'i will be popular' said Eric Saade on Eurovision 'it's over rated' replied JPJ Sanders

during my 11 years at my 4 schools i have never been a popular person and i never intend to be. however i noticed a vast increase in my facebook friend list when once i finally got comfortable at secondary school after 2 and 1/2 years i started to speak my mind and tell people just what i thought of them and the world they populate. for some reason people seem to find this funny even though i have no intention of providing humour. my mother has always told me that i have many great talents which i am yet to find and more sensitive senses however the one thing i will never have is a sense of humour the only time i laugh is if someone falls over or something similar other than that i laugh to be polite, although the funniest thing i ever saw was at Blenheim palace when a girl fell of a ledge into a hedge she dropped her fudge and her mother could not make her budge (poetry is another talent of mine) my uncle Ross thought it too rude to laugh however me and the rest of the Sanders/Hobbs household laughed all the way to bath. at my school i honestly believe that no one is really popular we are all now well known for something and the popular people are those we do not segregate themselves in a languages room or the learning resource centre and generally socialise with all the different classes something quite unknown for someone of my class to do. it amazes me the transition made and the changes in popularity there have been during our 4 and 1/4 years at Larkmead, however there is still a war to be fought. see possums some people are clueless about their own personality and seem to think that certain lifestyle choices will make them popular. well i am JPJ Sanders and i declare war against popular people.

the issue here is quite simple some people are killing themselves in order to become popular, being addicted to nicotine alone won't make you popular just give you bad breath and a cough which will annoy me terribly in German and sports studies. in my opinion to become popular you have to possess a number of characteristics: look or be gay; have stupid hair; have big bazoombas; wear uncomfortable underwear or trousers which fit about as well as my jumper; have complete disregard for everyone else other than yourself; be able to consume vast amounts of alcohol before throwing up in flowerpots and not being allowed to go down the gym with me; have a metabolism that allows you to have muscles smaller than mine but appear better than mine; be attracted to the bottoms of the girls in the years below; allow your bottom to be touched by boys from any year; be funny; have rumpy bumpy with people; be able to play your limited edition didgeridoo (unfortunately mines in storage); have a companion that all the other boys want; play soccer for a really crap team; threaten to beat people up all the time and have a completely disilhusioned viewpoint on life. popular people live sad lives in my opinion always having too impress just to keep your imaginary status higher than your boxer shorts in order to keep it from going as low as your trousers. it is these people that repulse me more than the germs on door handles, the only person in the world you need to impress is yourself not anyone else because in life the most important person is your self. i am my biggest critic as well as the person i complement the most with each whish of my hair comb each brush of my teeth. to be the best you've got to look the best, to look the best you have to feel the best, to feel the best you have to be the best at something. i feel that theres nothing more cringeworthy than a girl becoming an oompa loompa to impress a male, a male dressing like a poof and drinking himself slowly to the point of liver failure or apologising for acting like a boy all so that he can find a girl to consume his trouser lump or satisfy their didgeridoo by making the female play it for them. theres one word for this sort of person IDIOTIC-GIT-WHO-DESERVES-TO-FEEL-THE-STING-OF-MY-RIGHT-HAND-ACCROSS-THEIR-FACE! because of these people i have had to come up with a battle plan to eradicate such people this could get nasty so make sure you bring all the cosmetic removers, scissors, all the water you can get your hands on and finally a glove to slap the people round the face with.

the battle is about to commence so here's what Colonel Sanders JNR proposes our plan of action be: the peachcroft pykes (who tried to steal my tomato plant) and berinsfield benders will go and steal all their cigarettes and tobacco because if they were serious they would smoke cigars instead of putting tobacco in a fag paper and rolling it up lighting it and doing lasting damage to the rest of their bodily functions. the handsome men of the world will go and start flirting with the annoying orange oompas distracting them while the people who need all the cosmetics they can get (because there easy to brainwash) attack the orange oompas with cosmetic removers as well as removing any other beauty enhancers (padded bazoomba covers etc) to eradicate people with stupid hair cuts we'll send the rugby team out to tackle them and the netball team to pin them down while the unambitious hairdressing aspirers cut off their fake fringes and i'll go round with my designer leather gloves slapping them silly till they promise to stop trying to impress people with their appearance. If they still don't get the hint Water torture with a good glove slapping should ought to do the trick. these people have pushed me too far we are exposed to them on a daily basis and rather than set up a charity for them i've taken the matter into my own hands too cure them of their insecurities forever, increasing confidence and aiding their natural beauty if they have any behind their mask. you don't have too look like a poof or an oompa loompa to be popular just possess a characteristic which appeals to the masses. popularity is so over rated because all it does is add even more pressure onto your probably top heavy body meaning you'll have to crane your back before you know it your impregnanted by a practiced rumpy bumpier with a trouser lump. or you end up with so many layers of poofy clothes and horse riding jackets you suffer heat stroke and start talking like Boris Johnson when he's sober! so Eric Saade do you still want to be popular or are you happy to be a childrens presenter in your homeland occassionally singing a song about your ambitions for eurovision. i'm not popular and theres nothing wrong with me and there'll be nothing wrong with the school community once this war is won!

'The Sun Always Shines on TV' said Morten 'well it seems to in Essex' said Jordan.

tomorrow is parents evening, a event were i am given non stop praise till i see Mrs Seath or Mr Ferris. On Sunday the Sanders/Hobbs household had to create a plan going over the hurdles put in place like Jason Gardiner in his prime. it involved a lot of shouting a pack of bourbon biscuits and a pint and half of full fat milk (were not the most health conscious family) the plan how to get my mum back from Southend in the most southern part of Essex back to Abingdon in time for my first appointment the Joker Mr Ferris the person my Mother wants to see the most, although the issue is, is that to get from Southend to Abingdon takes 2 1/2 hours and my mum finishes work at 3.10 as she works in a specialist school for Autism and Aspergers (ironic considering she had children with an aspergic man and brought up a child with it) so the plan is is to have my phone with me and have constant updates on the progress my mothers making, however i may have to face 'Shreck the Joker' on my lonesome which will not be good. so my mum she's been working in Southend for a year, she's quite a remarkable woman my mother she travels down to Southend on a monday morning and makes her return on a friday night arsoned with food and everything we need for the upcoming weeks. meanwhile staying in horrible middle class hotels called travelodges in order to spend more money on those who matter to her most me and my stupid siblings Erin and Fraser. during my mothers time in Southend she has come across some rather strange and challenged characters theres her boss with the singing hip who has muscles like mine from yoga. theres Mr Toppy who nearly made the olympic diving team for the Atlanta olympics. now you have the Essex contingent a mixture of family jugglers and child neglectors who are so inept there children get sand in the sandwiches and they lose children on days out to the beach. unless you are incredibly stupid which a lot of you are you would have gathered I HATE ESSEX MORE THAN PEOPLE THEMSELVES!

so you can understand my horror when last year a tv show was made about essex. it is or was after today called 'the only way is essex' and it consisted of everything i hate about the world and essex in particular condensed into half an hour of homosidal horror, i was so traumatised i felt like Frank Sinatra at the end of his song 'that's life' were he ends the musical masterpeice with the lyrics 'call into a ball and die' he must have predicted the future because that's how i felt after 30 seconds of that terrible show. so for making me feel suicidal and more depressed than a person being taught by 'Shrek the Joker' Essex i declare a war agianst you lets see what weapons you'll possess in your arsenal when faced against my mighty army of Oxfordshire farmers, superior intellects who in your opinion 'speak well fancy don't they those posh people from oxford' (a member of the essex population commenting on my dialect and vocablury), pykes and ruffians from Black bird leys and Berinsfield, Timmy Mallet, Radiohead, Winston Churchill's god son the Duke of Malborough, my good mate David from Witney who's tie looked good in the House of Commons today, Saxton Road single mothers and our greatest weapons me and Jeremy Clarkson armed with megaphones. the war has been declared the army is ready and in the great words of Adrian Chiles 'let the battle commence!'

since the late 90's when friday night television would begin at 6 with the simpsons, followed by the fresh prince of bel air, with robot wars and gladiators to follow this was when the sun really did shine on tv and in the mighty 1980's when A-ha produced the song a younger bruce forsyth would bless the hazy coloured tv screens and programs like bullseye where you could win a tv with remote control and put it in a camper van. this war which we are fighting could be so easily with just a bit of market research by television producers so they could identify their market segment and the needs they need to satisfy. But NO so i've got to march my army down to Southend stopping in at my mothers school to say hello through the megaphone, to fight the poofta pump, gay gilet, shirt lifting cardigan wearing metrosexual males, the sleazy single wicked women who are so fake it's not just their clothes that are from China, the middle aged family jugglers, the waiting dna tests to see who their father is babies, the challenged children that will get sand in our oxfordshire ploughmans, hard partying alcohol dependant drug fuelled smoking teenagers and worst of all gargling gypsies with their coughs and sneezes which give permanent diseases! men make sure you get your flu jabs before embarking, this war will be full of hair pulling so make sure you get it cut. we must reinstate the fact that the sun does in deed shine on tv for ever more! they better be prepared or i'll start my inspirational speeches that will one day grace the world. bring tears to mothers, poets and bankers. when this war is won tv will no longer be the reality ridden ruffian run catastrophe it is today and the sun will shine again!   

remixes and rapping may be for thee, but it will always be indie rock and roll, 80's music, s club 7 for me!

the killers, probably the most modern band i have on my sansa (because i can't use an ipod) perfomed a song called Glamorous Indie Rock & Roll, it was on their album Hot Fuss which shares a name with a film starring simon pegg. the killers are probably second to my superb s-club 7 my favourite band from my generation. although both of these bands were quite popular in the late 90's which is quite a long time ago in terms of the way the music industry works, therefore i have quite a strong dislike for modern music. today i logged onto my spotify account and i pressed to listen to the radio: on the radio you can select which genre of music you want to listen too being born in the wrong generation i chose 80's (my favourite) and my ears were aroused by the 20 minute keyboard solos of pink floyd, blown to peices like mr keelans gerbils on a firework by the guitar solos of led zeppelin and queen; stimulated by the rythms of A-ha, OMD and excited in an non erotic manner by the vocals of Elton John or as i call him Old reg who likes the man veg. sadly however as the music technology has improved in quantity it has not been it terms of quality who wants to listen to the rubbish rapping over the top of the ghost busters theme tune, who wants to listen to the strange booms that abduct the lyrical masterpeices of hits from bygone years. Me. yes it is I JPJ Sanders yet again about to declare the usual war against the unfortunate topic that has got on my nerves because people have been involved somewhere down the line (as you have guessed i'm not a fan of people) so todays war is against the music industry for destroying the songs that were once decent songs with riveting rythms and lovely lyrics.

my superb s-club 7

my awesome A-ha

everywhere you look today in the music industry it is filled with rumpy bumpy fluid stained lyrics, or about a females body parts that i personally find repulsing (as you know or guessed i don't know a lot of girls my age). or they've taken a song kidnapped the melody and chorus and tried to add a harmonising layer of (c)rap over the original lyrics creating confusion for me in the classroom when people are brainwashed into believing that the original artist is the one who has robbed the original artists work. to me your music taste describes you as a person for example i like pink floyd who go on for about half an hour not really achieving a lot but gives the interpretation that you've done for positive reasons and that your not a lonely, neglected, boring, aspergic, offensive, bigoted person who has nothing better to do than moan and has done it so often that he now puts his feelings about things into a blog called 'THE JPJ SANDERS WAR ON EVERYTHING'. also the name of the band says a lot about the person, A-ha not afraid to shock or surprise; Queen know what they want and are certain of the ultimate fortune and priviliges; Pink Floyd prepared to go against the stereotype, not caring who they offend on the way to achieve their goal. although in todays music industry they all have names like DJ Dipstick and use their nickname of Tinchy (he was on never mind the buzzcocks which is how i am aware of him) or Rizzle whose 'acts' i'm marooned with on a daily basis either from behind in maths from a certain Mr Robertson or they are plastered all over my facebook wall by these non sensical lyrics of which they speak through the microphone grasped in such a way it would appear to be a slapping salmon with a never ending battery supply. in my omniscient, omnibenevolent (sort of), omnipotent opinion people who are absorbed by that sort of music is very fickel the sort of person who would wear those poofta pumps and carpet like cardigans that belong to their older sisters. additionally back when my beautiful boys from Norway A-ha and probably the only mixed band i'll ever like s-club were in their height their music videos were cheesy and of relatively low expense or in A-ha's case a mixture of acting and cartoon animation which when combined give me fits of excitment especially when it's during a concert that i've been waiting for since i was about 5. although nowadays it's about women and ruffians covered in pyked bling next to an alloy wheeled 4x4 with a variety of women clad in bazoomba supporters and letter box coverers that barely do there supposed job. 

          music is called music for a reason it is the combination of layers which include different aspects  of the music world integrated together harmonise to form a peice of musical creation called a song. without the harmonising bit it's not a song it's a peice of music containing layers of music including vocal lyrics which are the most important part of a song as that's what makes it a song and not an instrumental peice by a number of musicians playing together at the same time to form a peice of music. i wouldn't say i'm a big music fan, i know i'm not i like a limited genre of music and even then i'm remarkably critical of even the artists i like, however i know why they used to be called artists and not rappers or idiots in stupid acts that say terrible poetry at an incredibly fast rate making as much sense as i do when i go off on a tangent; it's because they had to engage their brain to integrate the lyrics and make them harmonise with their fellow musicians rather than stand in the studio with a microphone clasped between their metrosexual mitts talking along to a already harmonising perfectly fine peice of musical culture that is about to be disintergrated and downgraded to nothing but another song who's copyright has run out and is now adequate to be destroyed by a uneducated ruffian ridden tone death womenly dressed tramp. it's a real shame that people who once had a firm grip on what went on in the music industry has been overthrown by investers who lack musical taste and rythm. no more swaying along slowly to the groan of rod stewart, repeating the improvisations of Freddie Mercury, no more imaginary keyboard playing to the fast moving fingers of A-ha's keyboard player Magne. in fact you can't actively participate or replicate any of todays music unless you have a multi million pound recording studio as well as sound proofing to abide to health and safety noise pollution laws. so music industry your former acquantices may have admitted defeat but i never will so possums lets unite and make a new sound of the underground, bring back the ridiculous stupid long keyboard solos, cut off those stupid fringes, give todays boy bands testosterome because the war is not over till the fat lady sings! it may be for thee, but over my dead martyred body will it be for me! 

   

'mca's may shut them up now that their 7 but you will regret it when their in their teens' too right especially when the dipstick behind the counter gives a vegetarian a chicken deli!

today i got home from the usual stress of the school day, it was about 5o'clock and i was summoned downstairs into my darling dining room where there lay a baked potato with the margarine and a mountain of grated cheese and 2 slices of granary bread sliced too 1.25cm's think (i measure it myself). so i sit on my chair at the head of the table manipulate my body into my usual perfect pose with my left ankle perched onto my right knee and persist to make my usual smug arrogant smile. i pick up my ikea cutlery, making delicate incisions through the potatoes cell wall and into the membrane like a surgeon on a patients brain. i dip my knife into the margarine spreading it seductively as it melts into the crevices i dip my handsome hands into the bowl of cheese sprinkling superbly onto the wonderful creation that is my baked potato. i eat it magnificantly using my knife and fork occasionally taking sips of water (i'm sensitive to hot things) to keep my throat and body more lubricated than the lips of any female Larkmead student. after i have finished my main meal it is time for pudding which consists of my favourite cereal 'messiah bricks' because you never know what miracles you could achieve. i do enjoy my messiah bricks however i have never won the holiday to jerusalam and i make the cereal myself. however last nights meal has scared me for life! and i have declared a war so violently bitter there'll be a life insurance company named after it! you see possums I HAVE DECLARED WAR AGAINST MCDONALDS, the worst but somehow biggest food franchise in the world. last night my mother was busy and forgot to feed us so when i came back from bowls i was a bit peckish to say the least so i asked my mother whether she could pick some food up on the way home (I'm not allowed to cook after my previous calamities and burning of everything within a metre of the oven) so it was the only solution.

 unfortunately my mother brang me back a mcdonalds so already unhappy i caress open the wrappers to find a deli sandwich (i normally have a vegi deli from that blasphemous religious friendly place) so i pick up the sandwich take a sniff (as that's what aspergics do) and ask my mum whether they've changed it as it smelt a bit like chicken. my mum replies it's fine i look at the wrapper spicy vegi deli, so i take a bite. my teeth go through the bread into the paty my face twists and turns in anguish and horror as my teeth rip through the meat that has adopted my spicy vegi deli. my face turns green as i spit out the battery farmed meat and bread followed by flumes of vomit (why i'm vegetarian in the first place because meat does that too me) and i scream at my mum it's bloody chicken are you trying to kill me again don't you think the previous 6 attempts have scarred me enough (dropped in the Aylesbury Canal, hands shut in the boot, trying to run me over, spraying bleach in my eye, getting my brother to push me into a ditch, taking me on holiday to Turkey) my my mother curses, my grandfather sighs, my grandmother whinces in pain from her arthritic joints. well if you had come home at 6 like you said you were going too' my mother whines. 'well i can't help the poor bugger that had heart problems half way through can I' i respond. there's a pause in the argument for laughter as my mother realises just what her son has become a unpaid carer for the elderly which i have in some ways but it doesen't really bother me i know that will change in 10 years time when i make it compulsory to play bowls if your under 30 during my democratic dictatorship of this country. my grandmother has finally managed to relieve her contact with the sofa and others to make me an omellette an offer i gladly accept.

however this is me this happened to I am JPJ Sanders a man who possesses morals and principals who holds grudges so strong he refuses to look his business studies teacher in the eyes. as Mcdonalds are so stupid that they put the wrong product in the right package i believe there is only 1 solution we all join hands and sing songs infront of mcdonalds and insult Ronald Mcdonald for being in competition with my grandad Colonel Sanders. as well as standing at the door handing out deterrants and go in there with megaphones letting me shout at the bloody numpty that put the wrong thing in the right bag. alternatively and i've already done this write a complaint after that copy and pasting the same complaint under names like Toby Downes, Leo Hopkins, Robin 'my dad's a catholic priest' Butt, Calum Uncle Bryn Meredith, 'H' the agent of the estate but not from steps and other names of my associates. this is a war that will be won this is not the first time it has happened the reasons are simple: too many people who lack elocution as well as manners infest that strange smelling unsanitory unedible food franchise: there are too many regulars which is causing obesity which has a negative impact on my future supporters; the staff at Mcdonalds are either uneducated and shouldn't be allowed outside of the decrepid council houses. or foreign with a decent work ethic just lacking the people skills as well as speaking the correct dialect for the country they are now in. so either Mcdonalds get a grip of their human resource department and install a criteria for their workers or they shall lose all their custom worldwide the moment i get any amount of power and control in this woeful world which we currently live in. So Mcdonalds this war is not over and Tim a bluee (ginger) who plays the piano and sings humourous songs about inflatable rumpy bumpy dolls is on my side. as high school musical said we're all in this together this war will be won by many and I can't do it on my own. MCDONALDS YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT'S COMING FOR YOU (i don't yet either but that's beside the point) THERE'LL BE ONE WINNER. ME!