S is for...Shit Stirrers

Aaaaaaaahhhhhh, here we go. This is a well overdue article for me. But I’ve just watched that video of Carol Vorderman getting upset because two paparazzi bellends have been getting in her shit and snapping away at her. If you don’t love Carol Vorderman, who is clearly a UK national treasure, I question if you even love yourself.

Anyway, as you may be able to imagine, given the form that my article titles take, I spend a bunch of my time alive on this spinning rock just going hmmmm...

Sausages

Hmmmmm...

Slap and tickle

Hmmmmm....

Slam Dunk Da Funk

And then I’m away. The creative floodgates open and I can happily just write away. Churning out shit. So yeah, technically I am most definitely an S is for...Shit Stirrer myself. But I saw that video, and was like, journalist bellends. I had S is for...Shit Stirrers on the back burner ready to write an article about them at some point, so I figured no time like the present and all that.

Generally speaking, journalists annoy the absolute shit out of me. Don’t get me wrong, there are some seriously good eggs out there. But fuck me, there are A LOT of tossers. That’s why I write articles in the way that I write them. Because, whilst strictly speaking I’m not reporting the news, I do write about a variety of topics and subjects, and sometimes I write on current affairs. But I try to write in the manner which is just like, ‘having a chat’. Having a little chitty-chat-chat. I do that because I think it’s important. It’s like bringing balance to the force. So we can all go,

Yep, Chris is chatting some shit again. But thankfully he isn’t one of those pricks with an agenda to just make money chatting shit about other people’s situations. He’s just sparking conversation.

How do we know this?

Weeeelllllll, I’ve been doing this for a fair while now. And I make approximately fuck all money from it. *thumbs up* But as I’ve often stated, that’s not why I do it. I do it because I like writing. Plus it’s good for my noggin.

But that’s what they do. That chat shit about people’s ups and downs, make money from it, and it’s fucked up.

I can’t remember if I’ve ever written or shared this before. But who cares, I’ll write it anyway. I used to work for a newspaper. I used to work for the Express and Echo in Exeter. And clearly, I don’t anymore.

I used to work as a merchandiser. My job was basically to make sure that all the outlets that stocked the newspaper were stocked up.

Funny interlude. One day, I’ve gone to work. And I’ve spoken to my manager who has said that one of my colleagues in the sales team has been sacked. Wait for it...

He was sacked for...

Pissing it someone’s garden!!!!!! Hahahahaha! In the middle of the fucking day! I think he was out doing a round in Exmouth, and clearly needed a piss. But instead of trying to find somewhere sensible to go, he just decided to piss in someone’s garden. Someone reported it back to the office, and he was sacked.

WHAT. A. STORY!

Ha! Tit!

Anyway, I quite liked working for the newspaper. I hadn’t long got my degree. I was all about working in media. Working at the newspaper seemed like a cool thing to do. I wanted to have a positive impact on my community. Winning.

Side-note, if you want to have a ‘positive impact’ on your community don’t work for a newspaper. Just skip that bullshit, do something else instead, like oh I don’t know establish a basketball club.

So, the day I decided to leave the newspaper was the day that there had been a fatal hit and run in Exmouth. I was on my route in Exeter going from outlet to outlet, checking the stock and all that. I got a phone call and was told to go to Exmouth; all the papers are selling out, we need all of the papers to be in Exmouth.

So I did. I did my job. I drove over to Exmouth, stocked up all the places that I would and then that was basically my shift done for the day, I think. No more papers left to sell.

But I didn’t feel right.

To be honest I can’t remember the exact sequence of events that happened afterwards. But I was out in town in the days/weeks following the hit and run. I was in a pub in the town and...

...I got speaking to the son of the person who had been killed in the hit and run. The son was actually someone in my year at school. We spoke for a good while about his loss, enjoyed a drink and I like to think we both ended up in a better place because of it.

At some point around that time, like I say, I can’t recall if it was before or after that drink in town. I decided to leave the paper. It felt wrong working there, I felt sick. I couldn’t get how that was just it. There’s a tragedy, loads of people feel a lot of pain, anger, and frustration. The newspaper makes a bunch of money...

...aaaannnnndddd that’s pretty much it.

Fucking. Mental.

So, that’s quite an up close and personal reason why I don’t particularly like journalists. A lot of them don’t give a fuck. OR they do, but unfortunately because of ‘industry standards’ and some bullshit like that. They can only report the news in a certain way. It’s beyond complicated.

Ultimately, it’s 2020. With social media EVERYONE is a fucking journalist. So, my statement holds true - a lot of you are bellends ; ) Waaaaaaay!

But seriously, it’s painful to watch people get warped and swayed by news stories and propaganda. It’s so fucking exhausting.

So, even if you are faking it, you aren’t genuinely that happy, but you are putting on a duckface, battling with some chronic OCD about capturing the best picture of yourself to share on social media, or constantly taking picture of your fucking dinner! I’d much rather you do that than chat and stir shit about people to make a profit. I’m NEVER going to fully understand that.

Don’t be a leech.

R.I.P. SD