Local Newspaper Disappointment

This site was suggested to me recently. And it has quickly become a huge favourite of mine.

It’s in Swedish, so feel free to slip out the back door if you want.

So, it’s a blog called “Dagens Lokaltidningsbesvikelse” or “The day’s local newspaper disappointment”.

It specialises in those pathetic articles from small newspapers concerning idiots and the trivial things that make them sad.

You know the ones I mean:

“Billy, 53, had to wait three weeks for his phone to be repaired”.

Or: “Alice is annoyed by the ducks in the garden.” That kind of thing, but worse.

The site gives four basic rules for the articles it will accept. They must:

  1. Concern a trivial problem
  2. Have a photo of the affected person, with family if possible
  3. Who will have a forced look, head askew, and a pathetic sad face
  4. Must be from a local paper or, in a pinch, a national gutter rag

Examples of the side-splitting misery from this site include the guy who doesn’t like dog shit, the ladies who were expelled from the sushi buffet for eating only the fish, the woman who cries because of the pile of snow outside her window, and the guy in a wheelchair who is made feel handicapped by the excess of snow.

It just goes to show that newspapers, as if we didn’t already know, are shit, and that the vast majority of “news” in them is meaningless crap that only is there to fill space. But if we don’t feel sorry for these everyday morons, then at least we can have a good laugh at them.

See moron. See moron run. Run moron run.

(Except the wheelchair guy, obviously.)

/ paddy

13 thoughts on “Local Newspaper Disappointment

  1. I should have suggested the site to you earlier. In hindsight, it’s so obvious that you and it were made for each other.

  2. Hmm… Look at it from the view of the little people in society. Any functioning system needs feedback. It seems to me that this is proof that the swedish system works – even the nobodies have a chance to tell about their problems. I mean, why should the famous superstars be the only ones to have a right to gripe? Why should the police only hunt the big criminals? Why should ordinary people have only politicians to complain about? Why should the rags write only about the “in” people at the snotty night clubs in Stockholm?

    • I think it’s more a sign that there are too many newspapers with no actual journalists, who don’t dare to write real stories in case it scares off advertisers. And no, I don’t care what fancy people are up to either. In fact, pretty much 100% of news is irrelevant to me and I don’t want to know about it.

  3. LOL! I remember meeting up with a guy from the SUN newspaper, trying to interest him in some Ghanaian fertility dolls a friend was trying to sell. The story was one of my friend helping a particular artisan workshop in Ghana (at a time when Fair Trade was a new idea). The journo said the newspaper wasn’t interested. After he’d finished lunch and I’d paid, he did return to the subject and said, “However, the newspaper would be interested if the fertility goddesses actually made someone fertile…”

  4. I wholeheartedly agree with the general sentiment here, but will beg to differ in the case of the guy in a wheelchair.

    Look, they *dump* the snow in spaces alloted to handicapped people!

    They fail to shovel the snow away from ramps making various institutions accessible to handicapped people!

    To me it is obvious who are the morons in this particular case. Really.

    I do unpaid, pro bono work for people confined to wheelchairs and have done so for many years, and to anyone unfamiliar with the conditions facing these people in everyday life in our society, the problems would be flabbergasting. You get used to it after awhile, and you become somewhat cynical. We tend to laugh at the ridiculous lack of attention to handicapped peoples needs.

    I’ll give you but one example.

    Some years ago, they spent literally billions of crowns furnishing the underground in Stockholm with automatic turnstiles. Without making it even remotely possible for people in wheelchairs – or mother’s with prams, for that matter – to get through.

    I mean, come on – how much of a moron can you be, on a scale from 1 to 10? How on Earth can you plan a system like this for *years* and then implement it at astronomical costs without giving the slightest thought to the fact that there are people in wheelchairs, mothers with prams or, for that matter, elderly people with shopping bags?!

    They were finally forced to redesign the whole system and build new, special entrances for the above groups of people. At *further* astronomical costs, that could easily have been avoided had they given the matter two seconds thought to begin with.

    And then it turned out that the new underground trains, bought for literally billions and billions of crowns from France (I think), were inaccessible for people in wheelchairs.

    All the best,

  5. Instead of going to the local newspaper they could just start a blog and rant about dog shite, rice in sushi bars, goatee beard trimming thingymajigs, etc etc.

  6. Ok, I want to file a complaint. WHAT are you doing with this olive green (or in danish called “skidengrønne” = shitgreen) background colour? Think I might post a moaning photo of myself and a headline reading “Paddy offending little peoples’ eyes”. Narh ok, there are other, bigger problems in the world.
    In DK there’s’ a whole TV programme in prime-time dedicated to stupid people who get cheated by wiser people http://www.dr.dk/DR1/kontant/2010/02/09131730.htm

      • What amazes me, Paddy, is that you seem to be a work in progress too!

        Please don’t take offence, but this new photograph supposed to be you doesn’t look anything like the last one. Both of these guys look like nice, reasonable persons, but they don’t look like the same guy. What on Earth are you doing? Are we talking a total makeover or whatever they call it?

        All the best,

        P.S. Previous layout was a bit nicer, I think, and somewhat easier to read. Well, no matter. D.S.

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