The Ikon Gallery in Birmingham is a depressingly publicly funded, waste of time, that bored rich people wander in to when they want to look at utter nonsense, and pretend it means something.
Here are a list of art exhibitions, that if I had no morals and wanted to sponge off taxpayers, I would set up:
- Painting titled “Better left unseen”, based on a brutally honest, horrific rotten.com or ogrish image. Hang on wall facing inwards and let the visitors/impish children turn it over if they dare.
- Art exhibition of doodles, every workplace or school has a doodler, so put out a general call for submissions and wait for the art to flood in. Scan them all and display them using iPads, because these sorts of places just love excuses to piss away your money on iPads.
- Set up one of those yellow “Warning wet floor” signs, and actually have the floor wet. This will confuse the fuck out of everyone, because in their entire life they will never have associated this sign with a floor that is actually wet. Post-modernist commentary on the excessive abuse of warning signs leading to their ineffectiveness, by pussies worried about being sued by bottom feeders.
- Photoshops of bald heads on celebrities known to wear wigs. Guaranteed to get published by The Daily Fail as a nice promo piece too.
“Play makes it possible” – no, play actually makes it less likely.
The filthy hope machine that is the UK Lottery acts as if it is some benevolent dream maker, whilst secretly manically cackling at the millions of mathematically illiterate losers every week feeding it.
£7,275,200,000 was foolishly flushed away in 2014/2015. £3,915,200,000 was begrudgingly coughed up in winnings by a dodgy old man handing over pound notes very slowly hoping you will get bored and leave when you have enough for a Chinese takeaway. A return rate of 54% – I can’t think of another form of gambling worse than that. Maybe Russian Roulette with 3 bullets in the chamber. If you play the lottery, try that instead.
Look at those people in the picture, all smiling whilst they jump into a swimming pool somewhere sunny. Maybe they are on holiday? How to buy a holiday like this for yourself:
- Don’t shit away £4 a week on lottery tickets or junkie like instant gratification scratchcards that you look fucking pitiful buying, barely waiting until you are out of the shop before realising you lost again. Put that money in a large jar instead.
- Wait 10 years.
- Your jar now contains 52 weeks * 10 years * £4 * 46% loss rate, so roughly £950 you have not jizzed away. An average save of almost £2 a week from not wasting your time on the ridiculous idea that this is good way to fix your life and make you happy.
- With that £950 you saved, maybe more, because the world hates you and you never win anything, even though you did win £10 a few years ago, jet off for a week somewhere sunny. Wasn’t that hard was it? What did you really have to do? Not play the lottery.
Numbers racket bookkeeping
- Cheap, there is barely a need to look at the prices,these guys don’t seem to rip you off.
- No stupid “Buy 2 for £x” offers to; tax the brain, make you feel financially cheated when you only want one, or balk at the prospect of carrying four litres of coke home when you only want two.
- No shitty music playing on store speakers.
- Checkout staff are lightning fast and new checkouts magically open when you think one needs opening.
- No automated checkouts to make you feel frustrated, inadequate, like a human drone in a dystopian future.
- Wide isles and no annoying special promotion stand obstacles, so it isn’t necessary to be a zig zagging Wipeout master to move around.
Almost the opposite of Asda really.
These days there is a glorious abundance of food available to mankind due to the Haber process and mechanisation of agriculture. If you don’t understand why chocolate packets would ever be resealable you may have noticed your trousers shrinking over the years. Don’t throw them away!
You have roughly a 40% chance of developing an exciting, exotic cancer during your lifetime. I am personally hoping for one that makes me look like an active junkie, constantly running around for my next fix. This will enable me to wear all my old trousers my lard ass could previously no longer fit into, and pretend I had been vintage clothes shopping instead.