the state of things

 

You Are Dead To Me, Darth

by Douglas Lindsay - 12:25 on 28 November 2011

They say that people have been crying at the John Lewis advert. While one must accept that today's society is shallow enough that sections of it would cry at a John Lewis advert, on this occasion I reckon that it's only shallow enough to warrant that people say that people have been crying at the John Lewis advert and other people believe them.

I believe that people have been crying at the John Lewis advert in the way that people fainted at The Blair Witch Project i.e. the producers of The Blair Witch Project paid a few people to faint when the movie was shown at the Sundance Film Festival, and the word got round that people were fainting. Not that I'm saying that John Lewis are turning up at the homes of random people on a Saturday night when they're watching some execrable ITV shit like the Knob-Factor or I Used To Be Someone Get Me Out of Here! and paying them to cry so that they can tell their friends that they cried at the stupid John Lewis advert. I think the people at John Lewis have just cut straight to the bit where they lie and tell people that other people have been crying at their advert and people are so accepting of this shallow, emotionally objectionable, post-Diana fucked-up society that they believe it.

Nevertheless, despite the execrable endless pish of the the little boy and his damned impatience to walk in the holy shadow of Jimmy Stewart in It's A Wonderful Life, the most heinous crime committed against society in the wave of Christmas Advertising events is Darth Vader's introduction into the corporate chain of command at Curry's and PC World.

And it's not even that he's taken up a job in big business. Fine, on you go Darth, take a degree in business management and sell yourself to the highest bidder. But at least be true to yourself, man. You're the most ruthless, vicious killer of all time. You have killed billions of people in a matter of seconds. No one in human history, and more than likely in the history of the rest of the vicious revenge-driven species in the universe, has ever killed with your kind of bloodlust. Yet now you march threateningly into the midst of a few PC World employees, you kill no one, and all you can muster is a 'you've learned much, young one.'

So let's just examine what it is that this woman has learned. There's a laptop floating over her head and she says:

HP DN1 - light, compact, powerful - perfect for those on the move

So, she knows the name of the computer that's hovering above her head. That's not exactly genius, is it, particularly since she was holding it in her hands before the big fella started doing all his Jedi moving-stuff-in-the-air shit. Light, compact, powerful. Seriously? Light… well, that only applies to almost EVERY LAPTOP NOW AVAILABLE IN THE WORLD. They're all light. Compact? Of course it's fucking compact, it's a laptop. Powerful? Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, depends what you're comparing it to. But it's a glib, throwaway adjective you could attach to anything with a processor; yet, it does not surpass 'perfect for those on the move' for glibness. Of course it's perfect for those on the move, it's a fucking laptop!

So what has this child genius learned? The name of the computer. Chances are she didn't even know what it was until she was holding it in her hands and looked down and thought, 'What in the name of fuck is this? Oh, it's an HP DN1. I wonder if that's what it's called or if that's its registration number…? Oh well… I wonder what I'll have for lunch… Margaret's looking a bit fat, maybe she's up the duff… I forgot to clean my teeth… I wonder if Gary noticed… I wonder what we'll have for dinner tonight…. I hope he's not going to watch football… Jesus, is Margaret really pregnant…? She's going to have a baby before me… Bastard…'

And what does Darth do when faced with this complete idiot who's obviously making shit up as she goes along? He congratulates her.

For God's sake, Darth, SHE DESERVES TO DIE!

Oh well. He's lost it. Like Michael Schumacher. Or Brett Favre when he went to the Vikings.

Time to retire to Largs, Darth, where you can shout at passing teenagers and complain about the seagulls.


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