Thursday, 31 January 2008

Chris Moyles, the Curse of the Lazy

So some sort of poll or other is in and the Chris Moyles Show on Radio 1 gets more listeners than ever. And, it has to be shamefully admitted, the Biche is one of them.
I used to listen to Chris when he did the afternoon show. In retrospect I can't quite remember why, as these days getting home from work (or school as it was then) means practically falling straight into the fridge with arms and mouth wide open before even taking my coat off, followed by a long sit on the sofa in front of various Hollyoaks on various varieties of channel 4. Oh yes, it is a life of hedionism indeed.
But anyway, I digress. The Chris Moyles show used to be quite funny. IT DID! Never laugh out loud, but it might make you do that thing where you snuff a little air our your nose, such as you might get when you see a dog dressed up as a robot.

Now? It seems to soully exist of Chris playing sound effects again and again while his team of sycophants laugh their heads off. Dear god! It is the aural equivalent of banging your head against a wall! Or rather listening to someone banging their head against a wall while being cheered on by morons. What irks the most is that you know that Chris gets money every time he plays the stupid bloody jingle, as he owns the jingle company*

But for all the hideous annoyance of hearing an unneccesarily long jingle five times in a row, I time dragging my corpse out of bed by the 8am news, even though it is talked over by Chris and always with an unneccesarily long sport news section.

And I reckon this is the crux of the problem. Who can be arsed to retune their radio at 8am? It's one of those groundhog day stresses like 'oh GOD I need to buy some more forks' or 'FUCK, no showergel'

Every day you will curse yourself as you eat pasta with a spoon, abuse your eardrums and smell of Pantene from head to toe, but once that hideous little episode is over it will flee your brain so rapidly that even when you stand still and think 'now what was it I needed to do?' half an hour later, you will not remember.

So basically, I can't really insult Chris and co for being lazy, unimaginative and incredibly repetitive. I am all three too...between the hours of 7pm and 8am at least, or midnight and about 11am if the pub intervenes.

*or something like that. Something scandalous that no one seems to care about and I can't be fagged to find a link to prove.

Tuesday, 29 January 2008

Speaking of a Lack of Dignity....

Who the hell would wear this T shirt from Zara? Maybe the same woman I wrote about two posts ago, if the designer vagina recliner is too much of a subtle hint..

Designer Vagina Recliner

Parents coming round for tea? Thinking they are starting to question whether Rico the 20 year old hairdressing apprentice is really your lodger? In your one bed loft apartment just off Soho Square? With your pet dog, who inexplicably has a nametag saying 'Dolly' when his name is Rover?

Well this is then this is the sofa for you! Nothing screams 'I am a heterosexual man! God I love doing it, doing it with women!' more than a giant pink vagina sofa.. why you are loving women every time you sit down!

Also suggested for women who are fed up with 20 years of boob grab, roll, shove, shove, shove, sigh, roll, snore from their husbands, or anyone who is old enough to buy a sofa but still calls their vagina a 'noo noo' or 'foo foo' or 'front bottom'

Monday, 28 January 2008

Chinese New Year Themed Pathetic News Stories of The Day

A rat was given the kiss of life by an animal-loving policeman.
The poorly rodent was spotted by PC Adam Westall while on his beat.
'It ran out in front of me and stopped and looked up at me with its beady eyes,' PC Westall said.

'I cocooned him in my hands and he gave a shudder and fell unconscious. I tried to revive him by blowing into his whiskered nose and rubbing his belly.'

The rat did came round and he took it to a pet store in Clacton, Essex, but sadly it later died.

The Metro


THE RSPCA is appealing for information after a collapsed and dying pet rat was abandoned in Somerset.
The white male rat, which was in a very poor condition, was found by a member of public in a cage on a wall in South Street, Yeovil on the morning of Friday 25 May. The member of public took the animal to a nearby shop, who in turn alerted the RSPCA.
The RSPCA collected the animal and rushed him to a local vet, where it was decided that he would not recover and so he was put to sleep to end his suffering. The male rat was dying from the result of an untreated viral problem and had probably been suffering from diarrhoea and been in a poor condition for a number of days.

RSPCA newsletter
I have no idea who this woman is, but she pops up if you put 'sad rat' into google images and it made me chortle

"I say Roger, shall we petition after tea?"

This morning I receieved an email asking me to sign an official government endorsed petition for an extra bank holiday in November - 'Rememberance Monday' if you will.
I actually thought it was quite a good idea, partially because I am lazy and wish to suppliment my 'massive' 24 days holiday allowance, and partially because I think it is a good idea.
By sheer co-incidence I happened to be reading Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks around November last year, and by another possibly less coincidence lead action I was severely hungover on Rememberance Sunday, so ended up watching an entire day of themed programmes on TV.

This lead me to several conclusions: mainly that people today don't know they are born, also that much as I oppose the current wars in the Middle East, the British troops who are out there being maimed and abused for very little pay should be given more respect, and finally that more should be done to remember those who died horrible unneccesary deaths.

But anyway. If you even faintly agree with me on the above, or are more likely already planning a little November city break, the petition you can sign is HERE

On a lighthearted note, I had a noodle around the petitions website, and found some fantastic little causes...

Now bear in mind, the above have actually been approved for petition... for some strange reason the below list was denied:
  • Give Freedom to Tooting

  • Stop Torturing Me by the Electromagnetic Microwave Weapon

  • Have A Sponsored Pole Vaulting Festival
  • Ban Broccoli as an Edible Foodstuff and Reclassify it as a Toxic Substance

  • Persuade Graham Coxon to Rejoin Blur

  • Send James Hedley to Outer Mongolia Until He Has Recovered from the Plague

I love it, the mere action of petitioning - let alone all the petitions above - from the pedantic to the pisstake are SO British it makes me a little warm inside.

The Speeches of Biches - Heartily Not Endorsing Adele

In a shock move that departs from every single other outlet that could even possibly call itself 'media', The Speeches of Biches has decided not to endorse Adele as The Next Big Thing and Our Lord and Saviour. Chasing Pavements is an overblown crash of a meaningless song, and she looks like the bastard child of Moomintroll and Little My.
However it is not all subversion and Finnish cartoons here at Speeches HQ. I am most heartily and in a flag waving fashion 'bigging up' Ready for The Floor by Hot Chip...

I have to admit the lead singer reminds me a little bit too much (in real life, not in this vid particularly) of one of those humanities students who go out of their way to be fucking wacky all the time... like wandering into a conversation and going 'hey guys! I was thinking, would you rather live in a bouncy castle or on a cloud?' and then the one friend you have who is a bit that way inclined but you tolerate it because they are otherwise cool, will go 'Oh man I would have a cloud called Cloudopolis and it would thunder purple when I fart and I would rain cheese all over your Bouncy Cottage' and they would then start a four hour dialogue about utter bullshit while you grind your teeth and wish for a falling bit of overhead masonry.

But the guitarist looks like Boris Becker so I forgive them.

Saturday, 26 January 2008

Photo of the Day - Mao Please!

- Darling, what shall we name our new restaurant?

- I know! Why don't we name it after the man generally credited with causing the largest famine in human history?


- Will there be an exclaimation mark for comic effect?

Friday, 25 January 2008

Cloverfield: An Uneasy Biche writes..

Like most people who piddle away their lives on the internet, and whose endless search for gossip cannot be saited by UK websites, I was getting mildly excited about the release of Cloverfield.
For those who have been hiding under rocks/not online (same difference) It concerns New York under monster attack in an action movie stylee, but from the perspective of some ordinary New Yorkers with videocameras who are having a party... what is it? What will happen? Will they escape the city? Bravo JJ Abrams again etc..

Then last night I caught The Falling Man on More 4. For those who haven't seen it, it is, for all the usual amount of naff philosophising and talking heads, an ultimately heartbreaking documentary, although this is largely down to the unforgettable footage.
It is basically about all the people who jumped from the WTC on 9/11; people who either took control of their lives or committed the 'sin' of suicide, depending who you ask. Whatever one calls their actions, the resulting photos and footage, which were generally considered the most shocking of the day, were pretty much omitted from all coverage in a remarkable act of mass censorship. Even when they were pubished in a few outlets the public complained in such great numbers they were not reprinted for a very long time.
Indeed the whole issue was so delicate that when a journalist called the NY City Morgue to enquire how many deaths from jumping they had, the mortician replied that 'there had been no jumpers. People were sucked out the buildings by the wind but no one jumped.'

Anyway, as the documentary focussed on journalists who were trying to identify the one man in the photo above, one individual out of the thousands who died, it made me think about Cloverfield and it's narrative. On one hand, it is similar to the documentary as it personalises a tragedy to a small group of people affected by it. However it is also monster action movie, so it has equal amounts in common with Austin Powers' 'does anyone think of the Henchmen's family?' genre parody.

And that's cool..I'm not a Daily Mail reader, I wouldn't discourage anyone from seeing Cloverfield, in fact I probably will go see it. But whereas before I would just get into the spirit of it and have a good couple of hours, now I think I would feel decidedly uneasy. We have seen New Yorkers die as their city is attacked for real. Even if it is a flipping reptile and not two planes, it's still rather close to the bone given the way it is filmed and the New Yorker's POV (although that is obviously the point.)

It just seems that time and perspective are funny things...when it happened, we knew thousands had died, but many objected to seeing one actual body as it was deemed too disturbing and disrespectful. Seven years on, you can make an action movie parodying the day and no one bats an eyelid. Is that progress or desesitization? I really don't know.

*serious post over. Let's get back to the screaming queens, eh?*

Thursday, 24 January 2008

A Sad Indictment of 21st Century Life

Yesterday my friend was mugged by two men who stamped on her face and attempted to steal her bag and phone. They failed on both counts, but she was left severely bruised and with a broken nose. She staggered to the local gym, where they called the police and me, as I live around the corner.

When I rush down to the YMCA about five minutes later, I find my friend giving her statement to the police..and being filmed.

'Err... why is there a camera?' I asked as I helped to calm her down and wipe blood off her face.
'Is this some new police thing?'
'Oh, we're being filmed for a reality tv series' the policeman taking the statement said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
'You can have your face blurred if you want..'
Ignoring him I turned to my friend, who was still pretty hysterical but slowly starting to make sense.
'Did you agree to this?' I asked
'Dunno, I didn't really ask why.' was her dazed reply.

Disapproving, but too distracted to really kick up a fuss about exploitation and release forms, I steadily ignored them hovering as I wiped blood, called family and waited for the ambulance.

And waited.

And waited.

About half an hour later my friend was still bleeding quite badly and the ambulance hadn't come.
'Can we not get a lift in your car?' I asked the policeman
'Err no, there are four of us, so plus you two there wouldn't be room.'
*ten minutes pass*
'Well, could you not leave the camera crew here, give us a lift and then come back and collect them? I think some things can be left undocumented'
'Errrm I'm not sure.'
*Look of Death from Biche*
*whispered discussion between coppers and cameras*
'Yes, yep we can do that, please make your way to the car'

I wonder if that part will make it onto the tellybox...

Wednesday, 23 January 2008

A New Found Respect for Jerry O' Connell

Well, okay not really 'respect', but his parody of Tom Cruise's gaga Scientology ramblings makes me laugh, so I guess I would think of him more favorably if he ever happened to flit across my braincells again

Tuesday, 22 January 2008

:( Fallen Idols

It's such a bizarre sociological..paradox.. when someone famous dies. Lots of people feel very deeply affected by it and are genuinely sad, yet the main reason we liked them is purely because they were good looking. Ultimately. Which is maddeningly shallow.
That said, it is weird when an old teenage crush dies. Almost nostalgic. And what with poor old Heath and Brad Renfro last week, Christian Slater and the lead singer of the Seahorses (ahem) had better watch their backs..that's all I'm saying

Biche Tries to Make Good, part un.

1 of an occasional series of Biche's attempts to Be Good. Chances of it being a very occasional series bordering on one off are pretty high. This time...

Blood Donation

This has not been an easy undertaking, indeed my first attempt at altruism was cruelly snubbed at the last minute. After merrily sitting through fifty questions along the lines of 'have you ever received money or drugs for sex?' and 'have you ever had sexual intercourse with a man who has, or even possibly has, had sex with another man?, I fell at the last hurdle. 'Have you been on holiday recently?' It was said so casually I almost thought I was being chatted up by the jolly bald nurse, were he not the spit of That Gay Guy from Airport in a pair of latex disposable gloves.
'Well not really. I went on a trip with work to Miami a few weeks ago but that was business'....'

That was the end of that. Turns out that Hurricane Katrina, that cruel meteorological mistress of 2005, had unleashed not just death but a consequential load of mosquitoes upon the southern United States. And apparently me, having had a pissup on a golf resort two years later - which could have been in Basildon for all of Miami I actually saw - could have been smoted by one of the nasty little buggers (or great great great relative thereof) and be carrying Yellow Nile Fever.
Pointing out that I hadn't been bitten (not having a limb like a giant meat filled balloon is usually a good sign for me) and felt fit as a fiddle was not enough. I was kicked out the door so quickly it made me wish I had answered questions like 'did you receive growth hormones before 1985' more humerously. ("You have to understand the 1980's were not the place for a toddler with a head the size of a satsuma", incidentally)

Round two. My altruism had been thwarted, but like the spirit of New Orleans (grasping for a connecting simile here..) it was not dead. Diseased, but not dead.
So, right on cue, a month after I had come back from Miami I pootled back to the Donor Centre.
Once again I had to wait while Deal or No Deal blared in the background. Once again I smirked my way through the questionaire, getting distracted by imagining my past conquests getting it on with other men, having sex for drugs and all the various things they didn't do, and then wondering if I would have liked them more if they had.
My nurse this time was a pissed off african woman of about four foot tall, wearing a jesus of about two foot tall around her neck. After replying that I had not been to the southern United States in the last month etc etc, she pootled off to file my answers with the computer.

Now I love modern technology, I think computers are great and make all of our lives easier and more interesting. They give you something to play on when you can't be bothered to talk to your flatmate, and allow you to solve great mysteries of our time, like 'so IS that Marilyn Manson in the Wonder Years?' (no) and 'what are the two white spots by my eye?' (keratin filled cysts called milia) What I don't like however, is the morons that work computers. Like the berk at the Donor Centre who put the date I was allowed to give blood as a month from when I last came into the Centre, not the two weeks earlier event of me going to Deathtrap Miami.
'Ya karn give blood tuh deay'
'Oh, but that date is wrong. I can give blood, it's been a month'
'Thu computah say naah.'
'Yeah but I'm clean! I'm clean!' (sounding like di Caprio in Basketball Diaries)
'Nah. Yuh caaan do it tuh deh.'
Both Jesus and his surly little carrier host were giving me the evil eye by this point, and so that was that Little Britain episode over and I sulked back home again.

I sort of forgot about it after that and got on with my life, farting around doing non altruistic things like buying small microwaveable pots of risotto, debating whether to tip the hairdresser before slinking out, trying to dig milia out my eyelid with tweezers and cleaning the bathroom. That last act is was not even slightly altruistic incidentally, it had got to the stage where catching things far worse than Yellow Nile Fever seemed possible with every shower, and if my flatmate died it would be SO much hassle to find a new one.

Then the letters came. Junk mail on principle annoys me, so I threw it away unread, be it from Windows4U or small African orphans with no teeth. Then the phonecalls. I was a woman hounded, but while I have no compunction with, indeed quite like telling cold callers where to shove it (or that I am dead, either one) I couldn't do it with the Blood People.

So today I went back. I sat. I answered. I successfully passed the anemia test which I feared would be my third-time-lucky sign from God that I was not put on this earth to be altruistic. I waited some more. I was sat in in a reclining chair and was gently patronised by a woman while she merrily tried to find my vein. And then some more when she called over the Head Nurse to find my vein as it was proving a bit elusive.
'My mum said the doctor always found it quite hard to find her veins' I added helpfully.
Then clench, gnrrrrr, sting and the needle was in.
'Hmmm it's not coming out much. Can you wiggle your hand please?' The patronising woman said in a voice of an exasperated babysitter.
'It appears to be bruising. This isn't great as we might only have ten minutes before it clots' she added.
'When I last got a blood test I got a massive bruise so I looked for a junkie for a week...' I said in an overly cheerful voice, cut short by the sight of the po faces on the woman and the Head Nurse.

I was left alone after that. Some jolly bleeder was admitted who was hooked up, squirting away and carrying out an animated conversation about Edmonton within roughly two minutes, while I slowly dripped next to her.

After about eleven minutes of vague discomfort, squashed balls of tissue and far more information about mobile blood units in Edmonton than I ever hoped to overhear again, I was released. Well, not really, as I wasn't trusted to leave my seat until I had drunk an orange drink, seeing how I was new and evidentally a rather literal drip of a human being who couldn't even be trusted not to clot.

So that was that. I was lead to the waiting area, where I was able to watch an episode of Hollyoaks I had already seen twice (shame Jake, you should have known when you lied and said you were Charlie's father that he was blatantly going to get leukemia and need a bone marrow transplant!) and eat some free biscuits. I wasn't allowed tea as I was new - god knows why, they were probably worried I wouldn't know how to use a cup or would try and steal it or something - and then I was off, with only a slightly fuzzy head, two plasters and a nasty bruise as proof of my Good Deed.

Sunday, 20 January 2008

Hideous Myspace Graphics of the Day

What better way to 'show love to you page' than a delightful glittery image of a woman rendered incontinent by a massage, given by an angel with a flannel on his head?

Angel African American Profile Graphics

Maybe a superhuman paedophile with wings chasing your kids across a rickety rope bridge?

Happy 2008 ,You Bastard..

I recently received a desk calendar from a law firm who shall remain nameless. Most big companies shunt out branded crap around this time of the year, and desk calendars are popular as ideally it means you will plonk it on your desk and therefore be reminded of aforementioned big company for the next 52 weeks of the year.

Usually there is an inane theme like 'drawings by kids of the board members' or 'stock photos of seasonally relevent landscapes'.

This firm, either as a reflection of itself, or how it percieves it clientele, appears to have chosen the theme 'Cunty cliche work quotes for the office bastard in your life'Why not spend April 2008 shoving this in the face of anyone who asks you if you could possibly not answer the phone going 'What?' swiftly followed by 'Dunno. Dunno. Well fuck you too Tonto'

June 2008 - the sun will be shining, Glastonbury Festival will be kicking off, you will be in a perpetual sarky sulk because every time you glance at this calendar it both reaffirms your belief that you are a misunderstood by every single one of the 700 plebs you have to work with, and makes you chuckle, you absolute cunt.

July 2008 will be spent pushing around pencils, sighing in a loud irritating fashion and checking your eye wrinkles in the back of a CD (if over 30) and pushing around pencils, sighing in a loud irritating fashion and looking up 1980's cartoons on Wikipedia (if under 30)

2008 will be rounded off by using this quote every time your boss asks you why you have spent all day mooching around the office trying to nick as many different departments' homemade mince pies as possible. They will then prompty fire you and you will spend the Christmas break trying to work out what made you act like such a massive bastard this year.

Saturday, 19 January 2008

Dip Me in Crazy and Throw me to the Scientologists!

Going on from my earlier post (and last Scientology one for a while I promise) here is a list of some of the questions they apparently ask you during your 'auditing session', which you have to do when you decide to join the Church (you fucking moron, you!) They record all your answers, but for what other reason other than later blackmail, I know not.

Oh, to lighten proceedings and because I am bored, I have included my own hi-larious answers.

Have you ever enslaved a population?
I do own a hamster who is kept in a cage, but there is only one of him and he's always asleep anyway, so it's not exactly slavery per se

• Have you ever debased a nation's currency?

I have some Indian rupees, and it is apparently illegal to take them out the country, but as far as I know that's only lead to the economic downfall of the Jaipour region

• Have you ever killed the wrong person?

No no, I always get my man

• Have you ever torn out someone's tongue?

Only in the heat of the moment

• Have you ever been a professional critic?

Well my heart's not in it, I'm paying the price of living life to the limit. Cauuuught in the Century's anxiety.

• Have you ever wiped out a family?

The Moths, the Flying-Ants...oh god I just thought of a really rude joke involving male bodily fluids which will not be expanded upon.

• Have you ever tried to give sanity a bad name?

No! Yes! No! What did Tom Cruise put for this one? Is it a dealbreaker if I say no?

• Have you ever consistently practiced sex in some unnatural fashion?

No. I got rid of that heedious Ikea flowered duvet ages ago

• Have you ever made a planet, or nation, radioactive?

Yes. Pluto. Damn. You got me, you and you trip-me-up questions

• Have you ever made love to a dead body?

A lady never tells.

• Have you ever engaged in piracy?

I once tried to watch a pirate copy of Texas Chainsaw Massacre II, but the camcorder fell off the cinema seat at one point and a piece of popcorn on the arm rest loomed large like a dead fly in every shot so I gave up.

• Have you ever been a pimp?

Yes, but it was not a successful venture. There is not a large market for dead girls, as I bet you can attest to, looking back at people's answers to the question before last.

• Have you ever eaten a human body?

Only by accident. Steve gave me this hotdog and was like 'Man you gotta try this hotdog. It's amazing!' so I was like 'okay sure.' so I tried the hotdog and Steve is there grinning at me the whole time so I'm like 'Hey Steve? What's up with you bro?' and he's like 'Dude! That wasn't a hotdog, that was my finger in a bun! Psyche!' And then he like holds up his hand and there's this bloody stump where his middle finger should be and I'm like 'Aww dude! You totally got me that time bro!

• Have you ever disfigured a beautiful thing?

Well I constantly pick my fingers, which is the equivalent of Kate Moss compulsively scratching her face if you ask me.

• Have you given robots a bad name?

Love? Yes. Robots? No. Not unless you count my phone which I call a 'stupid piece of crap' every so often

• Have you ever set a booby trap?

Yes, I'm using new bait and these extra fine wires, so I expect a bumper haul of boobies this season

• Have you driven anyone insane?

No, as I am unable to park I have not been able to pass my driving test, and so the chance to go to france and plunge myself, my friends and a rental car into a river has not arisen.

• Is anybody looking for you?

Lionel Ritchie. Oh no wait, it's him I'm looking for. You can see it in my eyes.

• Have you ever made a practice of confusing people?


• Have you ever sought to persuade someone of your insanity?


• Have you ever smothered a baby?

In a delicious honey and soy marinade, overnight before barbequeing. Mwah!

• Have you ever castrated anyone?

No, but I like to think that after the glory of me, a man could never ever get aroused by anyone else, which is really the same thing. If it were true.

• Do you deserve to be enslaved?

I deserve this chance more than anybody. I've come on such a personal journey during this survey, ever since my nan stubbed her toe last year I have been in a turmoil, and it has taken this opportunity, this survey, to make me realise that I want this more than anything I've wanted ever before.

• Is there any question on this list I had better not ask you again?

If you asked me, I'd do it all again.. je regrette rien!

• Have you ever zapped anyone?

Define 'zap'. Is it a synonym for 'slowly but repeatedly poked in the eye with a tube of Pringles'? Then no.

"That's great Tom, now fuck off while I watch some good sci fi"

Now I have always hated Tom Cruise for many reasons; the shiteating grin, the vast sense of self importance that seems to radiate from him like a fart smell and the utterly creepy way he has turned Katie Holmes from a slappedarseface teenager in a overrated tv show into an automated Wifebot who looks anywhere between 25 and 60.

But the Scientology? That just took it to a whole new level of contempt. I am not a fan of religion any day, but it doesn't bother me if other people want to faff around kneeling down, chanting and building nice buildings because they think it will make death any less final. That's their problem. I do however care when people try to force their religions on others, and threaten anyone who dares question them. Particularly when their religion is utter bullshit made up by a mad sci fi writer and is not so much 'questionable' as straight out and out 'What. The. Fuck?'

Aaanyway, watching the recent videos of Tom Cruise blabbering on about Scientology with his fart smell of self importance so noxious it's a miracle it didn't knock out the entire production crew, I almost felt sorry for him.
It reminded me of when you babysit a child and instead of playing with their stupid little brother they want to hang out with you and talk about grown up stuff, like how to solve the war in Iraq, when all you want them to do is fuck off so you can watch Heroes.
The furrowed brow and staring eyes, the passionate speech of big words what they heard the man in the suit on the telly say earlier on today. The fact that none of it makes any sense whatsoever and is just a series of repetitive cliches said in different orders, much like :

"It is the time now. Now is the time... Being a Scientologist, people are turning to you, so you better know it, you better know it and if you don’t, go and learn it, but don’t pretend you know it. It’s like we’re here to help."


I would post the video, but the cultish nutbags are pulling them down, left right and centre, and I do so hate it when there is a video or photo on this blog that is no longer available.

The people at this website HERE appear to have a massive axe to grind about Scientology. I can't be bothered to read it all and it seems a bit militant, but they did hilariously point out how much the Scientology salute is reminiscent of Red Dwarf's Arnold Rimmer. So I like.

Sunday, 13 January 2008

"Sometimes people make a war, don't know what it's for...

...say you'll stop the war"

Aah Hungarian Rap. My favorite subgenre of regional popular music next to Tazmanian Drum n Bass and Szechuan Funk.

This marvellous little ditty is by a delightful rapper called Speak, which is a rather misleading name, given that most of his lyrics consist of grunts, 'huh's and 'yee comeon's.

Anyway, this post is for my brother (in a filial, not rap way) who can barely control his bodily functions whenever this song comes on