This is still my stuff.

Remember this? From way back when Charlie Brooker's satire was brutally, bitingly good, and he didn't just write down the sort of lazy low-rent "criticism" that you or I or people we know quite easily come up with in the pub but don't bother to write down because it's just off-the-cuff throwaway tut and sell it to gullible editors because he can't be arsed to do anything proper like he used to? Like this, or Nathan Barley? Well, I do.