If Danny Wallace IS A Man, Here Is A Lesson He Needs To Learn

I don't like Shortlist magazine. Since its appearance in September of 2007 I've watched the steady decline of "The Big Issue" sellers from my local city centre and the increase of young men parading around town in jumpers with stupid hair in the middle of summer. This is not a coincidence.
I used to buy The Big Issue on a regular basis because I knew that the people who were selling it were homeless and needed genuine help. They were not looking for handouts or for people to feel sorry for them but to work themselves back into a decent standard of living and maintain their dignity. There was a light of hope in their eyes. This is a stark contrast to the Shortlist magazine issuers I see standing on street corners in bright red coats with cold dead eyes, trying desperately to stuff their product into the hands of anyone close enough to receive it - like a gutter bound crack-whore. They are the living dead.

This . . . 'publication' . . . sells itself on its appearance of an executive yet free style guide for the inner-city business man on the go. This is a lie. Broadly written whilst trying to grasp at the idea that it is a respectable publication is an oxymoron. The goods on display range from the inane to the insane, their prices flux accordingly. Aimed at those with more money then sense, who must be told what they want to buy [and there are more of them out there then I dare imagine]. Their goal is not to sell five of these products to those who can afford it but to five hundred who cant. The glossy pages sweat ink, the cheap shiny paper surface not retaining the dyes like quality paper. There is no real glamour to this publication though it will try. It's little more then an advertising booklet that the reader flicks through during their lunch hour at Subway. Even the cover page is no longer the actual cover page but another advertisement; a black and white image of some serene sports-star, topless and looking off camera which reveals nothing - unless you turn the magazine over. There he is, clutching at a razor or a shoe or trumpet or something else irrelevant to him being topless, grinning at you like a childish prankster as if to say "Ha ha. Got you! You read our magazine, you stupid bastard. Now buy this pointless product!"

The picture captions aren't even good.

Yet above all else there is one defining element of Shortlist that has always induced a frenzied rage-vomiting every time I've opened this publication. Like a car crash, I must put a little time out of my day to witness the wreckage when the chance arises. I feel dirty. Like a voyeur of cheap smut. Oh God I love it.

"Danny Wallace Is A Man . . ." claims the title of Shortlist magazines resident columnist "But He's Still Learning Life's Hardest Lessons". One would assume one of "life's hardest lessons" for Danny is how to write a weekly article without making people hate him, but it is good that Shortlist informs us that Danny Wallace "Is A Man . . . " because the state of his articles insinuates they were in fact the transcribed ramblings of a boring robot.

"Marvin Is A Machine, But He's Humanly Despondent To Life's Lessons."

Every week is the same: Pointless recounts of the most uninteresting event in his week. Dragging out the most inane situations to the point of ironic self-parody, delusions of superiority, stupidity disguised as social anxiety. Boring discussions between himself an a faceless entity: A friend, a taxi driver, his wife . . . completely interchangeable. Distinctly lacking a point, the closing paragraph which leaves you hollow and feeling cheated, like cracking open an expensive Easter egg with no extra chocolate inside. You wondering just why you subjected yourself to this aimless nonsense. This man [as I have to keep checking he is] gets PAID to do this.

No, really. Here is a link to his latest article so you can judge for yourself: http://www.shortlist.com/entertainment/danny-wallace-is-a-man

"Look at him. Look at Danny Wallace. He has a face just SCREAMING to get smacked!"

I'd love to say that it doesn't get any worse but it ALWAYS. GETS. WORSE. Books. Out there some where is a publisher who KNOWS what they have done and should feel ashamed whilst everyone who bought one of his tomes of brain cell killer should burn their copy before you feel compelled to lend it to a friend. No one should be giving him money. You'll only encourage him to keep laying paper eggs. Simultaneously you are contributing to turning the most genetically diverse land mass on our planet, the rain forest, into airport trash novella. I hope you feel pleased with yourselves.

Now, you might look over this random rantings of a mad man and feel that I am being unfair to poor Daniel. That as a writer I should be sympathetic to the work that goes into crafting what is essentially six months or more of your life, an expression of the soul and vulnerability of the ego. You are wrong. My judgement is as swift as it is filled with blind prejudice.

Maybe I should point out that two of his blurbs giving praise to the book are from his own PUBLISHER: “…can’t help but spread a smile across your face” – Shortlist and “One of the year’s coolest must-reads” – Stylist. Danny, that's cheating [*rolls up a shortlist* "Bad Danny Wallace!" *bops him on the nose* "Bad! Bad! Bad!"].

Also about your other so-called 'rave reviews': Johnathon Ross is not a literary expert, 'The Bookseller' sells books [thus somewhat biased], 'The San Francisco Bay Guardian' reviewed a book aimed at yuppies stuck in ruts, 'The Daily Telegraph' has no authority over what is the future shape of spirituality [leave that to The San Francisco Bay Guardian] and that the patronising sarcasm of this review is lost on him - “Here, with the help of his followers, Danny Wallace suggests 365 Random Acts of Kindness…. and I have one of my own: give a small book a rave review…’” – Sunday Telegraph.

This is self praising and shameless - a man who is a celebrity because he's told everyone he is, and worst of all, it's starting to appear that people are believing him. The concept of celebrity is no longer some thing to be celebrated when Kerry Katona's love life is considered front page news. What the hell has happened to the doctors, scientists, philosophers and artisans? His contribution to the corruption of that term is condemnable.

In addition to this mechanised human impostor trying to destroy our lush rain forests 'it' once started a cult. Presumably with the intention of instigating the robo-revolution. Thankfully this attempt at overthrowing the humans came to nothing. Much like his articles.

"No."

“And before any Christian readers get all offended - relax. I'm not saying that I'm the new Jesus. I'm just saying there's a very good chance that I might be.”
― Danny Wallace, Join Me!

. . .Ugh.

Honestly, I deeply, DEEPLY want to hate this cult he's started but I just can't - and that's what I hate about it most of all! The truth is that its a good idea, even if it is blatantly stolen from the film 'Pay It Forward', a film that came out just ONE year before. I uphold the idea of helping others and do so whenever the chance comes about. I truly enjoy knowing that I've changed the life of some body for the better, even if it's giving some body bus fare or a hug when they're drunk and alone on a night out or helping comatose men in a frog suit out of a urine encrusted doorway. All of which I've experienced. If we cannot be satisfied with our own existence then we should exist for others. If for no other reason then we should all help others as it helps us feel better about ourselves, but to me it appears that Mr Wallace has "had a little too much to drink" from the goblet of altruism. He's slipping into Bono territory. But if I had to help Daniel then this is my contribution to a random act of kindness - lets hope he reads my blog.

Bitter from his defeat at upstarting 'Judgement Day' he took to making propaganda films. One of them, 'Yes Man', a weak attempt to trick the masses into accepting slavery to our future robot overlords though a weakened resolve no doubt [I assume]. It even stared Jim Carry whom I personally enjoy as an actor. I grew up on his films as a kid and loved 'Eternal Sunshine . . .' and 'I Love You Philip Morris' as an adult. Thus I watched "Yes Man" in ignorance of its origins many years ago. It was dire. In fact, lets have that as my review of the film 'Yes Man' - "It was dire". As a side note to 'Fox Media', you can print that quote if you'd like. I even promise not to sue you for it.

The thing is that the message behind 'Yes Man' is one I highly favour. It's all about stones and sponges. I firmly believe that if you do not accept new life experiences that come your way in life, even if at first you suspect you won't enjoy them, then you will never grow as a person and never know if you would have liked it or not. A thought that might haunt you to your grave. I've met people who never been daring with their lives and they never, ever, change. Guess what happens to these people? People stop caring and life stops giving them chances. Yes, life is for living and loving and experiences but that does not stop 'Yes Man' from being a badly made film.

“Sometimes the little opportunities that fly at us each day can have the biggest impact.”
― Danny Wallace, Yes Man

Yes. Like a brick.

I find it cataclysmically immoral that this "man" has some how got himself a job. There are literally THOUSANDS of people out there who could do a better job then this turd in hipster glasses. Thousands upon thousands. In a world in which we debate the existence of a higher power this man gives exceptional weight to the '"No God" argument. This is Gods chance to prove It's self. You know what needs to be done. Go on . . .

"Indulge."

Now, I am not advocating murder but I don't think anyone would notice the decrease in writing quality if he was deceased. And if God won't help, well, I believe that acts of Man are better then acts of God anyway, so if we all chip in, unified under a single cult like banner, if we all just say yes, we could afford to put a bullet between his ear lobes.

Or I could stop accepting Shortlist from street vender's.

You know, whichever.

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Addendum: I'd like to clarify that my bitterness towards Danny Wallace has nothing to do with the instance where in I was out on the town and a fit bloke started to chat me up thinking I was him. Nothing at all.

Addended Addendum: And I have no idea why my own blog has chosen to express it's dislike for me through the blogs weblink.