Monday, April 16, 2012

Last Post…like, ever!


…under this banner.

While shampooing my hair back in the horrible MySpace blog days, the above banner was conceived. I thought the name was great. It captured what my blog was about and it did it in a, albeit long, yet quirky way. To put it uncharacteristically short, it was an era of my writing.

The Modern Day Riff-Raff is now dead.

It has been a few years since this blog was born; a life spent bearing the weight of '' on its spine. The same way that the insipid MySpace blog rolled over into this one, that same sort of evolution is about to occur yet again. To say that the new title came to me before the domain name did would be a bold-faced lie, but I’m too shamelessly-honest for that. Firstly, needed to transform into something else, however, getting to that point where money would be dropped on a domain name that would replace it didn’t happen overnight. Removing the ‘blogspot’ sub-domain didn’t help with the length, nixing ‘the’ wasn’t an option because that’s simply not the blog’s name and acronyms are hideous. So if there were going to be any changes to the blog name itself, it was either going to be a total overhaul or nothing at all. So, I decided that The Modern Day Riff-Raff was going to be put to rest and, with it, this stock-standard layout needed to go as well.

Creating a new name took weeks of list-making, soon to be radically condensed down when domain availability was put into consideration. But in the very end – and this is where any impending magic withers away and dies - the list went into the trash and I spent a good few days having a play with a litany of different domain registrars.

This is where I landed on

Let me make one thing clear though, what’s about to come is purely a cosmetic-based change, not a content-based one. My life maybe at a different stage now, but not my cynicism - that lives on. On that note, it’s funny, the whole time I was writing to ‘The Modern- you know the rest, even when I was creating it, I had no clue why I was writing about what it is I write about. People would often read my blog and ask ‘Ryan, why do you blog?’, and I never quite knew how to answer it, not concisely anyway, but somewhere between registering, then forfeiting it, living in domain-name limbo, spending a dozen quatloos, pretending to know web-coding and eventually re-registering, I found the answer. To quote Bill Maher, ‘I’m angry because not enough people are angry.’ That just about sums it up. There are some angry people sure; some are too angry, often busy banning gay-marriage and bashing Muslims, but some is the standing word there. Too many people look at the world through the eyes of a child and it’s what they do best, but that gets nothing done. What there is too much of in the world is not hate, but people who just accept shit because somebody called it ‘normal’. What should be obvious to them, but clearly isn’t, is that when something that isn’t a particularly good thing has an abundance of people who look at it in the face and say ‘oh well’, it continues, it thrives even, sometimes growing larger as a result. Don’t accept. Don’t say ‘such is life’, such is not life. Same-sex marriage is life, but that’s not allowed, so such is not life. Cigarettes are essentially the opposite of life, but they are the furthest from contraband, so, evidently, such is not life.

So, that’s why I write, and that’s why The Modern Day Riff-Raff is set to live on under its new banner:

See you on the other side!

Monday, April 9, 2012

He’s Perverted

It's commonplace to hear a woman say that 'all men are arseholes', but it’s simply not true. However, one thing that all men are is perverted. For appearances sake, everybody will disagree with me here, but us guys all want to do some pretty sick shit before we die. Na, na, na! C’mon guys, celibacy is a real-life horror film we just won't watch and ignoring cleavage is akin to clipping electrodes to our own testicles, and it's the same everywhere you go - the man working at the corner shop, the guy writing this blog, your teacher, your priest - we (men) are built to spread the seed of life (sperm) and that's what makes us human (perverted). There are, however, three different types of perversion, typically measured by, but not limited to, a man's age: Youthful, Mid-age & Old-age.

Youthful perversion is where you’re perverted and people know it. The main distinction is that you think that you've done a good job of hiding it. You see, as young people, we think that we're pretty clever. We think that if we pre-emptively look behind us when we walk along the street and wait for the woman's arse to walk into eyeshot, making out like we're admiring the beautiful scenary or something, as opposed to just turning our head as she passes, that people won't see us getting a good 'ol mental snap to put away in the well-spent spank-bank; this is how we think. Believe me, I live in an area of morons, I see it on the daily. It's hard. Even I do it. I mean, I used to wait tables in the evening, it's difficult not to peek a look…think about it, it’s a meat-market up there! At the time, I probably thought that I was getting away with it, but in hindsight, I bet I was getting caught left, right and centre.

Mid-age perversion is a moderate balance, assuming that you aren’t one of those rompy, mistress types. Typically, people won't know you're perverted except your wife or your serious girlfriend, as, at this point, you'd be married or at least mature enough to be thinking about some sort of family portrait. So, all your sick shit that you probably didn't get to do to girls inappropriately younger than you in your youthful stage, you do with your significant other to make up for lost time, whatever that might be: threesomes with the personal secretary, hose-downs, leather-love, those vacation camcorder clips you always see on the web. (Keep out of my web history!) Of course, confidentiality agreements aren’t exactly a thing in divorce, so you’re disgusting marital habits may not always remain as air-tight as you might like.

Old-age perversion is where your wife is either too old, too disabled, too dead or too full of another man to offer up any form of sexual goings-on to her retired husband. Unfortunately, when you get to be an elderly man, you can't just up and retire your genitals like women often can, so your penis is left insanely lonely. It can go either way from here, you can just accept that your sex life is as dead as a bogan's liver (or at least make it seem that way; fortunately, I don't know what goes on behind closed doors) or you’re insanely perverted, almost as if you've just hit puberty again, only this time it’s like puberty with a double-dose of the Venom that broke Batman’s back. Funnily enough, elderly perversion doesn't differ too greatly from youthful, hence the mention of puberty. In fact, the only key difference is that, after decades of careful planning to hide it, you now purely do not give a shit if people see you gawking at the twenty year olds semi-clad hooters. Sid James is a good example of somebody who was an old aged pervert throughout most of his life, especially in his Carry On/ Bless This House days. People might call them disgusting or actually call them a ‘pervert’, but they don't care, it's all they have left to enjoy themselves with and they'll be gone soon anyway, so why not. Enjoy the spectacle as it lasts is the motto in these final, last gasp moments of blood circulation.

One thing I have learnt on my youthful travels with the penis is to always treat the single act of perving like the act of robbery. Firstly, if you were going to rob something or someone, you wouldn’t do it where there is a great deal of people, because there will be witnesses; the same applies to perving. Whenever you take a courtesy peek, especially in a busy place, expect to be seen by at least one person! This shouldn’t be news. Every second of the day, somebody is looking somewhere and chances have it that at least one of them are looking at you. The second is to not get greedy,  you fuckin’ idiots! The burglars who get caught are usually the ones who have been successful before but this time hung around for too long or tried to hit the same place over and over again; you just don’t do it. Think of your next boob-glance as a fifty thousand dollar bill; take it and get the fuck out’a there!

I mean, gees; like I should have to tell these people.

Me? I am still in the youthfully perverted stage, but I give myself a lot more credit than a lot of other guys. We have these sloppy men who act like this is there first rodeo or something, like it’s not something they do every day. We then have the other extreme of male, who I actually not only give credit but a kneeling-ovation for hiding their perversion so well. Unfortunately, this civilised specie of male seem to be so skilled that they are often the catalyst behind the very laughable female-driven myth that ‘not all men are perverted’ and that they ’know one that isn’t!’ You don’t! All birds masturbate and so do men…daily; it’s nature. I mean, one woman says that she saw a clean-minded male hanging out with Bigfoot once, but it was probably just Bigfoot having a laugh, because that’s ridiculous. And just in case I’m painting myself in a disgusting-light - which I trust I have - I’m not one of those guys that have to pull faces and grunt and thud a friend in the side each time a pair of Ds walk by. Of course, I could but just because we evolved from apes doesn’t mean that we have to try and prove that fact to other people. So, wish your boyfriends a happy perving from me.