2007-02-16 - 12:15 a.m.

'Has your intelligence been insulted? Don't buy the product.'
Richard P. Feynman, The Meaning of it All.

I noticed something curious when I was scrubbing my rancid oxters in the shower the other day. On the shelf was a bottle of green goop that proclaimed,

IT'S LIKE BEING
CAUGHT
NAKED IN A
HAIL
STORM OF
MINT
IMPERIALS

What, so using your product involves pain, humiliation and the knowledge that you're undergoing a complete mental breakdown? I don't need to pay for that sensation - I get it everytime I wake up. As if the 'Mint and Tea Tree' wasn't enough to put me off using this gimcrack, new age... shower gell. I suspect the sort of people that use this stuff believe in 'positive energy' and go nude hillwalking. What is the fucking point of shower gell? Does it get you cleaner than soap or something? Shower gell is BULLSHIT.

There's a lot of this twee, cutsey cuntery around at the moment. I think it was those Innocent Smoothies that started it, with their repulsive little homilies on the side of the carton. You know the sort of thing, 'Please unscrew my little cap carefully so you don't hurt me and then you can drink all that lovely concentrated fruitey-wuit that has been forced into my nubile little body like feed down a foie gras goose. Then you can feel all warm and fuzzy in your little tummy-wum even though you've just spent twenty quid on fruit juice.' That sort of thing. Some bright spark obviously thought consumers would enjoy being infantilised and led to believe that the inanimate product not only has a soul, but also that it talks like some beatnik My Little Pony. I aquired a jar of chillimole sauce recently and was horrified to read this on the label: 'Store in a cool place (like Wigan pier). Refigerate after opening and eat me all up within three weeks. Ta.' Fuck you. I threw it at the wall. They're lucky I didn't push my stiletto through a kitten's head.

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