It’s The Zombie Apocalypse. Brings Friends. And Extra Controllers.

As a creature of culture, zombies have it rough. You buy them on a disc, load it up, then shoot them in the face repeatedly. Imagine if the same experience was available for Paris Hilton and Simon Cowell. A man can dream…

Unlike many of their monster brethren, zombies haven’t received a media makeover recently. In the past 6 seconds alone, 16 new vampire formats have been commissioned by dastardly Transylvanian executives. There are now more vampires shows on TV than there are teeth in the world. Fact.

Why? Apparently they’re sexy and cool. Shit, they’re even on posters in teenage girls’ bedrooms. Because – I’m sorry to break it to you – your daughter/sister is a necrophiliac. At least, that’s what TV wants her to be. Why else would they rebrand an assortment of crusty old paedophiles and funnel them directly down the impressionable, young gullets of greedy, gullible adolescent females all over this dark and dank world?

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Death by Pants Off Dance Off

Imagine if television broadcast nothing but top quality shows. Explosive action, emotive drama, cutting comedy. Hour after hour after hour. Nothing but the best. For you. For me. For everyone. Just take a second to process that thought. Your only trouble would be finding the time to watch everything, because everything is must-see TV. You couldn’t get a DVR with a big enough hard-drive!

There is literally nothing on that doesn’t appeal to you. Every one of the hundreds of channels is packed with incredible shows. Your every televisual whim is catered for. Imagine what great cultural taste we’d have as a race. Imagine what we’d learn, see and enjoy. TV Heaven on Earth.

Crucially, there is one problem with this theory – what would the stupid watch? They need something. We can’t just lock them away and allow their genes to wither and die because apparently that’s ‘wrong’. That’s why for every – The Sopranos, for every The Wire and for every Mad Men there is unfortunately – Pants Off Dance Off.


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Pointy-Toothed Prehistoric Sex Pests

Now I usually defecate at least once a day, sometimes twice depending on my meal intake, and when I do, I do what anyone else would given the circumstances – I read. Usually with any well-equipped British household there’s no shortage of reading material in the lavatory. From discarded magazines to spine-broken novels, the bathroom floor tiles of Casa del MacTingz is where paperbacks go to die. One such item has taken residence within my modest bathroom for some time now…

Living in harmony amongst this month’s Sky Magazines, this particular book has been a source of constant confusion for my already challenged mind. Every time I find myself sat atop the throne, I lift this humble slab of literature and begin to carelessly flick through the pages, skimming randomly and commencing my perusal of the content. Here I’m presented with my dilemma, for the subject matter within this novel is so lucid and thin, I don’t know whether to continue reading, or to use it as a substitute for my toilet roll. The item in question – Vampire Diaries: The Return – Shadow Souls.

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