The Sunday Soapbox – TV and Advertisement

For being such a quiet weekend many noises invade my mind and keep me at unease and alert. It’s so hard to watch TV when it has become so aggressive and companies don’t ask you anymore to please come and buy something, but order! How dare…?

As I turn off the TV after 15 minutes of “order now!”, “buy now!”, “you must have it!” I decided I had enough and one thought kept steady on my mind: the thought of youth cult. Oh, yes! The past week I experienced a spill of bad words and bad fantasies involving invasion with molotov bombs at someone’s corporate offices (but again, it’s just fantasy) just because I was too old to take part of something I’m fan of since my teens; one year more it’s not the same as one year less, my dear.
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The Sunday Soapbox – 2

Editor’s note : As you know by now, head honcho and loony extraordinarie Quinto was stuck in Bristol. This is a serialised story of his return to Sheffield – M.

Part 1 : A disgraceful comeback

So I was in a coach back from Bristol, still clutching on a red sweater, when a stinky arse Indieholic  sat by my side. You know the type: crap bear, floppy hair, a light beer gut (ironically used, of course), clothes from some random shop with a 70s style logo, brimmed glasses, a J.D. Salinger book. The whole damn scenester/hipster/wankster package.

He chuckled from time to time while reading ‘Catcher on the rye’ while doing notes on a notebook with Snorkel stickers, making VERY sure that everyone in the coach knew he was a writer. What a flippo, I used to do that, but, you know, matured. Haven’t done it in 2 months and am proud of it.

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