Without Wikipedia, I Am Nothing

Yesterday, Wikipedia, along with several other high-profile websites like Reddit, the Anonymous Twitter account, Radical Pregnancy and the Reggaeton Network, shut down and "blacked out" for the day (or part of the day, at least) in protest against the SOPA and PIPA legislation currently threatening to ruin the internet. (You can read our coverage of SOPA and PIPA issues here, here and here.) Without Wikipedia to service the planet's knowledge boner, the world did what it usually does in times of nervous cultural jitterdom, and posted a few million forgettable jokes on Twitter.

But behind the inane quips, there were personal stories. This was mine, and if Wikipedia founder/ serial internet beggar Jimmy Wales is half-right about SOPA/ PIPA you should goddamn hope that they don't get passed into law, because this could be you. 

Yesterday morning, I had Pop-Tarts for breakfast. I like Pop-Tarts: They're an easy treat. They have a good money-to-calorie ratio. There's more than one flavour.

But, while chewing on my hot, tarty treat, I began to examine the box. Pop-Tarts have a very distinctive aesthetic identity, almost symbolic. They have been referenced, parodied, celebrated and ridiculed so much that they've achieved a state of semi-permanence on our cultural landscape. It's a unique product that defines itself, but is also reliable enough for people to find comfort in. Pop-Tarts sit alongside the greats: Coca-Cola, Marlboro cigarettes, Wrigley's gum (in that order), even Campbell's Soup… Campbell's Soup?

I started thinking, and I wondered: 'Are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts because of Pop Art?'

I did what any modern man does when he needs to discover if a slightly overpriced sugary snack is self-referentially alluding to its own cultural status: I googled "Pop Tarts" and scrolled down past the official sites for the Wikipedia page. There would be my answer, there would be safety. I clicked on the Wikipedia page, pleased with my morning's progress…

But, when I clicked on the link, this happened:

WTF is this? Fucking… what?! OK, no Wikipedia. That's OK, there must be other places to find stuff out.

Harking back, I remembered a fat, little, posh twat who used to pretend to know everything on the internet. I Asked Jeeves.

But as usual, Jeeves was more interested in telling me about his totally inconsequential 'Question of the Day' than digging me out of my own, very serious, trivia quandary. So, I dug around a bit and stumbled on an old, old, old CD-ROM disc. Encarta. Ten seconds of David Bowie's "Changes" that you can play over and over again (for free!!!) and all the answers I ever needed for Primary School science projects. Don't fail me now.

Turns out Encarta was really only good for (now probably out-of-date) dinosaur facts and adolescent wannabe botanists. This was getting serious now, it had been nearly 20 minutes since I pondered: "Are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts because of Pop Art?" and I was still no closer to any kind of an answer.

How was I gonna catch this monkey? I checked back on Wikipedia just in case it was some new design or I needed to update my browser or something. This only upset me more; trusty Wikipedia, where had you gone? More importantly, are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts because of Pop Art? What are those things on my shelves? Books? Worth a shot.

Banksy couldn't help me.

And this one was just full of Scottish incest.

Those were the only books I had, so I returned to the box. I noticed a number on the side of it, so I got my business stance on in preparation for a very important phone call.

Kellogg's Customer Service: Hello Kellogg's service, Jessica speaking. How can I help you?

Me: Why are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts?

KCS: I recommend you visit our website for nutritional information about our products.

Me: Is it because of Pop Art?

KCS: Sorry, could I ask you to repeat the question?

Me: Are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts because of Pop Art?

KCS: Did you say 'Pop Art' or 'Tart', sir?

Me: Art, like Andy Warhol and that.

KCS: Oh… Sorry sir, I don't know. You could have a look on the internet, I –

Me: No! I can't. But it's OK. Thank you for your help. Bye.

I wasn't going to be beaten. My friend is a teacher, so I gave her a call, but the line was busy so I went one better, and rang the awarding body for GCSEs and A-Levels, AQA.

They were just no help at all. They were beyond useless. But they did advise me to seek out "an academic" or "someone who has expertise in the relevant field". So I went to where all the world's true geniuses go: Mensa.

"Hey," I said. "I was wondering if you could help me with a question." You know what the question is by now. "Sorry, are you a member?" they asked me. When I told them that I wasn't, they said I'd need to pass a Mensa IQ test and pay a membership fee before I could drink from their vast well of knowledge.

Which I guess just confirms that Mensans are a bunch of assholes.

Turns out that if you ask real-life people the questions you'd usually ask Wikipedia, 90 percent of the time they think you're taking the piss out of them.

I had to get out of the house and look elsewhere for an answer.

I asked the fruit and veg man. He didn't know. So I asked the people on the flower stall: "Are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts because of Pop Art?"

When they didn't know, I asked the flowers.

They didn't know, either. I asked these fish if they knew the answer.

They just stared at me endlessly.

I asked the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker: "Are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts because of Pop Art?"

They didn't have a clue!

I was getting distraught, so traipsed into the nearest pub. I put my question to this pub quiz machine…

But it just fired back a laughably easy question of its own, the wrong answers to which insinuated that Pierce Brosnan had been on ecstasy throughout the filming of Die Another Day.

On the way home from the pub, I went into this free advice solicitors for some help.

But they just asked me if ever went up ladders for money and sent me away with this leaflet.

Lewisham library's extensive Danielle Steel collection couldn't help me.

It seemed hopeless.

Other public displays of information seemed disorganised and niche. Where were the hyperlinks?!

Then I saw this:

Maybe I'd just been looking for the answer to my question 'Are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts because of Pop Art?' on the wrong spiritual plane.

Nope! The psychic didn't even know who I was when I called her up. Clearly clairvoyants, palm reading, hand reading and face reading had nothing to offer me. I'm not sure if my faith in the astrological sciences will ever recover.

I wandered aimlessly for a while, before I found myself outside a church. I went to ask for the vicar, and I even took some Pop-Tarts, just in case I needed to labour the point.

I apologised for showing up unannounced, and asked for the vicar. "Would he be available for a quick chat about something?" I said.

"Unfortunately the vicar isn't here at the moment," a voice responded through the intercom. "She should be around at some point later this week, though, if you want to come back."

Not only had I been abandoned by my local man of the cloth, I had also been sexist enough to suppose that she was a man in the first place. I begged for forgiveness. As darkness began to fall, I suffered the cold of January and wished for the shelter of God's house. But the doors were shut, no windows were open and my question went unanswered. I slept in the graveyard that night and when I asked, for one final time before I shivered myself to sleep, "Are Pop-Tarts called Pop-Tarts because of Pop Art?" the dead did not reply.