I own a hit list of people whose existence I would like to cease in a safe deposit box in an unknown location. I shall divulge some of its contents to you, dear reader. Number one: Justin Bieber for his disservice to music. Number two: Nick Griffin for his work to raise the awareness of idiots in politics. Number three: 40-year-old single men who still live with their mothers and play with action figures of famous sci-fi series characters in their room who, since they merely exist and not live, try to fill the void of happiness in their lives and take to the Internet to ruin everyone else’s fun.
I am what they call a ‘spoilerphobe’.
The red squiggly line of doom on Microsoft Word is telling me that this is a senseless word, and dictionaries worldwide are bullyboys and snide at it: “You’re not welcome here! Join a club of rejected lexis, which includes the likes of ‘ee by gum, ecky thump’ and ‘Dalek’.” They surely are correct, as they exit my vocal chords on a number of occasions.
A spoilerphobe is a person who shrieks in horror when their now former friend chooses to destroy all form of affection by revealing details, plot and twists of any literature or broadcast.
I’ll explain why I am a spoilerphobe, and I shall take on the guise of the hyperbole. A wonderful word! One would decree it is the most important lexis in our etymology. Did you see what I did there? Using hyperbole to describe hyperbole. I am a clever sod, me.
Picture the scene, if you will. A prophetic and surprisingly accurate soothsayer in an otherwise fake world full of charlatans…and Sally Morgan. They offer their services to you for free; a rarity in an industry of preying vultures. They tell you the exact time, date and method of your death. Do you think “mmm, okay…that day will come when it comes…dum-de-dum…SQUIRREL!”? Or do you either slump into depression or start enjoying the intricacies of life (and probably avoid aeroplanes)?
That, my dear reader, is a spoiler. Admittedly, it is in a different league than somebody ruining the plot twist of Fight Club, but a spoiler nonetheless.
Foresight is not particularly advantageous, really. You may think less of me after this personal example. In fact, I may replace Michael Gove in your own hit list…actually, no…that is nigh on impossible. By the use of ingenuity, logic and Google, I managed to acquire the mock exam paper for my A Level Medieval History. With this preparation, I received a B. In the actual A Level exam, I received an E, thus leading to confused expressions from my tutors and all around embarrassment on my part.
And what is the fun of ruining it all for everyone, anyway? Do these – no doubt – sexually inexperienced ‘people’ take a certain glee out of removing suspense from the fans? “If I cannot have a good time in my loneliness, no-one can!” they wail whilst violently masturbating to George Takei in Star Trek.
As a Whovian, i try to source reaction to episodes of Doctor Who to see if everyone enjoyed it as much as I did. Fandom is a community and we are prone to gossip and the occasional fanboy squeal. Once, in my naivety, I stumbled across a forum where one poor excuse for a homosapien posted the entire plot of the series four finale a week before broadcast. I really enjoyed the creativity and the cleverness of Russell T Davies’ writing but I left the viewing a little cold as I did not fully immerse myself into the narrative.
A similar bitter taste was left in my mouth (behave) when an Amazon.co.uk reviewer decided to go into great detail about the technicalities behind Derren Brown’s conjuring and fornication with the mind. I felt cheated and envisaged the rather puncable face of GAZZA56.
The only justifiable time for spoilers is when your ex-girlfriend decided that her idea of a romantic night-in is to watch horror films. To save myself the indignity of appearing as an epileptic with Tourette’s, I may have Wikipedia’d the plot beforehand.
So why have I centred my rare but fun rant on spoilers? This week, those intelligent chaps from BBC America decided, in their wisdom, to accidentally distribute pre-ordered copies of Doctor Who Series 7 Part 2 DVDs. These will include the series finale, which will be broadcast this Saturday.
I ask of thee not to be an idiot, a fool, a moron, an eejit, a lonely and pathetic gobshite, and not spoil the enjoyment of others.
(You can follow me on that new-fangled Twitter thing via @JudasMcLaughlin. Cheers, m’dears!)