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According to a recent study, the more often people update and check their Facebook profile, the more likely they are to be narcissistic and self-obsessed.
Fortunately the study didn't mention LJ so I reckon I've dodged a bullet there.
This brings me quite neatly onto another story which has been in the news recently about a woman in - possibly predictably - Sunderland who was addicted to playing a Facebook game and spent so long with her arse wedged into her computer chair that she got only 2-3 hours of sleep every night, let her pets starve to death, and left her children to eat nothing but cold baked beans and drink the liquid from the cans to slake their thirst. I might be unusual in this, but my immediate reaction to this story was "A facebook game? Blimey, if it'd been Civ or Total War I'd've understood, but Facebook, really?".
Some people have said that this lady, who we'll call Mrs Evil McStupid as that's probably pretty close to her name, obviously had a problem but as far as I'm concerned there was nothing wrong with her which a firm boot up the arse wouldn't have gone a long way to solving.
The next thing which really struck me about this story was the ages of her children; they were 9, 10, and 13. Now I'd be the first to admit that I wasn't the world's most useful 13 year old, but by that age even I had figured out the equation (beans + heat) + (bread + heat) = beans on toast and so I can't help but wonder just what was going on in that household. It sounds to me like something out of Dickens.
Little William slicked down his hair and straightened the bow on his sailor suit for the third time. He looked down at his sister, quivering by his side. "Come, Polly", he said. "We can delay no longer. If we do not speak to mother now, like as not our brother Tom shall be carried away by the 'flux 'ere the night is done."
Polly did not answer, but simply slipped her hand into his. It shook like a tiny bird in his palm, for William, despite his nickname, was a tall and strong lad for his age whilst his sister was a pale and thin slip of a girl but two summers younger.
Steeling himself, he pushed open the door to the lounge in which sat his mother. His mother! What an ogress was she! Twisted by the compulsions which racked her. Some fell to gin, some to vice. For William's mother it was the siren lure of World of Warcraft. Her elephantine behind crammed into a chair two sizes too small, she wheezed as she sat and took occasional drags of her bottle of Jolt cola.
William coughed. "If you please, mama?", he said. There was no reply. He coughed again, louder. "Mama? If you please?"
The ogress span around, he face contorted with rage. "What do you want, you littel bleeder?" she cried. "I'm questin' wiv me guild!"
William stood his ground. "If you please, mama, but we are hungry. It has been some time since we last ate?"
"Beans!" retorted his mother. "Cold beans! That's what's good enough for yer, and nothin' but! They'll fill yer up. Now sod off and let us be. Horgus the Ravager ain't gonna kill himself, yer know."
"Might you...", piped up Polly. "Might you show us how to heat them on the cooker, please, mama?"
"It's always the same wiv you lot", was the reply. "You want to be lernin' this an' lernin' that. I'll tell you. Lernin' won't be any use to yer. Get yerself a copy of Starcraft 2 and practise until yer in the Korean professional leagues. I'll lern yer how to heat beans then and not before! Now get aht."
"Come, Polly", said William, drawing her from the room. "Let us fall to our beans. They may be cold but they shall be seasoned with our love for each other, which is the most flavoursome meal of all."
"Oh, William", said Polly. "If only Towser and Tiddles, our dog and cat, had not starved. I did wish to give them some of my beans if only mama had allowed it."
William nodded. "Perhaps today our wealthy uncle, Mr Richpigge, will reply to his email and allow us to live in his big house with many cats and dogs. I shall look at the computer when mama is sleeping."
In the lounge, Mama deleted with a click another unread mail from Mr. Richpigge before posting an entry onto eBay. "Boy for sale", it read.
Fortunately the study didn't mention LJ so I reckon I've dodged a bullet there.
This brings me quite neatly onto another story which has been in the news recently about a woman in - possibly predictably - Sunderland who was addicted to playing a Facebook game and spent so long with her arse wedged into her computer chair that she got only 2-3 hours of sleep every night, let her pets starve to death, and left her children to eat nothing but cold baked beans and drink the liquid from the cans to slake their thirst. I might be unusual in this, but my immediate reaction to this story was "A facebook game? Blimey, if it'd been Civ or Total War I'd've understood, but Facebook, really?".
Some people have said that this lady, who we'll call Mrs Evil McStupid as that's probably pretty close to her name, obviously had a problem but as far as I'm concerned there was nothing wrong with her which a firm boot up the arse wouldn't have gone a long way to solving.
The next thing which really struck me about this story was the ages of her children; they were 9, 10, and 13. Now I'd be the first to admit that I wasn't the world's most useful 13 year old, but by that age even I had figured out the equation (beans + heat) + (bread + heat) = beans on toast and so I can't help but wonder just what was going on in that household. It sounds to me like something out of Dickens.
Little William slicked down his hair and straightened the bow on his sailor suit for the third time. He looked down at his sister, quivering by his side. "Come, Polly", he said. "We can delay no longer. If we do not speak to mother now, like as not our brother Tom shall be carried away by the 'flux 'ere the night is done."
Polly did not answer, but simply slipped her hand into his. It shook like a tiny bird in his palm, for William, despite his nickname, was a tall and strong lad for his age whilst his sister was a pale and thin slip of a girl but two summers younger.
Steeling himself, he pushed open the door to the lounge in which sat his mother. His mother! What an ogress was she! Twisted by the compulsions which racked her. Some fell to gin, some to vice. For William's mother it was the siren lure of World of Warcraft. Her elephantine behind crammed into a chair two sizes too small, she wheezed as she sat and took occasional drags of her bottle of Jolt cola.
William coughed. "If you please, mama?", he said. There was no reply. He coughed again, louder. "Mama? If you please?"
The ogress span around, he face contorted with rage. "What do you want, you littel bleeder?" she cried. "I'm questin' wiv me guild!"
William stood his ground. "If you please, mama, but we are hungry. It has been some time since we last ate?"
"Beans!" retorted his mother. "Cold beans! That's what's good enough for yer, and nothin' but! They'll fill yer up. Now sod off and let us be. Horgus the Ravager ain't gonna kill himself, yer know."
"Might you...", piped up Polly. "Might you show us how to heat them on the cooker, please, mama?"
"It's always the same wiv you lot", was the reply. "You want to be lernin' this an' lernin' that. I'll tell you. Lernin' won't be any use to yer. Get yerself a copy of Starcraft 2 and practise until yer in the Korean professional leagues. I'll lern yer how to heat beans then and not before! Now get aht."
"Come, Polly", said William, drawing her from the room. "Let us fall to our beans. They may be cold but they shall be seasoned with our love for each other, which is the most flavoursome meal of all."
"Oh, William", said Polly. "If only Towser and Tiddles, our dog and cat, had not starved. I did wish to give them some of my beans if only mama had allowed it."
William nodded. "Perhaps today our wealthy uncle, Mr Richpigge, will reply to his email and allow us to live in his big house with many cats and dogs. I shall look at the computer when mama is sleeping."
In the lounge, Mama deleted with a click another unread mail from Mr. Richpigge before posting an entry onto eBay. "Boy for sale", it read.
