blog

17 May 2022

“Walt Disney was actually like a literal anti-Semite actually” cries the friendless smoking area patron of a club you didn’t want to go to. He’ll go on to explain how John Lennon beat his wife and that Leo cut his hand in that scene in Django Unchained before your cigarette is even half smoked.

Disneyland Paris is a truly magical place. I’m a depressed, cynical Marxist and even I can’t help but get butterflies when I see a minimum wage Parisian dressed as Cowboy Goofy taking pictures with fat children. However, the feeling is relatively short lived. By 4pm I’m sweaty, tired, covered in my girlfriend’s vomit due to her newfound motion sickness, and my arse cheeks are so chafed you would’ve thought I’d mooned Sodom and Gomorrah. I don’t even take a second look at Cowboy Goofy on the way to dinner.

Meanwhile, the Disney Adults are having the time of their lives, every minute they spend in this park is nothing short of nirvana. I’m dressed in a carefully curated summer outfit I think brings out my triceps, paranoid that my hair looks fluffy in the queue for Tower of Terror while they wear an ill-fitting Lion King t-shirt and cargo shorts that sit half way down their arse, shovelling popcorn down their throats in-between their acapella interpolation of It’s A Small World. And the odd part of all of this is I’m painfully jealous.

I’m 23 now, so I understand that the human experience, for the most part, is shared. As a 16-year-old the chip on my shoulder regarding my upbringing would’ve weighed me down to the extent that the Tower of Terror would’ve struggled to ascent. I would’ve assumed they’d never lost a loved one in death, had their heart broken or even heard the term ‘panic attack’. Maybe, they haven’t, who knows, but one can assume that in the grand scheme of things the Disney Adult has more in common with me than I could ever know. The only difference is, while I was listening to The Smiths wallowing in abject self-pity, they were watching Mulan singing along to A Girl Worth Fighting For.

They look like morons to me. Do they care? Absolutely not.

That’s where my jealously lies. They are allowing themselves to have fun while I worry about my self-image. I could tell them how embarrassing they look, but it would be like climbing a Tibetan Mountain to tell a monk that his orange robe looks retarded. Who is the moron here?

The security of their sexuality and lack of self-awareness is my dream. I wish I could wear a Mickey Mouse headband without wanting to self-harm, but I simply couldn’t allow myself to separate my exterior from the sarcastic, post-ironic personality I’ve wasted my life curating.

These people need celebrating. We need to separate them from the mouse that has monopolized the American cinema for the entirety of the century so far and look at them for what they are; happy, care-free, friendly, deeply embarrassing, bastions of consumerist acceptance. I can neither beat them, nor join them.

‘Don’t grow up, it’s a trap’. The talisman of the Disney Adult. They’ve witnessed the second coming, and he has big round ears.

16 May 2022

A week after the Great Monkey Crash of 2022 and I still feel empty.

Although I had zero pounds and zero pence invested in any hyperlinks to pixel art of apes, I still can’t help but feel sorry for the people who did. The type of person who can manage to convince themselves that a square pixel art of a swag monkey wearing sunglasses was not only worth $200,000 but was also going to be a fundamental step in reinventing the global economic structure is the type of person that I can’t help but admire. It’s a fat office worker yelling “Kobe” as he shoots his sixth Diet Coke can into a bin overflowing with Tesco Meal Deal wrappers and negative lateral flow tests. It’s endearing.

Everyone said that crypto was destroying the environment. It probably was. I know fuck all. I also don’t care. Well, I do care. Obviously. But not really.
How does crypto kill the environment? Like, bandwidth? I’d give a shit if I saw one of the swag monkeys bottling a polar bear.

But I just can’t contextualise any of this. It’s easy to get angry with planes killing the environment – you can see the chemtrails for fucks sake. That can’t be good, can it? Also, you can take your hatred for the middle-class British Airways customers and project it towards a faux-righteous anger towards climate change.

Anyway, back to the swag monkeys. A man who spent his life savings on a pixelated monkey dressed as The Joker has just closed the door to his house, he Googles to see if you can pay for an Uber via $SIMP. Turns out you can’t. He inhales slowly to see if the scent of his wife and children has lingered at all since they left last week to stay with the in-laws. It hasn’t. He checks his phone to see where his Uber is. Three notifications stare back.

1. BNB Price Alert – Price decreased by 12.69%. d

2. @elonmusk tweeted: “Whoever thought owning the libs…”.

3. Your Uber ride has been cancelled.

That same day that imaginary swag monkey owner I made up hanged himself.

Still find the fact someone spent $200,000 on a picture of a swag monkey funny?