Home > Fuck all y'all, Uncategorized > This week in fucking stupid ideas for web 2.0 blogs that are thankfully going to lose everyone involved with them a vast amount of money

This week in fucking stupid ideas for web 2.0 blogs that are thankfully going to lose everyone involved with them a vast amount of money

Poppycockney: Real life London in a fictional world. Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy.
One aspect of online hackery that that major league press has been thankfully slow to catch up on is the “personal memoir” blog style. Sure, The Independent has the utterly inexplicable Catherine Townsend and the London Lite has that one blonde chick makes up lies about what her vagina has been up to this week and looks like Utahraptor from Dinosaur Comics, but these are just extensions of a post-Sex and The City style “I must tell everyone about my sex life” malaise in the press. No, I’m talking here about those hardy perennials of the Livejournal landscape, people who try and turn “I left some fruit I bought on the train” into a 2,000 word whimsical reminisce, who write letters to their 14-year-old self, and churn out a fucking novella every time their best friend tries to kill themselves again. Nobody wants this.
Poppycockney apparently doesn’t understand why. Poppycockney doesn’t understand that a list of writers, each as prissily middle class and unaware of the real world as the next, who have the same level of anecdote-telling skills as my mother talking about her schooldays after her third Tia Maria isn’t what the world needs right now. Poppycockney is, for fuck’s sake, called “Poppycockney”, despite consisting entirely of people who if they met a real life cock-er-nee would either a) fucking brick it or b) write a 15 page long blog post patronising said Bow beller to within an inch of their life. The use of “Cockney” here just makes me think of Homer Simpson going “Quit jivin’ me, turkeeee” to be honest.
Anyway, look: Poppycockney is a site of mini-blogs, from a bunch of writers. These writers have absolutely nothing to say. Poppyfields drinks a lot of cocktails at a jazz club, and lets Simon Reynolds know that she’s coming for that number one spot with this review: “some of it was pretty great, some of it was less good”.
Danny Strangelove (named after the film not the band, sadly) goes off on the kind of sub-open mic at your local observational comedy routine, hitting all of the big targets (cash machines are a bit annoying! Reference to Jane Austen novel! Inability to realise that the phrase “Down to your last 80 notes” means that you have, at least, £400 and are therefore not really that broke!), while ChasingAimee wants to know if she should “just fuck her and get her out of my system”. The answer to that being, clearly, you are named after a Kevin Smith movie, it’s highly unlikely you’re ever going to get laid.
Look, this is just jokes bruv disguising a greater disgust I have here. Lifestyle columnists are evil. If your life hasn’t yet been worthy of a book deal for an autobiography, it certainly isn’t worthy of a weekly serialisation. Nobody cares what restaurant you went to the other day. Twitter is not the scripture of the ages. And, really, any weblog that sends out a 200 word update to industry tipsheet Gorkana announcing its launch (announcement of a new deputy editor for the Saturday Guardian finishes itself in 65) deserves all the shit it gets.

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  1. August 21, 2008 at 12:03 pm

    this has got “about to be commissioned by BBC fucking 3” all over it, no? or, at least, “please commission this, BBC3!”

    have you read the biogs?

    http://www.poppycockney.com/about_poppy_cockney

    “london’s most important websites”: *what*?

  2. Grumblemouse
    August 27, 2008 at 5:54 pm

    cunts, can I say that here?

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