Tag: spoof

7 Reasons Twitter Must Remain Subscription Free

No doubt many of you saw the news yesterday morning that as of September this year Twitter is no longer going to be a free service. Obviously Twitter isn’t the most profitable of business models and, understandably, they have been working hard to rectify this. They’ve been using promoted tweets for the last year or so, but apparently they aren’t generating a sufficient revenue stream. So now, in a complete volte-face, they have decided that making the service subscription based is the way forward for them. It’s a shame because, not only do we find it an invaluable communication tool for 7 Reasons, it’s also great fun. We’ve both met some great people and both done things that we wouldn’t have done otherwise. Like create 7 Reasons. Quite frankly, the thought of not having Twitter around fills us with dread. So, in a plea to the powers that be, here are seven reasons to keep Twitter subscription free. If you agree please share this post. You never know what might happen.

1. Revenue. There are better ways to raise revenue. No one likes to pay a subscription; look at how many people subscribe to Sky in the UK compared to the number that watch ITV. This tells us that advertising is a more palatable option than a paid for service. We have contextual adverts here on this website and – apart from notable exceptions, such as Marks and Spencer advertising alongside 7 Reasons That I Hate The M&S Dine In For £10 Deal and Orange advertising on the post 7 Reasons That Life Would Be So Much Better in Black and White – this works well. Would any Twitter user really mind carefully chosen contextual adverts on their Twitter page (obviously not ads for hair loss products, incontinence pads or Greggs the bakers) instead of paying an annual subscription? I think not.

2. Relationships. I met the girl I am going to marry on Twitter. In a roundabout way. I wasn’t actually being myself, which means she’s actually marrying a spoofed professional sportsman. Luckily that’s pretty much what I am anyway. There are people out there who, perish the thought, actually pretend to be themselves. And there are people out there who are now married because of Twitter. Or reunited with friends and family because of Twitter. Or working together because of Twitter. Or sharing a cell with Big Bear because of Twitter. That just seems like an awful lot of great stuff that is going to be lost come September.

3. Fail Whale. When Twitter reverts to a subscription based service they hope to keep 25% of their users. I think it’ll be more like 2.5% but either way the Fail Whale will no longer be part of people’s lives. In the two years I have been using the network the Fail Whale has become more than a sign of overload. He has become a friend. A reassuring sight in an uncertain world. A reminder that you can’t always have what you want when you want it. In this respect the Fail Whale is a great philosopher. Communicating with us in a language the modern generation can understand. Who are we going to listen to when we can’t turn to the Fail Whale? The only Fail Whale I can think of is James Corden. And philosophy is not his strong point. Even more depressingly, neither is comedy.

4. Organisation. You have to be organised to maintain a regular subscription to something (unless you’re so disorganised that you subscribe once and remain subscribed for eternity), and organised people aren’t necessarily the most interesting people. But that’s who you’ll find tweeting in the future. Jack Kerouac, Keith Richards, Dionysus, Dorothy Parker and Queen Ranavalona the 1st of Madagascar are all fascinating characters that would be monumentally interesting tweeters, yet would find it too much hassle to maintain a regular subscription to a social networking service, even if they weren’t drunk, high, mythical or dead (or in the case of Keith Richards, possibly all of those things). This would leave Twitter in the hands of dull people, for whom renewing their subscription to Twitter would quite probably be an annual highlight. It would become a showcase for tweets by Michael Vaughan, His Excellency Baron Sir Lord Sir Alan Sugar of Sir Hackney Sir, the third Nolan Sister and Oprah fucking Winfrey. Subscription would make Twitter a duller place which would, paradoxically, make people less likely to subscribe.

5. Access The Inaccessible. Twitter is a great outlet if you want to hear the thoughts of people/things who you otherwise couldn’t. Bronx Zoo Snakes for example. Or dead dictators. Adolf Hitler has his own twitter account. Well, actually, he has about twenty, but I think nineteen of them are fakes. The real Hitler is worth a follow just so you can get a better understanding of how his mind works. If you don’t follow Hitler (and I would never encourage it) I can inform you that he’s still an angry midget. He still has issues. A recent update stated, “I’m sick of bonsai trees being so small.” When we have to pay for Twitter, answers to GCSE history questions just won’t be as informative/entertaining.

6. Expense. Unfortunately, whether you subscribe to the service or not, it’s still going to cost you. Remember the old days when it cost 12p to send an SMS or 28p to send a letter? Assuming you leave the service, it’s going to be those days all over again, only this time we’ll have to alert all of our followers every time we do something. So for us that’s 2000 texts or postcards we’ll have to send out every time we publish a new 7 Reasons post. And what if Bob replies with a text or a postcard? If we decide to reply to Bob we’ll also have to send a text or postcard to everyone who follows both 7 Reasons and Bob. What a nightmare this is going to be. Looking on the bright side at least I have free texts. Looking on the dark side stamps now cost 41p.

7. Subscription Misses The Point Of Twitter. Or, if not the point of Twitter, it misses what we all love about it. The freedom. It’s an egalitarian melting pot where views, thoughts, ideas, opinions and links to Failblog can be disseminated amongst users without some sort of hierarchical class distinction getting in the way. If it’s made a subscription service then – especially in the current harsh economic climate – many users will be excluded for no fault of their own. Should being unemployed, poor, a single-parent or a resident of the Republic of Ireland really be grounds for exclusion from social media? No, it shouldn’t. It’s vital that Twitter remains subscription free. Please retweet this piece if you agree.

April 1, 2011
7 Reasons To Join A Cult

The story of how 7 Reasons formed is not your traditional one. We won’t go into great detail other than to say we met because we were both in a cult. But don’t worry, this cult didn’t involve righteous killing or licking frozen chickens. Anything but. This cult was a friendly one. A cult where American architects sent dragons to newsreaders and people across the land turned the ferret gold. I am sure you are now seeing the light, but if you are still slightly unsure here are seven more reasons to join that cult.

Richard Bacon Was A Cultish Leader

1. New People. A cult is different from exclusive clubs such as The Masons because it is open to all. As a result you will meet a rich and diverse group of individuals from all walks of life. Plumbers, writers, lawyers, singers, doctors, engineers, buskers, perverts. You’ll meet the lot. And because you leave all your prejudices at the door when you enter the cult, you’ll form a bond with each and everyone of them. The most hardened Tory will find joy in conversing with the most radical Socialist. Millwall supporters will appear fluffy and cute. Formerly disgraced Blue Peter presenters will be forgiven. And that sort of thing only ever happens in a cult.

2. Opportunity. Unlike your place of work, there is no hierarchy in a cult. Or, if there is, you can very easily destroy it. You can be anyone you want to be in a cult. You can be a wallflower if you wish, or you can be a leader of men. And women. No one minds. If you are the type of man who has access to both foil and a cat (Marc) you may wish to see if one will walk over the other. But what if you don’t? What if you don’t have foil? Or a cat? What if you are a person in one of those moods and fancies taking the mick out of your leader (Jon)? Well you can do that too. And whats-more, whichever route you choose, whatever you decide to do, you will be celebrated. You will be held in high esteem. You may well start a website.

3. Reward. When you have gone out of your way to entertain those amongst your cult, it is nice to be rewarded. And nothing rewards quite like a cult. Apart from the adulation and admiration from those around you, you may also receive a badge. Or a small motorbike. But it’s usually a badge. And when I say a badge, I don’t just mean a badge, well, obviously I do, because it is a badge, but it’s also more than that. It’s more than a badge. It’s what the badge stands for. It doesn’t just say, ‘Hey, I’m in a cult’, it says, ‘Hey, I’m part of a cult’. And that’s, you know, pretty damn special.

4. Help. Whether you are at school trying to write your Personal Statement or in lying in bed ill, the cult is there to help you. Admittedly, you might not get it right all the time. All your advice may just confuse the lad and mean he misses out on that place at Cambridge University, but no one can accuse you of not trying. For all your failures, you will have hundreds of successes. Like I said earlier, the cult we were in helped turn the ferret gold. But while that was great, it is more the fact that people were there to help turn the ferret gold than the actual turning. And it was the ferret himself who first shared these sentiments. He was right.

5. Meaning. It is very easy to wander along in life, working nine to five and waiting for the weekend. There is nothing wrong with that, but joining a cult will give your life purpose. It’ll mean something to you and, more importantly, you’ll mean something to the cult. It’ll give you direction and hope and love. And let’s face it, there is very little direction, hope and love out there at the moment. Your work isn’t going to give it to you, so why not give the cult a chance?

6. Outside. When you join a cult, you join in trepidation. This is only natural. A cult, after all, has a reputation for being dark and evil and thus it is perfectly understandable if you are initially nervous. No one enters thinking they may leave with a new life. But many do. Many leave with new friends. Some leave with new girlfriends or boyfriends or both. Others leave with ideas. The rest just go to sleep. No one thought this would happen when they joined. No one expected their life to change. But it can. It does. Sure, not all friendships and relationships last, that’s life, but for a moment in time they were very real. And it was the cult that gave you that happiness. Without it, it would never have happened. Obviously, some relationships do last. Like 7 Reasons. A monster that will never be slayed.

7. Death. Eventually, sometimes for reasons outside of your control, your cult will die. You will attend the funeral (or listen to it on the radio) and be filled with deep sadness. But when you come to reflect, you realise the cult hasn’t really died. You just can’t listen to it on BBC Radio 5 Live anymore. It still lives though. In your heart. And on YouTube. You still have the memories of your leader being portrayed as Hitler. You can still listen to the music of the cult’s house band and indeed of the one you may well call T He Digger. You still have the vision of chair legs being broken by that woman who stood on a plinth for a couple of weeks. You still remember that moment when you were denied from asking Chris Evans whether his gingerness had been a help or hindrance. And these thoughts will stay with you forever. No one can take them away from you. And you’ll always be thankful that you could never get to sleep before 00:30.

So, if there is one thing you should spread this Christmas season, it is the joy of the cult.

Thankyou. Jonathan Lee, in the lounge, with his badge.

December 22, 2010
7 Reasons That Ricky Ponting is the Second Coming of Christ

As I was walking yesterday, on the road to Sainsbury’s, a strange and life-changing event occurred. I strolled past a man carrying a newspaper and, upon the back of that newspaper there was a picture. An image of Ricky Ponting looking glum. Christ, I thought, doesn’t that miserable bastard ever look happy? And then, suddenly and without warning, there was a blinding flash of light and a sonorous and divine voice did appear from the sky and say, “Ah look, mate, why do you persecute me?”

I fell to the floor: “Who are you,” I stammered meekly.

“I am Punter, whom you are persecuting,” he replied. “Now rise and get thee unto the supermarket, and you will be told what you must do.”

Blimey, that was weird, I thought, and went to the supermarket as I was bidden. And, to cut a very long story short, in the manner of Saul on the road to Damascus, I, Marc* on the road to Sainsbury’s, had had an epiphany. I realised that I had been wrong all along about Ricky Ponting and had done him many disservices over the years. And now I have truly seen the light and it is my divine mission to tell the world of his glory; here are the seven reasons why Punter is the true successor to our lord Jesus Christ.

Ricky, as he appeared to me on the road to Sainsbury's.

1. The Name. If things look right, and sound right, then they generally are. And when I tried to think of a way to link the names of Jesus and Ponting, I have to admit, I struggled. But then I realised that true struggle is the lot of a disciple, and that I’d just have to think harder. And, lo, I thought harder. But other than the names Ponting and Christ being interchangeable as profane expletives in my heathen life prior to my conversion, I could find very little to link them. Then it hit me: A portmanteau word. Ricky Ponting is no longer merely Punter the cricket captain. He now has a divine and biblical-sounding title. He will henceforth be known as…The Pontychrist.

Ah, look. It's the Pontychrist!

2. Miracles. Jesus was famed for his making of miracles. Specifically, for eking out very little, to make a lot. He turned water into wine, and he fed five-thousand people when equipped with a small quantity of bread and fish; a situation in which a lesser bearded-man – such as Captain Birdseye – merely invented the fish finger. And, in the manner of Jesus, Ponting (who, though not bearded of face, is bearded of arm), the new saviour, is attempting to win the Ashes with a mere nineteen runs from the first two tests. And when he pulls it off, it will be hailed as one of the greatest miracles ever seen. Greater, even, than when he takes a stroll across Sydney Harbour without using the bridge after the fifth test, and greater than when he turns Toohey’s into wine. Or Beer into a world-beating bowler.

3. Serendipity. This current Ashes series began in almost an exact word-for-word replay of one of Christ’s most famous quotes because Australia opened the bowling in the first test. And so it was that he, who is without spin, cast the first stone (or ball, as we call them these days). In fact, like his famous forebear, Ponting tries as much as possible to live a blameless life where lesser men (England) are happy to live a life of spin. In the grand tradition of divine saviours, The Pontychrist is more spinned against, than spinning.

4. The Devil. There would be no need for the coming of Ponting if it weren’t for the presence of darkness among man. Who then, is his nemesis, his bête noire, his archfiend, his foe, the Mephistopheles to his Good Shepherd? It can’t be Andrew Strauss; he’s too nice, he is a mere instrument of the devil. For Beelzebub himself is cunning, yet is vain, and so gives himself away through his choice of name. I ask you, what rhymes with horn? That’s right, many, many, many things but, specifically in this case, Vaughan. Behold The Antipontychrist! For though he has now been banished unto the commentary box for the duration of the series – which if the final test ends on day three will have lasted for forty days and forty nights – (which is both biblical and mathematical proof ), he is surely the puppet-master that the righteous Punter does battle against.

The name of the beast is The Antipontychrist and his number is 6-0-0 (and he doesn't look very well)

5. The Blood of the PontyChrist. In Christian religions, those arcane churches that we had before the birth of Pontianity, especially in Roman-Catholicism, (where the head of the church will, when Ponting is acknowledged as the second coming, be known as The Puntiff) the blood of Christ is important. Jesus, we are told, bled for our sins, and so, in the present day, has the Pontychrist. Here he is bleeding, so that our spirits may be lifted heavenward. And who amongst us can say that this image of his selflessness doesn’t fill their heart with joy?

We have redemption through his blood…in accordance with the riches of God's grace.

Yes, this one's just gratuitous.

6. Iconography. And, much like Christ, when so many of his teachings will be open to the whimsical and wilful interpretations of man, many years after he has passed, so the Pontychrist’s visage will be used, in the millennia to come by men warning others to follow his example and to live without sin. He’s omnipresent, they’ll say, he can see everything that you’re doing, they’ll say. And they’re right. In this portent of the future he seems to be staring into your very soul. And, now that you have seen this picture, you will know, that Ricky can see your every thought and deed. He will know if you think ill of the French. He will know when you’re masturbating. He will know when you’ve eaten Twiglets that you shouldn’t have touched. He knows everything: For he is omnipontent.

He can see into your soul, you bad, bad person.

7. Reflection. And later, on reflection at my conversion to Pontianity, I had a moment of doubt, the sort that afflicted people 2000 years ago in Jesus’s time. I wrote this piece yesterday, but when I woke this morning, I found myself questioning things. In short, I had a crisis of faith. I might have taken too much of my flu medication yesterday, I thought. What if I’d dreamt it? I’d look a fool. I’d be mocked and cast asunder by my peers. I decided that, on reflection, I may have got carried away and resolved to discard what I had written and start afresh with a new piece, after I’d had my breakfast. And then I saw a sign:

It's a sign! (a tasty one, too).

So, in summary, I’m buying myself a ute and I’m going to fill it with corrugated iron and tambourines and head off to the hills to build the first (of many) Puntecostal churches. Who’s with me?

*Henceforth to be known as Parc.

December 15, 2010
Special Guest Post: 7 Reasons I’m Backing Us To Win The Ashes

Hello! It’s Wednesday, and regular 7 Reasons (.org) readers might be surprised to find a guest post here. But today is special. Because today is the day that The Ashes begins, and I can’t begin to tell you how excited the 7 Reasons team are by this. Well, I could begin, but I’d never be able to stop myself and we’d all miss the cricket while I babbled on and on. So, joining us on the 7 Reasons sofa today is Sir Straussy who has taken time out from his busy cricketing and tweeting schedule to explain why he’s backing us to win The Ashes. And by us, I sincerely hope he isn’t referring to the 7 Reasons team; that would be a disaster.

Disclaimer: The views expressed by the England Captain are entirely his own and do not represent those of 7 Reasons (.org)*

1. It’s In The Toss. This is nothing new, but Ricky Ponting and I are tossers. We have to be. It’s in the contract. To be a captain you must be a tosser. And I am very proud to be both. So is Ricky. The difference between us is that, while I’m a good tosser, he’s a useless tosser. The stats don’t lie. Using the motto ‘tails never fails’ I have won 59% of tosses as England captain, Ricky has won a mere 49% in his role as an Australian tosser. And with the toss being so crucial these days, that 10% will give us the edge. But, I hear you ask, what happens if tails fails? Is that it? Shall we give up? Forget about this Test? No, certainly not. Again, let’s examine the stats, in the 41% of matches in which tails never fails has gone tits down, I have led England to victories 64% of the time. And as for Punter? Well, under his tossership, Australia have won just 30% of the Tests in which he has lost the toss. So, just remember, if my tossing goes wonky, don’t worry, I still produce results.

2. Younger, Fitter, Stronger. Assuming we go into the first Test with the team I want and Australia go into the first Test with the team I want, the average age of the England team is going to be twenty years lower than that of our counterparts. And even if Australia don’t go with Dame Edna Everage and Bill Lawry, our boys will still be younger on average. If the probable teams that have been bandied about in the papers for the last few days are to be believed, we’ll step onto the field with the average age of 28 years and six months. Australia will wheel themselves onto the field averaging 31 years. That age difference means we’re much fitter. Just take a look at our bodies. No one can tell me Dougy Bollinger is fitter than pin-up sensation Stuart Broad. Or Simon Katich is fitter than Brighton favourite Jimmy Anderson. Or podge-face Punter is fitter than the hairy-armed version of myself.

3. The Hair Apparent. According to the internet, the American writer, actor and comedian Larry David once said, ‘Anyone can be confident with a full head of hair, but a confident bald man – there’s your diamond in the rough’. He was talking about Matt Prior. The one player in world cricket whose surname inexplicably can’t be used with an O or Y to form a nickname.

4. Names. And talking of nicknames, should you wish to use ours on the Scrabble board we will score you an average of 9.5 points per player. That’s a staggering 0.9 points more than the Aussies. When you also throw into the equation that this includes the nickname-less Prior, it almost defies belief. How is this going to help us win the Ashes though? Well, it’s not directly, it was more an observation I made playing online scrabble with Lady Straussy. But it did get me thinking. Us English and South African-English just whack a Y on the end of a surname and be done with it. We then get on with the cricket. The Aussies though, well judging by some of the nicknames for their players, I imagine they spend a great deal of time in the middle trying to think of something wondrous. That must be why Haddin is called BJ, Bollinger is called Eagle, North is called Snorks and the 27 year-old new boy, Xavier Doherty, is called X. You need to concentrate on the game in this game, not faff around thinking of schoolboy nicknames. In some ways this is why I hope Usman Khawaja plays. Though I suspect he’s called Koala.

5. The KP Factor. With his Movember challenge nearly at an end – a contest Monty has dominated from an early stage – and his blindfold cricket ‘viral’ video for Brylcreem out of the way, KP now has the chance to concentrate on what he loves. And, talking about love, the other day the lads saw that the fat lad Warney had said KP needed loving again. So that’s exactly what we have given him. Lots of it. Aussie, watch out.

6. Midge. That’s the nickname of Mitchell Johnson, presumably because like a midge he has no sense of co-ordination. Anyway, he has vowed to make me crumble. Which is lovely. I’m looking forward to it at tea. But Midge has also vowed to make me suffer under a bouncer barrage. This goes back to the 2006/7 Ashes where I fully admit I got out hooking twice. Midge wants to exploit this perceived weakness. Given that I was caught behind four times in the same series, one could be forgiven to think I am far more susceptible to the one that pitches in the corridor of uncertainty and moves a fraction away off the seam. Mind you, Midge’s corridor of uncertainty is only slightly smaller than Steve Harmison’s, so perhaps that’s what he means anyway.

7. We Are England! To paraphrase Hugh Grant, ‘We may be an England cricket team, but we are a South African one too. A country of Allan Lamb, Basil D’Oliveira, Tony Greig, Robin Smith, Robin Smith’s brother. Nasser Hussain’s index finger. Nasser Hussain’s middle finger come to that. And a friend who bullies us is a Commonwealth country that wants to become a Republic. And since bullies only respond to strength, from now onward, I will be prepared to whip out my guns more often. And the whole of Australia should be prepared for that.’ Actually, it sounds much better like this.

*Unless he makes fun of Ricky Ponting or the French.

November 24, 2010