I was walking around earlier and noticed that my hands were a bit cold. It was then that the thought occurred to me that the human race are an example of shoddy workmanship on God's part. Reason being, if I was walking around in my completely natural state, a.k.a stark-fucking-bollock-naked, as naturalists argue that I ought to, my entire body would have been as cold as my hands. This seems to me to be a fundamental flaw in our design. It's not even that cold outside and I would've been in a right state. To be perfectly honest I would've been shivering my tits off. And yet, do any of us see the common household cat or dog shivering their tits off in this current climate? No we fucking don't. My cat for one has been strolling in and out of doors as if they were both of the most perfectly agreeable temperature, not even bothering to exclaim 'Cor, bit nippy outside isn't it?' upon her re-entry into the house. I'll tell you why, it's because God put a bit of work in and designed her properly. He was a bit clever and gave her some fur, which would even get a bit thicker as things got colder, thus being perfectly adapted to her natural climate without the need for a coat or anything.
What I'm trying to say is, when the day came around for God to design the human race, he couldn't be fucking bothered. He pushed the boat out initially by making us bipeds (presumably so that we could play football easier), but then after that he began slacking.
"So are you going to put fur on them then God?" asks his angel secretary. God sighs and has a sit down, clicks the t.v on.
"Nahhh..." he says. The angel looks bemused.
"..What, really? Well are you going to give them some sort of means of keeping warm then? Like, I dunno, whatever the fuck lizards do or some shit?"
"Yeah yeah in a minute."
"Well are you going to or not?"
"Look I'm nackered alright?"
"God I really think you ought to..."
"Fine!" he huffs in the manner of a sulking teenager, and zaps some hair onto us.
"God you've only done the scalp and a few other choice areas which I won't go into because I'm a bit prudish. That's hardly sufficient to..."
"Look, I'm sure they'll figure out a way of sorting it out."
And indeed, we did. We had to fucking make clothes, as if we didn't have anything better to do like trying to fucking survive. To make matters worse, unless we sleep in a fucking comfortable bed we end up with a bad neck in the morning. I've never seen a fucking duck complaining about having an aching neck after they sleep by tucking their head under their wing in a preposterous manner, and yet if our head is positioned slightly askew when we go to bed it's stiff-neck o' clock the next day. Yes indeed my fellow humans, we are the living example of the 'it'll probably sort itself out' attitude.
What does a tiger do if it's a bit hungry? It uses it's God-given strength and agility to go and fuck up another animal and eat it raw.
What does a human do? It constructs a hunting weapon because we're nowhere near quick enough to catch up with any other animal on Earth and looks around for ages for something because our sense of hearing and smell is nowhere near good enough to track others animals instinctively, then when we're lucky enough to catch something we have to cook it before we eat it otherwise we'll get the shits, and if you don't fancy that you can go forraging for stuff that will also most likely give you the shits.
Basically, we got fucked over. I reckon the reason God sent his son down to cheer us up is because he felt so bad for making us an absolutely terrible race of creatures, and then we nailed him to a cross for some fucking reason, probably because he rubbed our noses in the fact that he could turn water into wine and we can't.
"Fucking hell. It takes us ages. We have to grow grapes, then pick them, then put them in a massive tub and step on them and stuff. We're a joke. At least donkeys can make a fucking funny noise, what the hell can we actually do?" many were heard to lament.
So yes, I hope that I've proved that the human race is a piss-poor attempt at a species on God's part. However, saying that, we learnt how to make electric guitars and they're fucking wicked.
(Kirk sees a rabbit in the distance tearing out a scorching solo on a self-made electric guitar which is better than an American Fender)
Fucking hell.
Monday, 13 December 2010
I Wanna Be Your Lover, Says Prince
I've noticed a trend in the lyrics of popular music. For the most part, they are declarations of the protagonist's feelings, or proposals for some form of activity to occur (usually sex, even prior to marriage).This strikes me as a somewhat selfish.
There ought to be more consideration for the other person's feelings when it comes to the protagonist's utterances. It strikes me that the person they're singing to might not always want to make sweet love immediately or hear about how much they love them. They might have had a fucking long day, and they might appreciate it if somebody took an interest in their hardships for once rather than just assault them with a series of vulgar boasts.
'I Wanna Be Your Lover' by Prince is a prime example of the kind of thing I'm talking about. This young lady he's singing to didn't ask for this barrage of truths on his part. She might have just wanted to talk about the episode of the Simpsons that was on yesterday. Instead, we get a tyrannical outburst from the tiny song-smith, a frankly repugnant repetition of the fact that basically he wants to get her knickers off. Why doesn't he ask her how she'd feel about this situation?
Here are my suggestions for improvements in the lyrics.
"I ain't got no money
I ain't like those other guys you hang around,"
Being a bit unfair on her friends, aren't you? If you have any respect for her as a person than you ought to give these fellows she hangs around with the benefit of the doubt, seeing as she clearly deems them worthy of her company. Also, she didn't ask about your financial situation. She might be suffering some monetary woes herself, but you wouldn't know that would you, because you didn't bother to ask.
Improved version: "Hi, how are you? You alright for money at the moment?
How are your friends? They seem really nice but I've never spoke to them."
See, that's much better isn't it? Here's another example:
"I wanna be your lover
I wanna be the only one that makes you come running
I wanna be your lover
I wanna turn you on, turn you out, all night long make you shout."
Highly inappropriate and verging on chauvinistic. It should have been more like this:
"Would you like to go and get a drink sometime?"
There, much better. Just bear these things in mind in the future, songwriters. People you're writing songs about are not objects, they have thoughts and feelings too.
There ought to be more consideration for the other person's feelings when it comes to the protagonist's utterances. It strikes me that the person they're singing to might not always want to make sweet love immediately or hear about how much they love them. They might have had a fucking long day, and they might appreciate it if somebody took an interest in their hardships for once rather than just assault them with a series of vulgar boasts.
'I Wanna Be Your Lover' by Prince is a prime example of the kind of thing I'm talking about. This young lady he's singing to didn't ask for this barrage of truths on his part. She might have just wanted to talk about the episode of the Simpsons that was on yesterday. Instead, we get a tyrannical outburst from the tiny song-smith, a frankly repugnant repetition of the fact that basically he wants to get her knickers off. Why doesn't he ask her how she'd feel about this situation?
Here are my suggestions for improvements in the lyrics.
"I ain't got no money
I ain't like those other guys you hang around,"
Being a bit unfair on her friends, aren't you? If you have any respect for her as a person than you ought to give these fellows she hangs around with the benefit of the doubt, seeing as she clearly deems them worthy of her company. Also, she didn't ask about your financial situation. She might be suffering some monetary woes herself, but you wouldn't know that would you, because you didn't bother to ask.
Improved version: "Hi, how are you? You alright for money at the moment?
How are your friends? They seem really nice but I've never spoke to them."
See, that's much better isn't it? Here's another example:
"I wanna be your lover
I wanna be the only one that makes you come running
I wanna be your lover
I wanna turn you on, turn you out, all night long make you shout."
Highly inappropriate and verging on chauvinistic. It should have been more like this:
"Would you like to go and get a drink sometime?"
There, much better. Just bear these things in mind in the future, songwriters. People you're writing songs about are not objects, they have thoughts and feelings too.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Library (Lie-berry)
I've been working at my local Civic Centre recently, and on my lunch break I have been known to frequent the adjoining library for use of their computers. During these half-hour periods (yeah I only take a half-hour lunch. It's a matter of personal preference) I've noticed that the exact same people are there every single day, banging away on the computer keyboards. Consequently, I have been led to ponder as to what the fuck they're doing on the computers every single time and why none of them appear to have jobs. One of the regulars, who shall hereby be referred to as Mr. Comb-Over coz he's got an obscene comb-over, always has a rucksack with him and he jabs at the keyboard so hard you would think he had a personal vendetta against it. Due to my mind craving for some excitement after the previous hours I have spent staring at Microsoft Excel, I've come to the conclusion that he murdered his wife (who is in the rucksack) because she kept rinsing him for his shitty comb-over (think Bobby Charlton timesd by a million) and he keeps going on the computers to try and locate a decent dumping ground by searching on Google. He's probably hitting the keyboard so hard because he's so nervous about searching for a dumping ground for corpses.
I've also seen this cold-blooded killer in my local Wetherspoons, where no-doubt he often openly brags about how he murdered his wife.
"Oh yeah?" asks the other Harrow Wetherspoons regular who looks like Santa Claus. (He really does.)
"Yeah. She's in my rucksack."
"Well why did you bring it with you?"
"What?"
"You should've just left it at home, why did you bring it to the pub, and to the Civic Centre library?"
"....Well I'm not sure actually..."
"You mug, I'm gonna call the police, it'll serve you right for being such a shit murderer," threatens Santa, retrieving his 3310 from his pocket.
"Aw nah Santa don't, don't be out of order!" Mr. Comb-Over pleads, tustling with Santa for the phone. During the brief scrap Mr. Comb-Over's comb-over starts flapping around wildly and begins to look much more like a strand of sea-weed.
"I was only joking," Santa says and puts his phone back.
"Yeah well I didn't even kill my wife anyway, Kirk made the entire story up because he was bored in his lunch-break."
"Cor...you just went and broke the fourth wall, you did."
"I never!"
"You bloody did, you interrupted the course of the fictional narrative with information that our characters would have no way of knowing. You broke the fucking fourth wall."
"Yeah well so what, what's the fourth wall ever done for me?"
Anyway, of course there are plenty of other regulars at my Civic Centre library on the computers, but he looked the funniest so I thought I'd just talk about him.
But yeah have you ever noticed how library sounds like lie-berry? Might be something to look into.
I've also seen this cold-blooded killer in my local Wetherspoons, where no-doubt he often openly brags about how he murdered his wife.
"Oh yeah?" asks the other Harrow Wetherspoons regular who looks like Santa Claus. (He really does.)
"Yeah. She's in my rucksack."
"Well why did you bring it with you?"
"What?"
"You should've just left it at home, why did you bring it to the pub, and to the Civic Centre library?"
"....Well I'm not sure actually..."
"You mug, I'm gonna call the police, it'll serve you right for being such a shit murderer," threatens Santa, retrieving his 3310 from his pocket.
"Aw nah Santa don't, don't be out of order!" Mr. Comb-Over pleads, tustling with Santa for the phone. During the brief scrap Mr. Comb-Over's comb-over starts flapping around wildly and begins to look much more like a strand of sea-weed.
"I was only joking," Santa says and puts his phone back.
"Yeah well I didn't even kill my wife anyway, Kirk made the entire story up because he was bored in his lunch-break."
"Cor...you just went and broke the fourth wall, you did."
"I never!"
"You bloody did, you interrupted the course of the fictional narrative with information that our characters would have no way of knowing. You broke the fucking fourth wall."
"Yeah well so what, what's the fourth wall ever done for me?"
Anyway, of course there are plenty of other regulars at my Civic Centre library on the computers, but he looked the funniest so I thought I'd just talk about him.
But yeah have you ever noticed how library sounds like lie-berry? Might be something to look into.
An Account Of The First Ever Lament
I take you to the days just after Adam and Eve got booted out of the Garden of Eden, which shall hereby by referred to as 'The Slightly Shit Age'.
So yes, thanks to Eve being a stupid bint (although to be honest the Bible was written in a ridiculously patriarchal time so we can't take its version of the events as fact, it might have actually been Adam's fault) humanity is left to wander about just outside the Garden of Eden, with nothing to do really. One particular human feels somewhat down about this situation. He has taken to wandering the wastes alone, reflecting upon his life, his emotions, and his current situation. His insular mood has progressed to the stage that he even feels the need to speak his thoughts aloud....
And, thus...history is made....
He puts a weary hand to his brow and lets forth what shall henceforth become known as a 'lament'.
"Oh woe is me; I long for my younger carefree days when I toiled in the luscious meadows of the Garden of Eden. My soul was brighter then, and my ambitions intact, untouched by the grounding realities of responsibility. Now, here I stand, a wearied and disillusioned 'man', with not a place nor a purpose..." he says in a really fucking moany voice. Another human overhears this thoroughly self-indulgent monologue and feels compelled to comment.
"What the fuck was that all about mate?" he asks, quite bluntly.
"Hmm?" the lamenter in question enquires.
"What you did just then. You kept going on about stuff to yourself in a melancholic fashion. I just wondered what the fuck that was all about?"
"Oh. Urm, I dunno really. I just felt a bit like....lamenting," he explains. Having to think on his feet for the word to describe this new activity, he glanced around and saw a lamp and a bag of cement, and combined the two words in haste. If you want to know what a lamp and a bag of cement were doing in this particular area at this particular time, press your red button now.
"Shouldn't you be doing something more useful with your time?" the man asks.
"Well what's it got to do with you anyway?"
"Well nothing I suppose, it just seemed like it was a bit of a waste of time."
God overhears this altercation and feels the need to step in.
"I'm going to have to stop you there, lamenting is a perfectly acceptable thing to do and I'm grateful for this young fellow for inventing it. Shakespeare is going to make an entire fucking career out of it one day, and without him people would have nothing to talk about in English GCSE classes, and thus the educational system would collapse," God explains. However, he only went and forgot that not everybody is omniscient, so the two humans are well and truly unimpressed by his listing of a whole bunch of things that haven't fucking happened yet.
"What are you on about mate?" one of them asks.
"Yeah, first you boot us out of the Garden of Eden for pretty much doing fuck all, admit it, and now you come down here and just talk a load of bollocksing shit. Where do you get off? What is your problem?" the other asks. Red-faces all round for the one-and-only God at this point.
"Urm...nah I was just saying leave it out coz lamenting is good, so..." he stammers, shuffling his feet.
From this point on, the muted silence of 'The Slightly Shit Age' was filled by the thousands of laments from its many occupants. Some were better than others. An example of a lament from a somewhat dim-witted human goes as follows: "This isn't as good as other things that have happened. I think I prefer some other stuff, but I dunno. I just feel a bit down."
However, things swiftly changed when somebody invented air hockey and the foundations of civilization as we know it were developed from this starting point. Over and out.
So yes, thanks to Eve being a stupid bint (although to be honest the Bible was written in a ridiculously patriarchal time so we can't take its version of the events as fact, it might have actually been Adam's fault) humanity is left to wander about just outside the Garden of Eden, with nothing to do really. One particular human feels somewhat down about this situation. He has taken to wandering the wastes alone, reflecting upon his life, his emotions, and his current situation. His insular mood has progressed to the stage that he even feels the need to speak his thoughts aloud....
And, thus...history is made....
He puts a weary hand to his brow and lets forth what shall henceforth become known as a 'lament'.
"Oh woe is me; I long for my younger carefree days when I toiled in the luscious meadows of the Garden of Eden. My soul was brighter then, and my ambitions intact, untouched by the grounding realities of responsibility. Now, here I stand, a wearied and disillusioned 'man', with not a place nor a purpose..." he says in a really fucking moany voice. Another human overhears this thoroughly self-indulgent monologue and feels compelled to comment.
"What the fuck was that all about mate?" he asks, quite bluntly.
"Hmm?" the lamenter in question enquires.
"What you did just then. You kept going on about stuff to yourself in a melancholic fashion. I just wondered what the fuck that was all about?"
"Oh. Urm, I dunno really. I just felt a bit like....lamenting," he explains. Having to think on his feet for the word to describe this new activity, he glanced around and saw a lamp and a bag of cement, and combined the two words in haste. If you want to know what a lamp and a bag of cement were doing in this particular area at this particular time, press your red button now.
"Shouldn't you be doing something more useful with your time?" the man asks.
"Well what's it got to do with you anyway?"
"Well nothing I suppose, it just seemed like it was a bit of a waste of time."
God overhears this altercation and feels the need to step in.
"I'm going to have to stop you there, lamenting is a perfectly acceptable thing to do and I'm grateful for this young fellow for inventing it. Shakespeare is going to make an entire fucking career out of it one day, and without him people would have nothing to talk about in English GCSE classes, and thus the educational system would collapse," God explains. However, he only went and forgot that not everybody is omniscient, so the two humans are well and truly unimpressed by his listing of a whole bunch of things that haven't fucking happened yet.
"What are you on about mate?" one of them asks.
"Yeah, first you boot us out of the Garden of Eden for pretty much doing fuck all, admit it, and now you come down here and just talk a load of bollocksing shit. Where do you get off? What is your problem?" the other asks. Red-faces all round for the one-and-only God at this point.
"Urm...nah I was just saying leave it out coz lamenting is good, so..." he stammers, shuffling his feet.
From this point on, the muted silence of 'The Slightly Shit Age' was filled by the thousands of laments from its many occupants. Some were better than others. An example of a lament from a somewhat dim-witted human goes as follows: "This isn't as good as other things that have happened. I think I prefer some other stuff, but I dunno. I just feel a bit down."
However, things swiftly changed when somebody invented air hockey and the foundations of civilization as we know it were developed from this starting point. Over and out.
Porky Pig Needs To Fucking Chill Out
The scene, Warner Brothers' board room. The conversation:
"We need one more character," says Mr. Warner.
"Yeah alright," says an employee. The other Warner brother has nothing to add on the matter. He's far less keen than the other brother. In fact, he always wanted to be whatever the early 20th Century version of a rock star was. Probably a prick in a jazz band or something.
"Don't you think brother?" asks the keen Warner brother.
"Yeah," he says in a thoroughly droll voice. When recalling the board meeting afterwards, most of the participants mention the severely droll quality of this utterance, and liken it to the drollness of a motherfucking cow's moo or something.
"Well what sort of character, should it be another animal or a completely random human like Elmur Fudd or Yosemete Sam?" asks an employee. What the fuck do those two character get out of hanging around with a bunch of animals anyway? Bloody perverts.
"Urm...animal I reckon. Seems right. In truth I kind of regret the creation of Elmur Fudd because he's like somebody's creepy uncle or something, and I don't need that sort of rep for my company. I dunno why we made him sound like Jonathan Ross either," Mr. Warner muses.
"Who?"
"What?"
"Anyway, yeah okay, what animals haven't we used yet?" asks an employee who's getting a bit big for his boots. His boots literally don't fit.
"We haven't used.....snails, or a giraffe..." an employee suggests.
"Are you fucking winding me up? A giraffe? How the fuck are we supposed to anthropomorphisise that? He'd be so fucking tall, it'd look shit. And what would his personality be? 'Oh, I'm a giraffe, I'm a bit nervous and tall,' blah blah. Boring. Shit. Try again," says Mr. Warner. The employee who said it is sweating like mad now.
"Well...we wouldn't necessarily have to anthropomorphisise it...."
"Oh my lord, are you fucking serious? So what we've got a talking rabbit and his pet fucking giraffe? That just fucks everything up, why would the rabbit be able to talk and not the giraffe? That's even worse than that dog in Disney who isn't Goofy," Mr. Warner flips.
"Oh I don't know....I'm just trying to...." the employee flusters. The other Warner brother has started playing on his gameboy by now.
"How about a pig?" another employee chips in.
"Go on..." Mr. Warner encourages.
"Well yeah, a pig, called...Hammy Pig..."
"Nah."
"Porky Pig?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah a pig called Porky Pig and he's always well angry."
"Nah Daffy's quite angry."
"Hmm yeah. So's Donald Duck actually."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, I'm just saying."
"Are you saying I ripped off Donald Duck? He can't even fucking talk, he sounds like he's been kicked in the throat."
"I didn't mean anything by it."
"I should hope not."
"Anyway, how about we give him a speech impediment?"
"But Daffy and Elmur Fudd have already got speech impediments," the previously flustered employee points out.
"Yeah but it cracks people up doesn't it?"
"Not really."
"Anyway yeah we can give him a stutter."
"Brilliant," Mr. Warner claps, "Draw him. Give him a gay little jacket as well I reckon."
"That kind of ruins continuity a bit. Why does he get clothes and the others don't?"
"Elmur Fudd's got clothes," the other employee says.
"I should fucking hope so," the lazy Warner brother chuckles.
"Oh NOW you pipe up," the keen Warner brother says in an annoying whiny voice.
"Oh here we fucking go," he sighs and accidentally puts a tetris piece in the wrong place and loses the game.
Basically, that guy was about to get the best score in tetris ever but he only just missed out on it because of the Porky Pig issue distracting him, which is why in his revenge he made it so that Porky Pig was generally a shit character and he never did anything funny. And it turns out the two Warner brothers weren't even actually brothers!!
"We need one more character," says Mr. Warner.
"Yeah alright," says an employee. The other Warner brother has nothing to add on the matter. He's far less keen than the other brother. In fact, he always wanted to be whatever the early 20th Century version of a rock star was. Probably a prick in a jazz band or something.
"Don't you think brother?" asks the keen Warner brother.
"Yeah," he says in a thoroughly droll voice. When recalling the board meeting afterwards, most of the participants mention the severely droll quality of this utterance, and liken it to the drollness of a motherfucking cow's moo or something.
"Well what sort of character, should it be another animal or a completely random human like Elmur Fudd or Yosemete Sam?" asks an employee. What the fuck do those two character get out of hanging around with a bunch of animals anyway? Bloody perverts.
"Urm...animal I reckon. Seems right. In truth I kind of regret the creation of Elmur Fudd because he's like somebody's creepy uncle or something, and I don't need that sort of rep for my company. I dunno why we made him sound like Jonathan Ross either," Mr. Warner muses.
"Who?"
"What?"
"Anyway, yeah okay, what animals haven't we used yet?" asks an employee who's getting a bit big for his boots. His boots literally don't fit.
"We haven't used.....snails, or a giraffe..." an employee suggests.
"Are you fucking winding me up? A giraffe? How the fuck are we supposed to anthropomorphisise that? He'd be so fucking tall, it'd look shit. And what would his personality be? 'Oh, I'm a giraffe, I'm a bit nervous and tall,' blah blah. Boring. Shit. Try again," says Mr. Warner. The employee who said it is sweating like mad now.
"Well...we wouldn't necessarily have to anthropomorphisise it...."
"Oh my lord, are you fucking serious? So what we've got a talking rabbit and his pet fucking giraffe? That just fucks everything up, why would the rabbit be able to talk and not the giraffe? That's even worse than that dog in Disney who isn't Goofy," Mr. Warner flips.
"Oh I don't know....I'm just trying to...." the employee flusters. The other Warner brother has started playing on his gameboy by now.
"How about a pig?" another employee chips in.
"Go on..." Mr. Warner encourages.
"Well yeah, a pig, called...Hammy Pig..."
"Nah."
"Porky Pig?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah a pig called Porky Pig and he's always well angry."
"Nah Daffy's quite angry."
"Hmm yeah. So's Donald Duck actually."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, I'm just saying."
"Are you saying I ripped off Donald Duck? He can't even fucking talk, he sounds like he's been kicked in the throat."
"I didn't mean anything by it."
"I should hope not."
"Anyway, how about we give him a speech impediment?"
"But Daffy and Elmur Fudd have already got speech impediments," the previously flustered employee points out.
"Yeah but it cracks people up doesn't it?"
"Not really."
"Anyway yeah we can give him a stutter."
"Brilliant," Mr. Warner claps, "Draw him. Give him a gay little jacket as well I reckon."
"That kind of ruins continuity a bit. Why does he get clothes and the others don't?"
"Elmur Fudd's got clothes," the other employee says.
"I should fucking hope so," the lazy Warner brother chuckles.
"Oh NOW you pipe up," the keen Warner brother says in an annoying whiny voice.
"Oh here we fucking go," he sighs and accidentally puts a tetris piece in the wrong place and loses the game.
Basically, that guy was about to get the best score in tetris ever but he only just missed out on it because of the Porky Pig issue distracting him, which is why in his revenge he made it so that Porky Pig was generally a shit character and he never did anything funny. And it turns out the two Warner brothers weren't even actually brothers!!
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
Cartoons
Clown Sit-Com
Depression
Skeleton Fight
Simon Cowell Problem
NEW ACTION FILM
Frogman Jenkins and the Persistent Clown
An Altercation With Bruce Forsyth
Frogman Jenkins and the Seriously Weird Moment
Gok Wan's Fashion Fix For Dragons
THE BRANDO SAGA
Part 1
THE BRANDO SAGA
Part 2
THE BRANDO SAGA
Part 3
THE BRANDO SAGA
Final
Frogman Jenkins Goes To France
The Empty Threats of David Dickinson
Magic Eye Puzzle That Doesn't Work
Richard Gere Learns The Truth
Cockney Helpline
Napoleon Was The Early 19th Century's Hot Bass Player
Richard Branson Commits A Faux-Pas
The Secret Life Of Leonardo Da Vinci
Himmler Tries To Get Into Heaven
Depression
Skeleton Fight
Simon Cowell Problem
NEW ACTION FILM
Frogman Jenkins and the Persistent Clown
An Altercation With Bruce Forsyth
Frogman Jenkins and the Seriously Weird Moment
Gok Wan's Fashion Fix For Dragons
THE BRANDO SAGA
Part 1
THE BRANDO SAGA
Part 2
THE BRANDO SAGA
Part 3
THE BRANDO SAGA
Final
Frogman Jenkins Goes To France
The Empty Threats of David Dickinson
Magic Eye Puzzle That Doesn't Work
Richard Gere Learns The Truth
Cockney Helpline
Napoleon Was The Early 19th Century's Hot Bass Player
Richard Branson Commits A Faux-Pas
The Secret Life Of Leonardo Da Vinci
Himmler Tries To Get Into Heaven
Saturday, 10 July 2010
The Viennese Whirl Saga
The original, by Jonathan Paul Lennon
My version #1 Entirely removing any element of humour
My version #2 Casual
My version #3 The bad dream version
My version #4 Disney's Sebastian stuck his oar in and found nothing but emptiness
My version #5 Role-reversal
My version #6 Things that could have been....
My version #7 Clash of the Titans
My version #8 A re-imagining....
My version #9 Viennese Whirl
My version #10 News
My version #11 Art
My version #12 Psychiatry
My version #13 Atrocity
My version #14 When worlds collide
My version #15 Art Film
My version #16 Octopus VS GaGa
My version #17 Accusations...
My version #18 Sea monster triptych
My version #19 Celaphod robbery
My version FINAL
Withnail and I version
My version #1 Entirely removing any element of humour
My version #2 Casual
My version #3 The bad dream version
My version #4 Disney's Sebastian stuck his oar in and found nothing but emptiness
My version #5 Role-reversal
My version #6 Things that could have been....
My version #7 Clash of the Titans
My version #8 A re-imagining....
My version #9 Viennese Whirl
My version #10 News
My version #11 Art
My version #12 Psychiatry
My version #13 Atrocity
My version #14 When worlds collide
My version #15 Art Film
My version #16 Octopus VS GaGa
My version #17 Accusations...
My version #18 Sea monster triptych
My version #19 Celaphod robbery
My version FINAL
Withnail and I version
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
I'm Not Having A Go Or Anything, But...
I'm aware that it's a very boring thing to go on about how "music is no good anymore," but I've noticed recently that guitar music these days seems to have a severe lack of messianic nut-cases that used to be so common back in the day. For example, Iggy Pop and Jim Morrison. Indeed, quite stereotypically for a student (WELL I'M NOT A STUDENT ANYMORE ACTUALLY) I've been getting into The Doors a bit recently, and I've noticed that the singer Jim Morrison was something of a charismatic fellow. What I'm trying to say is if Jim Morrison got into a charisma fight with say, a certain Mr. Peter Doherty, I wouldn't fancy the-fattest-junkie-of-all-time's chances that much.
Now, rather than just have a tedious and unproductive moan about this crisis, I am willing to suggest some possible solutions. The first and foremost is the prohibition of any more bands such as Good Shoes from forming. They're not doing anybody any favours. They sing songs about a place that they come from called Morden that they HATE because it's shit. This strikes me as a fundamental error in their songwriting.
JUST IMAGINE if Jim Morrison wrote lyrics like "My area's a bit rough, I don't like it that much, I'd feel more comfortable in general if my area was a bit more well-to-do...YEAAAHHHH! COME AAWWN!!"
He wouldn't have gone down in history as the legend he is, would he? Certainly not. He went down in history as the legend he is because he sung songs like 'Love Me Two Times,' which if I'm not mistaken is a song about engaging in hanky-panky/coitus/sex with a young lady not once, but TWICE. Now boys of Good Shoes (which is also a shit name admit it), take note here. He's writing songs about sex, which immediately is far more interesting and good than a crap place in England that you're from.
So yeah there's one of my suggestions, get rid of them lot and any more of their ilk, they're giving guitar music the bad name that it's been branded with these days.
What we need basically is a version of Lady GaGa for indie music, but a version that doesn't do shit songs and that. My proposal is that we assemble the new hope of indie with science. Did you hear recently that some scientist guy created an artificial cell? This presents us with many possibilities. What we should do is give him a ring and ask him if he can create us some uber-mental representative of indie culture who does banging tunes.
"I don't think you understand, this technology is very much in the fledgling stages of development...we're nowhere near the stage of being able to create an entire human being, and even then it would raise all sorts of ethical issues..."
"No mate I don't think you understand, I just want you to make a bloke (or woman!) who's mentally charismatic and talented to bring indie out of the depths it's been pummeled into by dubstep and the like. I think they ought to be part Iggy Pop, part Jim Morrison, part Kate Bush..."
"Look I just told you it isn't possible..."
"Why?"
"....Well for a start why are you ruling me out as this successor to the throne of indie?"
(A long silence)
"What do you mean?"
"Well I'm a pretty good singer. And you can ask my mates, I'm really charismatic. One thing somebody said to me once was that when I walk into a room, women look at me, and men try not to look at me because they don't wanna seem gay or whatever."
"...Well okay but I don't really think..."
"Look I'll come over in a minute and show you how good I am at singing."
So yeah the scientist guy shows up and he's fucking amazing, he's got Rod Stewart's voice and is so mental that half of the vicinity is destroyed in the process of his performance, so the problem's solved without having to create a scientific monstrosity. He goes out and saves the day, immediately making people like Kele from Bloc Party and Ryan from The Cribs seem ridiculously unnecessary, and consequently they are politely told to fuck off. Also, I make a bit of money out of it because I'm his manager so I get 10% of everything he earns. Yeah, I'm raking it in by this stage. Really rich.
See ya later.
Now, rather than just have a tedious and unproductive moan about this crisis, I am willing to suggest some possible solutions. The first and foremost is the prohibition of any more bands such as Good Shoes from forming. They're not doing anybody any favours. They sing songs about a place that they come from called Morden that they HATE because it's shit. This strikes me as a fundamental error in their songwriting.
JUST IMAGINE if Jim Morrison wrote lyrics like "My area's a bit rough, I don't like it that much, I'd feel more comfortable in general if my area was a bit more well-to-do...YEAAAHHHH! COME AAWWN!!"
He wouldn't have gone down in history as the legend he is, would he? Certainly not. He went down in history as the legend he is because he sung songs like 'Love Me Two Times,' which if I'm not mistaken is a song about engaging in hanky-panky/coitus/sex with a young lady not once, but TWICE. Now boys of Good Shoes (which is also a shit name admit it), take note here. He's writing songs about sex, which immediately is far more interesting and good than a crap place in England that you're from.
So yeah there's one of my suggestions, get rid of them lot and any more of their ilk, they're giving guitar music the bad name that it's been branded with these days.
What we need basically is a version of Lady GaGa for indie music, but a version that doesn't do shit songs and that. My proposal is that we assemble the new hope of indie with science. Did you hear recently that some scientist guy created an artificial cell? This presents us with many possibilities. What we should do is give him a ring and ask him if he can create us some uber-mental representative of indie culture who does banging tunes.
"I don't think you understand, this technology is very much in the fledgling stages of development...we're nowhere near the stage of being able to create an entire human being, and even then it would raise all sorts of ethical issues..."
"No mate I don't think you understand, I just want you to make a bloke (or woman!) who's mentally charismatic and talented to bring indie out of the depths it's been pummeled into by dubstep and the like. I think they ought to be part Iggy Pop, part Jim Morrison, part Kate Bush..."
"Look I just told you it isn't possible..."
"Why?"
"....Well for a start why are you ruling me out as this successor to the throne of indie?"
(A long silence)
"What do you mean?"
"Well I'm a pretty good singer. And you can ask my mates, I'm really charismatic. One thing somebody said to me once was that when I walk into a room, women look at me, and men try not to look at me because they don't wanna seem gay or whatever."
"...Well okay but I don't really think..."
"Look I'll come over in a minute and show you how good I am at singing."
So yeah the scientist guy shows up and he's fucking amazing, he's got Rod Stewart's voice and is so mental that half of the vicinity is destroyed in the process of his performance, so the problem's solved without having to create a scientific monstrosity. He goes out and saves the day, immediately making people like Kele from Bloc Party and Ryan from The Cribs seem ridiculously unnecessary, and consequently they are politely told to fuck off. Also, I make a bit of money out of it because I'm his manager so I get 10% of everything he earns. Yeah, I'm raking it in by this stage. Really rich.
See ya later.
Kate Bush
Instead of people doing that 'Get Rage Against The Machine To Christmas Number 1!" thing on Facebook last Christmas, what we all should have done is had a bloody good sit-down and whacked 'Wuthering Heights' on on our tape-cassette players. This would've made everybody realise that 'Killing In The Name Of' or whatever the fuck it's called was an ill-fitting choice for the Christmas Number 1. It's got too much whining in it. Indeed, and verily, Kate Bush's sublimely annoying but fucking brilliant single 'Wuthering Heights' should've been the one.
Case in point, allow me to compare two extracts of the songs' lyrics and we shall see which fares the better (in my personal opinion, which is arguably the only correct opinion I will ever comprehend because it's mine. I don't live in your head do I for the love of bitches, so your opinion isn't mine, so it's wrong. In my opinion)
'Killing In The Name Of' lyrical extract:
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
Critique: Bit repetitive isn't it?
'Wuthering Heights' lyrical extract:
Out on the wily, windy moors
We'd roll and fall in green
You had a temper, like my jealousy
Too hot, too greedy
How could you leave me?
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you, I loved you too
Critique: Ne'er before in pop history has an opening line been delivered with such a ridiculously stupid voice and immediately arrested the curiosity and imagination of the listener. And look at the delicious use of paradox in the closing line! Pure heaven. Truly here we are witnessing the expression of a crazy bitch/genius, and one which will guide us into a brighter dawn, if only we'd let it.
So yeah, it's either that, or some bloke having a bit of a moan. It's basically the difference between either listening to an old man in the newsagent go on about how stamps used to be proper cheap, or having sex with Angelina Jolie. Are you saying you'd rather talk to an old man than have sex with Angelina Jolie? That's a bit weird.
All I'm saying is folks, the sooner you let Kate Bush into your hearts, the better. And I read the guy from Outkast who isn't the famous one really likes her, so there's something.
So yeah if such a Facebook campaign is ever/e'er started up again then I would hope the immediate first choice would be Kate Bush, otherwise I might throw a strop for a few moments.
What do you reckon is the shortest strop in history? I reckon it was when Simon Cowell's X-Factor Christmas Single didn't get to number 1. I imagine he didn't give the slightest fuck. The poor misguided youth who won the competition, however, was most probably mortified. Well done you lot.
By the way I was actually really pleased when Rage Against The Machine beat the smarmy X-Factor dickhead even though I find them a bit annoying.
Here is what I think Rage Against The Machine sound like:
See ya later.
Case in point, allow me to compare two extracts of the songs' lyrics and we shall see which fares the better (in my personal opinion, which is arguably the only correct opinion I will ever comprehend because it's mine. I don't live in your head do I for the love of bitches, so your opinion isn't mine, so it's wrong. In my opinion)
'Killing In The Name Of' lyrical extract:
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya
Critique: Bit repetitive isn't it?
'Wuthering Heights' lyrical extract:
Out on the wily, windy moors
We'd roll and fall in green
You had a temper, like my jealousy
Too hot, too greedy
How could you leave me?
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you, I loved you too
Critique: Ne'er before in pop history has an opening line been delivered with such a ridiculously stupid voice and immediately arrested the curiosity and imagination of the listener. And look at the delicious use of paradox in the closing line! Pure heaven. Truly here we are witnessing the expression of a crazy bitch/genius, and one which will guide us into a brighter dawn, if only we'd let it.
So yeah, it's either that, or some bloke having a bit of a moan. It's basically the difference between either listening to an old man in the newsagent go on about how stamps used to be proper cheap, or having sex with Angelina Jolie. Are you saying you'd rather talk to an old man than have sex with Angelina Jolie? That's a bit weird.
All I'm saying is folks, the sooner you let Kate Bush into your hearts, the better. And I read the guy from Outkast who isn't the famous one really likes her, so there's something.
So yeah if such a Facebook campaign is ever/e'er started up again then I would hope the immediate first choice would be Kate Bush, otherwise I might throw a strop for a few moments.
What do you reckon is the shortest strop in history? I reckon it was when Simon Cowell's X-Factor Christmas Single didn't get to number 1. I imagine he didn't give the slightest fuck. The poor misguided youth who won the competition, however, was most probably mortified. Well done you lot.
By the way I was actually really pleased when Rage Against The Machine beat the smarmy X-Factor dickhead even though I find them a bit annoying.
Here is what I think Rage Against The Machine sound like:
See ya later.
What If Something Fucking Mental Happened, That'd Be Good Wouldn't It
For instance, imagine if during the world cup final this year (TOPICAL) Jesus decided to do his second coming. It'd be such an anti-climax for the poor fellow.
"I'm back, come on everybody look at me!" he'd be hollering outside the stadium. Literally gets blanked, except by a massive security guard.
"Listen mate, you're gonna have to fuck off or I'm gonna go mental," he warns in his ridiculous South African accent.
"I'm Jesus though," reasons Mr. Christ. (Saying Mr. Christ seems strange, but I'm gonna stick with it)
"Yeah what's your point?"
"...Well I don't really have anything apart from that to be honest, I thought that'd be quite impressive on its own."
"Right, either show me a ticket or fuck the fuck off for Nelson Mandella's sake," the security says, quite carefully not taking Jesus's dad's name in vain. So, Jesus being Jesus, he does a miracle and conjures a ticket out of thin air.
"Thank you. Right, in you go then." He's an alright guy deep down, was just doing his job, like.
So Jesus goes in, but unfortunately he conjured up a really shit ticket so he's right at the back and behind a massive post.
"Fucking hell," he grumbles to himself, but then remembers the reason why he came in.
"Everybody! 'Tis I, Jesus, I'm back to lead you all to a golden age of peace!" he hollers, but unfortunately is drowned out by those fucking horns that sound like a massive bee.
"This is shit," he sighs. And besides he's wasting his time because by some strange coincidence everybody in the stadium is a Buddhist so they wouldn't really care about him being back anyways. To them it's similar to Noel Edmunds' return to television.
Nevertheless, when the game is over and the cup is being held up by North Korea (yeah they win) he runs onto the pitch and tries again.
"Listen up!" he says, but is mistaken for a crazy cunt and is immediately shot. See ya later.
"I'm back, come on everybody look at me!" he'd be hollering outside the stadium. Literally gets blanked, except by a massive security guard.
"Listen mate, you're gonna have to fuck off or I'm gonna go mental," he warns in his ridiculous South African accent.
"I'm Jesus though," reasons Mr. Christ. (Saying Mr. Christ seems strange, but I'm gonna stick with it)
"Yeah what's your point?"
"...Well I don't really have anything apart from that to be honest, I thought that'd be quite impressive on its own."
"Right, either show me a ticket or fuck the fuck off for Nelson Mandella's sake," the security says, quite carefully not taking Jesus's dad's name in vain. So, Jesus being Jesus, he does a miracle and conjures a ticket out of thin air.
"Thank you. Right, in you go then." He's an alright guy deep down, was just doing his job, like.
So Jesus goes in, but unfortunately he conjured up a really shit ticket so he's right at the back and behind a massive post.
"Fucking hell," he grumbles to himself, but then remembers the reason why he came in.
"Everybody! 'Tis I, Jesus, I'm back to lead you all to a golden age of peace!" he hollers, but unfortunately is drowned out by those fucking horns that sound like a massive bee.
"This is shit," he sighs. And besides he's wasting his time because by some strange coincidence everybody in the stadium is a Buddhist so they wouldn't really care about him being back anyways. To them it's similar to Noel Edmunds' return to television.
Nevertheless, when the game is over and the cup is being held up by North Korea (yeah they win) he runs onto the pitch and tries again.
"Listen up!" he says, but is mistaken for a crazy cunt and is immediately shot. See ya later.
Good Weather
Everybody loves a bit of nice weather, including my good self. The thing is though, does anybody else ever get the thought that the weather's only being good at the moment in order to distract us from something thoroughly sinister that it may be planning? I mean, none of us have even met The Weather in person before, so nobody knows whether (aaah that wasn't on purpose) it ought to be trusted or not, we only ever become victims of its literally indecisive mind. Nobody's seen if it has a trusting face, etc.
"Yeah alright then I'll be sunny. Aw nah nah nah actually a bit cloudy!" The Weather says to its P.A. The P.A waits patiently for another change of thought.
"Certain?" the celestial P.A asks. If you're wondering what a celestial P.A looks like, it doesn't look like Carol Vorderman. I hope that helps.
"Nah! I take it back...."
"I've already made it a bit cloudy..."
"Yeah well.....can't you just make it a tiny bit sunnier then? But with some nonsensical bursts of rain which ruin anybody's chances of a hairstyle?"
"Yes sir/madam."
So yeah if you think your job is hard, imagine being The Weather's P.A. Anyways, so yeah all we know of the person that is The Weather is the results of their actions, and seeing as those actions have been uncharacteristically steady of late, with these lovely sunny days, we can only assume something nasty/shit is afoot. My theory is that The Weather is a bit bored of being in charge of Earth's climate and fancies its chances as something of a 'celeb'. Indeed, The Weather has recently acquired a subscription to Heat magazine, and it pours over its shiny pages with a fevered mind, obsessing over the romantic inclinations of Lady GaGa and Victoria Beckham's capability of looking a bit rough in trackies. The Weather reflects upon its eternal position of just sitting about and deciding upon the moisture levels in Florida and the difference in overall temperature that the wind will make in some shit village in Scotland and it thinks, "I got something of a raw deal, here."
Consequently, The Weather has set the master controls to auto-pilot, permanently 'Quite Nice' weather, and we can only assume that it intends to invade the impenetrable realms of the celeb world with its very own persona very very soon; just as useless as the rest of them but just as tantalizingly irresistible, with mundane family problems and perhaps some sort of minor addiction to prescription painkillers.
"P.A! What do you think I should look like? Should I be slightly alternative or should I be mainstream but with a bit of a kooky edge. Like, because I don't want to alienate too many people or anything but also I don't want to put off the alternative crowd altogether, do you know what I mean? And what should I be, should I be the child of another celebrity or should I be a really shit singer or something?" asks The Weather as it stresses around in its bedroom trying to plan an outfit.
"To be honest, I didn't sign up for this. I'm not qualified for this sort of thing at all. I'm a barely comprehensible personification of an abstract idea that influences the climate, not Simon Cowell."
And here The Weather hangs a heavy head and lets out a sigh.
"Then....I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go."
"I don't think it really works like that, I'm not on a wage necessarily because I don't really exist in the true sense of the word. I don't have a bank account or anything."
"...Urm. Well I don't really know what to suggest to be honest, then."
This mild altercation will probably go on for quite some time so I wouldn't worry too much about The Weather's arrival to our celeb culture just yet.
But still, whilst the sun is still shining, try not to enjoy it too much in case any of what I'm saying is true, because another 'celeb' infecting our media would be a bit shit.
"Yeah alright then I'll be sunny. Aw nah nah nah actually a bit cloudy!" The Weather says to its P.A. The P.A waits patiently for another change of thought.
"Certain?" the celestial P.A asks. If you're wondering what a celestial P.A looks like, it doesn't look like Carol Vorderman. I hope that helps.
"Nah! I take it back...."
"I've already made it a bit cloudy..."
"Yeah well.....can't you just make it a tiny bit sunnier then? But with some nonsensical bursts of rain which ruin anybody's chances of a hairstyle?"
"Yes sir/madam."
So yeah if you think your job is hard, imagine being The Weather's P.A. Anyways, so yeah all we know of the person that is The Weather is the results of their actions, and seeing as those actions have been uncharacteristically steady of late, with these lovely sunny days, we can only assume something nasty/shit is afoot. My theory is that The Weather is a bit bored of being in charge of Earth's climate and fancies its chances as something of a 'celeb'. Indeed, The Weather has recently acquired a subscription to Heat magazine, and it pours over its shiny pages with a fevered mind, obsessing over the romantic inclinations of Lady GaGa and Victoria Beckham's capability of looking a bit rough in trackies. The Weather reflects upon its eternal position of just sitting about and deciding upon the moisture levels in Florida and the difference in overall temperature that the wind will make in some shit village in Scotland and it thinks, "I got something of a raw deal, here."
Consequently, The Weather has set the master controls to auto-pilot, permanently 'Quite Nice' weather, and we can only assume that it intends to invade the impenetrable realms of the celeb world with its very own persona very very soon; just as useless as the rest of them but just as tantalizingly irresistible, with mundane family problems and perhaps some sort of minor addiction to prescription painkillers.
"P.A! What do you think I should look like? Should I be slightly alternative or should I be mainstream but with a bit of a kooky edge. Like, because I don't want to alienate too many people or anything but also I don't want to put off the alternative crowd altogether, do you know what I mean? And what should I be, should I be the child of another celebrity or should I be a really shit singer or something?" asks The Weather as it stresses around in its bedroom trying to plan an outfit.
"To be honest, I didn't sign up for this. I'm not qualified for this sort of thing at all. I'm a barely comprehensible personification of an abstract idea that influences the climate, not Simon Cowell."
And here The Weather hangs a heavy head and lets out a sigh.
"Then....I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go."
"I don't think it really works like that, I'm not on a wage necessarily because I don't really exist in the true sense of the word. I don't have a bank account or anything."
"...Urm. Well I don't really know what to suggest to be honest, then."
This mild altercation will probably go on for quite some time so I wouldn't worry too much about The Weather's arrival to our celeb culture just yet.
But still, whilst the sun is still shining, try not to enjoy it too much in case any of what I'm saying is true, because another 'celeb' infecting our media would be a bit shit.
Thursday, 27 May 2010
Leave It Out
"Ladies and gentlemen, the new president of the world, Kirk Steaggles!" says an official announcer-type guy to the absolutely huge crowd gathered in Time Square, New York. I step up to the podium to mad applause, but I'm eating a sausage roll or something and I'm wearing trackies.
"Alright?" I say into the large collection of microphones sprouting out of the podium. The applause dies down to a reverent hush as the crowd anticipate what ought to be a rousing speech.
"Yeah urm, basically seeing as I'm now president of the world after all the nations united in world peace and that, I thought I should probably do some laws and that..." I say, finishing off the sausage roll and taking out some old receipts with stuff scrawled on in biro from my pocket. A smattering of applause.
"Yeah okay the first law is that everybody should basically 'leave it out'...." I start, much to the bafflement of the largely America crowd.
"Leave what out?" asks a guy at the front.
"Settle down...." I stammer, aimlessly shuffling the crumpled-up receipts. They're mostly receipts from Sainsburies for sausage rolls and cornish pasties by the way. Not that that's really of any importance.
"I just mean you shouldn't be 'out of order'...." I say, yet again baffling the crowd.
"What do you mean 'out of order'...like a broken-down machine or something? When is anybody ever like that anyway?" asks another bloke at the front who looks like a cunt.
"Look shut the fuck up a minute will you..." I say, instantly regretting it when the large mass of people get a bit tetchy, "No no, I don't mean literally shut the fuck up....well I do, but...." things get worse as the crowd start muttering things and the official announcer guy gives me a concerned look.
"What I'm trying to say is that it's now illegal to 'give it large', so there'll be less fights in pubs and football matches and that..."
"Pub? What's that? And do you mean American football or soccer?" asks a woman at the front who should really be in a kitchen anyway.
"How the fuck did this chump get elected?" asks a hot-shot New York lawyer.
"Okay look we'll forget about that law for now, but another one is that you're not allowed to pick on people, so there won't be any bullying," I say, trying to recuperate. I have good intentions you see I'm just not really taking language barriers into account, which I really ought to have if I'm going to be president of the world.
"How will this law be enforced?"
"Urm....death?" I say, having not really thought about it. This is met with absolute disgust of course.
"Okay I think we should stop this here..." the announcer man cuts in, and I'm ushered away by a pair of security guards. As they do my trousers fall down and I stumble a bit.
"I think the president needs a bit of time to prepare himself, so for now why don't we all just forget that ever happened and talk amongst ourselves for a while," the announcer man says. Everyone shrugs and they engage in conversations with each other, mostly about the dodgy weather of late.
Basically what I'm trying to say is that being president of the world would be really hard.
"Alright?" I say into the large collection of microphones sprouting out of the podium. The applause dies down to a reverent hush as the crowd anticipate what ought to be a rousing speech.
"Yeah urm, basically seeing as I'm now president of the world after all the nations united in world peace and that, I thought I should probably do some laws and that..." I say, finishing off the sausage roll and taking out some old receipts with stuff scrawled on in biro from my pocket. A smattering of applause.
"Yeah okay the first law is that everybody should basically 'leave it out'...." I start, much to the bafflement of the largely America crowd.
"Leave what out?" asks a guy at the front.
"Settle down...." I stammer, aimlessly shuffling the crumpled-up receipts. They're mostly receipts from Sainsburies for sausage rolls and cornish pasties by the way. Not that that's really of any importance.
"I just mean you shouldn't be 'out of order'...." I say, yet again baffling the crowd.
"What do you mean 'out of order'...like a broken-down machine or something? When is anybody ever like that anyway?" asks another bloke at the front who looks like a cunt.
"Look shut the fuck up a minute will you..." I say, instantly regretting it when the large mass of people get a bit tetchy, "No no, I don't mean literally shut the fuck up....well I do, but...." things get worse as the crowd start muttering things and the official announcer guy gives me a concerned look.
"What I'm trying to say is that it's now illegal to 'give it large', so there'll be less fights in pubs and football matches and that..."
"Pub? What's that? And do you mean American football or soccer?" asks a woman at the front who should really be in a kitchen anyway.
"How the fuck did this chump get elected?" asks a hot-shot New York lawyer.
"Okay look we'll forget about that law for now, but another one is that you're not allowed to pick on people, so there won't be any bullying," I say, trying to recuperate. I have good intentions you see I'm just not really taking language barriers into account, which I really ought to have if I'm going to be president of the world.
"How will this law be enforced?"
"Urm....death?" I say, having not really thought about it. This is met with absolute disgust of course.
"Okay I think we should stop this here..." the announcer man cuts in, and I'm ushered away by a pair of security guards. As they do my trousers fall down and I stumble a bit.
"I think the president needs a bit of time to prepare himself, so for now why don't we all just forget that ever happened and talk amongst ourselves for a while," the announcer man says. Everyone shrugs and they engage in conversations with each other, mostly about the dodgy weather of late.
Basically what I'm trying to say is that being president of the world would be really hard.
Giraffe
Mr. Giraffe is making his way to his local supermarket to pick up some bits, such as tea and milk and that. However, on his way to the supermarket he encounters something of a problem. Because of his big stupid neck, he all of a sudden gets his head caught in a tree.
"Fuck, this is well embarrassing," he thinks, and tries to quickly free himself from the clutching branches. However, his useless horns which aren't even for anything make this exceedingly difficult, and he begins to go bright red underneath his yellow fur at the thought of how fucking stupid he must look trying to tug his head out from the tree. Stuff from the tree starts to fall out and get all over his smart suit (which he only bought yesterday) like leaves and stuff.
"You alright there mate?" asks a passer-by, stifling a laugh.
"Don't laugh mate, give me a break. I am actually properly stuck as well, could you help?" Mr. Giraffe requests, and by this point he's sweating like mad as well so he smells quite bad.
"I'll see what I can do," the man shrugs, and starts tugging at Mr. Giraffe's fucking long neck.
"Take it easy mate!" Mr. Giraffe protests.
"I'm doing the best I can, mate."
"I'm not your mate."
"Well I'm not yours either," the protester snaps, and storms off in a huff. Literally has hurt feelings.
Mr. Giraffe realises he's shot himself in the foot here (or hoof, whatever the fucking stupid cunt has instead of feet) because he's still stuck in the tree and it doesn't look as if anybody else is around.
"I only wanted some tea," he whimpers to himself.
This problem persists for about 2 days.
Now, the reason I've told ya'll this distressing tale is because I thought recently that alot of animals evolved to be quite stupid. Those horns aren't used for anything at all, why doesn't he get rid of them? Similarly, why the HELL does the Rhino think it's necessary to have a horn as big as that, it's not as if he uses it that often because he barely gets started on due to his huge size. It's practically the same thing as Mike Tyson having two swords for arms. Completely unnecessary. Why doesn't God just step up his game a bit, basically? Like by making me win the lottery or something, aaarghh
"Fuck, this is well embarrassing," he thinks, and tries to quickly free himself from the clutching branches. However, his useless horns which aren't even for anything make this exceedingly difficult, and he begins to go bright red underneath his yellow fur at the thought of how fucking stupid he must look trying to tug his head out from the tree. Stuff from the tree starts to fall out and get all over his smart suit (which he only bought yesterday) like leaves and stuff.
"You alright there mate?" asks a passer-by, stifling a laugh.
"Don't laugh mate, give me a break. I am actually properly stuck as well, could you help?" Mr. Giraffe requests, and by this point he's sweating like mad as well so he smells quite bad.
"I'll see what I can do," the man shrugs, and starts tugging at Mr. Giraffe's fucking long neck.
"Take it easy mate!" Mr. Giraffe protests.
"I'm doing the best I can, mate."
"I'm not your mate."
"Well I'm not yours either," the protester snaps, and storms off in a huff. Literally has hurt feelings.
Mr. Giraffe realises he's shot himself in the foot here (or hoof, whatever the fucking stupid cunt has instead of feet) because he's still stuck in the tree and it doesn't look as if anybody else is around.
"I only wanted some tea," he whimpers to himself.
This problem persists for about 2 days.
Now, the reason I've told ya'll this distressing tale is because I thought recently that alot of animals evolved to be quite stupid. Those horns aren't used for anything at all, why doesn't he get rid of them? Similarly, why the HELL does the Rhino think it's necessary to have a horn as big as that, it's not as if he uses it that often because he barely gets started on due to his huge size. It's practically the same thing as Mike Tyson having two swords for arms. Completely unnecessary. Why doesn't God just step up his game a bit, basically? Like by making me win the lottery or something, aaarghh
How Different Things Would Have Been If The Fruit Eve Ate From The Tree Of Knowledge Was A Pineapple
We all know the story of Adam and Eve; how Satan, disguised as a snake, convinced Eve to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge and thus cause mankind to be cast out of the Garden of Eden forever. First of all, where was Adam at this point? They were the only two people alive at that point, what the fuck was he doing, talking to a fucking flower? And secondly, if God didn't want Eve to be messing about with the tree of knowledge he should've put an electric fence around it rather than just be all like "yeah leave the tree alright?" before poncing off to do fuck-all for the rest of eternity except moan.
But anyway, I'm digressing. I want to discuss how different EVERYTHING would have been if the tree of knowledge's fruit were pineapples rather than the generally agreed-upon apples. Apples are fucking easy to eat, you just get one and start eating it. Pineapples, however, are a different kettle of fish (well, not fish, because they're pineapples) altogether.
"Eve," says Satan in snake form.
"What?" asks Eve. Her and Adam haven't learnt manners yet, they haven't been alive for that long. Satan is taken aback a little bit by her aggressive tone.
"Urm. Alright?" he continues.
"Yeah, fine. What is it?" she asks. Satan, being a disgusting perve, keeps looking at her tits as he's talking to her.
"Well..." he starts, flustered.
"Why are you looking at my tits?"
"I wasn't. I'm a snake, I look at snake's tits."
"They don't have any do they?"
"Look this is irrelevant, what I was gonna say is, don't you think it'd be a good idea if you ate some fruit from the tree of knowledge?"
"God said I shouldn't though didn't he?"
"Oh 'God said I shouldn't'. If God said you should jump off a cliff would you do it?"
"Well, yeah probably. I dunno really, I haven't learnt how to think about stuff for myself just yet because all I've had to do thus far in my life is wander about in the nip with Adam. To be honest I'm getting a bit bored..."
"Well, you may as well eat some of the fruit then, don't you think? Why wouldn't you? It'll be well funny. Quickly, go on," Satan urges, gesturing with his snake-head and making suggestive eyes. Eve shrugs and heads towards the tree. She looks at the fruit.
"Ummm..." she says.
"What?" asks Satan, sweating and getting a little bit edgy in case God sees (which he would have done if he was omniscient like the bible says. Plot hole #3).
"How exactly do I eat it?"
Satan is perplexed by this inquest and slithers over to the tree. He glances to the fruit and is baffled.
"What the fuck..." he says to himself. With the fruit being pineapples they're ridiculously spikey-looking and a bit massive.
"Exactly. Are you sure I'm meant to eat them?"
"Well...they're fruit so, yeah. Of course. Just get one down and have a go at it," Satan says, looking around nervously. Eve gets one and attempts to take a bite.
"Ow. What the fuck? Fuck this, these are shit. This was a shit idea Mr. Snake," she says and throws it down in a huff. Adam emerges from the forest.
"What's going on?" he asks in a bewildered fashion. Adam is basically Ross from Friends.
"This stupid fucking snake tried to get me to eat what must be the shittest fruit I've ever seen," Eve explains. Adam just gawps like a cunt. Satan is understandably quite perturbed at this point.
"This is ridiculous! There must be some way of eating this fucking thing, it's a fruit. Let me try," he says, and starts grappling with it, but because he's a snake he doesn't get far. By this point the noise generated by this whole episode has risen to such levels that God gets involved.
"You lot are taking the piss. I was having a lie-in after all this creating I've done and now you've woken me up. What the fuck is the problem?" he asks. Adam says fuck all so Eve explains.
"That snake was trying to get me to eat that shit fruit from the tree of knowledge," she says. Satan literally shits himself.
"Nah nah I weren't, like! I was just having a laugh!"
"Well it's a bloody good thing you didn't Eve, coz otherwise I would've banished you from the Garden of Eden," God says whilst chucking Satan out of said garden in the manner of a bouncer removing a particularly drunken chav from Oceana.
"Oh right."
"Yeah. So basically don't bother trying that again. Laters and taters you lot," God says and disappears in a puff smoke, becoming completely unreachable to humanity once again unless you do something you weren't supposed to.
"That was a close one!" remarks Adam, now seemingly much more like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. He's a useless tosser, basically.
But yeah, because Eve never ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge, mankind were never banished from the Garden of Eden. Consequently, nothing exciting ever ever happened and there was a niggling feeling in the depths of Adam and Eve's soul that there was something missing in their lives (crack). Altogether now, here's to you, pineapple! You elusive, hard-to-eat, but delicious fruit which has the capability to induce heart-burn!
(Kirk raises a toast to the pineapple.....WITH A PINA COLODA!!!!)
But anyway, I'm digressing. I want to discuss how different EVERYTHING would have been if the tree of knowledge's fruit were pineapples rather than the generally agreed-upon apples. Apples are fucking easy to eat, you just get one and start eating it. Pineapples, however, are a different kettle of fish (well, not fish, because they're pineapples) altogether.
"Eve," says Satan in snake form.
"What?" asks Eve. Her and Adam haven't learnt manners yet, they haven't been alive for that long. Satan is taken aback a little bit by her aggressive tone.
"Urm. Alright?" he continues.
"Yeah, fine. What is it?" she asks. Satan, being a disgusting perve, keeps looking at her tits as he's talking to her.
"Well..." he starts, flustered.
"Why are you looking at my tits?"
"I wasn't. I'm a snake, I look at snake's tits."
"They don't have any do they?"
"Look this is irrelevant, what I was gonna say is, don't you think it'd be a good idea if you ate some fruit from the tree of knowledge?"
"God said I shouldn't though didn't he?"
"Oh 'God said I shouldn't'. If God said you should jump off a cliff would you do it?"
"Well, yeah probably. I dunno really, I haven't learnt how to think about stuff for myself just yet because all I've had to do thus far in my life is wander about in the nip with Adam. To be honest I'm getting a bit bored..."
"Well, you may as well eat some of the fruit then, don't you think? Why wouldn't you? It'll be well funny. Quickly, go on," Satan urges, gesturing with his snake-head and making suggestive eyes. Eve shrugs and heads towards the tree. She looks at the fruit.
"Ummm..." she says.
"What?" asks Satan, sweating and getting a little bit edgy in case God sees (which he would have done if he was omniscient like the bible says. Plot hole #3).
"How exactly do I eat it?"
Satan is perplexed by this inquest and slithers over to the tree. He glances to the fruit and is baffled.
"What the fuck..." he says to himself. With the fruit being pineapples they're ridiculously spikey-looking and a bit massive.
"Exactly. Are you sure I'm meant to eat them?"
"Well...they're fruit so, yeah. Of course. Just get one down and have a go at it," Satan says, looking around nervously. Eve gets one and attempts to take a bite.
"Ow. What the fuck? Fuck this, these are shit. This was a shit idea Mr. Snake," she says and throws it down in a huff. Adam emerges from the forest.
"What's going on?" he asks in a bewildered fashion. Adam is basically Ross from Friends.
"This stupid fucking snake tried to get me to eat what must be the shittest fruit I've ever seen," Eve explains. Adam just gawps like a cunt. Satan is understandably quite perturbed at this point.
"This is ridiculous! There must be some way of eating this fucking thing, it's a fruit. Let me try," he says, and starts grappling with it, but because he's a snake he doesn't get far. By this point the noise generated by this whole episode has risen to such levels that God gets involved.
"You lot are taking the piss. I was having a lie-in after all this creating I've done and now you've woken me up. What the fuck is the problem?" he asks. Adam says fuck all so Eve explains.
"That snake was trying to get me to eat that shit fruit from the tree of knowledge," she says. Satan literally shits himself.
"Nah nah I weren't, like! I was just having a laugh!"
"Well it's a bloody good thing you didn't Eve, coz otherwise I would've banished you from the Garden of Eden," God says whilst chucking Satan out of said garden in the manner of a bouncer removing a particularly drunken chav from Oceana.
"Oh right."
"Yeah. So basically don't bother trying that again. Laters and taters you lot," God says and disappears in a puff smoke, becoming completely unreachable to humanity once again unless you do something you weren't supposed to.
"That was a close one!" remarks Adam, now seemingly much more like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. He's a useless tosser, basically.
But yeah, because Eve never ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge, mankind were never banished from the Garden of Eden. Consequently, nothing exciting ever ever happened and there was a niggling feeling in the depths of Adam and Eve's soul that there was something missing in their lives (crack). Altogether now, here's to you, pineapple! You elusive, hard-to-eat, but delicious fruit which has the capability to induce heart-burn!
(Kirk raises a toast to the pineapple.....WITH A PINA COLODA!!!!)
Tuesday, 27 April 2010
Meat vs. Coal
I think we all already know who'd win this fight.
That's right, meat.
And why? Because there's not much coal left, because the human race are doing a fine job in hollowing out the Earth and draining it of all its natural resources.
Essentially then, I think this fight is a bit of a write-off and shouldn't be allowed to take place. The last thing we need is for more coal to get wasted in a meaningless scrap with a hamburger. However, this almost-fight has helped to hammer home the fact that we need to start thinking about alternative fuels and energy-saving methods if we're going to keep our plastic-powered world going for much longer, and so I think this is as good an opportunity as ever to get our mother-fuckin' thinking caps on.
Here are some of my suggestions for ways of combating this problem:
-Stop using loads of coal and that
-Instead of turning your lights off all the time, always keep them on. This will reduce the amount of times you will have to turn them back on again.
-As a replacement for using your heating, start a huge fire in your house. If you struggle to keep this fire going, be sure to use lots of coal
-Shit bands' concerts use lots of power, probably. Consequently, I propose that the following bands shouldn't be allowed to perform anymore: The Courteeners, Bloc Party (they went shit, admit it), any bands from Wales, My Chemical Romance, etc.
-Leave it out.
I hope those suggestions are helpful. Maybe if Gordon Brown came up with some cracking policies like these he wouldn't have to be worried about not getting re-elected and that.
(Gordon Brown smashes through the window to confront me)
"What have you been fucking saying about me?" growls Gordon.
"I said you might not get re-elected."
"Why don't you say it to my face?"
"I just did."
"Yeah, and what."
"What?"
"Enough of this, I bet I can eat more porridge than you," he says, fetching a little pot full of Quaker's faster than anything I've ever seen.
"Why are you conforming to racial stereotypes Mr. Brown?"
"Fine, I bet I can toss the caber further than you."
"That sounds a bit gay..."
"There's just no fucking pleasing you is there," he says, and draws out a massive machine-gun. I think my days are numbered here, but all of a sudden Nick Clegg smashes through another one of my windows to join in.
"Yeah you lot can pay for all of this damage by the way," I say, but I am silenced by Nick Clegg pumping up a shotgun menacingly.
"Alright motherfucker, it's time to Build A Fairer Britain out of your smokin' carcass," he drawls in a menacing American action-hero voice. Not sure why he's putting the voice on. Gordon Brown lets loose with his machine-gun, but Nick Clegg is quicker off the mark and he dives out of the line of fire and unloads into Gordon's Scottish stomach.
"Aaaaaarghhhhhh," howls Gordon Brown, sounding a bit like what Arnold Schwarzenegger would if he came from the highlands. David Cameron doesn't turn up because he's busy scrubbing all the graffiti off of his posters. This means it's just me and Clegg left in my destroyed living room, him still holding a smoking shotgun and Gordon Brown dead on the floor.
Things get a bit awkward.
"So, how's your degree going?" Clegg asks.
"Not too bad I suppose."
"I did Anthropology at Cambridge, you know."
"Did ya."
That's right, meat.
And why? Because there's not much coal left, because the human race are doing a fine job in hollowing out the Earth and draining it of all its natural resources.
Essentially then, I think this fight is a bit of a write-off and shouldn't be allowed to take place. The last thing we need is for more coal to get wasted in a meaningless scrap with a hamburger. However, this almost-fight has helped to hammer home the fact that we need to start thinking about alternative fuels and energy-saving methods if we're going to keep our plastic-powered world going for much longer, and so I think this is as good an opportunity as ever to get our mother-fuckin' thinking caps on.
Here are some of my suggestions for ways of combating this problem:
-Stop using loads of coal and that
-Instead of turning your lights off all the time, always keep them on. This will reduce the amount of times you will have to turn them back on again.
-As a replacement for using your heating, start a huge fire in your house. If you struggle to keep this fire going, be sure to use lots of coal
-Shit bands' concerts use lots of power, probably. Consequently, I propose that the following bands shouldn't be allowed to perform anymore: The Courteeners, Bloc Party (they went shit, admit it), any bands from Wales, My Chemical Romance, etc.
-Leave it out.
I hope those suggestions are helpful. Maybe if Gordon Brown came up with some cracking policies like these he wouldn't have to be worried about not getting re-elected and that.
(Gordon Brown smashes through the window to confront me)
"What have you been fucking saying about me?" growls Gordon.
"I said you might not get re-elected."
"Why don't you say it to my face?"
"I just did."
"Yeah, and what."
"What?"
"Enough of this, I bet I can eat more porridge than you," he says, fetching a little pot full of Quaker's faster than anything I've ever seen.
"Why are you conforming to racial stereotypes Mr. Brown?"
"Fine, I bet I can toss the caber further than you."
"That sounds a bit gay..."
"There's just no fucking pleasing you is there," he says, and draws out a massive machine-gun. I think my days are numbered here, but all of a sudden Nick Clegg smashes through another one of my windows to join in.
"Yeah you lot can pay for all of this damage by the way," I say, but I am silenced by Nick Clegg pumping up a shotgun menacingly.
"Alright motherfucker, it's time to Build A Fairer Britain out of your smokin' carcass," he drawls in a menacing American action-hero voice. Not sure why he's putting the voice on. Gordon Brown lets loose with his machine-gun, but Nick Clegg is quicker off the mark and he dives out of the line of fire and unloads into Gordon's Scottish stomach.
"Aaaaaarghhhhhh," howls Gordon Brown, sounding a bit like what Arnold Schwarzenegger would if he came from the highlands. David Cameron doesn't turn up because he's busy scrubbing all the graffiti off of his posters. This means it's just me and Clegg left in my destroyed living room, him still holding a smoking shotgun and Gordon Brown dead on the floor.
Things get a bit awkward.
"So, how's your degree going?" Clegg asks.
"Not too bad I suppose."
"I did Anthropology at Cambridge, you know."
"Did ya."
Class War
Has anybody else noticed a trend these days to get on your high horse if you haven't got as much money as someone else? I have, because I do it. But if you think about it, it doesn't make any fucking sense at all, because at the end of the day we'd all rather have a bit more money.
"Aaah shut up you middle-class cunt," is a popular thing to say these days, which is stupid because unless you actually live in a coal-mine and have seventeen siblings, nobody is technically working class anymore. We're all just one enormous faceless middle-class with different degrees of income, I'm afraid. And yes, having a bit more money is better, so why think you're better than somebody if you haven't got as much as them?
Consequently, I propose we go back to the far more logical old system of Victorian England when rich people gave poor people shit for having no money. If a rich person had the gall to say to me "Yeah but I'm richer than you, you absolute chimney-sweep," I'd have to say fair-play to the man, in a way. That's how capitalism works unfortunately, rich people are more important, and no I'm not going to start talking about communism because Karl Marx has a stupid beard. I think all of this is Paul Weller's fault for banging on about being working class and that and making being poor cool. Anyway, he sent his kids to private school and shit, so he can shut up. Besides, let me put it this way, who's better, Mick Jagger or Paul Weller? Clearly Mick Jagger, and he has no problem with admitting that he's from a comfortable middle-class background. It's all well and good having a go at middle-class people, but they're not as bad as a nuclear holocaust are they, so leave it out.
By the way I'm well aware of the inherent hypocrisy of this note because I fucking hate rich people too and think they should all fuck off.
"Aaah shut up you middle-class cunt," is a popular thing to say these days, which is stupid because unless you actually live in a coal-mine and have seventeen siblings, nobody is technically working class anymore. We're all just one enormous faceless middle-class with different degrees of income, I'm afraid. And yes, having a bit more money is better, so why think you're better than somebody if you haven't got as much as them?
Consequently, I propose we go back to the far more logical old system of Victorian England when rich people gave poor people shit for having no money. If a rich person had the gall to say to me "Yeah but I'm richer than you, you absolute chimney-sweep," I'd have to say fair-play to the man, in a way. That's how capitalism works unfortunately, rich people are more important, and no I'm not going to start talking about communism because Karl Marx has a stupid beard. I think all of this is Paul Weller's fault for banging on about being working class and that and making being poor cool. Anyway, he sent his kids to private school and shit, so he can shut up. Besides, let me put it this way, who's better, Mick Jagger or Paul Weller? Clearly Mick Jagger, and he has no problem with admitting that he's from a comfortable middle-class background. It's all well and good having a go at middle-class people, but they're not as bad as a nuclear holocaust are they, so leave it out.
By the way I'm well aware of the inherent hypocrisy of this note because I fucking hate rich people too and think they should all fuck off.
Friday, 23 April 2010
Fruit vs. Vegetables
It all started when Strawberry started slagging off Aubergine's mum, which caused Aubergine to cry like a fucking idiot and run and tell Pumpkin. Pumpkin is the earth-grown equivalent of a massive skinhead.
"What was that little ponce saying?" Pumpkin growls.
"He said my mum is a delicate perennial often cultivated as an annual that grows 40 to 150 cm (16 to 57 in) tall, with large coarsely lobed leaves that are 10 to 20 cm (4–8 in) long and 5 to 10 cm (2–4 in) broad!"
"....Well that's pretty much exactly right though isn't it?"
"Well yeah but it was still bang out of order to say it, though," Aubergine protests. So, Pumpkin strolls over to Strawberry, who's chatting up a proper fit Pineapple and smoking whilst wearing shades and shit.
"What you been saying about my boy?" Pumpkin says, all intimidating like, which causes the Pineapple to scram but Strawberry isn't phased.
"I said that he's botanically classified as a berry, and contains numerous small, soft seeds, which are edible. And he fuckin' knows it," says Strawberry, exhaling loads of smoke into Pumpkin's face. Pumpkin goes mental at this and nuts Strawberry, which causes an all-out Fruit vs. Vegetable war.
Now the question I'm presenting to you is this, who would you support? Who does you the most favours? I'd go for fruit personally coz they taste nicer and have more exotic sounding names. Case in point: Kumquat. That's a fucking mental name. And then you've got tons of vegetables with fucking stupid sounding names like Cabbage. What a waste of space Cabbage is anyway really, it doesn't taste very nice and smells bad when you boil it. I'm not joking, it stinks out the fucking kitchen. How dare such a bland substance have such a ridiculously potent smell? Cabbage is essentially the vegetable equivalent of the slow person in the class at school was still doing colouring in when everybody else was doing their times-tables.
Cabbage would be one of the first of the casualties, literally getting held down by Melon and punched in the stomach by Pear. However, at this point Marrow strolls out of his council estate with a 2x4 with a nail through it, and things are looking bad for the fruit as he absolutely slaughters Lychee, despite his hard outer shell.
"You rarely-eaten exotic shit!" he bellows. He's a prize-winning Marrow as well, literally massive.
"Where the fuck is Apple?" cries Banana, who's place amongst the fruit army is under debate anyway because there's been whispers about him technically being a nut or a pulse or something like that. His counter-argument was 'Yeah but I sit in a fuckin' fruit bowl don't I?' and which point everybody was urged to 'leave it out'.
Yeah, Apple's the big player with the fruit. He's literally a legend, gets all the girls and has a fast car and shit. Gets in for free in clubs.
Then.....just as Marrow, Pumpkin and Potato surround the only fruit left standing.....Apple zooms in on his motorbike.
"I said I'd come didn't I?" Apple says, in the voice of Clint Eastwood. He then shoots the hefty vegetables to shit with a massive shotgun and says some sort of cool one-liner, but because he's quite far away from the rest of them they can't hear it, so he sort of wasted his breath really.
So yeah, I think fruit are better than vegetables. Tune in next week for Meat vs. Coal.
My Thoughts On The General Election
Nah I don't have any to be honest, because I'm just your standard lad and I'm too busy watching football and drinking and having a laugh with my mates and that. When I'm not doing that I also really enjoy boobs and fast cars, so yeah I ain't got the time to be thinking about BORING politics. Incidentally, who wants to go to Oceana tonight?
But in all seriousness, after watching (some of) that debate thing all I could think about was the fact that David Cameron's face is way too small for his head. It looks like somebody stretched a pink canvas across a ridiculously tall wall and then drew the tiny face of a sparrow in the middle, don't you think? He really ought to have considered this before deciding to appear on television. I imagine whilst the debate was going on the producer was yelling in the presenter's earpiece saying stuff like: "Try and make him look less like a massive wall-face!"
And the presenter would subtly put his hand over his mouth and ask "How should I do that?"
"I don't fucking know just do something he looks ridiculous aaarghh, cut to commercial!"
"I can't, Gordon Brown just brought up something irrelevant again, it'd be ridiculous to cut now,"
"Aaaarghhhhhhhh"
Well that's what I'd like to think was going on anyway, I don't know how often live-television producers resort to just hollering 'aaargh' into the presenter's ear, it'd be somewhat distracting.
"Aaaargh now he looks a bit like he could be related to Jeremy Kyle, people are gonna be thinking they're watching Jeremy Kyle!"
"I don't think they will."
They should have made Jeremy Kyle present the debate actually, he could've done that bit when he bangs on about the results of the lie detector and it's well tense even though they don't use tense music or nuffink.
"So Nick Clegg, you are saying you DON'T have a wooden leg, despite the fact that it would be great because we could make a limerick out of it......but we have the results from the lie-detector right here...." says Jeremy, retrieving the ominous sheet of paper from some fucker. Nick Clegg is sweating like mad.
"And the results prove....that you DON'T have a wooden leg."
(Applause, Nick Clegg is hugged by a loved one.)
"Now join us after the break where we'll be finding out whether or not Gordon Brown has a glass eye."
"No, I actually do have a glass eye," Gordon interjects.
"Well we'll see," Jeremy says, attempting to wrap it up for the camera with one of those perversely sincere looks so they can go to commercial, but Gordon interrupts again.
"This is pointless, I definitely do have a glass eye."
"We'll find out whether you're telling the truth when we get the results, I said," says Jeremy in the tone he uses when usually accusing people of being 'scum'.
"Can I just say," David Cameron pipes up, "When they asked me on the lie detector whether or not I'm a nobhead I was really nervous anyway because I was thinking about my upcoming exams, so my results probably aren't very accurate."
"Excuses excuses!!!" chants literally everybody in the audience, causing his pink wall-face to deepen in colour to a severe crimson.
Aaaaaah politics.
But in all seriousness, after watching (some of) that debate thing all I could think about was the fact that David Cameron's face is way too small for his head. It looks like somebody stretched a pink canvas across a ridiculously tall wall and then drew the tiny face of a sparrow in the middle, don't you think? He really ought to have considered this before deciding to appear on television. I imagine whilst the debate was going on the producer was yelling in the presenter's earpiece saying stuff like: "Try and make him look less like a massive wall-face!"
And the presenter would subtly put his hand over his mouth and ask "How should I do that?"
"I don't fucking know just do something he looks ridiculous aaarghh, cut to commercial!"
"I can't, Gordon Brown just brought up something irrelevant again, it'd be ridiculous to cut now,"
"Aaaarghhhhhhhh"
Well that's what I'd like to think was going on anyway, I don't know how often live-television producers resort to just hollering 'aaargh' into the presenter's ear, it'd be somewhat distracting.
"Aaaargh now he looks a bit like he could be related to Jeremy Kyle, people are gonna be thinking they're watching Jeremy Kyle!"
"I don't think they will."
They should have made Jeremy Kyle present the debate actually, he could've done that bit when he bangs on about the results of the lie detector and it's well tense even though they don't use tense music or nuffink.
"So Nick Clegg, you are saying you DON'T have a wooden leg, despite the fact that it would be great because we could make a limerick out of it......but we have the results from the lie-detector right here...." says Jeremy, retrieving the ominous sheet of paper from some fucker. Nick Clegg is sweating like mad.
"And the results prove....that you DON'T have a wooden leg."
(Applause, Nick Clegg is hugged by a loved one.)
"Now join us after the break where we'll be finding out whether or not Gordon Brown has a glass eye."
"No, I actually do have a glass eye," Gordon interjects.
"Well we'll see," Jeremy says, attempting to wrap it up for the camera with one of those perversely sincere looks so they can go to commercial, but Gordon interrupts again.
"This is pointless, I definitely do have a glass eye."
"We'll find out whether you're telling the truth when we get the results, I said," says Jeremy in the tone he uses when usually accusing people of being 'scum'.
"Can I just say," David Cameron pipes up, "When they asked me on the lie detector whether or not I'm a nobhead I was really nervous anyway because I was thinking about my upcoming exams, so my results probably aren't very accurate."
"Excuses excuses!!!" chants literally everybody in the audience, causing his pink wall-face to deepen in colour to a severe crimson.
Aaaaaah politics.
A Form of an Informal Formality
I love how different cultures have got different formalities and that, it's well good isn't it? I mostly like it because of the very high chance of really pissing off another culture by accident by trying to shake their hand or something because it isn't one of their formalities. Imagine if it was a ridiculously obscure culture who's not involved with any other nation at all and they thought you were trying to steal their hand.
"Why you trying to steal my hand though?"
"Well I'm not."
"Well why are you shaking it then?"
"Well when you put it like that, I haven't got a fucking clue mate. What does your culture usually do as a greeting?"
"Steal each other's trousers."
"That's ridiculous."
"Well so is shaking their hand you mug."
"Welll...."
"Well...."
What a comical scene that'd be. To ensure that this happens in the near-future I'm going to go and claim some tiny island and start a new culture, and we'll have ridiculous formalities and get really offended by every other culture's formalities, especially stuff like bowing.
"What are you trying to call me a cunt or something?" will be our standard response to every greeting that isn't trying to steal the other person's trousers.
Who wants to start this culture up with me then?
(Kirk gets pelted by rotten fruit again)
"Why you trying to steal my hand though?"
"Well I'm not."
"Well why are you shaking it then?"
"Well when you put it like that, I haven't got a fucking clue mate. What does your culture usually do as a greeting?"
"Steal each other's trousers."
"That's ridiculous."
"Well so is shaking their hand you mug."
"Welll...."
"Well...."
What a comical scene that'd be. To ensure that this happens in the near-future I'm going to go and claim some tiny island and start a new culture, and we'll have ridiculous formalities and get really offended by every other culture's formalities, especially stuff like bowing.
"What are you trying to call me a cunt or something?" will be our standard response to every greeting that isn't trying to steal the other person's trousers.
Who wants to start this culture up with me then?
(Kirk gets pelted by rotten fruit again)
Tuesday, 30 March 2010
I Could Beat Up Zeus In A Fight
Before you lose your temper at the outrageous claim I've made in the title of this note, consider the following things:
1. Zeus is well old, I bet he gets tired quicker than I do and would keep banging on about his back
2. Zeus only ever wears a toga so if I decide to fight him in the frozen plains of Northern Russia (which I probably will) he'll be proper cold and unable to defend himself against my vicious slaps (which incidentally will hurt even more because of the cold especially if I get him on the nipple)
3. Zeus has got a shit beard which would probably catch fire really easily if I get matches involved, which has been known to happen
4. Zeus doesn't exist so I win be default
There you go you see, I'm basically harder than the lord of Mount Olympus and the mightiest of all the Greek Gods. That's pretty good isn't it? The next time I'm feeling a bit down I'll just reflect upon this fact and cheer myself up. Well, either that or do a Facebook status saying something like "Cud dis day get n e worse?? :( xx." and wait for all my girliez to reply saying "Wat's up babez? xx."
Anyway whilst we're on the topic of Zeus, I've got a few bones to pick with him. First of all, why does he keep pissing about with lightning bolts? They're ridiculously dangerous. Did you know they can heat up the air around them to ridiculous temperatures like 50,000 degrees, which is hotter than the surface of the sun? Being a God and that he obviously knows this, and yet he still opts to ponce about with them as if they're just a fun toy like a Nintendo Piss.
If I was his school-teacher I'd give him a right clip round the ear-hole and send him to the naughty wall. Hades would be all like: "AAAAAAHAAA!!! Zeus got sent to the naughty wall!!!" and would be proper pointing and laughing at him. You've literally never seen somebody point so much.
But yeah secondly Mr. Zeus, literally what are you playing at with that beard? You're the lord of Mount Olympus, show that you've put a bit of effort in. At least buy one of those new beard trimmers so you can get a designer stubble like David Beckham or David Blaine or another David. Until you do, you ought to be embarrassed every time you show your face in public looking like a hung-over Alan Sugar.
My third and final bone to pick however is the most important one. When you existed back in Ancient Greek times, why didn't you ever throw any mental parties? Seems to me that you wasted your period of existence a bit by just dicking around with bolts of lightning and togas. You could have had absolutely mental parties with Angelina Jolie there and everything, and swimming pools filled up with wine and stuff, so why didn't you, you celestial nobhead? What a senseless waste of deity-ism.
I might have to go and see the head of Classics at Oxford University about this and see what he has to say about it.
(Jump-cut to a shot of Kirk getting senselessly beaten by the head of Classics at Oxford who is a massive skinhead)
1. Zeus is well old, I bet he gets tired quicker than I do and would keep banging on about his back
2. Zeus only ever wears a toga so if I decide to fight him in the frozen plains of Northern Russia (which I probably will) he'll be proper cold and unable to defend himself against my vicious slaps (which incidentally will hurt even more because of the cold especially if I get him on the nipple)
3. Zeus has got a shit beard which would probably catch fire really easily if I get matches involved, which has been known to happen
4. Zeus doesn't exist so I win be default
There you go you see, I'm basically harder than the lord of Mount Olympus and the mightiest of all the Greek Gods. That's pretty good isn't it? The next time I'm feeling a bit down I'll just reflect upon this fact and cheer myself up. Well, either that or do a Facebook status saying something like "Cud dis day get n e worse?? :( xx." and wait for all my girliez to reply saying "Wat's up babez? xx."
Anyway whilst we're on the topic of Zeus, I've got a few bones to pick with him. First of all, why does he keep pissing about with lightning bolts? They're ridiculously dangerous. Did you know they can heat up the air around them to ridiculous temperatures like 50,000 degrees, which is hotter than the surface of the sun? Being a God and that he obviously knows this, and yet he still opts to ponce about with them as if they're just a fun toy like a Nintendo Piss.
If I was his school-teacher I'd give him a right clip round the ear-hole and send him to the naughty wall. Hades would be all like: "AAAAAAHAAA!!! Zeus got sent to the naughty wall!!!" and would be proper pointing and laughing at him. You've literally never seen somebody point so much.
But yeah secondly Mr. Zeus, literally what are you playing at with that beard? You're the lord of Mount Olympus, show that you've put a bit of effort in. At least buy one of those new beard trimmers so you can get a designer stubble like David Beckham or David Blaine or another David. Until you do, you ought to be embarrassed every time you show your face in public looking like a hung-over Alan Sugar.
My third and final bone to pick however is the most important one. When you existed back in Ancient Greek times, why didn't you ever throw any mental parties? Seems to me that you wasted your period of existence a bit by just dicking around with bolts of lightning and togas. You could have had absolutely mental parties with Angelina Jolie there and everything, and swimming pools filled up with wine and stuff, so why didn't you, you celestial nobhead? What a senseless waste of deity-ism.
I might have to go and see the head of Classics at Oxford University about this and see what he has to say about it.
(Jump-cut to a shot of Kirk getting senselessly beaten by the head of Classics at Oxford who is a massive skinhead)
Friday, 26 March 2010
A Proposal For Change In The Laws Of Physics
If there is a God almighty who's omnipotent and all that jazz, why doesn't he ever occasionally have a little fun and completely change the laws of physics every week or so? Surely if God's been alive and well for eternity he must be a bit bored by now. I'm only 20 and I'm starting to find many a-thing quite fucking boring, so imagine how he/she/Nadia-from-Big-Brother feels!
So yes, working with the idea that there IS definitely a God despite everything Richard Dawkins says (more like Richard DORK-ins, are you with me??!) I propose that God changes the laws of physics to the extent that once you build a snowman it stays there instead of melting when it gets a bit hotter. Just imagine it, you could built the most elaborate snowman of all time and he'd be there FOREVER. You look out your window, he's there. You go to the toilet, he's there. You watch Snog Marry Avoid, he's right there with you calling the girls on it "disgusting orange slags that should be ashamed of themselves." How good would that be?
Then again there might be unforeseen circumstances, such as the possibility of your status in society being dictated by how good your snowman is.
"Oy, Kirk! You fucking loser!" says a person.
"....What's going on, why am I being called a loser, I don't go to school anymore."
"Yeah but your snowman is shit, he looks like a queer nonce."
"How do you mean?"
"He hasn't got coals for eyes like my one, he's only got holes that you poked with your finger. What's that all about? Nobody's eyes look like that. You gay bender."
"Well nobody's eyes look like coals either."
(At this point the person just does a 'bothered' gesture and goes about his business, leaving me emotionally distraught and confused.)
So yeah I suppose that could be a backlash of the proposed snowman-related amendment to the laws of physics, but if God is so FUCKING omni-benevolent (try and say that really quickly) then he'd make another change to the laws of physics to right this wrong, such as by making that nasty person's snowman horrifically assault him or something.
....
Look leave me alone alright I'm not a fucking politician.
Anyway yeah wouldn't it be good if there definitely was a God and he used his powers to do useless stuff like that instead of getting rid of all the evil in the world and stuff? That's what I'd do I reckon, or just stroll into a pub and steal everybody's pint knowing that they couldn't do fuck-all back because I'd wipe them from the very fabric of existence.
I wonder what a snowman's favourite sort of food would be?
(Somebody jokingly suggests ice-cream)
What? Why? I don't get it.
So yes, working with the idea that there IS definitely a God despite everything Richard Dawkins says (more like Richard DORK-ins, are you with me??!) I propose that God changes the laws of physics to the extent that once you build a snowman it stays there instead of melting when it gets a bit hotter. Just imagine it, you could built the most elaborate snowman of all time and he'd be there FOREVER. You look out your window, he's there. You go to the toilet, he's there. You watch Snog Marry Avoid, he's right there with you calling the girls on it "disgusting orange slags that should be ashamed of themselves." How good would that be?
Then again there might be unforeseen circumstances, such as the possibility of your status in society being dictated by how good your snowman is.
"Oy, Kirk! You fucking loser!" says a person.
"....What's going on, why am I being called a loser, I don't go to school anymore."
"Yeah but your snowman is shit, he looks like a queer nonce."
"How do you mean?"
"He hasn't got coals for eyes like my one, he's only got holes that you poked with your finger. What's that all about? Nobody's eyes look like that. You gay bender."
"Well nobody's eyes look like coals either."
(At this point the person just does a 'bothered' gesture and goes about his business, leaving me emotionally distraught and confused.)
So yeah I suppose that could be a backlash of the proposed snowman-related amendment to the laws of physics, but if God is so FUCKING omni-benevolent (try and say that really quickly) then he'd make another change to the laws of physics to right this wrong, such as by making that nasty person's snowman horrifically assault him or something.
....
Look leave me alone alright I'm not a fucking politician.
Anyway yeah wouldn't it be good if there definitely was a God and he used his powers to do useless stuff like that instead of getting rid of all the evil in the world and stuff? That's what I'd do I reckon, or just stroll into a pub and steal everybody's pint knowing that they couldn't do fuck-all back because I'd wipe them from the very fabric of existence.
I wonder what a snowman's favourite sort of food would be?
(Somebody jokingly suggests ice-cream)
What? Why? I don't get it.
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde-Park
How gutted would you be if you were some nutcase Professor and you came up with a potion which you were certain would turn you into some super-strong freak but it just turned you into Hyde Park.
"Finally, all my life's work has been realised, and is culminated in this one potion!" says Dr. Jekyll, and takes a huge swig. However, quite quickly he turns into Hyde Park.
"Shit," he whispers, hoping that nobody notices he's turned into Hyde Park.
"'Scuse me sir, you alright in there?" one of his man-servants asks, proper timidly knocking on the door.
"What? Yeah, I'm fine, don't come in!!" Jekyll yells, but unfortunately the man-servant can't really understand him because he doesn't understand the language of parks so he just strolls in and witnesses the monstrosity that is now Dr. Jekyll.
"Oh my gawd!" the man-servant cries, doing that classic melodramatic gesture where he shields his face with both arms when he could've just closed his eyes. "You've turned into Hyde Park!"
"Yeah alright don't go on about it."
Dr. Jekyll tries to put some clothes on to cover up the fact that he's turned into Hyde Park but all the trees keep getting in the way and the ducks in the ponds make a proper fuss about being covered up.
"Fucking hell," he says to himself.
"Dr. Jekyll what are you going to do about that date you have tonight with that ridiculously fit girl?" the man-servant inquires.
"I don't fucking know do I? I've only been Hyde Park for about a minute, give me some time to adjust," he protests, but to the man-servant it sounds like nought but the rustle of wind through the leaves and perhaps an annoying brass band in one of the band-stands.
"What did you say sir?" the man-servant asks. Dr. Jekyll just sighs, which for some reason sounds like a really really loud goose honking, and the man-servant runs off.
Yeah I think the book would've been better if it was about that.
"Finally, all my life's work has been realised, and is culminated in this one potion!" says Dr. Jekyll, and takes a huge swig. However, quite quickly he turns into Hyde Park.
"Shit," he whispers, hoping that nobody notices he's turned into Hyde Park.
"'Scuse me sir, you alright in there?" one of his man-servants asks, proper timidly knocking on the door.
"What? Yeah, I'm fine, don't come in!!" Jekyll yells, but unfortunately the man-servant can't really understand him because he doesn't understand the language of parks so he just strolls in and witnesses the monstrosity that is now Dr. Jekyll.
"Oh my gawd!" the man-servant cries, doing that classic melodramatic gesture where he shields his face with both arms when he could've just closed his eyes. "You've turned into Hyde Park!"
"Yeah alright don't go on about it."
Dr. Jekyll tries to put some clothes on to cover up the fact that he's turned into Hyde Park but all the trees keep getting in the way and the ducks in the ponds make a proper fuss about being covered up.
"Fucking hell," he says to himself.
"Dr. Jekyll what are you going to do about that date you have tonight with that ridiculously fit girl?" the man-servant inquires.
"I don't fucking know do I? I've only been Hyde Park for about a minute, give me some time to adjust," he protests, but to the man-servant it sounds like nought but the rustle of wind through the leaves and perhaps an annoying brass band in one of the band-stands.
"What did you say sir?" the man-servant asks. Dr. Jekyll just sighs, which for some reason sounds like a really really loud goose honking, and the man-servant runs off.
Yeah I think the book would've been better if it was about that.
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Absolute Turtle
I want to know what God thought he was playing at when he came up with the turtle. Most creatures seem to make sense and stuff, like they can move at a reasonable speed and they don't lay their eggs in ridiculously dangerous places and then wander off just hoping that the hundred natural predators in that area don't eat them. Turtles are a fucking joke.
"God, why have you made a ridiculously massive and shelled creature who can't move any faster than a crawl on land lay their eggs there?"
"What?"
"Well I mean, it's just asking for trouble isn't it?"
"Why don't you just get off my fucking case Gabriel."
And to add insult to injury, they live until they're about 100, just hanging around doing fuck all and being massive and wearing a shell and shit. Now tigers, they're good. They don't live that long but they look fucking wicked and they have one hell of a mental life while they're at it.
"I might catch an animal and eat it, I might not, I might starve for another week, I just don’t know at this point. This is mental," thinks the tiger, every fucking day.
The turtle however, thinks something more along these lines: "Urm...might swim here for a bit. Maybe I'll traipse around on a beach for a couple hours and hide in my fucking shell. Dunno really. Not that bothered."
What's the point in that? I wonder what God decided on first, making him really fucking slow or giving him a massive shell, because he could've just made him a bit faster and then he wouldn't need the fucking thing would he. My theory is that God was ridiculously hung-over when he came up with the turtle (having been celebrating all night after coming up with the tiger) and he was just pissing about.
"God are you sure you want to make it THAT slow?"
"....Hmm? What? Yeah, whatever. I don't even care if he's got a fucking massive shell or something stupid like that," he says, nursing his head. The angel shrugs and complies.
"How do you want them to reproduce?"
"Lay some fucking eggs on a predator-infested beach or some shit, I don't fucking care."
Lucifer (who had not yet revolted at this point) steps in here.
"God, are you serious? Can't you come up with another absolute corker, like the tiger? That was a triumph, I must say," Lucifer says. By the way at this point Lucifer was an all-round reasonable chap and hadn't done anything wrong.
"Oy, Lucifer, I've got an idea for you. Shut the fucking fuck up, for the love of tits," God yells, putting a pillow over his head. "You know what Lucifer, I wouldn't even give two fucks if you rebelled against me or something."
Lucifer loses his rag now.
"Yeah, well maybe I will! You're just being unreasonable!"
"Piss off!!" God says and flashes him the 'V'.
So yeah it was basically because of turtles that Lucifer revolted and then got sent to Hell which in turn made him seek revenge on God's creation of mankind and instigate original sin which got us kicked out of the Garden of Eden. Altogether now.....and cheeeeers turtle.
"God, why have you made a ridiculously massive and shelled creature who can't move any faster than a crawl on land lay their eggs there?"
"What?"
"Well I mean, it's just asking for trouble isn't it?"
"Why don't you just get off my fucking case Gabriel."
And to add insult to injury, they live until they're about 100, just hanging around doing fuck all and being massive and wearing a shell and shit. Now tigers, they're good. They don't live that long but they look fucking wicked and they have one hell of a mental life while they're at it.
"I might catch an animal and eat it, I might not, I might starve for another week, I just don’t know at this point. This is mental," thinks the tiger, every fucking day.
The turtle however, thinks something more along these lines: "Urm...might swim here for a bit. Maybe I'll traipse around on a beach for a couple hours and hide in my fucking shell. Dunno really. Not that bothered."
What's the point in that? I wonder what God decided on first, making him really fucking slow or giving him a massive shell, because he could've just made him a bit faster and then he wouldn't need the fucking thing would he. My theory is that God was ridiculously hung-over when he came up with the turtle (having been celebrating all night after coming up with the tiger) and he was just pissing about.
"God are you sure you want to make it THAT slow?"
"....Hmm? What? Yeah, whatever. I don't even care if he's got a fucking massive shell or something stupid like that," he says, nursing his head. The angel shrugs and complies.
"How do you want them to reproduce?"
"Lay some fucking eggs on a predator-infested beach or some shit, I don't fucking care."
Lucifer (who had not yet revolted at this point) steps in here.
"God, are you serious? Can't you come up with another absolute corker, like the tiger? That was a triumph, I must say," Lucifer says. By the way at this point Lucifer was an all-round reasonable chap and hadn't done anything wrong.
"Oy, Lucifer, I've got an idea for you. Shut the fucking fuck up, for the love of tits," God yells, putting a pillow over his head. "You know what Lucifer, I wouldn't even give two fucks if you rebelled against me or something."
Lucifer loses his rag now.
"Yeah, well maybe I will! You're just being unreasonable!"
"Piss off!!" God says and flashes him the 'V'.
So yeah it was basically because of turtles that Lucifer revolted and then got sent to Hell which in turn made him seek revenge on God's creation of mankind and instigate original sin which got us kicked out of the Garden of Eden. Altogether now.....and cheeeeers turtle.
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