Thursday, 29 March 2007
Oh dear, this game is quite addictive. You basically need to fart discreetly when a car passes by pressing the space bar, and the left arrow if the pressure gets too much. If the man next to you hears you lose, and you also explode if the fart gas gets too high.
Hours of fun I think you'll agree!
Wednesday, 28 March 2007
Frankly fucking hilarious sketch from a new BB3 Comedy show (seriously? how rare is is that sentence?) Adam Buxton playing Fuck the Police to his son, but censoring it so the wife approves..
Oh, and below is a video of N.W.A performing the origional song just in case it had slipped your mind..
Oriental City (or Ori tal C ty as I think the sign currently reads) is in Colindale and is basically an Oriental supermarket with the most mental food court ever and a row of Hello Kitty and Oriental Crockery shops on the side. The Segapark is a games arcade which is pretty shit, except there is a mini bowling alley, and the casino is a room of slot machines.
It is amazing.
The food court is a massive patchwork quilt of lurid photos of different dishes, from China, Japan, Vientnam and Thailand (Korea is shunted around the corner for some reason) and they give you portions so massive and delicious you either feel bad about leaving so much or you throw up on the side of the north circular on the way home (true!)
I doubt there are many other places in London where you can find a whole row of shelves devoted purely to different brands of soy sauce, and there is great fun to be had in pootling around buying random stuff with fun packaging and only working out in the car home what it actually is you are eating (jellies shaped as fruits, slimming tea, fermented soybeans and these little coloured balls made of sweet rice btw)
I was also veh impressed to see a white lanky Postman Pat lookalike barking orders to the shelf stackers in fluent Mandarin.
Anyway, THE MAN (a.k.a Brent Council) want to shut down Oriental City and this would be a terrible shame, not only to all the bratty North London types like I who like Dim Sum and collecting Maneki Neko and other bits of tat, but to the large East Asian Communities that live in the area who see it as a cultural centre and vital resource.
So yes, go sign the petition HERE and stop it being turned into a load of swanky flats. I think they should save it, then petition again to get it done up; not just buy new letters E, N and I for the sign, but actually put more shops in there because frankly there is a lot of wasted space and I was not satisfied with the range of Maneki Neko available.
Make a difference yo...
Tuesday, 27 March 2007
Monday, 26 March 2007
This is an arial shot of Woburn MA (be damned if I can be arsed to spell that state)
Did you know that in Woburn it takes an average time of 23 minutes to travel to work?
30% of Woburnians have never married?
The most common industry for men is construction (12%)?
There are 71,662 books in Woburn Public Library?
There are 8 people in homes for the mentally ill, but only 2 in religious group quarters (not much of a group eh?)
0.3% of all households are gay households?
I particularly like that they feel the need to colour blue, underline and bold the fact that there
According to our research there were 5 registered sex offenders living in Woburn, Massachusetts in early 2007
And to think I got all of this because I typed the name 'Eric Bogosian' into google. (he was born in this illustrious town in 1953) Thank you internet, for you have enriched my life and saved me from rambling on about how I find a ranty Jewish actor who is old enough to be my father strangely attractive..
Anyway, should you wish to know more about Woburn MA (I haven't even mentioned average daily temperatures let alone the number of children in Woburn Public School) you can do so by clicking HERE
P.S If someone who knows someone from Woburn, or even better is from Woburn themselves, please comment me - it will make my bloody week!
p.p.s It's the eyes see, the eyes!
If you believe the internet, ACV prety much cures all your woes AND makes you lose weight by zapping fat or some shit. And I quote:
"the reported cures from drinking Apple Cider Vinegar are numerous: allergies (including pet, food and environmental), sinus infections, acne, high cholesterol, flu, chronic fatigue, candida, acid reflux, sore throats, contact dermatitis, arthritis, and gout. One reader reported that a shot of ACV saved him from going to the emergency room for heart pain. Apple Cider Vinegar also breaks down fat and is widely used to lose weight. It has also been reported that a daily dose of apple cider vinegar in water has soaring blood pressure under control in two weeks!
If you can get over the taste of apple cider vinegar, you will find it one of the most important natural remedies in healing the body.
As a wonderful side effect of drinking apple cider vinegar every day, we discovered that it brings a healthy, rosy glow to one's complexion! This is great news if you suffer from a pale countenance."Hmm, thought I, I certainly have a pale counternance and a fat arse - maybe ACV, apparently Jesus in the form of sour piss-tasting apple brew, will be the answer to all my prayers!
So sure enough, this week I am testing it out. And not by half either, I figured to really get the most out of drinking a shot of 'orrible rancid piss every day, I might as well REALLY test it out. So I am eating a lot of taramasalata. And cake. Not together.
And no, the Jesus vinegar is not just for humans! Like the real Jesus himself if he had ever existed Jesus Vinegar loves all living things!
"Apple Cider Vinegar is also wonderful for dogs, cats, and horses. It helps them with arthritic conditions, controls fleas & barn flies, and gives a beautiful shine to their coats!"
Maybe I should try feeding some to the hamster, just to see what happens. He's quite a sturdy little thing - he accidentally rolled his ball into a puddle of bleach yesterday and is fine!
I wonder what Jesus Vinegar does to plants...
p.s How fabulous is that cake? I wish I was eating cake like that, opposed to stale slices from Happening Bagels. Boo
I have come to the horrible realisation (just as this woman has judging by her face) that I'm not sure I know how to dance anymore. I mean, at indie clubs where you know all the songs because they play the same shit every week (plus the occasional renegade 'oh how ironic are we' song such as Material Girl by Madonna or Video Killed the Radio Star or something) it is easy because you pretty much just sing along in a very exaggerated manner, and let's be honest, even act out the words if you're drunk enough, but real dancing? Kettle of fish mate, kettle of fish.
Still, in order to miss the most common of mistakes, here is my guide to what happens
When Dancing Goes Wrong
Dancing to dance music in an indie way.
Result? A terrible mixture of headbanging, confusion, and gesturing for that small dwarf in the corner of the room to 'call me'
Keepin' it reeeeel a little bit too much in an Indie Club.
Result? Everyone look at the man holding the invisible umbrella
Dancing to a somber song whilst really drunk
If you listen to the lyrics too much the face doesn't match the unparalleled joy purveyed by the waggling fingers. This yields a look not dissimilar to a biblical portrait of a matyr. If however the face is lit up in a 'God I LOVE The Smiths!' kind of way, it doesn't match the more somber 'leave me alone I am sad' hand movement. This leaves you looking like you are trying to cop a feel.
Dancing to RnB in a way you consider to be how to dance to RnB
Result? Your friends pretend you don't exist as you impersonate a pissed off hieroglyphic behind their backs.
Mistaking miming instruments as dancing
Result? Ruining perfectly nice group photos by insisting on playing the invisible slap-bass and giving the impression you are a group of carers and their charge, on a day out from Sheltered Accomodation.
Saturday, 24 March 2007
Off to Chalk at the Scala tonite. Am rather drunk right now and have been ready for hours whilst the flatmate stresses about looking too indie and having hair llike a failed attempt at 1940's chic. I just look like a bit of a tit in leopard print top and neon pink winklepickers, but have had enough Vodka Oranges to convince myself I look like hot shit, opposed to a terrible parody of a member of the Skins cast (2007 way of saying Nathan Barley btw)
My rather fabulous neighbours, unwitting suppliers of my internet connection and generally nice people (ok, only met them once, at 8am when we were both in dressing gowns, but from their myspaces they seem cool) have buggered off to Miami for the winter dance music convention thing, AND TURNED OFF THEIR WIRELESS ROUTER!
This means I have the weakest connection ever and it takes years to do so much as load Google, so I may be a bit infrequent with the blogs.
I will instead stand at the window and pine for their return, which I think is second week of April. Boo!
Friday, 23 March 2007
p.s I am aware I am missing the obvious point of the freaky arm, but as I happen to have a similar problem with my appendages, I am choosing to ignore it. Is it a lack of vitamin D in childhood? Crap genes? In any case, having an arm that points 45 degrees away from where you initally intend to point can be useful. Unless you are directing a ship. Or a person. Ok, it's good to hang bags off...
Thursday, 22 March 2007
I took this photo on the sly whilst holidaying in Berlin a while back. Is it wrong? (the child drinking beer, opposed to me taking photos of random children whilst on holiday which I freely admit is a bit disturbing)
I suppose you could say it will build wee Gunther's tolerance or something, but I find tolerance changes pretty quickly - a month off drinking after a tooth extraction meant two large glasses of wine could totally floor me.
Then again , I suppose more people in Germany (and europe) drink for pleasure opposed to the Great British Tradition of one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor, get up, have a pitcher of Sex on the Beach, two beers and an aftershock, dance on a chair, floor again, floor some more, vomit.
Then again, dancing perilously on a chair to Beyonce whilst shaking your arse so violently that drinks go flying and you end up with lower back pain for two days afterwards is marginally more fun than sitting outside a cafe for hours coherently discussing world politics on a seat that leaves a waffle print on your derriere.
I mean, alcohol tastes like vinegary piss anyway, so you might as well reap the benefits non?
Wednesday, 21 March 2007
Nope, me neither, but much like woman below is amazing for looking like a 1980's halycon dream, this man gets muchos kudos points for managing to smoulder dangerously whilst dipping cookies into a glass of wine. And being buggered over a couple of kitchen chairs like it is the most natural thing in the world to be doing. Even so, he pulls it off, in a 'I'm an alcoholic comfort eater with a penchance for bumming. Partake?' kind of way.
I would love to meet the photographer who came up with this concept...whatdoesitallmean?!
Ok, this video is very long, and most people (me included) have no bloody idea who this woman is, but quite frankly I don't care as she has the most FANTASTIC wardrobe ever, and looks like one of the faded posters I used to gaze at longingly as I had my usual bowl hair cut in the Salon part of Pearsons in Wood Green Shopping City as a child.
I long for the day when I can dress up as a fireworks explosion and have a giant airbrushed photo of my face on the wall... sure beats accidentally dressing like the unabomber most days and posters of Judy Garland! (ok, it does not beat Judy, only me dressed up as Judy could possibly beat Judy)
See now, this is why I don't like Nike trainers....had Adidas done Pee Wee shoes they would have his face on the side, little bowties drawn on the fat laces and generally been funky as hell. Nike has taken something as cool as the concept of Pee Wee Herman trainers and made them into something your gran would buy for when her feets are too swollen for 'proper shoes'.
Is anyone actually emo anymore? I mean, does anyone even call themselves emo? Actually I think I have a brain disorder that blocks out all tiresome black clothed people between the ages of 13 - 18 from my vision...a bit like in Scrubs where J.D can't see any of the women who wear wedding rings.
Actually I'm just not very observant in general...where I come from choo keep cho eyes on the pavement bra, don't be givin no bruvahs no looks what dey might misinterpret see? Fur reall..
Nah, only kidding, I'm too vain to wear my glasses out in public.
On this site you can sit on your fat arse and watch tv all day (assuming you have broadband, but in these enlightened times, who doesn't?) and there are hundreds of shows to choose from, and, at time of writing, pretty much all the links work.
As possibly mentioned SEVERAL MILLION TIMES I have sat and watched an entire series of The Wire over a disturbingly small amount of time, and am now resisting the temptation to start series two before I have written at least half my novel for fear that I start writing in the style of a Baltimore gangbanger, but even the strongest mightiest writer *cough* unemployed person *cough* cannot resist the temptation to watch Aqua Teen Hunger Force every so often...daily..hourly..
Actually TV links is good in that it does root me to my chair for hour upon hour, which, although a completely sedimentary exercise (apart from the other day when I was doing squat exercises; not easy as the laptop screen goes from dark to light depending on the head-screen ratio) it does prevent me from noodling around the kitchen all day snacking on cashew nuts and nutella out the jar ad nausium.
Dear God I just found a popcorn kernal stuck in my tooth from last night! So much for my sonicare electric toothbrush, the shit.
Tuesday, 20 March 2007
ok, bit of an in-joke, I admit, here is another photo of Mr Johnson going about his perverted business which is a bit more generally funny:Sorry, I do hate in-jokes. Last one, promise xx
You think they would have got someone whose programme targets a sliiightly older age group...I don't think I knew what crack was until I was about fifteen (not in a losery way, I knew what most drugs were, but crack and smack always had me stumped)
Now of course I'm a raging crack-ho.
In other news EUROVISION OUTRAGE!!!1!!!1!!
I am well pissed off that Big Brovaz didn't even get down to the last two with their most excellent song 'I don't know what the hell they are singing about but it sounds a bit like Yeah by Usher and that is no bad thing'.
They even got voted as best song by the Euro jury in the audience but nooooooooo the gay/student mafia who run Eurovision seem to think we might have a chance with fat man, gay man and two girls dressed up as flight attendants and doing a dance rountine made up by 3 year old boys in a playground.
I do admit that having a speaky bit that goes 'get your duty free vouchers ready' is a rather good touch, but 'do you want anything to suck on for landing?' DEAR GOD John Inman would be spinning in his grave were he not probably buried yet because he died only last week.
Big Brovaz were good singers and even came across as credible rappers (John Barrowman - "Well we had a rapper last year and look how we did" Yes, we did John, a fat white man in a tracksuit named after a washing powder. That is barely cool in Chorley let alone in the Czech Republic, seriously he could have been singing...Yeah by Usher and still not won)
This year everyone else is going to be trying to do a Lordi and the UK could have gone in a different direction by putting in a GOOD pop-rap song but noooo they're going to hark back to the 1980's with costumes and dancing, forgetting that yes, Eurovision is camp as hell, but only for us! Those little Europeans think it is a classy affair.
It's a little bit like when all your classmates discover Take That and Boyzone and you still come into school with your 'Sooty, Sweep and Sue Sing Nursery Rhymes' tape.
Saturday, 17 March 2007
Now those who know me know I am completely uptight and British when it comes to matters of attraction - indeed the most you will usually get out of me is a 'hmmmm nice eyes' or 'oh I must put the kettle on' whilst my compatriots dool, holler or put on a mockney accent and go 'I'd do him mate, he's well fit' (Christy* thou knows who thou art)
However, this is Dominic West and he is very fine AND he's a Brit in an American drama (the Wire) putting on a yank accent, which is up there with 'hmmm nice eyes' and whatnot in the uptight anglo assesment of buff ting-ness.
*This is a clear provocation to see if Christy ever actually reads my blogs because she always says she hates my shameless self promotion so that she deliberately doesn't. She's too busy doing the Lambeth walk and having a butcher's hook with her mince pies at all the Brad Pitt fellers dahn Old Kent Road.
Friday, 16 March 2007
Now I can't pretend I totally understand this man, he is talking fluent American after all, but the jist appears to be that our beloved Joss Stone, she of the vomit clothes and hair like a hippy Ronald Mc Donald, screws producers in order to get songs written for her.
I think she may have been hitting the wrong ting though, because her songs are poooooooooo.
She should of had a crack at Timbaland, the reasons for Nelly's ho-tastic comeback suddenly becoming all too clear....
p.s Joss Stone's thankyou list for her album was so big it's all online. I will spare you reading the 7,000 odd words, but here are the highlights:
" serene, what can i say? GIRL, YOU CAN COOK! no joke, that was some serious cheesecake."
"thank u to everyone who helped to make the vision come to life."
" khari parker, you’re crazy on those drums, man. you’re like the bigger, blacker version of mary poppins"
"i can’t imagine what’s going on in your head. it’s like you have a computer built in ur brain somewhere. you’re so young and have a great ear. i have a feeling your life going forward is gonna be a great one – busy, but great"
"steve was my engineer when i was writing, so somehow a bunch of basian sayings came up. steve makes a song including quite alot of the sayings. the lyrics were this: “you cant rub sh** in my mouth and tell me it looks good" of course with accent, the whole thing."
"a humongous thank you to meres the artist who painted us. it took hours."
"James brown, i’m on a plane right now writing all this. since you died, i haven’t even been able to listen to ur music let alone talk to anyone about u."
"fact: lauryn hill is not crazy or racist. i have the proof. so whoever it is who started that rumour, i believe should put a call in to miss hill and apologise for the heartache and stress and unnecessary frustration that has been put on her family for that remark. did this person (you know who you are and are lucky i do not)"
" all my love to the music, god, my family, my friends. my dogs dusty springfield and missy elliott,"
Oh god I can't read any more, my brain is melting. www.jossstone.com/thankyou if your grey matter is made of sterner stuff!
Than a photo of a cat in a sandwich? Aaaaaah bless! He thinks he's a chicken breast! I wonder if this constitutes animal abuse? He does look pretty miffed, but I would with a giant brioche on my head. And I like brioche.
Jesus, I just imagined the sensation of crushing cheese, lettuce and cat head in my mouth. Urg, urg, urg. So much for a reprive from the sickness induced ranting. I need to go lie down.
Thursday, 15 March 2007
Woman One "Ooh my contact lenses really hurt."
Woman Two "Mine don't, and I've had them in all day!"
Woman One "Fuck off you tedious oboe playing cunt!"
(well, I did say a little like this..)
There is a certain advert for debt consolidation services where they have some outraged middle aged woman talking about her friend who "had more money going out than coming in every month. The bills stacked up but she thought she could cope blah blah blah".
I'm not sure if I'm missing the point and this woman is talking in the third person because she is so ashamed to be poor, but as I see it this is an odeous busy-body, most often found with eye pressed against a hole in the fence, spying on what brand of underwear her neighbours hang up to dry, speaking on behalf of her 'friend'. Urg, I can see her fat busybody arse wobbling as she bends procariously down to peer through the the waist high hole whilst her husband tuts from the doorway.
Critisizing Loan companies is a bit like shooting cheap-suited fish in a barrell, so I will resist the urge to sprout pages of obvious jokes about Cunt with a videocamera who hopes "they don't cancel the football" and Carol Cunting Voderman and her pastel coloured money balloons and the Cunts who both listen to the phone, nod in unison and then lovingly embrace as they decide to re-mortgage their home and put their child's future at risk. Oh, and the cunting birds that have somehow found themselves in debt even though they are fucking AVARIANS and have no concept of money. If this is the case, what chance do us poor humans have?
Finally, who are all these men in cheap suits proffering money? It doesn't feel like help, it feels like being a prostitute trying to retain her dignity as she untangles her flimsy underwear from the springs in the broken old mattress she is sprawlled on.
AND they will then come back in six months and demand their money back with interest, which they will then fan out like the first cheap suited man above, smack you in the face with it and then leave after gobbing on your hair.
Don't you just love how she rocks the 'broken neck and arse for a chest' look? The tampon string adornment is just genius!
New York was a tranny-liscious contestant on 'Flavor of Love' a show where Flavor Flav of Public Enemy put girls through their paces in his search for his ideal woman.
What this actually meant is that Flav and twelve mental fame-hungry ho bags all live in a house together, bitching, sniping and gobbing at each other whilst Flav pretty much gets to shag each of them, shout 'Flavor Flaaaaaav!' really loudly at random intervals and spend the rest of the time sniggering whilst said bitchfighting happens.
New York came second, but stood out from the other girls, not only because she apparently TRULY HONESTLY WITH ALL MAH HEART (much chest pounding and tears)loved the senile rasin that is Flav, but because she openly admitted (all the time) she hated the other girls and shot them looks of death whenever Flav decided he wanted to have a snog/grope their arses/make hideously crude comments which was pretty much most of the time.
I particularly liked it when her Mum visited to meet Flav and turned out to be the most down-to-earth, anti-reality tv woman ever. She also said what the viewers had been thinking all along:
"Honey he is a 46 year old man who wears a giant clock around his neck. It doesn't even have batteries in it. Come on now."
I should actually be making New York's dragon of a Mum POTD, but she would not have been so great had she not given birth to the most deluded, unwittingly hilarious, fame-hungry, fabulously transvestite looking daughter in the world EVAH.
Wednesday, 14 March 2007
I actually think I want the above object more than I have ever wanted anything in the world ever. Ever (except a small rubber cow, but that is a long story) There used to be one when I worked at Ha Ha and dispite my constant wheedling and hinting I wasn't allowed to nick it, regardless of the fact it was hidden away in the upstairs office.
I do collect Maneki Neko, although in a particularly lame fashion whereby I find one, deem too expensive and not buy it. I also appear to suffer from involuntary alturism spasms whereby someone who is half interested says something along the lines of 'huh cool.' and before I know it I have shrieked 'Oh cool! Have it!' and thrown it into their greasy mits. Collecting does not come easily to me.
Mind you, as collecting random crappy objects go they are not too bad - they're meant to be good luck and guard your home from badness should they be facing a door and it is true, so far I have not dropped dead, been made bankrupt or been particularly unlucky *touch wood*
Actually it would be nice if there was a specific one for good luck in the job market. Or one that helped you make your mind up about what to do with your bloody life. Or one that eradicated Indian Meal Moths from your kitchen. I suppose I will HAVE to go to Oriental City in Colindale to try and find one...it seems to make so much more sense than going on productionbase or paying Rentokil hundreds of pounds.
Should anyone feel sufficiently moved by my tales of wheedling and being an upstanding citizen by not stealing from the crappy bar I worked in, they could buy the Asahi Cat off ebay for me.. HERE! *
* well, it's worth a go...remember that woman who had bought too many shoes so she made a website and stupid people gave her money?
I'll even give you a tip in return - Pearson's in Wood Green shuts down on Sunday and there is a fare bit of bargain madness to be had - I got 6 nice big wineglasses that twang when you flick them in a suitably quality manner for £5! You will get torn to shreads by shrivelled old ladies and muslim women with their 40 children in tow, but it's worth it!
Monday, 12 March 2007
www.postsecret.blogspot.com is a great blog where people are encouraged to put their secret on a postcard and send it in. They show one every week in the Observer Magazine, but this is the origional source. It can get a bit sappy with people saying how it changed their lives and whatever whatever, but otherwise tis great!
www.grouphug.us is another confession site which we had great fun with at Uni, mainly posting secrets like 'the guy downstairs at my uni halls in Leeds really stinks and is fat and ate all my waffles' OH we were such wags!
The Sounds - Tony the Beat
Dragonette - I Get Around.
Now THIS is how music videos should be:
I have very mixed feelings about Lorne Spicer - host of such mid-morning televisual feasts as Car Booty and Beat the Bailiffs. On one hand, these are odious programmes where thick poor people try and raise some dosh by selling their worldly possessions, or in the case of BtB they have them taken away so they can see what it is like to not have lots of things they can't afford.
On the other hand it is Lorne's barely hidden contempt for the skraggy thick subjects of the show and their cheap crap possessions that actually makes the show even half worth watching.
The Bailiff programme is particularly funny as all she basically does is repeat herself over and over with words to the effect
"You spend shitloads of money you don't have on utter utter shite. If you didn't feel the need to spend £100000000 on the lottery/woofers for your car/breast implants for your dog/imitation samuri swords off QVC you would be a lot richer and we would not have to send an actor last seen playing a mugger in the Bill to act as a Bailiff and take it all away in a display so lame that you will consider your actions for about a second before taking out several new credit cards the minute we pack up and leave."
I think Lorne thinks she should be on one of those Saturday morning cooking programmes, or making the leap to a guest spot on This Morning, but the powers that be are keeping her down in jobs that make her spend half her life in stinky council houses or in fields at 6am on Saturday mornings.
I think this is probably because she has the dark flashing eyes and small sharp teeth that remind some BBC executive of being mauled by a small Terrier dog as a child. Or they want to keep her away from live television cookery in case she decides to skin and cook Antony Worrall Thompson (the squashed BeeGee - how fantastic) instead of the nice chicken provided.
On the upside she does have a fantastic name AND will be able to earn lots of money David Dickinson style by touring universities and barely hiding her contempt for the pissheads who spill snakebite over her as she attempts to place value on their mobile phones and plastic jewellery.
Speaking of BBC television cookery - ewwwwwwwwww!
Saturday, 10 March 2007
I think it must be because I am out of my hallowed stamping grounds for the weekend that I have been overtaken by a sudden love for all that is random, great and situated within the N8, N22 and N6 postcode.
Should you ever find yourself wandering down Turnpike Lane towards Green Lanes (and why not? The baklava is second to none) you will come across this, possibly the most specific marketing board that exists. On one hand it is quite logical; given the general ethnicity of the area, if one wished to create a base to market Cyprus potatoes from this should be it. On the other, why should a species of potato need a marketing board? Where is the Maris Piper Marketing Board? Do they compete in 5-a-side football against each other?
Well whatever, they aren't doing a great job, as I have never even heard about Cyprus potatoes, and possessing a childhood that was reluctantly spent on an allotment labelling potato shoots, I KNOW my spuds.
So I have to admit I cynically assumed it was a front for drugs or prostitution or something of that ilk, but then I found this on http://www.thisishampshire.com
Dear God this is boring. I should have invented a story about how I discovered a drugs raquet (racket? one of them anyway) or the Cyprus Mafria or a load of prostitutes dressed up as giant potatoes, but no, it is just about these boring old spuds.
Friday, 9 March 2007
Do you remember Jonathan King, the music producer who was jailed for kiddy fiddling a few years ago? Count yourself lucky if you don't because he is an utterly creepy repellant man. Anyway, he has now been released and has somehow slimed his way back into the recording studio to record this abomination where he basically condones and glorifies his EVIL WICKED PAEDO ACTIONS (capitals courtesy of the Daily Mail) and somehow managed to liken his ordeal at being locked up for abusing children to being pursecuted by the Nazis. I believe the choice phrase "pursuading the young that love is wrong" says it all.
Actually I didn't watch to the end, it was too annoying/enraging/assulting on the eardrums, but gold stars to those who do!
Thursday, 8 March 2007
Just watching a documentary on him now, he is basically like Michael Moore but a Michael Moore who doesn't obviously distort his facts so much and is a hell of a lot more likeable.
He is a radio DJ, writer (see left) and standup comic and I think he is now running for senate or something somewhere too.
I quite like the fact that Fox News sued over this book (fair and balanced is their news trademark) but the case was laughed out of court because Franken's book is pretty much as impartial as their news output i.e not at bloody all.
He is one of those people who is constantly being attacked by rabid republicans but always manages to come back with good humour AND win the argument. As one who tries to use this technique all the time but gets so caught up in being a wit that the whole point is totally lost, I have great respect for him. For mainly this reason therefore he is my official P.O.D (not that that means much as the only other person to be awarded this accolade so far is Yahoo Serious)
Wiki-wiki-wah should you desire more info (its well annoying how I can't work out how to make the linkage bits a brighter colour. Click on the Wiki anyway)
Yes, that is right, your eyes do not decieve you - this bright spark had pac man tattooed all over his arse. Actually I think the term 'best tattoos ever' is a bit of a lie as the more I look the worse it gets. Don't the maze bits look like primitive penises? Is it a subtle hint at a love for rimming?
What is the actual point of tatooing your arse? Unless you get it out often to show the lads in an 'me-redblooded-me-no-homo' way it is only ever appreciated by toilet microbes. I mean, if you bring a lady home (I am assuming this is an ostensibly straight male who has done this, if it was a lady or a 'bottom' it would make more sense) she isn't going to see too much of it anyway, UNLESS you use the line 'come home and check out my arse' in which case you may be in for a lonely night.
Still, each to their own, it is origional and it will keep the grandchildren entertained until their mother comes home, kicks your saggy naked sixty year old arse out the door and calls the police.
Wednesday, 7 March 2007
I'm not sure how I found out about this fellow, who looks like a cross between Carrot Top (another entrant for P.O.D, possibly to be renamed Ginger of The Day at this rate) and Nev who I used to work with in Ha! Ha!
His Wikipedia entry is HERE but in summary it appears he makes films about Einstein being an Aussie (hence the cockatoo, Ayers Rock and general sense of over confident masculine bravado) I'm guessing he probably goes to France too, maybe on a tug boat...good times had by all? Who can tell. My Lovefilm subscription is running out so sure as hell not me!
I did find out that he changed his name in promotion for this undoubtably fantastic film, only to be unable to change it back as Australia only allows people to change their names once.
And that he tried to sue Yahoo! and lost.