The Media Hates Me

I haven't been keeping abreast of the latest media scares, so I'll just assume that they're currently claiming that there's an outbreak of flesh-eating gerbils and we're all going to die. I've honestly stopped paying attention to the bloody scare-mongers. Although I did start thinking earlier today: what if all of those horrible things the media enjoys ramming down our throats were actually real threats? What if they all happened to me? What if I only mention the sillier things?



Well, I'll inevitably fail to mention everything, so I'll just cover as many as I can remember. Well, the sillier ones anyway. And do you know what? I'll put it into a list format! Mmm... Lists... We all like lists, don't we, dear reader? Well, I do hope you do.

• The country will become royally bankrupt. Again. This will be due entirely to the Olympics that will be held in London. According to the dear sensationalist media, I'm going to be bled dry helping to pay for them. What if I don't like the Olympics? Tough tits, I'm still paying obscene amounts of money through my taxes. Lloyds TSB, being a partner, will probably pull some crazy shit, ensuring I will not be able to feed myself without murdering and eating the occasional tourist who comes for the games.
• Assuming I've not starved by Christmas, the world may well end. It will probably involve a polar shift, thus causing planes to fall out of the sky and causing small children to explode. We both know that this is utter bollocks, but for the purposes of this post, we're assuming that everything the media screams about is true. And they have been, albeit not recently.
• So I somehow managed to survive planes falling out of the sky and exploding kids. But guess what? Facebook's taken over the world, which is approximating a genuine nightmare for me. We're talking 1.2 billion users worldwide, and there'll be no escaping it. Then the faceless owners of the site will pilfer everyone's private information and use it to wreak untold havoc.
• Not only has my online privacy gone if I use Facebook (which I don't, but for the purposes of this post, I do), but now the government is clamping down on privacy. For whatever reason, you now need to carry an ID card everywhere with you, need to have your retinas scanned if you want to buy booze or cigarettes, and will be watched by CCTV cameras on every street corner. God forbid you from working with children, because then you'll need to carry 15 pieces of identification and have every aspect of your existence watched by humourless gentlemen in black suits. Presumably you'll also need to carry a note from your mother at all times, stating what a nice person you are. You will need to produce this on command.
• So I'm under surveillance most the time and can't even take a piss without someone knowing about it. How could things get any worse? It turns out that all the sensationalism surrounding the Harry Potter series was correct all along: there's nary a child untouched by Satanic influences. I live on the same road as a school, so come lunchtime there's a group of small children in black hooded robes chanting strange incantations and baying for my flesh. This happens every lunchtime until there's a paedo alert and children are forever banned from leaving their homes until the chap is captured and executed in a gruesome manner with a garden rake. They are then permitted to once again venture outside to knock on my door and demand they sacrifice me.
• Now that the kids have all either grown out of it, been burned at the stake by evangelical nutjobs, or been arrested, I have another problem. The company that I work for has gone into liquidation due to the recession (which 'ended' quite a while ago. Apparently) and I've no job. What's worse is that I can't find another one, unless I wanted to work as a 'Carbon Partnership Officer'. Unfortunately, I don't know what those people do, but I assume it's pointless and soul-destroying, so I pass. I manage to survive three years without a job (thus forcing myself to survive off the dole. At least, I had been for two months before it was axed) and decide that I might as well take the role of a 'Carbon Partnership Officer'. I refer to myself as a CPO because it sounds more important. I make do with £20, 000 a year, which is just enough for food.
• Taxes have gone up and up since I became a CPO, and now I can barely afford my pokey, one bedroomed flat. I decide that it is time to find myself a partner so that we can start a family and reap the benefits the government gives to people with children. So, despite being such an unattractive waste of space with the world's most pointless job, and despite already having been trying to find a partner for several years, I hit the local clubs in search of booty. I have to bribe the bouncer with my phone, which is the single most expensive thing that I own. Upon entering clubland, I find that it is a haven for druggies, alcoholics, and slags. I decide that I'm far too old for that and leave. Several days later, having been squeezed by my landlord (despite his having fewer rights than a cockroach now), I swallow my pride and go back to clubland. This time, I bribe the bouncer with my standard-issue CPO shoes. Through a mixture of alcohol fuelled bravado, cheap aftershave, and systematically pulling pranks on every member of my competition, I manage to get he least slaggiest girl to come back to my pokey, one bedroomed flat. While leaving, we walk past dozens of teenagers either off their tits on speed or throwing up. Occasionally both. All this with my only being a decidedly unattractive waste of space who will never be as good looking as any celebrity. Even Rowan Atkinson.
• Shock! Horror! The least slaggiest girl of clubland was a slag. I've caught chlamydia and my GP merrily informs me that I'll never be cured because she hates me and I'm no longer allowed to argue with her. This was caused by my rush to start a family so that the government can give me money so that I can survive. When I get back to work I can no longer look my fellow CPO's in the eye.
• I've caught an STD and am a gnat's dick away from being thrown out of my pokey, one bedroomed flat. Can things get any worse? Yes, they can! Despite still being angry at the least slaggiest girl of clubland for not telling me she was diseased, we're getting married. The cackling jackal at Lloyds TSB politely informs me that I'll never be able to pay for a wedding in a million years. Slag-girl's parents offer to help me out. It's a good job, because mine have just been eaten by Polish cannibals. I now have a funeral to pay for as well, despite there not being much left to bury. I am then informed that I'll have to have them cremated, because there's no longer any room anywhere to bury them.
• To pay for everything, I took out the mother-of-all-loans, which my bank knows I'll not be able to pay back in a million years. There are still no higher-paid jobs available, despite now being married. Unfortunately, Mrs. Teddy can not bear children because of her disease. I briefly consider shooting myself.
• I stop considering shooting myself because the country has been invaded by religious separatists and now the place is a warzone, with things exploding all over the place. The US tells us it's too busy in Pringleistan to help us. The EU pitches in to help, but is underfunded and completely ineffectual. It only has one Eurofighter left, which is promptly shot down.
• The stress of war has driven me to drink. Unfortunately, drinks have got a lot stronger, and several very unscrupulous companies are drugging them for extra effect. My liver explodes.
• My wife is being raped by hairy religious separatists (giving them chlamydia) while I die alone in utter agony in a bed in a woefully underfunded and understaffed NHS hospital, because I could never afford to move to Bupa. I noisily and messily expire, alone and unloved. It's a good job I've just died, because years of global warming have finally broken the polar icecaps. The world floods and everyone dies. So at least I'll have some company.

That, dear reader, encapsulates some of the stranger media scares that I've seen or read about. Aren't they silly? Just remember: none of that will happen. Except maybe Facebook taking over the world. The thing about our lovely media is that they don't feel they're giving you enough news unless they're trying to scare you. Silly people.

Until next time!
Teddy