the funny thing about cocaine is it gives you enough confidence to talk to strangers, but it also makes you hate strangers so much you don't want to talk to them.

Elaine Page Against the Machine

It's the time of year when taste and decency is dropped like a hot jobbie you picked up by mistake. Tossed aside like wrapper from the Fudge you got in your selection box but you waited until the 28th to eat because let's be honest, a 15p Fudge is barely good enough to register as "gift" and not befitting of the occasion. Festive "hits" are churned out, some recorded by pseudo celebs; chefs, comedy characters, Peter Kay/Chris Moyles, and they are snapped up like festering slabs of meat dropped into a hole full of hungry spaniels.

The past few years we've plumbed the depths of consumerist hell and the Christmas number one has been monopolised by X-Factor finalists. Now I love the X-Factor to an extent. It's great having an excuse to act so shamelessly partisan over something so distinctly meaningless. I can't get enough of the artificially inflated drama, I feed on the absurdity and I was right on board the Jedward bandwagon because I mistakenly assumed the public saw the joke. Apparently they didn't, week by week the X-Factor descended into mediocrity, perpetually existing on vitamins gained by inhaling the smell of it's own smug, self-satisfied farts. It started with the mighty Jedward onboard, flanked with some strippers, some council estate hoodie-wearing hoochies, a camp Glaswegian, an irritating Rihanna knockoff, a newly outed bisexual teacher/seedy sex addict swinger. If that's not just a recipe for tabloid nirvana then I don't know what is. But no, we were forced to watch as the braindead public every week laboured under the delusion that they were voting based on artistic merit and killed off any opportunity for entertainment. It's a pretty strong indication of how self-loathing and masochistic the British public is when as the shows diminishes in entertainment value week by week, the ratings actually go up.

So where has the downward spiral taken us this year? It has taken us to a terrible, dark place. It's taken us to a state of mind so demented and shameful that the British public has decided that a toothy simpering, sexless, insipid, bedwetting male eunuch singing a completely forgettable song written for an equally toothy product of the Disney channel (that actually charted so recently it's probably still on radio playlists) is an acceptable cause to rally behind. For such a culturally advanced nation this really is a giant step backwards.

However, and this is what I'm actually getting to: there is a pocket of resistance. In what must be amongst the most prevalent examples of social networking breaking through to the mainstream, there is a campaign underway to engineer a Junta against Simon Cowell's relentless chokehold of the lucrative Christmas number one.

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2228594104&ref=nf

"RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE FOR CHRISTMAS NUMBER 1". Yup. There are a group of people so absolutely ignorant, a group of highstreet metalheads so blinkered that they actually think they are raging against the corporate machine by sabotaging a pop record reaching the top of the pop charts. Never mind the shared record label, nor the fact RATM's venemious political rhetoric has aged very badly and members now occupy some of the most humdrum MOR raaawk bands on earth, never you're spending money just to be swatted out of the way and forgotten in an industry where everything happens in the blink of an eye and no-one remembers anything a week after no matter how significant. Down with the teenyboppers, let's stick it to the man etc. All the real politically informed youngsters and hip cats dismiss this infantile campaign as 14-year old bedroom politics right? Rage are corporate cocksuckers right? There are underground hardcore bands with more abrasive music and a more underground socialist message to deliver right?

Wrong. If anything, sitting listening to contrived political hardcore in your bedroom, screaming to your mother to bring you a fairtrade, ethically sourced mineral water and a tofu snack bar and spraying vitriolic globules of phlegm all over your keyboard as you condemn people on an internet forum for backing the RATM campaign makes you even more a fucking moron. People buying the X-Factor record are plebs. People campaigning against the X-Factor record as if they're making a grand statement are also plebs. But if you think you're better than every party concerned then are both an even bigger pleb, and also a complete cunt. If you don't care? Stop stimulating your prostate with a fencepost and choose your side.

This is an opportunity to take part in a real turning point. This is a chance to not only be actively involved in the moment where the free, unregulated and massively expansive internet finally surpasses not just the stuffy, stiff-upper lip institution of television, but also raises a massive middle finger to the record industry. They shut down torrent websites and try to blanket regulate internet content, and the public responds by just destroying a years worth of marketing research, pointless publicity and exploitation. It's a very bold statement and really would make people sit up and notice. Last years attempt to get the Jeff Buckley version of Hallelujah to number one could be fobbed off as people getting nostalgic, but there's no way anyone could spin this into a positive story if it happened. And Rage Against the Machine might be lowest common denominator anti-establishment teeny dribble but this would the closest thing to a cultural revolution that you will ever, ever get. Nothing will ever be as good as this. Even if you're doing it just for a little giggle and just get one over on Simon Cowell, even if he feels slightly deflated, if he questions himself for more than a second it would be absolutely worthwhile. Don't fall into that terrible New Labour generation apathy we're all so guilty of. Stand up and embrace your inner nihilism. I justify it by telling myself I'm creating chaos and making peoples lives harder, because I like to be a petulant little shit like that.

Whatever your excuse, splash out the 50p or whatever an iTunes download costs and do something. PS can someone lend me 50p for an iTunes download?

when I was younger and went on a school trip to Paris me and my school chums found it pure hilarious that the French had auch a thing as the bidet. We laughed at the hotel staff, at people in the street, at those who admitted to having one at home, and we laughed for months, years afterwards about the fact they had a disgusting little sink they squatted in to powerhose the dangleberries off.

how was I to know that years later the stress of everyday life would be so bad that I would have a brown miscarriage from the wrong hole every time I went to the bathroom. Now, in my mid-20's, completely reliant on wetwipes, I would rue the day I wasn't born to a wealthy French family.

that being said, how can they be so concerned about anal hygiene indoors, and squat in a ditch to shit when outdoors? stupid fucking frogs.

efternoon.

hi there. my name for the sake of retaining anonymity (I'll return to this theme in depth) is Johnny Turboburger. It's a pseudonym, not my birth name. I juggled various other options during the naming process, Barry Thunderloins, the Red Rapist, Frankie B/Frankie  goes to Auschwitz, William James Pensionermurder, but eventually stuck with Johnny Turboburger because I've always wanted to use it. I have never done enough with my life to justify the need for a pseudonym (such as becoming a Spy or a 1980's hair metal heroin-addled rock star) and that has not changed with the creation of this blog, this blog is not important and will more than likely sink to the bottom of the internet without a trace, resting on the internet seabed (or C++bed as I would call it if I was a FUCKING LOSER) with my livejournal, my makeoutclub account, my myspace, my twitter, and my various child pornography subscriptions. I don't actually have child pornography subscriptions so there's no need to get the PoPo round to dissect my PC. However, there is a glimmer of hope that this blog may actually achieve it's purpose: Self Publication.

I will be entirely honest when I tell you I have no integrity, I have no message to bring to the world, I have nothing worthwhile to contribute. I just have a big fat bricker over the prospect of becoming a flash in the pan internet celebrity. Every time a Perez Hilton, or a Chris Crocker, or a Tila Tequila is born, I'm sure I'm not the only person asking myself how a fat/gay/slutty mouthbreathing scrub like them is worthy of any attention. And I figured they one thing they have is the gall to just BRAZENLY ignore how much of a pathetic loser they are and just do it. I don't have a lot of things going for me, but I do know how to make a hasty, ill-informed opinion about something (usually offensive) and then talk about it. And that's what I'm going to do. I am going to badmouth the fuck out of celebrities, non-celebrities, culture, TV, minorities, the class system, whatever tickles my fancy. I need to bank on 3 things: One, that I'm not just entertaining to my friends but to the masses. Two, that something I can quickly rattle off into a text and send to my facebook will translate well into a long, considered blog post. And three, that I don't get distracted by a squirrel, kitten, rat, cake, computer game, sporting event, orgy, brawl or anything else likely to consign this to a list of hobbies I outgrew within days.

So yes, no apologies, I am going to make myself sound more interesting and more intelligent than I am and all for the faint hope of obtaining some kind of celebrity, and do you know why? Because THAT IS WHAT THE FUCKING INTERNET IS FOR. Don't pretend it's for wikipedia, or going onto a forum to discuss literature, or to keep in touch with friends. Don't even act like it's for porn because no-one pays for porn any more, tubaholic, spankwire, xhamster, redtube, all FREE and no-one watches more than 5 minutes of that degrading shit anyway. The internet is for making yourself look cooler than you really are. You don't get the luxury of top-down photos in the bathroom on your cameraphone that hide your gut in real life. You don't get time to sit and think of something jovial and witty and sharp to say in real life, you probably just say nothing and go home to cut yourself. You don't get to pretend you're big, and tough and say REALLY HORRIBLE THINGS TO PEOPLE. That's what the internet is for me, it's the ability to just say the most fucking questionable, horrible things to other people. On the internet you can say nigger and it's fine. You can say fucking rape my holocaust grandmother asian immigrant carbomb auschwitz nigger nigger nigger spic gangrape and there are no reprecussions. On the internet if you know someone on a forum or whatever and they pissed you off or something but you know their mum is dead you can just literally call them on it, you can make a new account on a new e-mail address and say "hey go fuck your dead mum and give her another brain hemorrhage you stupid cunt". And that's the beauty of the internet: anonymity.

It's a dangerous time for internet anonymity, the redtop tabloids trying to out that Prozzie who had the blog, your Mum getting a facebook and leaving a comment on an update where you were telling your friends how much coke you did last night. It's a worrying time as governments try to ensure a certain percentage of homes have internet access, because truth be told I don't want plebians running around my internet, I want to be able to tell someone I'm 6ft 4 and ripped and have prior convictions for aggravated assault and I'm going to come to their house and fuck them up because they think The Bends is the best Radiohead album. And I want to get famous doing it because at least I'm honest about being dishonest.

More to come.