Welcome back, my readers, and welcome to another instalment of “KYLE TELLS IT HOW IT IS”, my little attempt at entertainment on Bebo by brutally insulting anything that does not conform to my world image. Last time we looked at MySpace, the disgusting whores that populate it, and the lengths they would go to in order to gain a thin veneer of internet popularity. Full of vitriol and satirical rage, it was nevertheless light hearted and, hopefully, hilarious.

However, this article is about something that I do love, and yet hate so much. A lot of my friends do it, you can't do it in public places and it's inappropriate for small children to do it (yet a lot of them do it anyway).

Yes, it's obviously smoking.

…what did you think, you filthy bastards?

(ok, I lied last time)

Volume 3: Smoking, Smokers and Non-Smokers
or: *cough hack wheeze ARRRRRGH dead*

Don't you just hate it when a smoker is lecturing somebody? "Don't start, it's a filthy habit, I would quit but I'm too addicted." God, it's like Hitler telling the BNP they're a teensy bit racist. If you hate smoking so much, for God's sake get help. Go to the Doctor's. Get a nicorette. Fucking duct-tape your mouth shut. I'd go for the latter option myself. Not only does it stop you from smoking, it means you can shut your whiny traps as well.

Don't get me wrong, a part of me does despise smoking. It costs far too much, it will probably kill me before I achieve my goal of dying of a sex related heart attack with Keira Knightley, and it does lead to a certain degree of remarks along the lines of "YOU GONNA DIE" from complete strangers. And I'd be the first to admit that I smoke far too much. I really do, and that's not healthy.

And yet…fuck it, I love it.

I don't care about dying ten years before my time. I don't care about the comments, the forced coughing that makes them sound like somebody with terminal bronchial problems, and I don't care about the cost (because I get cheap tobacco, suckers! =D). Because there is nothing, NOTHING that I have found that reduces my stress levels so much like a cigarette.

I love the feeling of sipping coffee, reading a book, browsing the net, anything you can think of, all with a cigarette in my hand. There's just something so relaxing about it. You just lose yourself in the inhalation, the warmth flooding down your throat, and then…exhale. Watching the smoke writhing, forming into patterns, and then you get to do it all over again with another draw. It's heaven.

Also, I love the atmosphere of a smoking section. You're outside the pub, having a fag, and you just start chatting with people. You meet new people over something as trivial as a request for a lighter. And then you go back upstairs and see the non smokers sitting there complaining about smoking. All with dour expressions. You're there with a big grin on your face, because the nice man or woman you lent a lighter to and then spent five minutes chatting has just asked for your number. And yes, that has happened to me. It’s a great feeling. =D

It's true. Smokers just wanna have fun. (Now that'd be a good song...)

However, I cannot help but feel that I am being made to feel guilty by non smokers, despite all I have done to appease them. Despite me asking, always very politely, if I can smoke in their house, despite me following the ban on public smoking in public places, despite all of this they still complain. "Why would you put those filthy toxins in your body?" "Why would you endanger us all?" "WHY KYLE WHY?"

Because I can. Because I love it. And because passive smoking on one occasion is about as dangerous as arm wrestling a mouse.

So why do people persist in bitching and moaning? It's not like I break into their house, tie them to their bed and then blow smoke deliberately in their faces before forcing their kids to start. I just smoke. I smoke when I'm outside, I smoke when I'm in my own house, a

Before I start the article, I have to give a massive thank you to everybody who read the last one. I really appreciate your comments and reviews. I also appreciate that the target of the article have enough of a sense of humour to not go mental at me. Either that or they’ve not read it due to doing their hair.

Greetings to you, my fair readers, and welcome to another edition of "KYLE TELLS IT LIKE IT IS". In our last voyage through my mind, we learned about the extent I hate "random" scene kids. And what a jolly lesson it was too, full of excitement, education AND pisstaking. Aren't I nice? Well, obviously. Why else would I bless you with my brilliantly scathing wit.

Of course, scene kids are terrible. They are a despicable blight upon our nation and they should not be encouraged. And yet, people have not listened. They have given them fashion, given them music, and, in 2003, gave them the breeding pits of MySpace, their own Valhalla of friend counts, high angled black and white shots, and glamour groups. Worst of all, it gave rise to some truly dreadful scene music. The Medic Droid, I’m looking at you.

So therefore, I feel it is once again my sacred duty to investigate and deprecate the MySpace phenomenon. Expect bitter rantings, sound advice, and of course, bitchiness. Lots of bitchiness.

A short note before we begin. If you're offended by this, you're clearly the sort of person this article is targetting. But it's okay, as your MySpace is liekomglol soooooo popular. And that’s obviously all that matters. You fucking idiots. =D

Now, shall we begin? It's time for:

Volume 2: MySpace, YourSpace, Everybody'sSpace!
(or: Fer sure maybe, fer sure not, fer sure eh, fer sure SHUT THE FUCK UP.)

I reckon within a week of writing this derision of one of the most popular social networking sites that has about a billion zillion more members than Bebo and posting it, I will be offered a place on the Bebo boardroom, for COMPLETELY DIFFERENT REASONS. My writing skills are sending me up in the world. =D

Anyway, MySpace! So good, they left out the spacebar. Created by Tom Anderson in 2003, it quickly became a place where the amazing rainbow tribes of scenekids could call home, developing a whole subculture around who could look the best in eyeliner. Ever since then, MySpace has also developed a video section vastly inferior to YouTube, a Book reviewing service that I find hilarious seeing as most of MySpace can only read in text speak (don’t worry, I will be translating this article into “txt spk” for you lot at a later date), and most infamously of all, the Music section, which is responsible for the rise of such aural bullshit as Tila Tequila, Jeffrey Star, and Sandi Thom and therefore clearly a tool of the Antichrist.

But nothing, NOTHING beats the denizens of MySpace. They are hilarious and they are hypocritical. This is a culture that promotes uniqueness and nonconformity, and then sets up “Beauty” sites that ridicules and then refuses to accept anyone that does not fit into to their own standard of beauty. The funniest thing is that they always have names like “Different Beauty”, which I find hilarious because they all, man or woman, adult or child, human or alien, look EXACTLY THE FUCKING SAME.

Their photographs are all the same. The high angled photograph designed to show off either the man’s rippling six-pack and soulful eyeliner-coloured eyes or, in the case of the woman, maximum cleavage and, yes, soulful eyeliner-covered eyes. The best part is, the average MySpace goes further than simple makeup to create a visual illusion. They turn up the contrast, go black and white, do anything to hide the fact that if they were photographed normally, they would look like the Elephant Man after breaking out in hives. The high angled shot adds to this illusion, slimming the person being photographed. Everything about the photograph is a lie.

Everything about a M

Greetings friends, and welcome to “KYLE TELLS IT HOW IT IS”. ALL CAPITALS AND ALL WIN. Throughout this sporadically updated series of articles, I aim to educate, to entertain, and to basically bitch about what’s pissing me off, or adulate what’s awesome.

A brief warning, before I start. If you’re offended by this article, you have no sense of humour. This is all a joke, and if you find this insulting in anyway, you’re clearly the sort of person who writes into Points of View and listens to Radio 4.

Today, of course, is the former. How I wish it were the latter, but hell, this is my biggest pet peeve. So allow me to introduce you to:

Volume 1: The Emo/Scene Kids
(or: “When I’m not doing something HILARIOUS like buying cheese, I’m busy taking high angled photos. OF MY BLOOD.)

I believe some clarification is required first. The emo subculture I refer to is not the original “emocore” offshoot of hardcore, which I will admit is fucking badass. For those emofags who don’t know what proper emocore is (no, not Aiden), check out Rites of Spring. They were so called because, unlike most hardcore bands at the time, who screamed “FUCK THE GOVERNMENT,” Rites of Spring screamed “FUCK MY WHORE OF AN EX.” Which is fucking win. xD

“WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME. I’M FOURTEEN AND MY LIFE IS OVER BECAUSE THE GIRL OF MY PREPUBESCENT DREAMS LEFT ME AFTER TWO WEEKS. I THOUGHT IT WAS LOVE.”

So, I better clarify what “emo subculture” I despise.

Scene kids.

I hate them. I hate them and their amazing technicolour dreamhair. I hate their “hilarious randomness”. I hate their “ironic” Superman or Spongebob or whatever stupid thing they have the urge to put on their t-shirts/underwear. I hate their need to show the world what underwear they’re wearing by having their trousers somewhere around their knees. I hate their constant need to take the SAME FUCKING PHOTO IN THE SAME FUCKING POSE FROM THE SAME FUCKING ANGLE AS EVERY OTHER SCENE FUCKER. None of which involve them smiling. Jesus, cheer up. Get laid, or listen to some Fall Out Boy song with a stupidly long title like “I Left My Girl Behind Because I’m Pete Wentz And Better Than Her” or some stupid shit like that, whatever makes you happy. Just crack a damn smile. PLEASE.

Now, everyone who will read this will know how much I hate random people. God, their need to be “quirky” pisses me off. It’ll come as no surprise that most of these scene kids are also HILARIOUSLY RANDOM. RLY? They’re there in their Spongebob t-shirts, wearing a tiara on their head, and instead of doing something actually hilariously random like throwing themselves in front of traffic (both hilarious AND random. Come on, no one would see it coming and it would be fucking brilliant. Any “random” person who does that gets my posthumous respect) they settle for saying “LOL” and giving names to inanimate objects.

“This is a spoon. I call it Simon the Spoon. GEDDIT? LAWL.”

Yes, I got it, but that doesn’t mean it’s any good. You can get syphilis. Doesn’t mean you want to get it.

So, in a way to cull these filthy fucking bastards, here is:

Kyle’s Guide To Random Suicide!

You’re fourteen. Your girlfriend/boyfriend’s left you. That guy in your English class can get his hair to do the flicky thing better than you. Obviously suicide is the only option. But wait! You’re also hilarious! You like to come to school with a t-shirt with Thomas the Tank Engine on it! You show the world proudly that you’re wearing Spiderman t-shirt! Lol! =D

So how can YOU kill yourself? Well, here is my own personal Top 3 of Random Suicides, in no real order.

1: Chuck yourself in front of a car.

As I said earlier, this would be hilarious AND random. But how, I hear you ask? A lot of those EVIL non-random people (y’know, the ones with lives) kill themselves that way. How can I make it random?

It’s