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Foreword by big city editor, Dick Action. Welcome to the first issue of the Evening Bog Standard - the unpatronising voice of the little bog standard people, like you. Cathart the darker, frazzled depths of your internal dialogue. Lower your tones and tone your lows. Life is not a brand. The only remaining protest is against ourselves and this is where we start screaming. Believe in the power of negative thought. Don't listen to all those suburban faux-viveurs, posing metrosexuals, prissy purveyors of 'positivity' and riders of BMXs aged over 30. By clicking on these pages you know you're right and they’re wrong: world is virus and we merely snot around in the dirt. So don't just smash your ceiling lights with a shovel, when next maudlin on whisky: check out our pages and share the vitriol. Stick with me and you'll go a short way, but it will be a rage-fuelled and glorious way. Or possibly just a bit depressing. Which is all you deserve. Dick has spoken.	Is Swine Flu so Bad?   I once met a man in Morocco who said: 'I like all music: Dire Straits and Status Quo". I once met a man in Spain who said: "I couldn't get off the train because all the towns had the same name: 'Saida'". I pointed out this is spanish for 'exit'. He stared a while over his Cruzcampo and asked: "So what's that: Gibraltar"? These sweet travelling tales prompt the question: is Swine Flu getting a bad press? There's just too many of us. You have to start somewhere...that's all I'm saying. Pound for shrinking pound, is the virus any worse a traveller than these oft quipped, fine upstanding lager debutantes? They're handing out syringes anyway: there's always a bus queue in the morning. Some people play crap music without earphones...nobody's going to notice one little slick plunge into the flesh of idiots. I see both connection and potential.  We have been handed a biological razor.  Befriend the sharp cutting edge of random selection: it might make your office a better place. 'But where do you draw the humanitarian line'? I hear your cries. We don't: you're confusing us with The Independent.	Consumer Corner Health Media whore Snorting Sausage Mother of fourteen (that's the amount of offspring and her age) Beth Thomson, mistakenly tried to snort 48 bargain suasage roles in Iceland earlier today using a rolled up newspaper. "I saw the word 'party' on the box and I got confused" "At least I took them out the box, first" said Beth, claiming she'd been misled by that fat nosed, teeth grinding woman on the adverts. She should have stuck to the charlie: far less chemicals. Any middle class accountant in East Dulwich who scores it off the working class Peckham lads could have told you that. James Antrincham of 57 Waylord Avenue for example. (Next time find your own parking space - Ed.)
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