If only our pilots were as high as Johnny in Fear and Loathing.
If you’re sitting down whilst reading this, for the love of God STAND UP! For you see, according to a recent study sitting has been revealed as yet another cause of cancer. So we can now add sitting down to bras, mouthwash, deodorant and the million and one other things on the list of life-shorteners that, in our ignorance, we had previously thought of as harmless. Take note of this list people, because if you’re not careful you might not even live to be 100!
Such an unpalatable and horrific fate as not reaching our respective centenaries is, I assume, the motivation driving the cabal of scientists, whack-job lobby groups, politicians and bored housewives (there was a time when that term evoked a more positive feeling) as they reveal stat upon stat, devise new law upon new law, all of which serve the purpose of making themselves feel important whilst making the rest of us hypochondriac, depressed or both.
Not content with the current state of affairs where we pay more tax on a bottle of wine than your average City institute pays in a year, where prams and buggies have to be forensically searched every time we get on a 50 quid Ryanair flight, these over-grown milk-monitors just wont give up. They have their own vision of Utopia and nobody and nothing is going to stand in their way. No matter that this vision - which presumably involves styrofoam cars and all of us living in our own individual bomb-proof bubble - represents hell for most of us, these Über killjoys are determined to ban every last source of pleasure, nominally in the name of children, but really just so they can validate their own existence.
There’d be no more boring long-haul flights as you sit there wondering if the in-flight movie options of Dazed and Confused or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas were the captain’s personal picks or just there by pure chance. The duration of the flight would be spent wondering if, where and when you might land. Not a dull moment to be had.
Well I say enough is enough. As Bill Hicks told the anti-smoking lobby, you’re going to die too! So with that in mind, I propose some alternative laws to introduce which might lead to earlier deaths but will definitely lead to happier lives:
For starters there should be no enforceable closing times for pubs and clubs. Most anti-social behaviour occurs because the majority of pubs and clubs kick the drunken punters out into the streets at the exact same time. So what happens when you have tens of thousands of pissed people congregated in a city centre? Exactly! So why not let punters call it a night when they want. The only downside to this would be the eradication of the always hilarious sight of the desperate booze-hound anxiously checking his watch every two seconds whilst frantically knocking back another aluminous-coloured alcopop. Still, a small price to pay.
But we shouldn’t stop there. In addition, we should all be given a monthly alcohol quotient with everyone who successfully reaches theirs being given a free bottle of vodka. The short-term A&E costs would be dwarfed by the long-term savings on state pensions.
With Western Governments having seemingly chucked in the towel in the fight against real drugs a long time ago, they’ve now turned their attention to the herbal kind (a bit like intending to give Mike Tyson a slap but settling on Ronnie Corbett instead). Never mind the coca plantations of rural Columbia or the poppy fields of Afghanistan, today’s real enemies are crystallised bath salts and the like. Well, I say if people really think it would make it easier to get through their day seeing ten foot tall neon-lit exotic animals every time they open their eyes then that should be their prerogative. And if some of those people are, say, train drivers or pilots, all’s the better. There’d be no more boring long-haul flights as you sit there wondering if the in-flight movie options of Dazed and Confused or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas were the captain’s personal picks or just there by pure chance. The duration of the flight would be spent wondering if, where and when you might land. Not a dull moment to be had.
With the list of so-called cancer-inducing items growing exponentially by the day, leaving Post-it notes and Alan Shearer as the only two remaining inanimate objects not believed to cause the big C, we should just accept we will all get a terminal illness sooner or later and get on with our lives. To that end, I say we ban all research into cancer and just accept that it can strike anyone at anytime, regardless of age, weight, life-style or brand of mouthwash used. Instead, we should redirect all such funding towards worthwhile research, such as finding an instant, fool-proof cure for hangovers, or developing hand-dryers that actually dry your hands.
Of course, none of these suggestions will prolong our lives but when we live in a world where we’re lectured about the act of sitting down does an early grave really seem so bad?
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