Finger-love-heart bastards.

Nichole Sherzinger is only the most recent offender. Many others, from Towie non-celebs to middling premier league footballers have inflicted this darkly disturbing visual upon the world.

What am I blethering on about now?

I'm talking about the making of a little heart out of the thumbs and main fingers of each hand, pointing this at a camera and gurning a simpering ‘aren’t-I-so-twittering-wonderful-to-do-this-for-all-my-fans smile.

It makes me want to retch out a fist of pure hate.

I mean, who are you kidding? Do you really love me? Then just come over to my place and tell me. Don’t make the kind of gesture a 12 year old Beiber fan would to another Beiberist in recognition of your mutual love of the pop-Antichrist at me. I’m not a Beiberist. I'm me. A slightly angry 28 year old who communicates  far easier in words than twatty hand gestures.

Are you trying to be cool? Does N.S need to act cool? Or premier league footballers? Really?

Are you trying to be down with the kids? Does anyone even try to do this any more?

Are you a sheep? 

Yes, I guess you are. A boring, beige sheep with ugly, boney hands, waggling them at me via a paparattzo’s camera.

Honestly, this gesture is fast becoming as irritatingly clichéd as the two fingered ‘peace’ sign of the hippies and Winston Churchill. 

Hippies and Winston Churchill. Bet you didn’t expect to see those two lumped together today.

I think what really grasps my intellect and grates it upon my rage circuits is the downward pointing fingers. It looks somehow threatening, as if to say ‘yeah, I’m saying I love you, but really I want to stab you with my highly manicured fingernails because I’m ooooh so much better than you’.

Well, fuck you, finger-love-heart bastards.

Peace out.

PS: Yes, it’s been a while since my last blog. This was due to a black cloud of Grukk surrounding my morale like something cloudlike surrounding a nebulous concept of self.

I’m aiming for two blogs a week, preferably interesting and thought provoking, even if that thought is ‘this guy need to get out more’.