21.10.2005 - 1:10 p.m.

If I were a multi-million selling rap artiste, I�d big everything up to massive proportions and be down wid me homies, life�d be cool, oh yeah�

An while I is living my large life, I�d drive a large car and have large jewellery and the large bottles of Cristal always on ice, and on my large stretch hummer I�d have 32inch rims with gleaming chrome spinners an me an me homies would cruise the neighbourhood honking for booty, yeah, I love them spinners, on my stretch hummer they�d be sweet.

On a ginormouse bling-mobile, spinners look passable, on an old purple astra they look rubbish, the same person also had a � Technics � sticker right across the top of the rear window, I�d like to know who he�s trying to impress. I guessed at �other teenagers who can�t drive and are reduced to clinging onto tiny, plastic, garish scooters� and would love to have a car of any type, however rubbish.

I�ve also seen some episodes of X Fuctor, and I�m wondering at what point in some of these peoples lives did they think that they could sing, or have any musical ability, or carry a tune, or be able to identify a tune from a line up of possible noises. It seems that Elvis still lives strong in poor male singers who think that sounding like an a Elvis impersonator ( or actually being an Elvis impersonator ) will make them automatically be just what the hard-bitten producers of many profitable household names in music are looking for and sign them up there and then.

If there�s anything this world needs more of its Elvis impersonators

In fact why not clone some of his hair and then we can all have our own personal Elvis

The question was asked round here recently, about how long �high-rise chic� is going to last, some people would identify the wearers of �high-rise chic� as white trash chavvy types but I wouldn�t lower myself personally to pointing out the sea of fake Versace and hideous Burberry littering the streets.

I�m not the first to carry this link in these parts but it�s always worth pointing out something good in amongst all the dross out here, go to Something Awful and check out the rad fashions, mmmmmmm, the commentary on the International Male one made me snort tea out of my nose, such tasty threads for the trendsetting pimp on the go.

It�s hard to look cool when you�re a teenager, you�ve little real appreciation of what is �cool� and there�s bound to be accidents, like putting spinners on an Astra, or covering yourself in clothes with writing on them and heavy gold jewellery, or buying a 50cc day-glo orange scooter ( with L-plates ) because you�re too young for anything else, or then hanging out with your other �scooter� buddies in burger king car parks.

But hey, at least you�ve got your freedom eh ? no need to keep asking mum for lifts or scratching together bus money, you may look like a tit but at least you�re free, no-one could hate you for that.

Here�s some pictures of really cool people sat on or astride motorcycles

I couldn�t find any pictures of a small group of teenagers gathered with their plastic steeds, but you all know what they look like if you live in the uk or europe, if I manage to snap any I�ll post the pic for the foreigners out there. No matter how hard you pose yourself there is no way on earth you�re gonna look cool perched on top of a giant fluorescent hairdryer, even sitting side saddle isn�t going to help and neither is hanging the helmet off the handle, face it, it�s not working.

There�s one last chance to regain your dignity. Your penalty for riding so young is that you cannot exceed about 30mph, in a headwind you�ll be lucky to make 25mph, simply don�t crouch right down behind the tiny fairing in hope that that will unleash the final few ounces of power from the tiny screaming engine, accept your wobbly position atop your hairdryer and sit proud, saying,

�I�m being punished by society for it�s own amusement, I wear the clothes everybody else wears because we�re told they�re fashionable and timeless and I don�t want to stand out in case they make fun of me, the only private transport I can have is a brightly coloured, underpowered, target, and on top of everything I hate my parents and they hate me, everything�s so unfair, my only hope is to grow out of it and never look back�

Like a largish proportion of the population ( mostly male I suspect ) I suffer from �Supermarket Rage� which stems from a complete inability to find the specific item in a reasonable timeframe, i.e. within eighty seconds of walking into the shop. I�d like to clarify that this only really happens in the big supermarkets, your average corner CoOp holds no fear for me. I�ve taken the only sensible ( but very un-male ) route to salvation which involves collaring the first shelf stacker I see upon entering the shop and getting them to point out which aisle, or taking me to the aisle or getting them to push me in the trolley at an unsafe velocity while I make aeroplane noises. It�s not generally too bad, after a number of trips I get used to the local tesco and my shopping journey can be measured in a small number of minutes, relief.

Tesco ( and all the others too ) don�t like the fact that shoppers might be buying just what they need and then leave before checking out all the other really cool deals they have and periodically move the shelves round, which is why those great big display cabinets are fitted with wheels, bastards. Now I walk into the shop, make a direct line to aisle 30 which contains the catfud of lore and lo, I find instead crisps, hmmmm, look around to see if there�s anyone who can carry me to where the petfood is, and there isn�t. I�m now in a situation, do I expend energy finding a shelf rat to tell me that the petfood is four feet from where I was stood, on the other side of the shelves or do I walk at random about the shop and hope to stumble over the fud by accident, either way my blood pressure is rising.

While stumbling blindly around Sainsbury�s I was surprised to see in the aisle with the eggs some �Well Being� advertised,

I�d like to know exactly how that�s packaged, as I couldn�t find any on the shelves, sold out I reckon, people can�t get enough of that fresh �Well Being�.

And more to the point who�s �Well Being� are we talking about. I checked most of the shelves in the aisle and could find no hint of dope, drugs, video games, music, expensive electrical items, humorous books and dvd�s, or anything else that makes me feel good about myself, all they had was rubbish hippy food in trendy packaging at three times the normal price that overpriced hippy food is sold at.

So I can safely say that Sainsbury�s version of Well Being is having a digestive system you can set your watch by and spending a third of your annual income buying squirrel food in retro boxes.

To top off my strange journey of retail discovery, at the check-outs they had a large poster which beautifully describes a ( alright another of my ) pet hates. More to the point this one didn�t even make sense. Thomas the Tank Engine has a cherubish, cheerful face which he uses to emote his tales from his life as a train, and for him his face has worked, the Rev Awdry has had his coffin upgraded around him while he rests and the franchise luchre is filling up the cracks in his descendants houses, mmmm, cosy.

A cheerful face with round cheeks on an animated character is one thing, but what makes advertising companies think that slapping a TtTE face on something will make us accept it through the magical power of anthropomorphicism. In adverts we�ve had talking toilets, tyres, windows, houses, cars, and all of them have had the same crappy face you see below,

This one was on a till receipt. Why ? Why put a face on a till receipt ? I didn�t even bother to find out what he was trying to say, was some unmanifested paternal instinct deep within me supposed to bubble over at the sight of this happy face causing me to do whatever it was the advert was advertising.

Not likely really

The washing machine has turned a fleece jumper of mine completely inside out in an hour, either my washing machine is possessed with tiny scuba-gremlins, or technology is more advanced that I thought, now that�s progress.

Enough now, off with your weasels you scallywags.