Burn 'em and bury 'em
by Jessie Power
Cartoon backpacks are one of the many reasons that I have grown to become an increasingly anti-social human being, harbouring hatred and a festering desire to bludgeon humanity within an inch of its life.
It was just last week when I sat on a public bench immersing myself in the ebb and flow of city life, pondering the universe (I was waiting for my Mum to pick me up from work), when the internal monologue of philosophical debate going on in my head was abruptly concluded by a baffling sight: A seventeen-year-old boy wearing a ‘Bob the Builder’ back pack at the same time he is blasting Snoop Dogg’s ‘Gangsta Luv’ through his mobile's speaker. One only has to pose the question: what the actual fuck?
My eyes have been soiled on countless occasions by emos and wanksters everywhere who feel it necessary to adopt the craze of cartoon backpacks that have taken kindergartens globally by storm.
However, enough is enough, the time has come to make it clear: sporting a ‘Dora the Explorer’ backpack does not make you cool, it just makes me want to impale you over the head with a large, jagged rock.
Everyone knows that respect is something that must be earned and for those of you who believe that wearing Elmo on your back will instantly reward you with infinite respect from the world, you are wrong.
Think of some of the most influential figures that humanity has ever produced and ask your self, “Can I imagine this person wearing a cartoon backpack?”
Napoleon Bonaparte: No.
William Shakespeare: Definitely not.
Jesus: No fucking way.
So the moral of the story is, whether you opt for Dora, Bob, Elmo or even Winnie the Pooh, you’re still wearing a cartoon backpack and thus you will remain an inferior human being to the rest of us and are eligible to be used as a mobile target used for spear-throwing competitions.