Vicariously your’s, Sy.

I need to whinge. Why? Because it makes me feel special, wanted and gives me a fuzzy sensation that I otherwise only get from…well, you have a think about it and put your ideas on the comments section below. The winner gets the honour of being right.

So. My whinge.

Warplanes bomb Kurdish rebels…British diplomat held hostage by Russia…Britney spears loses rights to see her children…anti-whaling activists arrested by Chinese

Woah there horsey…Hang on a minute. Go back a bit…Britney loses rights to see children?

In between serious journalistic important news? This is just not important to me, you and the soft toy on the other side of the room…is it?!

I once lost my virginity, and I never got it back. Was that reported on the TV news or national papers? It damn well should have been. It was a very important moment in my life. With the appropriate news coverage, life could have been so different for me.

So why her and not me?

I do understand that people have an interest in lower life forms begging to be loved. They even get there own special group to be in. It is called being a “celeb”. I just don’t understand why people feel a need to live vicariously through them.

Work Friend: “What did you do last night?”

Vicarious Puppy: “ooohh…I went for a few drinks to the trendy place where I queue jump because I am so famous and then I lost my kids in a custody battle. What about you?”

Work Friend: “Stayed in and watched soaps on the telly and had spaghetti bolognaise for dinner.”

Vicarious Puppy: “Shame. My life is so exciting!”

Now don’t get me wrong. A lot of people want that little “extra” in their life. I myself live vicariously. Not through “celebs” but through our cat and parrot. It’s a double bonus of alternative life goodness.

Some days I am the cat. She goes and spends all night out doing whatever it is that cats do at night. And I have always wanted to stalk a mouse, catch it, bat it about a bit and then eat it raw. Or leave it next to my wife’s head to show how clever I was. And if you don’t praise me for the gift I brought you, next time you are getting a duck.

Other days I am the parrot. He has the ability to talk complete and utter rubbish (I have a strange feeling of deja vu) and yet people look at you and say “awwww…he is so cool”. I also get to break things and attack my toys without fear of reprisal. The art of destruction is looked on as a sign I am not bored or angry, but am actually enjoying myself and happy.

So there you have it. Stuff the “celebs”, live your life through something way more interesting.
But if the strings of your heart are tugged on by these attention seeking idiots, I hope it plays the same noise mine do. The strings, when pulled, currently make a “groan” noise.