Hey Diddle, Diddle
I'm often given to wonder at the extremes exhibited within the range of human behaviour. We're all similar animals and yet the iterations of the human creature are such that there's pretty much nothing that someone hasn't done or at least attempted. And so very often the results offer up a healthy dose of "for the love of little fluffy kittens, WHY?"
Never was this broad range of human inanity more apparent than in the last 24 hours when I became aware of two pieces of information.
The first was that a penis picture was posted yesterday from Sir Ian Botham's Twitter account. He's claiming that his account was hacked and for all I know it was. But it does remind us of that most baffling of modern day phenomena, the genre of genital selfies.
Periodically an esteemed sportsperson, minor celebrity or politician takes a photo of their junk which subsequently finds its way onto the Internet. It's happened so many times it's now a cliche. It's almost as if penis photos want to be seen by the world and should you create one it will inch its badly lit way towards the nearest web browser like a baby turtle instinctively dragging itself towards the ocean.
So, here's my small piece of wisdom. If you're thinking, even in the most exhibitionist recesses of your mind that snapping a pic of your underpants contents might be a good idea, please, please have a cup of tea and a lie down far, far away from a digital camera.
The second photo-snapping related piece of weirdness I've only recently come across is that women are now having botox in their hands so that their engagement ring photo will look nicer.
I mean, whaaaaat? If you're seriously considering an expensive, ouchie procedure just so your hands look smoother in a photo that almost no one other than yourself will give a crap about then I think you have to take a good long look at your priorities. And my advice about lying down and having a cuppa still holds.
I'm honestly torn about which of these recent photo-related absurdities bothers me more. On the one hand you've got someone who's not giving enough thought to how they look and on the other you've got someone who's thinking about it way too much. I think I'm leaning towards the ring finger botox just because, even as gross as it is to take a snap of your family jewels, at least I can kind of see the point in that someone who is, or might soon be getting up close and personal with said bits might be vaguely interested, and even though I don't personally see the appeal it's conceiveable that somebody else might find that photo tittilating.
But the engagement hand photo? There is no way that anyone's going to be turned on by that. And also, if you're the kind of person who gets a procedure to prepare for this shot I can almost guarantee that your friends hate you. Having photographic evidence of nice hands isn't going to do anything to salvage those relationships.
So which do you find more bizarre? Imagery of disembodied botoxed hands or unflattering dick pics? Can we just go ahead and assume that humanity is doomed now?
STOLEN CAR UPDATE: Remember when our car got stolen a couple of weeks ago? Well, it turned up on the other side of town with nary a scratch on it (or at least, not any extra scratches).
In fact, it and some suspicious looking youths, had been reported by alert residents of the street on which it was abandoned the same day it was stolen. Meanwhile, the Silver Fox was away for the weekend, flew back into town a couple of days later and reported it stolen. Somehow, between these two events, no linkage was made and so our car sat lonely and abandoned for 2 weeks while the SF made multiple insurance claims.
It was only because the police officer who initially collared the car thieves was driving past late last week and noticed that the car was still there and followed up to make sure we'd been contacted that we have the car back and our no claims bonus intact.
But the most surprising part of all of this was that the car thieves were a pair of twelve year-olds. I have to say I was a bit taken aback by that fact. Although it does explain why someone would be foolish enough to steal our crappy car. Harking back to my own pubescence, I seem to recall having notoriously terrible taste. Bubble skirts, anyone?
And so ends the tale of our filched four-wheel drive.