Ashley toile-patterned sheets in both red and blue, because they look nice. Do real men care about soft-furnishings? Did Douglas Bader rearrange the cushions on his sofa and extinguish the scented candles before going off to beat the Germans without his legs? No he bloody didn’t. Real men don’t spend their time cocking about with flock-wallpaper and vases. Nor do they have a set of Le Creuset pans. Real men don’t even need legs.

6. Pets. Real men have real pets – parrots, cats or reasonably-sized dogs. What they don’t have are little dogs that you can put in a bag or rodents, budgies, rabbits, guinea pigs, chinchillas, snakes or fish. They certainly don’t have fish. You can tell a real man by the way he interacts with his pet. No real man names his pet Fluffykins or Pookles. Real men give their pets sensible names. Real men also address their pets properly, rather than clicking at them or making baby-noises. They address them as if they were a visiting chum:

“So Mr Prendegast, the sun has just passed the yard-arm, what would you say to a spot of brandy? What’s that Mr Prendegast? You’re a cat and you don’t drink brandy? Oh I see. Would you settle for some biscuits and a rub under the chin? I’m glad. There’s a good chap.”

That’s how a real man talks to a pet – like an equal. Real men don’t address pets as if they were idiots, or children. They don’t dress them up in clothes or put them in bags. The only time a real man carries a pet is when he wants to put it outside so that it can chase something. He certainly doesn’t give his pet chocolate-drops or a hug. Or give anyone a hug, for that matter.

7. You are a woman. Women don’t feel like real men. They don’t even feel like pretend men. They feel warm and soft. They sound like this:

March 17, 2010
Russian Roulette Sunday: 7 Reasons You Found Us

Visitors mean a lot to websites. Visitors are their oxygen. We are no different. At 7 Reasons we like to breath. And we’re not doing too badly on that account, thanks for asking. In the past seven days thousands of people have popped by, either because they are regular visitors or because they have typed something into Google and 7 Reasons has appeared in the search results. All are welcome. Well, nearly all. We’d be lying if we said 7 Reasons hadn’t opened our eyes to the amount of weirdoes that own a computer. There aren’t many, but there are enough. 50% of whom really need to be recaptured very soon. So, in the last seven days, here are the most random, mind-boggling and disturbing phrases people have searched for. And if you want to know where they turned up, just click on the link. Oddly, I don’t think it was quite what they were looking for because no one left a comment or used the rating system.

1. “Meeting Arrive Sweat Enter Room Embarrassing Business” – 7 Reasons To Become An Artist

2. “James Martin Chef Nude Picture” – 7 Reasons To Cycle Naked

3. “Australian Open 2010 Spectator Excrement” – 7 Reasons To Hate Pigeons

4. “MP Moustache Deep Diving” – 7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Wear A Tie

5. “Break Wind Sideways Male Female” – 7 Reasons To Be A Bond Villain

6. “Penis White Peeling” – 7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Wear A Tie

7. “How Many Pasty Shops In Bolton?” – Guest Post: 7 Reasons To Love Bolton

We don’t know why people searched for any of these things, but as we feel a duty of care towards all of our readers, here is some advice.

1. Seek medical help.

2. Seek psychiatric help.

3. Seek medical help.

4. Resign from your job at the brothel, madam. There are some things that no one should have to do.

5. Seek medical help.

6. Seek medical help urgently.

7. Just go out and count them Brad.

We take the problems of our readers seriously. If anyone needs any advice, on anything, feel free to ask us using the comments section.

January 24, 2010
7 Reasons You Shouldn’t Shave (for men).

Thinking of shaving? Don’t bother, it’s a pointless waste of time and your life will be improved by not doing it. Here’s why:

1. You are on the run. No one that goes on the run shaves. Saddam Hussein – Beard. Radovan Karadzic – Beard. Harrison Ford in The Fugitive – Beard. I don’t know why the authorities don’t draw beards on wanted posters. Fugitives always stop shaving. Why not just round up all bearded men? They did it.

2. Christmas. You are a portly man with white facial hair. Of course you shouldn’t shave before playing Santa. Children will inevitably pull your beard. If your beard should come off in a child’s hand, they will learn in a shocking and traumatic manner that Father Christmas isn’t real. Not only will you have ruined Christmas for them, you will have broken the sacred bond of trust between a young child and society. Eventually, disillusioned, the child will withdraw from society, becoming a loner, a sociopath and, in adulthood, a criminal. Their criminality will escalate until they commit a crime so heinous that they will be forced to become a fugitive and stop shaving. This will be your fault. All because you shaved. You bastard, Santa!

3. Skinny jeans. You wear skinny jeans and a plaid shirt. No one that wears skinny jeans and a plaid shirt shaves.

4. You are a Nazi. None of the crew of a U-boat shave at sea, so they end up with beards at a similar stage of development. We have learned from movies that the more ardent a Nazi the submarine’s Political Officer is, the poorer and sparser his beard growth is. This makes him appear less masculine than the rest of the crew and marks him out for ridicule. Not shaving helps fight Fascism.

5. Turkish barber. You shouldn’t shave if you live near a Turkish barber. If you did, you miss out on the pleasure of having someone else shave you. Who’d want to forgo the experience of having a middle-aged man – shaking and hyperactive from far too much strong coffee – holding a cut-throat razor to your jugular and gesticulating wildly, millimetres from your face, while he asks you where you’re going on holiday this year? Then he sets your ears on fire. You’d miss that if you shaved.

6. Shaving is boring. Scraping your face every day is mind-numbingly tedious, in fact, shaving is the second dullest experience known to man. Why not stop? Then you’d have more time to paint that fence or read this website. The dullest experience known to man is thinking about Celine Dion while shaving, in case you were wondering.

7. Stubble. If you don’t shave, you get stubble. Stubble is brilliant. Stubble is manly. Stubble makes a noise when you scratch it – a noise! How cool is that? Stubble makes you look like Don Johnson. Stubble irritates your wife. Stubble is a facial badge of freedom. Stubble is a bridge between your hair and your face. Stubble prevents you from resembling an accountant. Don’t shave. Get stubble.

November 17, 2009