Mirror Mirror...

Well it’s now several weeks later and the Mars bar debacle still enrages me. Mars’ makers beware, there’s a strongly-worded letter winging its way to you. I want answers!

Nonetheless, I shall move onto another topic - one that’s as baffling as why RTE interrupt the middle of films with the nightly news...

How do scumbags not realise they’re scumbags?

Picture the scene: You wake up around noon. It’s pay-day so you realise you have to get up (those dole cheques don’t sign themselves, y’know). You pull on your favourite tracksuit, being careful to tuck the bottoms into your crystal-white socks. You feel a sense of pride that you’re single-handedly keeping Daz in business. And speaking of keeping businesses afloat, where’s your beloved Burberry cap? Ah, there it is. And now for your Nike’s (whiter-than-white, to match your socks).

And you’re all ready to walk out the door... But hang on a minute, something’s missing... But of course! You shove your hands down the front of your tracksuit bottoms, and that’s you ready to face the world.

And at no point during that arduous ordeal did you stop to consider the possibility that you are conforming to the scumbag stereotype. How is it that you don’t realise that?!

Geeks realise they’re geeks because they love studying and learning, they’re teachers’ pets, and they only become animated when you mention the great Star Wars vs. Star Trek debate. You conform to the description outlined above, but still don’t realise you’re a plague on society. Amazing!

Is your Burberry cap too tight? Is your gold medallion cutting off the circulation to your brain? Or is it just that, by the very fact that you’re a scumbag, you just don’t care?

Sovereign rings? Check. Ridiculously oversized earrings? Check. Hood pulled up over your cap? Check.

You’re a scumbag.

Check.