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.
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
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!!!!)
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