The Dead Pixel Post

Considering the current economic climate, you would be forgiven for thinking that the Dead Pixel Post has been put into administration, that its loyal labourers have downed tools and headed back home to their wives, their heads hung low, their pockets empty and hearts heavy.

You might be thinking that if Woolworths went down the pan - England's greatest one-stop-shop for penny chews and bargain-bin CD singles - then why not too your favourite internet reading site as well? What's to stop that from occuring?

What would it be like, looking back as the factory gates swung shut for the final time and a young orphan child, his face blackened with chimney soot, raised one finger towards the iron sign?

'D-Dedd...' he would whisper slowly. 'Um... Pick-sell... P-P-Poast'

And I would follow where that finger pointed and, with my own eyes witness the irony of it all.

'Well, she is truly dead now.'

As the new year pokes its ugly head around the door of our wintery discontent we let out a sigh, not of relief for the coming of better times, but of our begrudging acceptance that nothing will change. It's a world of armed conflict, of grudges and death, capitalism and human rights infringements.

And through all that, you can't help but think:

Still though, at least we've got fucking computer games.

Or at least that's how I go about about ignoring world events and my responsibilities as a human being.

Oh, and you can put down that razor blade. The Dead Pixel Post is open for business. And, yes, I'm well-aware that any reader-base I may have built up is now squandered on lesser, more shit blogs. My advice: flee them! come back and read this, if ever you existed. It's much better. Even if it was like the father that was never there. Or the one that would beat you when he was...

I've been a bad daddy. There will be only cuddles and kisses from now on.