7 Reasons

Tag: Reason

  • Russian Roulette Sunday: The Worst 7 Reasons Ever

    Russian Roulette Sunday: The Worst 7 Reasons Ever

    Russian Roulette Sunday: The Worst 7 Reasons Ever

    Each week we get a lot of guest post submissions. I suspect we actually get more submissions than we do readers. Of the submissions we receive, we use about one in every ten. Three of the other nine are usable, but don’t quite meet the high standards you so desire and the remaining six are, well, rubbish. Never though did I think I would ever receive something quite like this:

    7 Reasons My Mom Should By Me A Dog by Tom.

    1.  Jarod has one.

    2.  If she don’t I’m gonna runaway with Jarod.

    3.  I only get $5 pocket money a week and Jarod gets $20.

    4.  Mom promised me an X-box but never got me one.

    5.  I have to go to church on Sunday and it sucks.

    6.  I got grades better than Mom expected.

    7.  Jarod says his dog attacked his Pop and mom don’t like Pop.

    You may think I am being slightly harsh given Thursday’s piece, but do bear in mind that this has been heavily edited to include capital letters and full-stops. If you think you can write a worse 7 Reasons piece please send it to [email protected]. I would be astounded.

  • Guest Post: 7 Reasons Boys Are Better Than Girls

    Guest Post: 7 Reasons Boys Are Better Than Girls

    Just over a year ago you may remember Natalie Clifford gave us 7 Reasons Why Women Are Better Than Men. And, for a year, we have let the fairer sex have their moment. Mainly because no one dared argue differently. That is until one man decided to step forward. That man is brave. That man is the writer of The Memory Blog. That man is Richard O’Hagan. Today Richard sits on the edge of the 7 Reasons sofa – in an undisclosed location – ready to readdress the balance. Here, in his words, are seven reasons boys are better than girls.

    7 Reasons Boys Are Better Than GirlsThe idea for this post came to me one Sunday evening. I was stood there doing the ironing and utterly failing to come up with any ideas for my own website when the sight of my wife preparing my dinner* made me think, “Being a boy is so much better than being a girl.”**

    And then I thought, “I wonder if those nice chaps at 7 Reasons would be interested in a guest post which might actually increase their site traffic, even if all of the new hits are from angry feminazis?”

    So here you have it – 7 Reasons Why Boys Are Better Than Girls, and one which hopefully avoids all the tired old suggestions such as ‘being able to pee standing up’*** and ‘not leaking like a BP oil well once a month’.

    1.  Self-Awareness. Boys are simply more self aware than girls are. Boys know that once they have got out of bed in the morning, that is pretty much as good as they are going to look for the rest of the day. A quick wash and brush up, maybe a shave (according to personal and religious preferences) and that is it. We don’t spend time applying many different layers of make-up, or agonising over what to wear that day, because we know we’d only be trying to fool ourselves. And this then leads to…

    2.  Lower Expectations. Everyone knows I am going to show up to any given event looking like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards. I’ve been perfecting the look for years and I know that there is as much point trying to get me to look smart as there is in giving Pompeii a quick dusting. If you don’t spend your life trying to look as if you have just strolled in off the pages of a fashion magazine then no-one expects you to look like that.

    3.  Less Gullible. Let us not beat around the bush here. Boys are less gullible than girls. No-one has ever convinced us that nylon – a material which unravels as soon as you look at it – is a suitable covering for our legs. No-one has ever convinced us that we need to chuck out a quarter of our clothing every three months because “that’s so last spring/summer/autum/winter”. And no-one has ever convinced us to wear beige simply by renaming it ‘taupe’****.

    4.  Cats. The phrase is ‘Crazy Cat Lady’. No-one ever said ‘Crazy Cat Man’ (well, not without being so stoned that they think it is still the 1960s) and no man has ever been found dead and alone in a feline infested flat, with the moggies feasting upon his decaying flesh. Being a girl means developing a strange attracting to furry four-legged gits.

    5.  Shoes. Boys wear sensible shoes. Shoes you can run in (see reason 7). Shoes you can walk in. Shoes which are comfortable. Girls, on the other hand, think that shoes mean some towering edifice which makes perambulation almost impossible and painful toes a part of daily life. Moreover, being a girl means that you feel the need to spend roughly the Gross National Product of Namibia on acquiring more uncomfortable shoes than you could ever need even if you lived for six lifetimes. Boys have one pair of shoes, wear them until they wear out, then buy another pair; Girls have eleventy million pairs of shoes, wear some of them, then chuck them out and start all over again twelve months later (see reason three)*****.

    6.  Driving. Cars were simply not designed for girls. This is no slight upon the perceived lack of driving ability among females, it is a fact. The basic design of the car began with the male physique in mind and hasn’t altered. Girls have proportionately longer legs and shorter bodies than boys. If cars were designed for them they would have deeper footwells, lower dashboards and no doubt many other female-friendly alterations (a lipstick holder or something). No car has yet been made like this, not even the Mazda MX-5, a car no male with a molecule of testosterone in his body would be seen dead driving.

    7.  Running. Running makes boys look manly, as if they are hunting down prey or chasing a foe. When girls run they always look like they are attempting to do a very fast Charleston whilst simultaneously going in the opposite direction. Something which I shall now demonstrate by running away from this angry horde of feminazis******.

    *She was not cooking because I am some kind of raving sexist monster, she was cooking because the local crematorium cannot keep pace with the after-effects if I cook.

    **This was after the umpteenth interruption to reach down something from the middle shelf of our kitchen cupboards, a task I perform willingly but whilst wondering what the use of a kitchen cupboard is if 50% of the users cannot reach beyond the salt and pepper storage level*******

    ***I once heard the occasionally-funny Sandi Toksvig claim that women didn’t regard this as an essential skill. Try telling that to the female attendees at any large outdoor event.

    ****Moreover, the invention of ‘taupe’ had a detrimental effect upon the men of the world, as by the million they were denied Bouncy Bedroom Fun by their female partners after exclaiming “Taupe? Looks like beige to me, love”

    *****For the avoidance of doubt, my wife is not a typical girl. At least in this respect.

    ******There is no reason for this set of asterisks. In addition to alienating 51% of the world’s population, I wanted to break the ‘most asterisks in a post’ record

    *******There are other things as well as salt and pepper on that level, obviously. Or will be, right up to the point where my wife reads this and throws them at me

  • 7 Reasons Saint Peter Won’t Call Your Name, Chris.

    7 Reasons Saint Peter Won’t Call Your Name, Chris.

    Today I am not writing about marmite, but I am writing about Coldplay. I imagine you have a similar reaction to each. For those of you who now feel nauseous, let me put you at ease. When I say I am writing about Coldplay, I am actually addressing Chris Martin. Yes, I thought that might make you feel better. In what is arguably Coldplay’s finest effort, Viva La Vida, Christopher sings the lyric, ‘For Some Reason I Can’t Explain, I Know Saint Peter Won’t Call My Name’. For ‘some’ reason? No, no, no, Christopher! For ‘7′ Reasons. And they are as follows. (Includes explanations). Oh, and if you are one of the three people who have never heard the song, you can watch the Coldplay – Viva La Vida video. Here. Come back though, won’t you? You have things to read.

    7 Reasons Saint Peter Won't Call Your Name, Chris

    1.  Crimes Against Music. I’m not talking about Coldplay (I actually enjoy your stuff), I am referring to your decision to take part in Band Aid 20. Your bit was alright, but couldn’t you have taken Dizzee Rascal out for a pint and locked him in a cupboard? Just for the afternoon. Perhaps you could have also taken Bono with you.

    2.  Distance. I suspect if Saint Peter does decide to call your name, he won’t actually ‘call your name’. I am assuming you believe that Saint Peter is in Heaven and thus he will be calling from there? Now, despite hoping – and indeed believing (no matter how irrational that belief is) – that such a place does exist, I have absolutely no idea where it is. Though logic dictates that it is a fair old distance from here. And hopefully even further from Slough. As a result, Saint Peter is far more likely to send you a letter. Probably same-day delivery.

    3.  House! Christopher, you seem to have the idea that Saint Peter calls out names as if he is hosting a night at Gala Bingo. While I am sure this would greatly amuse the other saints, I doubt very much it happens in such a way. I suspect he just waits until someone gracefully falls asleep and then whispers his name. Otherwise you’d get loads of people saying, ‘I thought I was going to die, then some git shouted my name and I woke up!’

    4.  Chris Martin! You seem to be suggesting that Saint Peter decides when it’s time you kick the bucket. And once he has decided he shouts out your name. I can’t believe this to be the case. I can’t believe Saint Peter is that selective. If he has any savvy – and as he is a Saint he no doubt has bountiful – he probably looks down on us and watches us do the deed for him. ‘There goes another one. He kicked the bucket, tripped over and fell off the cliff’. And Chris, I don’t think you’re going to fall off a cliff.

    5.  Lots Of People. I am not sure what powers Saint Peter has, but he’s going to have to be Paul Daniels, Derren Brown and Professor Charles Francis Xavier all rolled into one to remember every single one of the earth’s inhabitant’s names. I venture that what he actually does is have a sneaky look at your passport as you enter Heaven immigration control.

    6.  Rota Systems. It is generally accepted that 156,000 people die everyday. That’s about one every 1.8 seconds. I don’t believe that Saint Peter has the stamina to sit there all day everyday shouting out names. When does he sleep? He must have other saints who help him out. Probably two others so that they do eight hour shifts. And that is not to mention the 28 days of annual leave Saint Peter gets. So really there is something like a 1 in 5 chance that it will be Saint Peter who will call your name. It could well be Saint Paul, Saint Bert, Saint Bob or Paris Saint Germain.

    7.  Sore Throat. I am not sure if illness effects saints, but for purposes of me finding a seventh reason to write, we shall say they do. And rather annoyingly for them, they suffer from horrendously bad sore throats. So bad in fact that they can’t speak. Or sing. Or call. I don’t need to finish this reason off. You get the idea.