There’s a new craze amongst teenagers in England which is apparently influenced by American Shows like Jackass, Viva La Bam, etc. “Happy Slapping” has become all the rage amongst British yutes, and it’s a lot more sinister than it sounds. Here’s what a male 16 year old “slapper” (I have to make the sex distinction to avoid confusion with another popular definition of that word) had to say in defense of his new found hobby:

“Even though it might be quite painful (for the victim) and you obviously feel quite sorry for them because they’re injured or hurt or whatever and they’ve done nothing to deserve it, it’s still funny because it’s like seeing the sketch on TV.” Wicked funny, Niles.

What these little bastards do is akin to what we call swarming here in North America. A group of kids run up on, surround and then slap the shit out of unsuspecting bystanders – while one or two others record the assault on their camera phones. If that weren’t bad enough, some of the lower-level bottomfeeding British cable channels then compile these beatings into hour-long television shows. A concerned English blogger compiled some particularly violent excerpts. “I dug up quite a bit and hacked them together into a streaming media file. It’s not for the squeemish, these kids are clearly criminals“.

Jackass was all about a group of lifelong friends playing pranks on or subsequently beating the everloving Christ out of eachother – not ‘jumping in‘ random strangers on the street. It was their cameraderie which made the show so much fun to watch. Happy Slapping is frigging twisted – violent attacks can scar people for years – I know. I sincerely hope that the Old Bill puts the kaibosh on this ridiculous practice like yesterday. Please mark this moment on your calendars as the first time I officially rolled my eyes and muttered: “Kids today”.

I have a huge block of conference calls today, and although they’re an intregal part of my job – I never look forward to them. But I suppose coroners don’t exactly look forward to the next tractor trailer vivisection that’s flopped down on their slab, either. It’s the job – suck it up or hit the breadline while you find your true calling.

My aversion isn’t human interaction – or my occupation itself – but rather the telephone. I’m not a phoner. I don’t call people to idly chat. I don’t like it when people who aren’t related to me call me for no good reason. If I’m not dating you, I shouldn’t have to pretend to be interested in sustaining a polite phonecall. Jesus this makes me sound like a prick – but there has to be a few of you out there who share this aversion.

And the sprawling, three-minute voicemails about nothing drive me insane. I sometimes go several days without checking because I dread them so much. “Hey, haven’t talked to you in about 47 minutes. Wanted to see what you were up to. Listen, uh, give me a call back when you get a chance, so we can continue to burn cell minutes talking about things I wouldn’t cross the street to say to you.” Or the gem I actually had to exit a restaurant and walk 2 blocks to get a signal in order to hear: “Hey, remember when I called earlier and said I’d meet you at that restaurant at 6? Well I’ll still be there at 6.”

I once thought it was unique to women, but have had to change my stance. I have male friends who are on their phones every free minute of the day. “Whatcha doin?” “Nothing.” “What are you doing?” “Fuck off.” It’s tough love – you’re not a 12 year old chick eager to talk about whatever episode of the OC just ended. Get off the phone unless a mutual friend has died. Preferably someone to which I owed money.

Thanks to everyone who came to the Cinco De Cinco party on Saturday night. Apparently, there were actually several of you whom I did not get around to making out with, but I promise you’ll be on the top of the list for next time. I feel so dirty. Not really. Anyhew (selected) photos will be forthcoming, and let’s just wash ourselves with de-lousing powder and move on to the quotelet, shall we?