I don't care that this is an attempt at viral marketing, it's one of the best things ever:
I really adore streakers. I love the way they get out there and run around and are all happy a whole stadium full of people get to see them do it. I love the juxtaposition between the happy dashing streaker and the very serious security people chasing them. I love that they're just doing it to be exhibitionist idiots, or whyever they're doing it, and that it's something uncontrolled, something very seriously edited out of the television broadcasts, something no-one's making money off.
When sport, games, the way we humans are supposed to relax and enjoy ourselves, has become such a passive experience to the vast majority (viewers) and a commercial experience to a tiny minority, including the ones actually 'playing', streakers are a really elegant and hilarious reminder that we're not all docilely swallowing the soma yet. Yep, I love streakers, me. They're this reminder of the indomitable blitheness, the blither side of the idiocy, of the human spirit.
Arrrrrgh, not feeling blithe myself this morning. Got drunk-dialled at 4 am and feel like arse. My friends are all grown-ups now, I can't believe this bullocks is still even possible. I understand there's a time difference involved but I've been in Europe for three fucking years now, time enough to figure out that when you're drunk on a patio in the late evening in Canada and the urge hits you to call me, you should do anything with your fucking cellphone, shoving it up your ass included, rather than following that urge.
