I bloody love 'Thou Shalt Always Kill' by Scroobius Pip, so when I heard the new De La Soul remix on 6Music today, product of the Smash Hits generation that I am, I tried to find the new lyrics online. Naewhere tae by found.
Therefore I have just wasted a good half hour of my life, writing them down for you, dear reader (and my god do my poor finger joints now hurt). There are a couple of bits I couldn't catch, but I guess if you wait a couple of months it will be on one of those psycho spammy websites where you get the chance to download a ringtone/virus and flashing bejewelled Dan Le Sac with your lyrics.
If you haven't heard the song, here is the video. It's great.
Thou shalt not assume that because I'm a Leo I will act real proud.
Thou shalt not type 'lol' unless you're really laughing out loud.
Thou shalt not ???? verve on your voice so you can say 'thou shalt not'.
Thou shalt not think everyone with a beard is a terrorist.
Thou shalt not think that having a blog makes you a journalist.
Thou shalt not lie to anyone under the age of six, unless it's concerning major holidays.
When someone dies thou shalt no longer be under obligation to cry saying 'he'll be missed' knowing good and well that he was an asshole.
Thou shalt not take the names of Paul Newman, Jimmy Stewart, James Dean, Humprey Bogart, Groucho Marx, Geroge Carlin or Midge Hedberg in vain.
Thou shalt choose a political party based on their policies, as opposed to just going with who your family's always supported; they are not a football team.
Yo and you should not be mad, that everywhere you go, outside your pad, smells like cigarettes because no one can smoke inside now.
Thou shalt not upload half naked pictures to an folder called 'Me and my Bitches' then get upset and get in stitches when you get more ???????
Thou shalt not read NME.
Thou shalt not rush to buy the next Ipod.
Thou shalt not buy Coca-cola products, thou shalt not buy Nestle products.
Thou shalt not rush home to watch X Factor.
Thou shalt not rush De La Soul into making his next album... yo lemme do it again, let me do that one again.
Thou shalt not put musicians or recording artists onto ridiculous pedistals no matter how brave they are, or were.
The Beatles? Just a band
Led Zepplin? Just a band
The Beach Boys? Just a band
The Sex Pistols? Just a band
The Beastie Boys? Just a band
A Tribe Called Quest? Just a band
Organised Confusion? Just a band
De La Soul? Just a band
Foals? Just a band
The Ting Tings? Just a band
The Streets? Just a band
Kid Carpet? Just a band
Radiohead? Just a band
Bloc Party? Just a band
The Arctic Monkeys? Just a band
Next big thing? Just a band
Thou shalt not refer to any of my peeps as 'people', if that word 'people' is following after the world 'you' and be spoken by someone not of colour.
Thou shalt not point out to me how stupid it is to call myself a 'person of colour' but then get mad if someone not of colour calls me a 'coloured person'.
Thou shalt not fuck with my children.
Thou shalt not fuck with my money.
Thou shalt not convince me that Dr Phil is better than Dr J.
Thou shalt not think that Tina Turner can't shake her ass harder than Beyonce.
Thou shalt be aware that there are no longer any musical genres - they're all just different dress codes and different fashion styles.
Punk is now just a style
New Rave? Just a style
Emo? Just a style
...aah forget it I ain't getting into that again.
Thou shalt not scream if you wanna go faster.
Thou shalt not move to the sound of the wickedness.
Thou shalt not make some noise for Detroit.
When I say hey thou shalt not say ho.
When I say hip thou shalt not say hop.
When I say he say she say we say make some noise....kill me
Thou shalt not look in the mirror while you're crying, your eyes already know.
In this world of many distractions thou shalt not lose focus.
Thou must stay on track.
Thou shalt always...thou shalt always.... killllllllll.
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Monday, 22 March 2010
Fitness DVDs, Shame and the Many Faces of Davina McCall
It has so far eluded me, in my twenty-five years on this earth, to discover a way to do strenuous exercise without looking like a massive, utter, twat.
I tried running around the streets, but could never quite get the balance right between 'speeding so fast that no one has the time to recognise you before hyperventilating behind a privet hedge' and 'jogging at a normal pace with a loftier-than-thou expression of vague detachment as you go absolutely nowhere'
Gyms are expensive, whirring sweatboxes full of blase thin girls touching their toes, glistening ripped men honking by the weights and sweaty people grimly staring into space as they trot on the cardio machines. They are also so incredibly boring that I can't go on a treadmill without wondering WHAT THE HELL I AM DOING WITH MY LIFE and thinking of all the energy that is being wasted by the crowds of runners going nowhere. Oh, and I go bright red and get sweat patches in unfortunate places.
I think I first tried an exercise DVD around the time that Eric Pryds did that 'Call on Me' video, or more specifically, when Ministry of Sound did a rip-off exercise DVD. As a not terribly co-ordinated person with a tendency to catch sight of myself in reflective objects, even with the Flatmate out and the curtains shut, the awareness of myself, flobbing around in a weak, wobbly imitation of the lyrca leotard clad thrusting models on the telly, mixed with the occasional glimpse of a flailing bodypart was such that I almost had an out-of-body experience and floated above myself in a spirit of intense mortification.
Enter Davina.
Can't quite remember why I tried to dip my toe into the waters of galumphing around my living room again, possibly it was back in January when the snow was somewhat biblical and the thought of going to the gym and undressing in public was about as appealing as playing pinata with a bag of sick. Anyway, I thought I would try Davina 'I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M SHOUTING' McCall a go, as she's always full of terrifying optimism and is a bit goofy. And I couldn't think of anyone else. So I borrowed her first attempt to crack the fitness market - 'The Power of 3'
Wow.
This is Davina and her two trainers, Jackie and Mark. Jackie appears to be a Boreham Wood housewife who would kickbox you into next Wednesday if you gave her dimante handbag the slide eye. Mark is a huge lunk with a hearing aid who would look terrifying in a dark alleyway, but I suspect has a mind full of unicorns, kittens and rainbows. More on that later.
'Chooooon!' Davina says this a lot, usually just as another repetitive, generic dance song starts. Admittedly, later DVDs feature proper songs by real artists such as Run DMC, but this first DVD sounds like it was written by the people who score Masterchef. Still, it is a better soundtrack than Lady Isabella Harvey (borrowed off friend, see I have been getting a bit obsessed of late), who squats and thrusts to what only can be described as Hot Chip after the advent of a lobotomy, done with a spoon. I also love how Jackie looks like the long suffering mother of a toddler in this shot.
Although this is the face most of us would make if, after a long period of chastity, we accidentally walked over a powerful fountain, this is how Davina skips.
Many, well, all the people I have spoken to who 'do Davina' (it's like a semi secret society of shamefaced 20-something women) are convinced Mark and Davina got it going owwwrn. However, as you can tell a) from Davina's distain when he didn't know what Tai Chi is and b) this look, that says 'I want to wear your sportsbra and run around in a brown wig' as much as it says 'phwooooar', this is a complete untruth.
At this point Davina realised she had forgotten to feed her nest of baby McCallchicks and hurridly regurgitates a worm.
'Choooooooooon!'
'Tee hee hee! Raindrops and snowflakes and patta-cake patta-cake!'
See, now this is the crux of why Davina is great. If you forget that Davina isn't blonde, wearing ironically large, steamed up glasses or a strange shade of puce, this could be like looking in a mirror.
Although a gesture like this is a terrible insult in some lesser-known Eastern European country, this would be Davina congratulating you for not crashing through into the flat downstairs with your elephantine clumping. At first I found this praise rather reassuring, as yes dammit, this is hard work. Oh. Except it ain't. Well, not after you've done the routine a couple of times and realise that for all her groaning and grimacing, Davina is finding this workout only fractionally less difficult than passing wind.
The powers that be, for some reason, decided that in future Davina DVDs it would be best if she didn't mug like a Spitting Image puppet, holler random phrases or flirt outrageously with a beefcake infront of his menopausal wife. I's a lot poorer for it! Still, Davina cannot be totally repressed and manages to throw in some super patronising 'pixie claps' at the end of the workout.
I tried running around the streets, but could never quite get the balance right between 'speeding so fast that no one has the time to recognise you before hyperventilating behind a privet hedge' and 'jogging at a normal pace with a loftier-than-thou expression of vague detachment as you go absolutely nowhere'
Gyms are expensive, whirring sweatboxes full of blase thin girls touching their toes, glistening ripped men honking by the weights and sweaty people grimly staring into space as they trot on the cardio machines. They are also so incredibly boring that I can't go on a treadmill without wondering WHAT THE HELL I AM DOING WITH MY LIFE and thinking of all the energy that is being wasted by the crowds of runners going nowhere. Oh, and I go bright red and get sweat patches in unfortunate places.
I think I first tried an exercise DVD around the time that Eric Pryds did that 'Call on Me' video, or more specifically, when Ministry of Sound did a rip-off exercise DVD. As a not terribly co-ordinated person with a tendency to catch sight of myself in reflective objects, even with the Flatmate out and the curtains shut, the awareness of myself, flobbing around in a weak, wobbly imitation of the lyrca leotard clad thrusting models on the telly, mixed with the occasional glimpse of a flailing bodypart was such that I almost had an out-of-body experience and floated above myself in a spirit of intense mortification.
Enter Davina.
Can't quite remember why I tried to dip my toe into the waters of galumphing around my living room again, possibly it was back in January when the snow was somewhat biblical and the thought of going to the gym and undressing in public was about as appealing as playing pinata with a bag of sick. Anyway, I thought I would try Davina 'I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M SHOUTING' McCall a go, as she's always full of terrifying optimism and is a bit goofy. And I couldn't think of anyone else. So I borrowed her first attempt to crack the fitness market - 'The Power of 3'
Wow.
This is Davina and her two trainers, Jackie and Mark. Jackie appears to be a Boreham Wood housewife who would kickbox you into next Wednesday if you gave her dimante handbag the slide eye. Mark is a huge lunk with a hearing aid who would look terrifying in a dark alleyway, but I suspect has a mind full of unicorns, kittens and rainbows. More on that later.
'Chooooon!' Davina says this a lot, usually just as another repetitive, generic dance song starts. Admittedly, later DVDs feature proper songs by real artists such as Run DMC, but this first DVD sounds like it was written by the people who score Masterchef. Still, it is a better soundtrack than Lady Isabella Harvey (borrowed off friend, see I have been getting a bit obsessed of late), who squats and thrusts to what only can be described as Hot Chip after the advent of a lobotomy, done with a spoon. I also love how Jackie looks like the long suffering mother of a toddler in this shot.
Although this is the face most of us would make if, after a long period of chastity, we accidentally walked over a powerful fountain, this is how Davina skips.
Many, well, all the people I have spoken to who 'do Davina' (it's like a semi secret society of shamefaced 20-something women) are convinced Mark and Davina got it going owwwrn. However, as you can tell a) from Davina's distain when he didn't know what Tai Chi is and b) this look, that says 'I want to wear your sportsbra and run around in a brown wig' as much as it says 'phwooooar', this is a complete untruth.
At this point Davina realised she had forgotten to feed her nest of baby McCallchicks and hurridly regurgitates a worm.
'Choooooooooon!''Tee hee hee! Raindrops and snowflakes and patta-cake patta-cake!'
See, now this is the crux of why Davina is great. If you forget that Davina isn't blonde, wearing ironically large, steamed up glasses or a strange shade of puce, this could be like looking in a mirror.
Although a gesture like this is a terrible insult in some lesser-known Eastern European country, this would be Davina congratulating you for not crashing through into the flat downstairs with your elephantine clumping. At first I found this praise rather reassuring, as yes dammit, this is hard work. Oh. Except it ain't. Well, not after you've done the routine a couple of times and realise that for all her groaning and grimacing, Davina is finding this workout only fractionally less difficult than passing wind.
The powers that be, for some reason, decided that in future Davina DVDs it would be best if she didn't mug like a Spitting Image puppet, holler random phrases or flirt outrageously with a beefcake infront of his menopausal wife. I's a lot poorer for it! Still, Davina cannot be totally repressed and manages to throw in some super patronising 'pixie claps' at the end of the workout.
Sunday, 31 May 2009
**Intermission**
Oh dear, you will note I have not posted much of late. Work has been pretty busy and this has inevitably lead to me coming home pooped and wanting to do little more than sit slack jawed with my brain in the 'off' position, in front of some programme where they waste a huge steaming piles of food in an attempt to shame some fatty into losing weight.
Apologies.
In the meantime, as I have been SOB-ing now for about two years, why not check out some of my fabulous archives for a wide variety of witty-if-sub-par articles on things as diverse as
* Accidentally offensive junk mail
* My Alma Mater's hacked Wikipedia entry
* "I do not like Sarah Palin as her name is a combination of Pain and L which sounds like hell"
* A vitriolic rant against purveyors of pastel casual wear
* How to bury a hamster in a gardenless flat. A user's guide.
* Piss off the one you love with a teacoster
* It's safe to say you will never need to go to Colindale after reading this. (Unless you have an infection)
* The Great Pelican Conspiracy of 2008 part one and two
Enjoy bitches! I'll be back before you knows it! x
Apologies.
In the meantime, as I have been SOB-ing now for about two years, why not check out some of my fabulous archives for a wide variety of witty-if-sub-par articles on things as diverse as
* Accidentally offensive junk mail
* My Alma Mater's hacked Wikipedia entry
* "I do not like Sarah Palin as her name is a combination of Pain and L which sounds like hell"
* A vitriolic rant against purveyors of pastel casual wear
* How to bury a hamster in a gardenless flat. A user's guide.
* Piss off the one you love with a teacoster
* It's safe to say you will never need to go to Colindale after reading this. (Unless you have an infection)
* The Great Pelican Conspiracy of 2008 part one and two
Enjoy bitches! I'll be back before you knows it! x
Friday, 24 April 2009
My First Dictionary
...is a brilliant little blog. It's greatness is it's simplicity, so rather than ramble on about it at length, here is a couple of extracts plus a link. www.myfirstdictionary.blogspot.com. DO IT
p.s the blogger who made this also has another blog called Musty Moments, which I have added to the ole HOT LINKZZZ and would recommend a gander at.
p.s the blogger who made this also has another blog called Musty Moments, which I have added to the ole HOT LINKZZZ and would recommend a gander at.
Sunday, 19 April 2009
Baby fashion tips
Now I am not an expert on children, in fact, show me a child over the age of 9 months and ask me to guess it's age and even with leeway of a year either side I will probably still get the answer wrong. One thing I do know however, is that babies up to that point where they get all chubby and smiley (four months? six months?) all look like pissed off tiny pensioners.
Henceforth, if you have a baby, it might not be the best idea to dress it in tiny old lady clothes, for, as Kanye West would say, THATS SOME BENJAMIN BUTTONS SHIT RIGHT THERE.
Incidentally, do you remember that episode of the Simpsons where they take Maggie to daycare, and when they pick her up they are faced with a terrifying room full of staring babies, silent except for the noise of sucking dummys?
I went out to lunch with my friends and their two babies on Friday, and we chose to go to Giraffe, as it was a family friendly place (knoweldge gleaned from three years ago when I attempted to light a fag and was promptly kicked out. This was pre smoking ban so they were clearly nazis. 'Family orientated' nazis.). And how. Earlier in the day I had been plunged into Blursville, as the optician who a week previously given me a glorious exciting new world of details and colours via the introduction of contact lenses, cruelly took them away again as in my excitement I had worn them for far far too long and 'damaged a few cells'. So anyway, I enter Giraffe, and after stumbling slapstick style over about ten Buggaboos (prams, to those without children) parked by the doorway, I gazed around squintingly for my friends. All around me, like bobbing bouys in a sea of blur were these pink round wobbling blobs. Babies. Lots of 'em. Utterly terrifying. And noisy.
I would recommend a lunchtime trip to Giraffe for any girl feeling a bit broody. By 'eck, it will make you want to nip next door to Boots to stock up on propolactics sharpish!
Henceforth, if you have a baby, it might not be the best idea to dress it in tiny old lady clothes, for, as Kanye West would say, THATS SOME BENJAMIN BUTTONS SHIT RIGHT THERE.
Incidentally, do you remember that episode of the Simpsons where they take Maggie to daycare, and when they pick her up they are faced with a terrifying room full of staring babies, silent except for the noise of sucking dummys?I went out to lunch with my friends and their two babies on Friday, and we chose to go to Giraffe, as it was a family friendly place (knoweldge gleaned from three years ago when I attempted to light a fag and was promptly kicked out. This was pre smoking ban so they were clearly nazis. 'Family orientated' nazis.). And how. Earlier in the day I had been plunged into Blursville, as the optician who a week previously given me a glorious exciting new world of details and colours via the introduction of contact lenses, cruelly took them away again as in my excitement I had worn them for far far too long and 'damaged a few cells'. So anyway, I enter Giraffe, and after stumbling slapstick style over about ten Buggaboos (prams, to those without children) parked by the doorway, I gazed around squintingly for my friends. All around me, like bobbing bouys in a sea of blur were these pink round wobbling blobs. Babies. Lots of 'em. Utterly terrifying. And noisy.
I would recommend a lunchtime trip to Giraffe for any girl feeling a bit broody. By 'eck, it will make you want to nip next door to Boots to stock up on propolactics sharpish!
Unfortunate photo juxtapositions part 2,334,553
I have to say I don't really get the furore over Susan Whatserface from Britain's Got Talent. So she is ugly but a good singer, and because she is ugly no one thought she would be a good singer so when it was revealed she was a good singer everyone was ZOMG!!!UGLEEZ CAN SING!1!!
And then everyone rejoiced and cried with happiness because this ugly woman who can sing has been rescued from her hideously obscure ugly little life in some hideously obscure ugly little Scottish village and is now FAMUS and SAVED and on OPRAH!1!!
Even my brother, who refuses to enter Topman, pay for magazines and walks out the room at the very mention of BGT or X Factor, admitted the other day that he had watched Susan on Youtube and 'It was, like, the most beautiful heart wrenching singing I have ever seen'. The pussyo.
Whilst it is nice that a woman is going to make a lot of money from her singing talent, the whole episode really just serves to highlight the widespread and ikky views of the general public - ugly people are useless and you can only find redemption and happiness through fame. Nice. Then again, I guess it also shows the power of a good ole showtune, and that is never a bad thing..
*gets off soapbox, digs out DVD of Rent*
Saturday, 11 April 2009
THX 1138 to Hemen for this one...
This is the front cover for the DVD of George Lucas's debut film THX 1138, a science fiction about a underground dystopian world where drugged up drones lead lives devoid of emotion or feeling.
My friend Hemen works in HMV, a partially underground dystopian CD and DVD shop, where he helps drugged up drones find discs to stick on the goggleboxes so they have something to stare at whilst they eat their Chinese takeaway later.
THX 1138 is currently on sale for £2.99.
*Man wanders up to Hemen, holding aforementioned bargain of a DVD purchase*
"Oh right, what's this about then?"
*He flips the dvd over to skim the back, which aside from the blurb also displays a large film still of a drone getting violently beaten up by a group of police androids*
"Jade Goody?"
"Errrrm. No, not really. Not at all actually."
"Oh."
*Visibly disappointed, the man wanders off*
My friend Hemen works in HMV, a partially underground dystopian CD and DVD shop, where he helps drugged up drones find discs to stick on the goggleboxes so they have something to stare at whilst they eat their Chinese takeaway later.THX 1138 is currently on sale for £2.99.
*Man wanders up to Hemen, holding aforementioned bargain of a DVD purchase*
"Oh right, what's this about then?"
*He flips the dvd over to skim the back, which aside from the blurb also displays a large film still of a drone getting violently beaten up by a group of police androids*
"Jade Goody?"
"Errrrm. No, not really. Not at all actually."
"Oh."
*Visibly disappointed, the man wanders off*
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