My Unhealthy Love for a Meerkat.

Hopefully the title is ambiguous enough to attract a wider readership.  It does bear some resemblance to the bizarre stories seen in cheap magazines such as ‘I married the rhino that crushed my husband to death.’  or ‘Jesus came to me in a dream and told me to bulk buy ketchup.’

This is not however, going to be an in-depth analysis of my romantic affections for a meerkat. I am of course referring to the  string of hugely successful meerkat oriented adverts.  Some one in my household recently received a package through the door, after much suspense he opened it and revealed a stuffed meerkat. Yes, he had got some form of insurance through Compare the Market and received the reward of a stuffed toy. Obviously, the reaction shared by me and my brother, both of us being in our twenties, was apathetic to say the least if not a bit hostile to the concept.

Except it wasn’t.

Upon its revelation we both gave up a cheer and said ‘YAY! IT’s SERGIE!’ So now we have the dynamic duo sitting on a shelf, both Alexandr and Sergie watch us motionless from on high, silently judging the terrible state of humanity.

Today I have found the Meerkat version of ‘Ebony and Ivory’ playing on a loop in my head, and every time it reaches its dramatic end I find myself chuckling. At which point I realise I am alone, unemployed, friendless and generally unsuccessful and have to hang my head in the up most shame.

What makes me despair, is the man who came up with that advertising scheme in a meeting one stormy day, has probably earned a vast sum of money out of those animated meerkats. I can just imagine it now.

‘Come on team, Compare the Market wants us to come up with an idea.’

‘Hah, sounds a bit like Compare the Meerkat, imagine that, a website that compares Meerkats.’

‘Billy you’ve done it again, here have some money.’

 

What makes it worse, is we, as a nation, lapped it up so much that it’s become profitable for them to produce a line of Meerkat toys to send to grown adults! No wonder the economy’s fucked.

It won’t be long before we’re all out bulk buying Cillit Bang because they change their advertising figurehead to a colourful Walrus that sports a fine collection of stylish hats. It makes me fear for the mental wellbeing of the human race, seeing as the two most successful advertising ventures in recent history seems to be an aristocratic Meerkat and a drumming gorilla!

How long is it before the government utilise these things for their own evil purposes. When will we see a number of Meerkat’s spouting political propaganda. How long is it before the Conservative Party employ Alexandr as a sort of spin doctor, winning them the majority vote! Or fund a concert featuring various musically talented exotic animals? It’s a truly terrifying thing to think about.

Perhaps I’m being too judgemental, this I can accept is simply a comical piece of advertising appealing to the nations juvenile side. It’s all very well and good. The truth of the matter is I’m just jealous. I come up with stupid shit like this all the time and no one pays me anything, they just look at me pityingly and walk the other way.

 

The Fuzzy Rambler.

 

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Leaving the Matrix.

This post will have nothing to do with the Matrix films, or the poorly conceived, updated version of Descartes’ third wave of scepticism. I just thought it sounded catchy and is in some way related to what I’m about to ramble on about.

I have left the social networking world (apart from this blog).  My Facebook page is no more, I have been liberated and can now join the real world, it is a scary, brightly coloured place. Sure, the social interactions are just as empty, but the fact that I now have to leave the house and engage in an actual conversation to take part in them, makes them feel all the more special… sort of.

Facebook, I hope, is or soon will be on the decline. Why do I hope this? Because all these social networking platforms have turned us into, attention seeking, juvenile, pretentious, insecure  and babbling morons (I cut that list short for your benefit, it could have gone on for some time).  Blogging is completely different obviously… it is, blogging can in no way be described using the above list… no it can’t… SHUT UP!

Now that it has gone I’m sure I will slowly dematerialise and cease to be. That was the impression I got from others’ reactions. ‘How will anyone be able to contact you?’ was something people say when you contemplate kicking the absurd habit. It’s an odd response, the counter-response to which is even odder, involving the explanation to perfectly rational individuals that communication is a thing that occurred long before Facebook and Twitter.  It’s not as if we all just wandered around in bemused and awkward silence waiting for someone to invent the computer, the internet and then Facebook before we developed the communicative abilities for which our species is known.

Now I can only be contacted via smoke signals, and occasionally a Bat symbol in the sky — I mean errm, forget that bit.

But seriously, what is the point of it all? I know that is a question often  thrown about in a banal manner, particularly by me. Why do we feel compelled to share our bigoted, ill-informed and trivial thoughts with the world. Why do we feel the need to ‘friend’ people after one chance encounter, devaluing the concept of friendship altogether? Why do we feel the need to upload a photo of us by a swimming pool, in the sun, drinking heavily or on the toilet? (The ones where we look presentable I can understand, we want the world to know that some times, under certain lights and at certain angles we’re not disgusting looking) But why do we think anyone will care? After Andy Murray’s triumphant win at Wimbledon yesterday, Facebook was flooded with ultimately pointless messages of congratulations that were uselessly engulfed by the ether never to be seen by the man himself. Why do we think that ‘Liking’ something vaguely inspiring, or charitable or good that we are doing something beneficial to society? It’s madness, we’re just sitting looking at a screen!

Don’t even get me started on Twitter, tried it once and it questioned my intelligence. ‘You need to be more clever than that.’ it said as apparently I had gone over the given character count. I often wondered if Charles Dickens had similar critiques. ‘Yes David Copperfield is all well and good, but isn’t 358,632 words a bit long-winded? Any chance you can be more clever and shorten it to a 140 characters?’

Yes, I did just Google ‘David Copperfield Word Count’ for that joke so you better find it at least mildly amusing.  Maybe even give this article a trivial ‘like’ as you know, my ego is built on recognition from strangers I’ll never meet… OH THE IRONY!

The End.

 

The Fuzzy Rambler.