27 El Perro Del Mar: We Are History

We are all history now. Me writing this is creating an (unimaginably minuscule) part of history. When you read it and go on Twitter to gush to all your girl mates about how darn adorable I am, you’re creating history. Even when you hold your nightly WhatsApp reading group to debate the day’s findings on the Necessary Evil blog you are, in a small way, writing history. When Sarah Assbring (El Perro Del Mar’s guiding force) got tired of me direct messaging her with the latest “I’d like to bring your ass” play on words that I’d managed to think up, and successfully applied for a restraining order online, she became a part of history.



This is a fact. It has many positive consequences- I like making history all up in that prick Jamie’s face whenever he’s such an indefensible noob at COD- and many negative ones. For an example, I had to cancel my planned Christmas trip to Scandinavia because it would bring me within twelve hundred miles of Sarah Assbring’s Gothenburg home. I have also thought of exactly twenty seven new plays on her name that she might never get to hear. Oh! Twenty eight!

For the longest time, human life was unimaginably pathetic, unbelievably worthless and absolutely disposable. Humans existed as merely a walking continuation of their parents’ pathetic gene pool. You would likely never make it past toddler age, and if you did, life was so grim, unpleasant and relentless that you’d soon with that you were the one whose head got kicked off by a drunk mule when you were three years old, like that lucky sod Jeremiah. This horrendous life didn’t last long, you’d die of syphilis when you’re 28, but the literal lifetime would feel like a fucking lifetime. None of your family ever learned to write. You don’t have kids, because you’re an ugly cunt who smells bad even by olden times standard, you’re the end of a gene line that goes back to the dawn of time. The moment the stinging between your legs gets so unbearable that your heart stops, it’s the end of any evidence at all that your family ever existed. Poof. Gone. The 1970s were not an easy time.

Fuck. This
OK, TLDR: industrialisation, world wars, sex education, space race, miners’ strike, Berlin Wall, Jurassic Park, the internet. Now we are here. Take a look up. Turn left. Turn right. Back to the blog. This is where we are now.

Now, near enough everything we do is important. Everything we do is history. If you’ve grown up in this era* you have been constantly assured that everything you have to say and everything you are is important. The world can know all about you, know all about what things you like, know all about why you didn’t like the last Star Wars movie, know all of your inner thoughts on literally every subject for literally every second until the world literally explodes in about twenty years. And it should know this stuff. I’ve just not done anything for thirty seconds, I need to release my witticisms to the world!!


(*which I have, as the fact that I’m 29 means I must have been born in 1989. Soon, I’ll have to be born in the 1990s to be 29. It’s not easy always being this young, you know?)

Phew, feel better now. I have released that piece of philosophical genius onto the World Wide Web, and it’s a part of history now. That is a part of history. It will exist until the end of time in a couple of dozen years. This ability to write yourself onto history, the capacity to scratch marks upon eternity, to be constantly assured of your own importance, is not necessarily a bad thing. It’s all this blog is, really. It’s also not necessarily a good thing. It’s just a thing.

What is definitely a bad thing though, is how this new wider consideration of everyone having something worthwhile to say and always a relevant perspective to consider, has at least correlated with human life being considered far less important than it has in a long time. Workers’ rights are being continuously strained. For the longest time we all laughed at the idea that Vince McMahon would only hire WWE wrestlers are ‘independent contractors’, and how that  was a laughably stingy way to make sure the company would have no liabilities or responsibility for their wellbeing. Now it seems he was something of a prophet, and saw how inhumanely capitalist all employment would soon be heading. No wonder his wife is in the white house. Any welfare or humane assistance is being grimly snuffed out under the auspicious of battling a financial crisis that happened ten freaking years ago. I refuse to believe that anybody in government truly believes that the best way to combat a depression is to make the populace poorer. That can’t be the reason. More money is needed for the Vince McMahon’s of this world. We don’t care though, do we? Because we’ve got FREE SPEECH!


Freedom of speech! Freedom of speech! Freedom of speech! Now I’ve said it three times! Freedom of speech³! Freedom of fucking speech! This blog? Freedom of speech! All this stuff I’m about to write about freedom of speech? Freedom of speech! But also my fucking opinion! People seem to get very confused about that! My opinion doesn’t matter! Your opinion doesn’t matter! I can say whatever I want! Woo-hoo! Who needs a living wage or the ability to own my own property ever? Freedom of speech! Fucking freedom fucking of fucking speech! FREEDOM OF COCKING SPE…!

You get the idea.

In the Western, developed world, there isn’t much else quite as overrated as freedom of speech. ‘Freedom of speech’ in a free society isn’t worth jack shit. ‘Freedom of speech’, as a concept, is absolutely fine. I like ‘vaginas’ as a concept, and I absolutely don’t believe vaginas should ever be criminalised, but we’ve all got vaginas, we’ve had vaginas for a long time, let’s stop celebrating vaginas for vaginas’s sake. Vaginas and free speech are nothing but tools. They can lead to something wonderful, they can just create mess and disturbance. Michael Gove came out of a vagina. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s what you do with free speech that counts.


We seem to have unwittingly sacrificed several human rights in for the power to just say shit whenever we feel like. We are now under the impression that the ability to say shit is more important that the ability to actually do shit. I hate to say it, but even some of the moves we make towards equality are kinda a distraction. It should go without saying that women and people of other ‘races’ (‘race’ is a social construct. Another rant for another day) get treated and paid as well as white men in any line of work, but let’s not forget how the white male worker that everyone is aspiring towards is still treated like shit, and those in power are happy for us to spend our time arguing that everyone should also be treated equally as bad. Those in power definitely treat women and non-whites especially shitty, but let’s not let them get away with setting the bar so low. Unite. We’re on the same side.

Freedom Is a State of Mind?? Mmmmmmmmnot really…


24 minutes

I love this album, by the way. Of course I love it, it’s my 27th favourite album of the year. I don’t need to keep on about it, do I?


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