Three months? Okay.

Trends.

It seems the world revolves around them nowadays. If you don't conform to the latest fashion style, acting style or even lifestyle, you're not 'cool', although that word probably isn't 'cool' any more by some trend or other's standards. It seems all of popular society must assign themselves to some trend or other like magnetised sheep around an iron shepherd. Although, even though religions are almost trends, I won't link the shepherd to Jesus' birth, because that sort of intellectual social commentary is not something I can be bothered with after so many drinks. And no, I'm not trying to be 'cool' by composing drunken blog entries, I'm just bored enough to be drunk, and bored enough to type randomly.

Anyway. Trends seem to link in with another element of modern common culture, commercialism. Obviously, companies cash in on trends any way they can, even spawning them themselves. Thus, the vast webs of products you must own to fit in intermingles with the slang, the actions and the clothing you must wear, itself another commercial product. The advent of television and now the internet means that the average person is absolutely drenched in the douche of trendy advertising ejaculated daily by these media. Trends now creep subconsciously into the minds of even the most 'uncool' people, it's like dumping a collection of boxes underwater, even the sealed Tupperware will leak under the pressure eventually. Shit that was a bad analogy. Whatever, as I was rambling, trends permeate every part of popular culture, you must conform to one or another. You also must fight against other cultures that may be more profitable that yours, it's like the fucking Crusades all over again. If you're a chav (definition: suicide blonde tracksuit-wearing label-flashing bling-exposing estate-living crap-listening slut) you must attack and destroy anybody who has allied themselves with the goth trend (definition: deathly white black-dyed trenchcoat-wearing scar-flashing crap-listening slut), or at least shout 'gay hippy' at them as they pass listening to Papa Roach at a thousand decibels. Even if you're not going as far as being one of these highly stereotyped thugs, there's plenty for you. You can buy one of those iPod thingies and an iMac whatsit, so that you can boast to your Audi-driving acquaintances at the local wine bar that you have all the latest high-tech gadgetry even though you secretly don't know what the Gerry Adams an iMac actually does or why you own one other than as a trendy paperweight for your living room because your designer coffee table is just so July love. You can splash Holley NOS stickers down the side of your one-litre Punto and buy an exhaust tip larger than the boosters on the Space Shuttle Discovery, or even better four, to pimp your ride with all the other wankers in shitboxes with gay 'performance' addons. Volume does not equal power shithead.

This rant was originally going to have more of a specific point about trends, but I've forgotten it and I frankly can't be arsed to care what it was. Maybe I'm getting dangerously close to the angsty-teen-posting-their-woes-with-the-world-on-the-internet trend, but I try not to. Basically, don't be a magnetised sheep, make up your own mind on what you want to do. If what you want to do is blindly follow a trend, well why are you even reading this? Go download DJ Crazy Frog from those multi-millionaire bastards who spam the world with their badly-made adverts for badly-made stolen ringtones and join that trend, then I can feel no remorse if you die falling off the back of a train while stupidly trying to fare-dodge by clinging on and also attract the chav bints sitting nursing a Benson in the back carriage.

I personally avoid trends, I deliberately wear awfully unfashionable clothing, listen to no mainstream music (and actively scorn it and any who profess to like it, even though it's pap equivalent to that tasteless formless goop you feed a weaning baby with, just like the tasteless masses are force-fed with this mush on the radio and television), and I try not to be a poser or in any way 'cool'. Hell, I refuse to take any of these morons seriously, I laugh at chavs and their inbred insensible innuendos, goths and they're 'omg im so harcoare' approach to absolutely everything and insistence that they're depressed while living in a posh uptown house with a BMW, ricers with their crappy hatchback rollin' on seventeens (I shall be making a hall of shame specially for them and their aluminium-winged Del Sols soon) and even the completely vapid 'popular' 'personalities' who are 'cool' for owning this, that or the even more ludicrous other. I buy things that I think are good, I don't give a stuff if some fashion guru in 'gay Paris' thinks I look like I've just stumbled out of an 80s timewarp into a third-world nylon sweatshop, at least I don't look like that guru. I'm spending my time being conspicuously single, but the only person who seems to have cared was a ratty little lass who I wouldn't touch with a bargepole. And no, I'm not going to 'do a Morton', I actually have standards.

More entries later covering the long non-posting spree, but for now I need to sober up. I bet I'll look at this later and think 'shit, what the hell was I going on about, and look at that awful grammar'. Oh well, what the hell.

I can't end on a bad rhyme, so, yeah.