Tom Cruise is a twat part 1,2339492048757

‘I grew up wanting to kill Hitler,’ Cruise says of his suitability for the part. (in Valkyere)

‘As a kid I would run around with a pretend gun playing games, acting out the war films we watched on TV. It was like, “Who is going to be the Nazi?” And it was never me. I always wanted to be the one who was going to get them.

Oh rightio, that would make me a shoo-in for George Bush Snr in the upcoming dramatisation of the Gulf War, which as a child I would occasionally attempt to re-enact with my brother.*

And oddly enough, as I was the older bossy one, I was always 'the Americans' while he was left being Saddam Hussein and lying dead on the floor in about five minutes. It's a bit of a stretch to say that 'I grew up wanting to kill Saddam Hussein', though. (The Chuckle Brothers on the other hand...)

I wonder what happened to the kids Tom used to play with who were all 'ooh! Ooh! Can I be the Nazis? Pleeeease?'?*Have I mentioned this already in this blog? I have the sinking feeling I might have done... Father in foreign news? Advance knowledge of world affairs but obviously not so much that I knew about the UN coalition? Well anyway, there you go, it's a nice little story anyhoo...

High Wycombe - Where 'It' certainly is at

From the town's (population 92,300 located west-north-west of London...whatever the hell that means) Wikipedia entry:

"The university students union has seen many celebrities from The Killers, to several Big Brother stars to Vernon Kaye and former England Volleyball player Paul Galbraith.

The pub the White Horse appeared on 'Britain's toughest pubs'. They include free strip shows during the day. There is also a nightclub called the Blue Room in the suburb of Hazlemere."

I know, I know, THE Paul Galbraith, the man, the myth the legend...well certainly the myth, as although I have found him mentioned on at least three sites about High Wycombe, he does not appear to exist anywhere else (unless he also moonlights as a Scottish classical guitarist of some repute). Please attempt to prove me wrong, to think I am the only person who has ever wasted their life typing 'Paul Galbraith volleyball england' into Google is eminently depressing.

Well in any case his sexily elusive celebrity status still shits all over 'Mornonic Ken doll with Extra chewing gums for teefs' Vernon Kay and 'I look like Biche's friend Ben but, like, retarded' Brandon Flowers.

Incidentally, here is the Mayor of High Wycombe. Sexy beehatch has my haircut and taste for delicate refined jewellery.

As the De Menezes Inquiry rumbles on, now with added 'Fuck You'!

I really hope this is real and not a photoshop, because if it is, it's just about the best thing* ever.

UPDATE

I thought this pic was so brilliant I sent it to the equally brilliant Copyranter blog. It was posted on Animal NY along with this additional pic I took, to prove the caption was true:

Someone put this comment:

Why didn't they use the same poster image when they chopped those pictures?

Not only do they make themselves look stupid, they've made you look like a bit of an idiot too for falling for it.

Very bad taste. :(

Posted by John October 2, 2008 4:26 AM

Naturally, being the massive pedant that I am, this massively pissed me off. Yes okay, I should have corrected Copyranter when he accreditted the first pic to me (I never said I took it) and I should have noticed that the poster at Finsbury Park is in a different format but STILL.

So I took action.

Firstly, I wasted an entire lunchtime travelling down to Stockwell to look for the poster. Typically, it is no longer there, but I did speak to a man putting up new posters who confirmed that the poster had been up, but then got all afraid and aggressive when I asked him if I could film him saying so. (Shocking, I know... thank god I'm blonde and act like a moron. If I was Muslim I would be f**ked)

Anyway, so being me I wrote a pedantically moronic comment in response, whilst still realising I did not quite have enough ammo for a full FUCK YOU. Until this morning, when sadly gazing out the window of the tube in a small gap framed by some guy's armpit and a goth's wet hair, I saw something that made me audibly go 'yesssssssss' into the sodden dyed black locks.

So this evening, whilst being very aware that I was once again acting in a vaguely suspiscious manner - but trying to allay my fears by reasoning that no one would mistake someone carrying a cartoon themed umbrella and listening to Britney Spears as a terrorist - I got off a stop early, fannied around and managed to take these beauties:

And, to show the angle on the origional pic is possible:

John? FUCK YOU.

Incidentally, you might see that someone has drawn a speech bubble coming out of Pacino's mouth. It says 'These guys are so old'. Jokes!

Yours,
A. Pedant


*'best' in it's awestriking bumclenching awfulness

Baiting the 'Conservative Mothers Against Sarah Palin' Facebook Group

Because it's as easy peasy lemon squeezy and I like my friends on Facebook telling me I'm funny, like..

Mind you, given the actual true viewpoints of real, living, voting people out there it is also massively depressing.

Oh Noez! Eet ees the Recession!

Being brought up in the affluent 80's and 90's my only knowledge of recessions and stock market crashes came from the history classes I ignored because I was too busy txting people on my Nokia with it's one changeable cover or writing 'Spice Girls are Slags' on the back page of my exercise book. (how many people did that sentence alienate?)

This meant that when everyone started wittering on about recessions in the media I wasn't too concerned, because as I saw it, so long as we don't have to queue up for bread, fill wheelbarrows with fivers or dance the Charleston, it ain't that bad.

But wait! The warning signs have already started to emerge and infiltrate my self absorbed little world!

*First Direct now take bloody ages to answer their phone. Occasionally - typically when I NEED to speak to them when I have done something stupid like skipping off to eat my M&S sandwiches without first taking my card back from the cashier - I have been put on hold!

*Cadbury's chocolate bars now cost about 50p. But that could just be the greedy newsagent.

*The flatmate goes mad when she sees a good offer at the supermarket and we end up with 4 tubs of Flora Omega 3 margarine in our fridge. This encroaches dangerously on my olives and teeth whitening gel space.

*People at work start attempting to flog their gaudy Nike Air Force Ones on the intranet, as in these austere times they no longer want to look like a feckless neon teenager and instead dress in black like normal 30 year olds.

*More people quit smoking and in doing so eat more Kettle Chips to build up valuable body fat for when the food runs out. *ahem*

*It pours with rain the whole fucking time. It's impossible to have a recession when it is beautiful and sunny out, so thanks to greedy US banks and their sub prime motgages I am still wearing three layers plus a coat when scurrying between work and the Underground. This is a pathetic fallacy at work, and I won't have the weather centre or fables about 'April showers' tell me otherwise.

So whatistodo? Using the same line of thinking that lead me to ponder what in my flat could be made into a raft during the floods last year*, I have decided to take affirmative action. I am not going to buy stupid trainers, I'll keep that one cigarette I have left for future bartering NOT for when I am a bit drunk on Friday, and I'll put a new lock on the flat door to stop starving neighbours from breaking in and stealing my olives.

*The dinner table with lots of cling film wound round the legs with my guitar for a paddle

Who Watches the Watchmen?

Geek that I deep down am (well, scratch the surface really) I was quite excited by these photos of Ozymandias, the Nite Owl and the Comedian from the upcoming film of Alan Moore's Watchmen. I was somehow drawn into a massive long ramble about graphic novels just last week, where I waxed lyical about the complex storylines, the art and the skill at being able to convey a wide range of emotions or a whole backstory in just a frame to some family friends. Unfortunately for all my oratorial olympics, every time I paused for breath they would respond 'oh so they are like cartoons right?' or 'like Garfield?' until I imagined a graphic frame of me howling with frustration, causing the walls to shake, fists clenched and face upturned. It would be from above so you saw my upturned face with gritted teeth and eyes desparing, and I am flanked by the two well meaning family friends, one of whom has taken a Peanuts anthology from the shelf and is gesturing to it as if to say 'like this?' The other one would be wearing a cardigan and holding a mug saying 'Abergavenny Jazz Festival 1999' Don't you wish I could draw huh? Anyway, I really hope Watchmen will be good, Moore's other works that have been filmified range from V for Vendetta (v good) and From Hell (alright, but ruined by some shocking accents but saved by Johnny Depp) to The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (poo, dispite the presence of Stuart Townsend) One thing I wonder is how they are going to film the ending, which has New York being destroyed by a nuclear bomb for a greater good*. Mind you, they did Cloverfield, so I think Hollywood has got over the whole 'thousands of New Yorkers being killed by terrorists seven years ago' thing, those brave resilient Los Angeles producers...









*Well, in a rather large nutshell, but I don't want to ruin the book for people who haven't read it and really really should.

No Chicken Soup for YOU!

Actually that is a complete lie, it turns out there is more than enough Chicken Soup to go round..too much in fact so you end up with titles like this one to the right----->

The 'Adopted Soul'? That sounds like some sort of Voodoo to me, but I guess it is comforting to know that if you were ever possessed by the spirit of a child (of any colour of the rainbow!) that there would be a book for you.

Other wonderful titles in the series include:

Chicken Soup for the Unsinkable Soul - perfect for that cruise holiday!

Chicken Soup for the American Idol Soul - so you can make it all tasty before selling it to Simon Cowell

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Children with Special Needs (WHAT a chicken out - pardon the pun - surely it should be 'chicken soup for the 'special' soul')

Chicken Soup for the Survivng Soul - yeah your body is dead, but your non physical self is still floating around in need of warm poultry liquid in written form

Chicken Soup for the Dieter's* Soul - It's the only form of Chicken Soup you can stomach now! (apart from maybe that powdered cuppa soup stuff that tastes like shit)

Chicken Soup for the Military Wife's Soul - calming words and anecdotes not including the one about the wife whose husband was thousands of miles away risking his life in a pointless war and when she next saw him he was be a vegetable and she had to live in poverty for the rest of her life as the government wouldn't pay out.

*sigh* Ooh I feel all warm now.


* Like people on a diet, not a book aimed at a small percentage of the male German population

Bigotry, Politics and Butt Ugly Puppets

It has to be said it is not unknown for the Biche to make generalising slurs against the Irish, using only her Irish surname and an encounter with an Irish boys school in a hotel in Rome as justification. And this is obviously bad and wrong; emigrating to Australia, dropping an O' before coming back over to England a hundred years later is not exactly what one would call an authority on such matters, and probably any school of seventeen year old boys would try and rape several members of a London sixth form as 'English girls are slags'.

But I digress.

Regardless of my ill conceived prejudiced ideas about the Irish, this is a nation which has allowed a puppet of a Turkey to not only have FOURTEEN hit singles and SIX albums (including a greatest hits) but also possibly represent them in Eurovision 2008.

And who is this Turkey Puppet? Why Dustin the Turkey! A sidekick from the Zig and Zag show, a hideous cultural low of the nineties in it's own rights, but thankfully, for those of us who live outside the Emerald Isle and value our eardrums, one that ended in 1993.

But wait! I hear you cry (in my head) surely you love trash culture in all it's forms! No. Zig and Zag, two ugly shouty puppets that looked like the kind of crappy scummy toys you find hanging off the front of a dustbin van with ping pong balls for eyes, are one of the exceptions to the rule. It's like people who like musicals not liking Rent (fools!). I also bear this grudge as we had two goldfish at school back in those dark days that I wanted to call Salt and Pepa, but thanks to stupid democracy and a show of hands, ended up being called after the two scummy bits of old flannel.

A further note about Dustin, which again, Biche would never dream of using to strengthen her tenuous dislike of the Irish, is the fact that in the 1997 General Election, several THOUSAND Irish people nulled their ballots by voting for 'Dustin'.

Mind you, in a clime where several thousand Londoners are going to effectively sully their ballots by voting for a racist ignorant Tory on the account that he is a 'jolly funny fellow' and 'a bit PG Wodehouse' I can't really criticize. I'd vote for a hideously ugly assemblage of braying flannel over Boris any day.

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?

*pause*

- Will there be an exclaimation mark for comic effect?