spit on it

Irritation of the Non-Biological Type

2009-12-07T15:43:00.014Z

Welcome to Jerksville, population YOU, or, yet another list of words that tend to annoy me.

"delish" (it does not magically translate into "delicious" to intelligent people. Only to imbeciles obsessed with "saving time," whatever that might be. Do they save time for later? Do they save it for the winter, when -as we all know- the Time Banks are shut for months? I wonder.)

"schedge" (only a class D ignoramus would use this word, as if it was actually that much shorter than the original, "schedule." At least, I assume the original is "schedule." I hope it is.)

"celeb" (trust me, if you are in that much of a hurry, simply avoid using the word altogether, or even avoid talking about celebrities, for that matter, rather than dropping last bit and turning the idiotic "celebrity" into the even more imbecilic "celeb.")

"it girl" (only to be used when referring to the girl from the Information Technology Department. In which case, the "it" should be capitalised and, thus, "IT." If referring to a model, super model, and/or glamour model, please use the old-fashioned "whore.")

"star quality" (which solely applies to vast, luminescent balls of plasma. And, no. Not even the brilliant John Goodman fits that description accurately enough. Are we clear?)

"push the envelope" (what?!?! That's just plain weird. Why not "shove the stationery"? "Nudge the wrapper"? Or, "thrust the package"? Well, that last one actually works better than the original. At least it makes some sense.

"think outside the box" (if, for whatever reason, you find yourself inside a box in the first place, forget about the entire concept of thought. It is clearly beyond your intellectual grasp. Give it up. You've lost. You're lost. You are obviously not philosopher material, which is the main reason why it doesn't seem obvious to you. Fool.

Why am I such an angry person?

Easy Ways To Ruin Good Literature

2009-12-05T20:22:00.006Z

Bad Choices... Bad, bad, choices. You've been a bad choice.

This Week: Audiobook Accidents

When looking for someone to read Cormac McCarthy's Border Trilogy -consisting of All The Pretty Horses, The Crossing, and Cities of the Plain- for its audiobook version, some halfwitted executive at Random House who could not have possibly read McCarthy's works threw -for reasons both unexplained and unexplainable- Brad Pitt's name into the mix. Unfortunately, it stuck, and -thus- we can now safely assume that Brad Pitt has read at least -and quite possibly only- three books in his life. Needless to say, all three audiobooks are abridged versions of the original novels. One must wonder whether the width of Mr. Pitt's vocabulary -one hundred and two words, by my calculations, counting the word "yeah" no less than three times, to bump up the numbers- had anything to do with the aforementioned abridgement. (Pst, Brad... Hey, sorry, I should probably explain what both "aforementioned" and "abridgement" mean, right? "I said it before" and "shorty-shorty short-short," respectively. And "respectively" means "each one, in the aforementioned order.")

Communicating with morons is harder than it might seem from afar. Audiolibrarians all over the land shall despair at the sound of these, as much as cinephiles despaired upon hearing that Matt Damon had been cast as John Grady Cole in the film adaptation of All The Pretty Horses.

Sighing in the Rain

2009-10-12T00:12:00.018+01:00

"I love the smell of Naipaul in the morning. It smells of... victory." New Literary Remakes of Old Illiterate Films.

The Big Bukowski - After having been successfully sued for copyright infringement by "the other" Lebowski, "the Dude" Lebowski changes his family name to Bukowski... with hilarious consequences. Most of the action in the film takes place in a badly-lit dive inhabited by barflies who -time and time again- refuse to go home at closing time. A cautionary tale, rilly.

The Grapes of Roth - The tale of a deprived family being forced to face a drought in rural Oklahoma during the Great Depression. Of course, John Steinbeck's creation - the Joad family- is slightly altered so as to include the lasciviously Rothian Nathan Zuckerman. Expect explicit scenes of masturbation and ejaculation every five minutes, or so. But done tastefully, surely.

Dial M for Murdoch - A Hitchcockian thriller starring Iris Murdoch as either the protagonist, the antagonist, or some other character. A terrifying whodunnit. Was it the butler? Or was it the Judith Butler? Or the big bad wolf? Or the big bad Virginia Woolf? We all know -after all- that someone is afraid of Virginia Woolf. We simply don't know who.

Rimbaud: First Blood - Arthur Rambo -or, for that matter, Joe Rimbaud- is back from either Vietnam or Abyssinia and encounters a certain amount of trouble when he meets the local sheriff. Guns, guns, guns. And a tiny bit of French symbolist poetry here and there, perchance?

Wilde At Heart (or should it be The Wilde One?) - A rather Lynchian take on the life and works of Oscar Wilde. Or a Brandoesque biker gang, with homoerotic undertones and allegorical poems. I don't know. So... either cars or bikes. But a lot of Wilde. Ooooh, yeah.

Re-writes, Corrections, and More!

2009-09-25T10:23:00.008+01:00

The Rapes Of Garth: Re-writing of The Grapes Of Wrath and other Classics, the Hollywood way.

Tolstoyry, or, Tol Stoyry - The story of Count Lev Nikolayevich (Leo, to his friends) Tolstoy's favourite childhood trinkets and playthings, and their feats as they come to life and embark in countless adventures. An epic tale of tormented souls and the never-ending quest towards honesty.

American Were-Woolf in Paris - Few literary critics are aware of Virginia Woolf's trip to Paris, France, during the winter of 1927. Even fewer know that during the aforementioned trip she was bitten by -and subsequently turned into- a werewolf. This film chronicles her tale of lupine redemption. With lotsa gore, by the by.

D.H. Lawrence of Arabia - "Never trust the artist. Trust the tale." With said epigraph begins this epic fantasy, set in an alternative reality in which D.H. Lawrence and T.E. Lawrence are -for some reason unknown to the general public- one and the same person. Set during World War I and having Modernity as its general backdrop, this is a tale of poetry, betrayal, the Arab Revolt, and sons and -of course- lovers. Eff, you, enn, spells FUN.

Bend It Like Beckett - 126 minutes of two adolescent girls who just happen to be obsessed with football sitting on a typical Adidas truncated icosahedron ball, pondering over the meaning of life, the absurdity of going on, the nature of artistic creation, and making out with boys. All in a bare, very minimal theatre stage.

I'll just go wait for the Coen brothers to phone me. We really should make these films.

C'mon, I'm waiting.

This is a Warning.

2009-09-19T10:47:00.005+01:00

People That I Don't Really Like often employ these words and / or phrases in conversation.

"Wow factor"

"X factor" (and the X Factor ©, for that matter.)

Most other factors, unless we are referring to algebraic expressions by which others are exactly divisible, genes that determine hereditary characteristics, and / or any of a number of substances in the blood which are involved in coagulation.

"My / Your / His / Her / Our / Their Comfort zone"

"The next level"

"Blog" (used as a regular verb. Silly, rilly.)

"Tweet" (used as an irregular verb, conjugated tweet / twit / twat.)

Post

2009-07-13T15:11:00.006+01:00

The Humour of The New Yorker, also known as unfunny jokes and other non-sequiturs.

Animal Humour, like The Far Side, but not humourous.

An ant wearing a surgical gown is lying down on an operating table. A duck wearing a stethoscope, surgical mask and operating theatre scrubs bends over him with a worried look in his eyes. The caption reads:

-What did you say your specialty was, Monsieur Fourmi?
-Ant-hropology, Duck-tor Canard.

New York Humour, whatever that maybe.

A Catholic priest, a Rabbi and an Ayatollah walk into a cafe. The latter is murdered pre-emptively by the other two, who go on to eat bagels with cream cheese.

Self-Referential Humour. (The New Yorker? Yes! The New Yorker.)

An uneducated workman boorishly walks up to a Manhattan newsstand not wearing a tie and asks for a copy of The New Yorker. End of joke.

Ouch

2009-05-28T11:19:00.009+01:00

Silly Words and Stupid Phrases that only Olympic-size morons and Brobdingnagian dickheads use. Particularly on television.
"The thing is is that..." (the thing simply is, you commoner!)

"110%" (and any other silly percentages, including 101%, 99.99% and seventy-fuck percent.)

"The best of the best" (if you are the best, then you are the best of the best, the worst and everyone in between, including those treading water in their puddle of mediocrity.)

"Yum-o-metre"

"The next... / The new..." (as in: "Rufus Wainwright is the next Elton John, in that they are both really annoying," or "Nickelback really do wish they were the new Nirvana, but they are just -well- utter shite.")

"The myspace Generation" (which normally sends shivers down my spine, as I consider the prospect of future age groups being sponsored by multinational corporations, as in the following nightmares: "the Nestlé generation," "the Age of Coca-Cola," "the Year of the Cadbury," or "Life, sponsored by Marlboro.") See also: "The facebook Faction" / "The iPod iDiots"

"-ista" (suffix, normally added to words that are on their own already asinine, such as fashion, to produce a surplus of asininity, as in "fashionista," meaning "silly person wearing even sillier clothes.")

Life and Other Discomforts

2009-05-22T14:01:00.012+01:00

Ideas For Television Shows, that are quite unlikely to ever get picked up, really. Shame.

The Pitch: Ashton Kutcher travels through the U.S. visiting different cities and their unsuspecting inhabitants. In a fashion similar to that of Kutcher's previous series Punk'd, the presenter would surprise random women by punching them in the crotch whilst yelling the programme's catchphrase: "You've Been Cunted!" Needless to say, the name of the show would be spelt with the iconic apostrophe that made Kutcher's seminal masterwork such an international success.

Name of the Show: Cunt'd! (Pronounced "Cunted!")

The Pitch: A special episode of Wife Swap involving O.J. Simpson and some couple. Some poor fella spends a week in a damp crypt in a cemetery in Los Angeles. Meanwhile, his wife has been raped and murdered by a man whose only redeeming quality was a small role in the Naked Gun series. On the last day of the exchange, O.J. denies all charges repeatedly saying: "I didn't do it... but if I had..."

Name of the Show: Wife Swab

The Pitch: A Christmas Edition of Come Dine With Me, featuring Beth Ditto.

Name of the Show: The Huge L-Word

Rawk & Rawl...!

2009-05-13T14:34:00.027+01:00

Plausible, yet fictional, news... Music press headlines for the new millenium

This Town Ain't Big Enough For Th' Both Of Us

Brian Adams and the Cardigans join forces against Ryan Adams and the Cardinals. Hilarity ensues. Both super-groups meet for one final showdown performance, which is eventually cancelled due to poor ticket sales. Both Brian and Ryan go on to co-write and co-produce a modern day re-imagining of the Adams Family.

What's that floating in my latte... I mean... errrr... my beer?

Independent icon, sound engineer Steve Albini fights blues musician siblings Johnny and Edgar Winter -who just happen to suffer from albinism, of course- over a misunderstanding involving a half-eaten muffin and a double-decaf, skinny, [insert random italianate word], mocha, frappuccino, latte with cinnamon, cream, and two sugars. Albini challenges the Winter brothers to a Mexican-style wrestling match, to which they both decline saying something along the lines of "[A] wrestling match? (...) Ya freak! (...)" Hilarity does not ensue.

"Thë Äcë öf Spädës, thë Äcë öf Spädës...!"

Imagine an island on which people had to kill other people to survive. No, not Manhattan. Think more along the lines of Battle Royale. But with rock stars...! Yeah! The first episode would consist of diaeresis-ridden artists fighting for umlaut supremacy, whatever that may mean. In any case, Motörhead leader Lemmy Kilmister, Mötley Crüe's Tommy Lee, Eric Bloom from Blue Öyster Cult, the funny-looking dude from Maxïmo Park, Bob Mould from Hüsker Dü, those weirdos from Röyksopp, all members of Spinal Tap, and all ex-members of Queensrÿche would fight for their lives and -ultimately- diacritical superiority.

Yeah!

Brideshead Revisited Revisited

2009-05-13T14:26:00.004+01:00

Different Takes on a Classic of 20th Century Literature, or the many, many ways in which idiots mutilated high art, turning it into fodder for the uneducated masses.

Birdseed Revisited

Big Bird from Sesame Street, Edgar Allan Poe's pet Raven, Noah's Raven, Noah's Dove, the Dodo bird from Alice in Wonderland and the sexually explicitly named Woody Woodpecker from the Walter Lantz cartoons re-enact portions of Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited, The Sacred & Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder. Expect homoerotic undertones, 1920's style debauchery, and aristocracy excess. With the text's poetry replaced with poultry.

Bridewell Revisited

A Brideshead Revisited / Oz crossover. Oz as in the gritty, HBO prison drama, not the dull, inane children's book about a pack of cowards sticking together due to their aforementioned cowardice. The romance of the original could here be replaced with sordid prison sex, whilst the sacramental references in the text could evolve into incarceration-induced religiosity of the born-again kind. Fun, fun, fun. Sodomy, breaches of human rights and a dark, damp, dirty mise en scène. What is there not to like?

Bridesmaid Revisited

Starring with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts, obviously. Runaway brides and drooling, powerless, omega pseudo-males, of course. A Hollywood re-interpretation of Brideshead Revisited, meaning that the original text would be gutted, disemboweled and its insides filled with fresh dung, clearly. Dung of human origin, possibly. Put a happy ending and the rest will write itself. Join-the-dots type of pseudo-art, unquestionably. The type that makes me want to cry out of frustration, naturally.

Dang!

Enigmatic Essay Titles

2009-04-16T13:54:00.006+01:00

Suggestion for Theses on Coetzee that should not be taken seriously, as a life of failure, constant humiliation and opprobrium would surely soon follow.

"The Easter Bunny as Organic Metaphor in John Maxwell Coetzee's Disgrace."

"Disempowering the Empire or Disempiring the Empower?: Confusing Ideas and Idealizing Confusion in the Novels of J.M. Coetzee."

"Panem et Circenses: Cakes, Muffins, Scones and Bakewell Tarts as Symbols of Phallocracy in Coetzee's Early Prose."

Bandwagonesque

2009-04-16T13:38:00.008+01:00

Rock 'n' Roll Melodies for the myspace, facebook, pitchfork, bebo, emo generation. Thoughtlessness for the thoughtless, so to speak.

Nine Inch Snail

Industrial rock infused with syncopated drum machines and angst-ridden, anger-soaked lyrics about characters from children's book, including snails with low self-esteem, frustrated turtles, grinning cats, orphan puppies and ghastly-looking poultry. Songs that help adolescents deal with the pain of comfortable existences lived in suburbia.

Creedence Clearwater Survival

Survivalist folk-rock. An amalgam of Peace-Love-and-Understanding Southern Rock-influenced popular music and paranoid delusions, absolute libertarianism and ultraconservative derangement. Tunes to hum to from the darkness of a bunker in the depths of Waco, TX, as the End of Days predictably takes place outside.

Ironic Maiden

Sarcastic, highly amplified, rather distorted, harsh-sounding modern rock music with pounding beats and cryptic lyrics, often -yet not always- about serpent-like dragons, ice-clad mountains, flaming swords and blood-drenched skies. Sardonic heavy metal.

Manic Street Poachers

Political songs about revolutionary topics written in first person singular from the perspective of men and women who hunt, fish and catch game illegally. A sort of pro-hunting foil to Rage Against the Machine and all the other pseudo lefty rock bands whose idea of supporting communism is buying overpriced, sweatshop-made Che Guevara T-shirts from High Street boutiques.

A Short Film

2009-03-31T15:27:00.003+01:00

Music For the Masses

2009-03-31T15:22:00.006+01:00

Discovering Imaginary Covers, musical variations, melodious alterations, euphonic permutations, and discordant deviations.

Sexual Helium

Marvin Gaye meets That-Stupid-Bloody-Frog-That-Everyone-Except-Me-Loved-A-Few-Years-Ago. Maybe it could even be a duet for the Post-Thought Age. A helium-voiced Sexual Healing for the new millennium. Also a step-by-step guide on how to ruin a perfectly good song with unnecessary post-production.

The AAA Took My Baby Away

The Ramones' classic punk rock tune is re-imagined, replacing the barbaric KKK of the original's title with the somewhat more threatening American Automobile Association. It could -in the future- be used on convertible and sports car magazine adverts and television infomercials. The future is dark, the future is black. Scary thoughts, the stuff of nightmares.

Californicaragua

The same old, boring, unimaginative Red Hot Chili Peppers songs with latin rhythms added to them. The Contras-themed rhythms of Nicaragua's capital city, Managua. Perhaps now the song will have a vague scent of revolution and change? "Dream of Ca-li-for-ni-ca-ra-gua... Dream of Ca-li-for-ni-ca-ra-gua... " Don't expect much, though. I bet Anthony Kiedis' substandard lyrics will still manage to ruin the song once again. A second-rate lyricist if I ever heard one.

Hostile Makeover

2009-03-27T16:28:00.006Z

Children's Literature + Hollywood = many an appallingly written, poorly directed, incompetently acted piss-poor excuse for a film.

The Ruffalo

The life-story of American actor Mark Ruffalo synchronized to the plot and story of Julia Donaldson/Axel Scheffler's unforgettable The Gruffalo. The monster becomes an incompetent actor and acts in a string of flops.

Where The Wilde Things Are

Part Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are, part bio-pic describing the troubled life and troubled times of literary mammoth Oscar Wilde. It would almost certainly include monsters, betrayal, sodomy and pederasty.

The Chronicles Of Arnie

The Chronicles Of Narnia meets Arnold Schwarzenegger. Need I say more? Maybe I need, I suppose. Why, I hear you ask? Why not? For the money, of course. Why else, right? C.S. Lewis, but with no moral message and -instead- a bunch cars blowing up, buildings burning, and dudes getting shot. Maybe we'll squeeze some robots, some time-travel, some sex, and lotsa, lotsa violence. Yeah!

Market Forceps

2009-03-20T14:55:00.009Z

Elasticity of the Man, Adversary Selection, Anti-Anti-Trust, Debt Mercilessness, Deadweight Cost/Less, MonopSONY, and whatnot, and on and on, and the rest, etcetera, yadda, yadda, yadda...

Heinz© might try to start marketing their own brand of humous, the name of which will be a portmanteau blending both the name of the brand and that of the commodity, thus, Heinous®.

Microsoft© are believed to be on the verge of creating their own in-house system of Orders, including their version of the Order of the Garter and the OBE, the latter named Microsoft© OBEs or -for short- MICROBEs®.

The Coca-Cola© Company could attempt to break into the market of calligraphy, by designing, copyrighting, and promoting their own Coca-Cola© style apostrophe under the trade name Catastrophe®.

Firestone© and TRESemmé© may one day merge and combine their mastery of rubber engineering, wheel design, and cosmetics to make more durable, better-looking tires. TRESemmé© + Firestone© = Tiresomé®.

Tiresome as this post has now become, I am sure. My apologies.

Philately, Numismatics, Trainspotting, etc.

2009-03-17T17:10:00.027Z

Relatively Boring Pastimes, rather dull hobbies, comparatively stale interests, and somewhat uninteresting amusements.

Metrophilia

Metrophilia must be the most boring member in all the -philia family. C'mon. Necrophilia is frowned upon, but sounds more fun -even if also more disturbing. Even Hemophilia seems like it'd be a blast by comparison. It makes Coprophilia look like a charming, solemn endeavour, let's face it. How can anyone call him/herself a "railfan" or "rail enthusiast" and not realize what an amazing social faux-pas that is? The only interesting things about trainspotting are: a) the novel (Irvine Welsh) and b) the novel's film adaptation (Danny Boyle), which -by the way- have absolutely nothing to do with the act of spotting trains, other than it is used in the novel as a metaphor for the tedium and cyclical nature of a junkie's existence. Or, rather, nonexistence.

Numismatics

Numismatics...? Yawn. Who was the first person that decided collecting coins would help him/her kill time? Isn't the whole point about money that it was created to be spent? Honestly, what a waste of time. I could see how having money might improve someone's quality of life, and even help someone move towards happiness -not money in itself, but rather not having to worry about money. But collecting the damn thing? Really? Rilly? Oh my...

Philately

Philately? I'd rather watch telly. I suppose sometimes people simply do not have any friends to writes letters to, so they simply buy postal stamps and put them in boxes. I bet they also buy postcards, and end up not sending them. There they go, off to boxes too. Classified, categorized, rated, grouped, grade, systematized and catalogued. The many, many, many taxonomies of boredom. And they don't even keep them in boxes, that was simply my own poetic license, they -in fact- buy albums to provide accommodation for them. How exciting, I hear you say. You moron. Philately makes Philanthropy sound exciting. At least then you are simply getting rid of you money, not both your money, your self-respect, AND your life.

Dang!

Confusing Acronyms

2009-03-16T13:42:00.014Z

Letters for the illiterate, confused initials, alphabetisms, abbreviations, nomenclatures, and orthographic stylings...

WWID: Is this meant to be an egocentric variation on WWJD (What Would Jesus Do)? Something along the lines of What Would I Do? Or simply an ominous forward-thinking anticipation of World War 499 (roman numerals, of course)?

INRI: History and Theology both tell us that this acronym, inscribed at the top of the cross, stood for IESVS NAZARENVS REX IVDÆORVM (Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews). But, could it be possible that it did not mean this at all, but rather that Jesus was in fact called Henry, and those bloody Romans could not spell foreign names? Thus, Inri? I'm just saying...

SOA: I think this is meant to be decoded as Service-Oriented Architecture. Although, I do not know anyone (or even of anyone) -dead or alive- who has a clue what this means. Feel free to have a look what Wikipedia has to say on the matter. It's quite unintelligible. Something along the lines of "a nano e-pod de-duping and virtualization, constituting versioning cloud-computing and green washing, yet not excluding a reasonable amount of petaflop and words clouds. Nano, nano, buzzword, water-cooler, cubicle arsehole, Web 2.0, nano, nano, 3G amorphous solution, flash cookie i-business, plasma megapixel fuck LCD HD VCR PVR DVR SLR DVD TV ISP ESP JPEG MP3 CEO VoIP HTTP GUI USB? IBM? GFY! Yeah?"

Plump Fiction

2009-03-16T12:43:00.020Z

Pulped Fiction, bits and pieces from the Hollywood Archives. An assortment of film script leftovers.

Honey Bunny [About to rob a diner]: I love you, Pumpkin.
Pumpkin: I love you, Honey Bunny. [Standing up with a gun in his hand] All right, everybody be Rob, this is a coolery!
Honey Bunny: Any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every motherfucking last one of... [Turning to Pumpkin] What did you just say?
Pumpkin [Clearly embarrassed]: Not now, Honey Bunny... Not now...

[from a private conversation between Quentin Tarantino and Ving Rhames]

Ving Rhames: But why Marsellus Wallace, Q-man? You are making my character sound like a pimp, and you know how I feel about stereograms...
Quentin Tarantino [henceforth referred to as Q-man and/or the Q-man]: ...types. Stereotypes.
Ving Rhames: What?
The Q-Man: Stereotypes. Stereotypes are widely held, fixed, oversimplified images of someone or something. Like saying "Canada is like the U.S., but filled with nice people," or "blondes have more fun, but less brain." Stereograms are optical illusions of depth created from flat, two-dimensional pictures. You know, those images you stare at for a while before you get them...
Ving Rhame: Oh, yeah... I dig 'em.
The Q-Man: Your point being...?
Ving Rhame: Why can't my character be nice. A nice, friendly black man. Without a name like "Marsellus Wallace," Q-Man. It sounds threatening, you know? Why can't the character be called something like "Wally Marseille" or "Marcel Wallaby," instead?

[from the Original, Unrevised, Unedited Screenplay for the film]

Jules: What does Marcellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: What country you from?
Brett: What?
Jules: What ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in What?
Brett: What?
Jules: English, motherfucker! Do. You. Speak. It?
Brett: What?
Jules: Sphincter says what?
Brett: What?
Jules: Ha, you're the sphincter, dude. Now, seriously, English, motherfucker! Do. You. Speak. It?
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Then you know what I'm saying!
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Describe what Marcellus Wallace looks like!
Brett: What, I-?
Jules: [Pointing his gun at him] Say what again. Say. That. Again! I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time.
Brett: He is b-b-b-black...
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He's b-b-b-bald...
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett [Breaking into song in a husky Louis-Armstrong-type voice]: What a won - der - ful world... And I think to myself...
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett [Again, breaking into song and attempting a choreography]: What if God was one of us...?
Jules: Man... Not Joan Osbourne, I hate that bitch! Joan Osbourne and Melissa Etheridge are out of bounds. It's in my contract, man. [Jules shoots Brett in shoulder] Entirely unacceptable. [Looking at Vincent] D'you know where the Q-man is? I need to sort some shit out.

Dee - Vee - Dee Extras

2008-08-18T12:47:00.012+01:00

The Director's Cu(n)t, Imaginary Easter Eggs and Nonexistent Hidden Goodies in DVDs. Mostly wishful thinking, though.

Se7en: Click on the big number seven (7) on the Main Menu and watch Detective David Mills (Brad Pitt's character) die the horrible death he deserves so much.

Thelma & Louise: Click on the ampersand (&) on the Extras Menu and watch Brad Pitt beg Ridley Scott on his knees for the part. To which Scott replies: "Ok, but please, PLEASE, do not ruin this film too."

12 Monkeys: Click on the big monkey (Monkey) hanging from the chain of little monkeys (monkeys) and watch Brad Pitt suggesting director Terry Gilliam alternative titles for the film, including "Twelve Angry Monkeys," "The Dirty Dozen of Monkeys," "Twelve Monkeys of Christmas," "Monkeys: Cheaper By the Dozen," "Monkeys Die Hard," "Fistful of Monkeys" and "For a Few Monkeys More." Terry Gilliam simply grabs his head and mutters "Oh, man, please, PLEASE, do not ruin this film TOO."

Burn After Reading: Though technically not an Easter Egg, but rather simply a part of the plot, skip the first half of this pathetic excuse of a film and watch Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt's character) being shot in the head and die. Very rewarding scene.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford: Same as the above mentioned Burn After Reading, though -for some reason- the rest of the characters in the film seem to be unhappy about Jesse James' (Brad Pitt's character's) death. Weird. So bizarre.

Fight Club: Again, as in the previous two mentions, Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt's character) dies. Brilliant. In the Director's Commentary track, David Fincher declares this to be the most satisfying point of his career: "having been able to kill Brad Pitt, if only on film."

Nominal Value (not Current Market Value, duh!)

2008-08-18T11:15:00.005+01:00

Fictional Brothers, Cousins, Nephews and Other Relatives of the Relatively Rich and Unfortunately Famous, funny names, runny phlegms, money games, and general silliness.

Armstrong "Arm" Pitt, Brad Pitt's half-brother. Has a tendency to sweat profusely and, subsequently, smells of onion bulbs.

Albert Marcus "A.M." Bush, George W. Bush's long-lost cousin. Enjoys attacking people and/or non-Western nations by surprise from concealed positions.

Anna Keynes, great-granddaughter of John Maynard Keynes, who -after having married Christopher Walken's second cousin George Khai-Walker- became Anna Keynes Khai-Walken. May the Force be with her.

Albert Robert "A.R." Caine, Sir Michael Caine's nephew, twice-removed. A.R. Caine is fairly enigmatic and mysterious. And into esoteric philosophical issues.

Better talkies and celluloid, bitter talk and cellulite...

2008-08-18T11:05:00.007+01:00

Simon Says, and the rest of us simply repeat what he says, like the mindless morons we are...

Hollywood taught us that teenage pregnancy can be a lot of fun. And that jocks that get schoolgirls pregnant are cute. [Juno]

Hollywood explained to us that rich people needn't believe in God, but poor fellas pretty much have to. [There Will Be Blood]

Hollywood demonstrated to us that if you want your film to be a blockbuster hit, you should make sure one of the lead actors dies for the film's release. [Dark Knight]

Hollywood showed us that -as long as you are a minor- you can accuse innocent men of rape and get away with it. Maybe even write a best-selling semi-autobiographical novel about it. [Atonement]

Hollywood revealed to us that it is perfectly acceptable to be a psychotic assassin as long as you are thorough and you follow a strict -yet somewhat dubious- code of conduct. Thoroughly. [No Country For Old Men]

Hollywood proved to us that the works of Gabriel García Márquez are as dull and insipid in book form as they are on the big screen. [Love in the Time of Cholera]

Only in Hollywood.

Halfwits and Twothirds-Twits...

2008-08-18T11:01:00.004+01:00

Deciphering the Secret Meanings of Songs, or perchance reading too much into it all. Lyrical analysis of sorts, in any case.

Try Not to Breathe (R.E.M.)

"I will try not to breathe,
I can hold my head still,
with my hands on my kness.
(...)
I need something to breathe.
(...)
I will try not to burden you,
I can hold this inside.
I will hold my breath
till all these shivers subside.
(...)
I will try not to worry you,
I have seen things that you will never see.
(...)
I shudder to breathe ."

As it can undoubtedly be inferred from the excerpt above, the aforementioned song from R.E.M.'s Automatic for the People clearly has a narrative structure. The song depicts a sufferer of Irritable Bowel Syndrome, who -in an unnamed location- has a heavily-seasoned dinner (possibly, yet not certainly, a hot Indian Curry), as a result of which he/she is afflicted by a particularly violent attack of diarrhoea. The narrator of the song has obviously not dined alone and, thus, the song is addressed to his/her date, from the latrine over which the narrator is currently squatting. As the song goes: "I will try not to breathe, / I can hold my head still, with my hands on my knees (...)." Our diarrhoeic hero even attempts to halt his watery excretions at a certain point in the narrative, whilst getting the world-famous vindaloo-sweats: "I will try not to burden you, / I can hold this inside. I will hold my breath / till all these shivers subside."

The protagonist of the song looks down into the septic pit under his feet and, looking into the abyss, the abyss stares back at him: "I will try not to worry you, / I have seen things that you will never see." Even the title of the song -Try Not to Breathe- refers to the pungent stench of the only partially digested turmeric-infused, cardamon-imbued, chilli-riddled amalgam of meat and rice. "I shudder to breathe," he/she affirms, as the song approaches its almost dysenteric end.

Say 'No!' to Marmite™

2008-08-12T20:30:00.023+01:00

And say 'No!' to peanut butter, too, for reasons that will become apparent after having read this entry.

Recently, whilst watching Last Tango in Paris (1973, original title: Ultimo Tango a Parigi), I came to a threefold realisation. A mental triptych of revelation, to put it in pompous words.

Firstly, I realised that no-one has ever seen the whole movie since its first Film Festival Run and original release. Because of the word-of-mouth nature of the film's success, audiences simply went into the cinema to watch the one memorable scene (involving sodomy and butter, a tantalising mélange) and swiftly walked out, assuming the rest of the film to be merely an anthology of bland trailers advertising pointless European films starring the late Marlon Brando. Nowadays, all modern audiences get to see of it is its infamous sex scene in mind-numbing, time-filling shows with names such as The Greatest Movie Scenes of All Time, Hollywoody: The 100 Best Sex Scenes of the 20th Century, and/or The Censor's Wet-Dream: Dirty Shoots and Filthy Shots. Thus, I have been the first individual to watch the whole damn thing since the early 70s. And, trust me, it's overrated.

Secondly, I understood why Bernardo Bertolucci's previous pitches of the film with Hollywood producers had failed so miserably, the reason being the film's earlier -tentative, so to speak- titles: Last Waltz in Berlin (confusing), Penultimate Mambo in Reykjavík (confused), Antepenultimate Morris Dance in Caracas (confusing and confused), and Fourth from Last Charleston in Charleston, South Carolina (a bit dull, really), to mention but a few. All of them lacked the exquisite punch of the final version.

Finally, as I learnt from a DVD sub-menu unimaginatively entitled "Deleted Scenes," Marlon Brando (being the Method Actor he was) envisaged his character preferring peanut butter, rather than plain butter. See, Method Actors don't act, they do, actually do whatever is written in the script. I know, I know, technically they aren't even actors, but there's enough material there for a different blog entry. In any case, when the time came to shoot the scene for the first time, Marlon Brando lubricated himself and Maria Schneider with peanut butter, failing to realise it was of the Crunchy kind. Due to its nutty chunks, this type of peanut butter if favoured by children all around the world, but -for obvious reasons- it is not the most popular of sexual lubricants in today's worldwide market. You could almost see -or, perhaps, imagine- little tears in the corners of Maria Schneider's eyes, yet -being the professional she was- she waited for Bernardo Bertolucci to cry "Cut!"

"Ouch," she can be heard saying in the background.

I thoroughly recommend the Director's Cut DVD version of the film, full of Easter Eggs, Peanut Butter, Pointless Trivia, and nonsensical documentaries that were created at the very last minute, so they'd be able to justify the unduly steep price.

Cheesus Christ!

2008-03-25T23:19:00.008Z

Ooh, la-la...!

It seems an avid reader of this blog has found an image of Cheesus Christ (a.k.a. Cheeses Christ, God Jr., C.C.) in a chunk of cheap cheddar (alliteration not intended). C.C. -not to be confused with his homonymous c.c. (carbon copy), cc (cubic centimetre), C.C. (Closed-Captioned), and CC (Cape Cod)- seems to have appeared in the most unlikely places within the last month, including a Canadian production of Monty Python's Spamalot, the bottom of a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka, an unaired episode of The Simpsons, and the sheets on Tracey Emin's bed.

He is expected to make an appearance next Monday at the McDonald's in Waterloo Station, London, UK, sometime between 10am and 6pm.

"And Jesus said unto the centurion, Go thy way; and as thou hast believed, [so] be it done unto thee. And his servant was healed in the selfsame hour. Therefore the centurion took thought, and said unto himself, Dude, that Cheesus Christ kid sure speaks funny, don't you think?" Matthew 8:13

Gregarious Gregarine! It's Greg!

2008-03-21T17:20:00.016Z

World-famous blog spitonit salutes Greg McCool, funkiest man this side of the Himalayas.

Hello, Greg!

And here are some greg-licious factoids for all the fans!

Greg -better known as el Gregorino in the sweet, generous lands of Andalucía, Spain- fought in three World Wars, the third of which has remained a state secret for the past two decades. Greg has the body mass of twelve castrated marmots or, alternatively, eleven non-emasculated ones. Greg likes Pepsi-Cola, yet prefers Coke. But he's not fuzzy, really. Greg is so cool that -if he ever shared a stage with Liam Gallagher- he would make Liam lose all confidence, resulting in poor ol' Liam having less stage presence than the microphone stand behind which he would try to hide. Greg works out a lot, not because he needs it, but because he can. Because he wants to. Greg likes his beer cold and his women hot. Greg once met Salman Rushdie and said "I think literature is for imbeciles." Salman Rushdie agreed and courteously bid him farewell. Two hours later, Salman Rushdie was found in the gents' toilet, crying his heart out. Greg does not cry. Greg is so powerful that he could kill us all in the blink of an eye, but -for some reason known only to him- he doesn't. He once said to me "I like to watch you all running around in circles thinking there is hope." He then laughed, and I was scared. Honestly. Greg is omnipotent, but he is not showy. Daniel Day Lewis keeps calling Greg every morning, because he wants to be his friend. Greg is having none of it. Greg is believed to have written all of the Arctic Monkeys' songs, but refused to have his name included in their albums, stating "They're crap, man! Long live T-Rex...!" Greg officially changed his last name to McCool, after it became painfully obvious that he was the grooviest man in the world. Greg has a glass eye (the left one), six toes on one foot (the right one), and cannot pronounce the name Foucault correctly. Though he has never much cared for the French, anyway. All of Lou Reed's drug stories are based around anecdotes that Greg told him from his days at university. Lou Reed is actually a lactose intolerant, teetotal virgin with a wheat allergy and a spotty chin.

Gregorino, spitonit salutes you.

Reese Wetherspoon, wet her spoon...

2008-03-21T16:46:00.011Z

Turnstiles, Reptiles and a Handful of Knock-Knock Jokes... Ok, I may have lied ever so slightly. But there are reptiles involved.

x: Did you know that...?

y: Lizards and human stomachs speak the same language.

x: Does that mean that if you lie there with a lizard taking an afternoon nap on your tummy, it will attempt to start a conversation with the lizard?

y: Yes. However, the lizard is most likely to attempt to convince your stomach to die.

x: But, why? Lizards seem so nice...

y: A lizard's niceness is merely a sort of camouflage, a visual deception, or dermic mirage. In reality, lizards are cold-blooded killers, more cunning and intellectually developed than dolphins, as evidenced by the fact that they would never allow themselves to be forced to perform silly tricks with inflatable plastic balls in Miami, Florida.

x: Why would lizards try to hurt me, though?

y: Lizards, very much like their human counterparts (also known as the Bush Administration), have one and only one goal: World Domination and the Destruction of All that is Holy to Anyone Else but Themselves.

x: But that would be two goals, not one.

y: Shut up, you idiot.

Marks & Sponsors

2008-01-28T09:12:00.010Z

Artists! Tonight! Sell-outs! Because selling is normally much cheaper than buying...

Salman Rushdie's Salmon [with a pinch of turmeric]

Marjorie Perloff's Margarine [I can't believe it's not Art!]

Gordon Brown's Brown Sauce [contains Monosodium Glutamate]

or, alternatively,

Gordon Brown's Gordons Gin [Slogan: His spirit always fails him]

Cormac McCarthy's Big Mac [Limited Edition]

Thomas Pynchon's Punch [Non-Alcoholic]

Like Father, Like Son

2008-01-16T16:05:00.004Z

Nepotism in Hollywood, a long-standing tradition of favouritism for the untalented and the inept...

The Coppola family, what's that all about?

Ok, after George Bush was president of the U.S.A., people may have wondered whether his son might be able to perform an acceptable role wearing his same shoes. The answer is: obviously not. If Daddy was a fool, what made anyone think that Sonny would be any better? It is clearly not a family of geniuses, the way some might regard the Bach family. A similar theory can apply to the Coppola family, I believe. Francis Ford Coppola, I take my hat for you. The Godfather Trilogy, The Conversation and Apocalypse Now are all very compelling pieces of audio-visual story-telling. No complaints there. Now, Sofia and Roman: either stop making films or grow some personality. What you are doing makes the word bland mitself seem fairly insipid. Virgin Suicides was the film equivalent of toothless dog, whilst Lost In Translation was amazingly overhyped for an incredible underachievement. CQ was simply bad. Nicholas Cage? Well, at least he had the decency to show some shame and change his family name into the "Cage" stage moniker. I respect that, even if his filmography does include some very dubious titles. Marc Coppola, on the other hand, probably thinks that he must be able to act, since everyone else at home is doing it... Shameless. What about Jason Schwartzman, I hear you ask. Well, let's put it bluntly: he's a drummer. He is but a drummer.

An afterthought: And Christopher Coppola... well, no-one's heard of him, even though he has been directing for a while. Is that not a hint? Maybe he should take up gardening, or open a Petrol Station somewhere in Iowa.

The Paltrows? What the fuck?!?!?

When did the Paltrow family become such a big deal in Hollywood? Gwyneth is adorable, I admit, and she has won an Oscar. But what is an Oscar these days but a much devalued figurine one can buy on Ebay? The Academy Awards are being bought and sold in the meat market, and no-one seems to care anymore. After all, David Lynch has never won one, and he is one the most important directors of the last twenty years. Same thing with Fritz Lang and Stanley Kubrick. Orson Welles, Akira Kurosawa, Federico Fellini, Robert Altman and Michelangelo Antonioni only got Honorary Awards (the Academy's piss-poor excuse for a consolation prize, the equivalent of an unsigned note that reads: We're sorry, we really fucked up, didn't we?) Yet, Gwyneth wins an Oscar and gets to shove her little brother into the Industry. Jake (the brother) directed the appalling -yet accurately named- The Good Night, which sent more than one theatre full of people to sleep. Why? Good Lord, why are we being punished? Gwyneth and Jake's parents were both in the Film Industry, their mother an actress, their father a director, but neither produced anything of special relevance. So, I ask again, why? Why?

An afterthought: The Coldplay connection makes me want to puke into a pint glass and drink it slowly, savouring every single moment.

Spelling S - P - E - L - L - I - N - G

Aaron Spelling, clearly a man with a vision, regardless of whether we find that vision horrific and a distortion of everything that is good on Earth, has a daughter named Victoria "Tori" Spelling who -sorry about what I am about to say, but it is definitely true- is neither attractive to the eye nor a good actress. How -then- has she managed to appear so often on the TV screen, creating -as it were- a new form of visual pollution so strong and damaging that makes the Greenhouse Effect seem pitiable? Read this paragraph again and you should have little difficulty in finding the answer that question. Honestly, sometimes I wonder.

An afterthought: It is not that Tori is not very attractive. I believe it is the exact opposite: she is very unattractive. Surgery, anyone?

Brangelina: From L.A. to Ebay!

2008-01-16T15:51:00.000Z

More Unconfirmed Gossip and Made-Up News, for the paranoid, the dellusional and those with too much time on their hands...

Unconfirmed reports relating the richest two-headed monster in Hollywood have leaked this week. Apparently, Brangelina Jolitt got a new baby this week on Amazon, but had to return it a few days later, as it took the Postal Service over a week to deliver the package. It would seem that the biological parents forgot to make breathing holes on the parcel, which resulted in the suffocation and subsequent death of the lovely, lovely baby. Furthermore, the postal delay made the remains unusable, as it was smelling pretty bad by the time Brangelina got it.

The baby, according to some analysts, one in a limited edition of seven, was a collector's item, and would have helped Brangelina come closer to "having one from each country in the world," which is the goal he/she/it? has set him/her/itself? for this brand new 2008 as a New Year's Resolution, said an unnamed and possibly unreliable source.

As the voice in the street has it, Brangelina would have found this new addition to the now legendary Hollywood collection by typing in the words baby, third-world, and bargain into a popular online auction and shopping website. Brangelina was assured by the seller that the product in question was in mint condition, yet Brangelina's lawyers insist the baby in question broke the terms and conditions of the contract by dying.

Lovely, lovely Hollywood.

Oranges en Regalia.

2008-01-09T16:09:00.000Z

More Ideas for Books, that will find their end in the bonfire...

Silence and the Existencial Vaccum: A Reflection on the Life and Works of John Cage, roughly 433 pages long, no text whatsoever on its body. To be sent to every Public Library and Hospital in North America. They really need to learn to keep quiet.

Mr. Bush or: How I Learned to Stop Caring and Love the Bomb, a colouring book for children packed with G.W. Bush's drawings of faraway lands being maimed, foreign cultures micturated on, friendly peasants mutilated, their mother, wives and daughters raped, and bombs being dropped randomly around the world. In other words: the American Dream.

"Mom, what does apostasy mean?" and Another 99 Ways to get a Fatwa, a pop-up book created for educational purposes. The remaining paths to atheistic martyrdom including common mistakes such as Freedom of Speech, Independence of Thought, Naughty Jokes and Being Too Politically Correct for your Own Sake.

Why Did They Have to Die?, a extensive study on the unfair nature of life, raised by the deaths of Notorious B.I.G. and 2Pac, which came as a complete surprise to the International Community. The fact that they both hanged around gang members and criminals, looked pretty thuggish themselves and had a fondness for firearms should not be overstated. It could perhaps be kept as an interesting footnote, or a peculiar anecdote.

PS: I am still waiting for all of you Executive Producers to contact me, so you can give me several wads of large notes with the faces of presidents in exchange for the rights to make this blog into a film. Call me. Now.

Extra! Planet Earth to be Invaded by Creatures from Outer Space! Extra!

2008-01-09T16:03:00.000Z

Ladies and Laddies, we are floating in space...

Well, not really. No, I admit it. As far as the Editorial Department of the blog knows, there are no plans for future Invasions of Planet Earth by Creatures from Outer Space until after Easter 2009. And we are not actually floating in Space either. Although the Earth is floating in space, and -since we are all on it- I suppose that to some extent we, in fact, are floating in Space.

So I retract that retraction. The second one, that is.

I am glad we clarified that. Kind of.

Well, that seems to me to be enough blog material for today. Tomorrow: Gardening!

On the Significance of Names and Naming...

2008-01-09T15:22:00.004Z

A Rosé by Any Other Name is still nothing compared to a good Cabernet-Sauvignon

Apparently, William Carlos Williams, Ford Madox Ford, Jerome K. Jerome, Thomas T. Thomas, Humbert Humbert, Major Major Major Major, Sirhan Bishara Sirhan, Doug E. Doug, Bond James Bond, the founding members of Duran Duran and The The, and the rest of the Slightly Anagrammatic League for the Affiliation of Men of Intellect -also known by its acronymic moniker, S.A.L.A.M.I.- has denied posthumous membership to the Right Reverend John Johns [Doctor of Divinity and Doctor of Laws], Fourth Episcopal Bishop of Virginia, U.S.A.

The reason for this nominal apartheid was made clear by a spokesman for S.A.L.A.M.I., who is quoted as stating that "he [Rd. John Johns] didn't have a middle name, nor a double-barrelled surname, man (...) so he was unsuitable for our group. His name looks like two slices of white, bleached, branless bread (...) a sandwich with no S.A.L.A.M.I., if you will. It looks just like a threesome without a Lucky Pierre in the middle, a tricycle with a flat tyre... d'you know what I mean?"

No, sir, we do not know what you mean. But, in any case, thank you for saying it.

Reverend Johns's last words, uttered on his deathbed ("guide me-wash me-clothe me, help me under the shadow of Thy wings") have been interpreted by many a Man of Scholarly Pursuits as substantial proof that he was -or, at least, had at some point been- best friends with a fashion-conscious Dragon. This, of course, is the only way in which we can explain such a random statement at the 11th Hour, as well as his interest in the paranormal.

The name of the Dragon itself remains a mystery. Although I like to think its name was either Eugene or Lucretia. But that's just me.

Fake Radiohead Tickets Racket!

2008-01-04T17:49:00.001Z

Some Wise Words of Advice on ways to tell whether your tickets are genuine or counterfeit:

1- Open your stupid eyes.

2- Put on your stupid glasses.

3a- Have the tickets been coloured in with crayons?
3b- If so, they are likely to be fake.

4a- Did you pay under £40 for each ticket?
4b- If so, they are very likely to be fake.

5a- Does the font on the tickets look like someone's handwriting?
5b- If so, it is quite likely to be someone's handwriting.
5c- If so, they are incredibly likely to be fake.
5d- If so, it is extremely likely that you are a moron and have simply failed to realise it, a situation that is not entirely uncommon amongst morons. For further reference, look up the word "moron" in a dictionary.

match sticks eat moths

2007-12-15T15:34:00.000Z

Definitions, Rants, Fictional Dialogue, One Question with Corresponding Answer, and more, much, much more...

Public Libraries: The place where badly written prose goes when it is time for it to die.

Television: Images severed from their context and devoid of all content. Plus, there also is the immense mass of adverts in between to be dealt with.

Advertising: Nazism for people who want their names left out of History books, for obvious reasons. It is also -arguably- more profitable than warfare and the infamous I-was-just-following-orders excuse does still get you out of trouble.

EMO: Excrutiatingly Monotonous Outcries. They look so silly, don't they? Ahhh, youth.

The emo kid is at it again. The emo kid is a tit again. I hate the emo kid.

Me: Hey, emo kid! You never did the kenosha kid...
Emo Kid: Ugh?

Yeah, that's right. And never read any Pynchon either, by the sound of it.

Q: Are U.S. Presidents genetically-enhanced, super-intelligent, bionic apes?

A: Nope. Just regular chimpanzees.

Good Morning, Buenos Dias, Bonjour...

2007-12-15T13:23:00.000Z

Advice For Foreigners visiting lovely, lovely London

1 - By all means, visit the British Library, possibly the quietest place in all of London. But do not, and I cannot stress this enough, (well, maybe I can) DO NOT (there, I did it) sneak in any pens, biros or any kind of ink into the Reading Rooms. And, no. Squids are not allowed either. I know. I was once caught drawing smiley faces and writing "10 out of 10" all over D.H. Lawrence's manuscripts, and it did not go down very well with most members of staff, except for this German man in a corner who kept giggling all the way through. Although, in retrospective, I think he probably was a hobo looking for shelter from the rain. Ah, lovely, lovely London.

Apparently, they did not mind my doodles (which they constantly referred to as "art" and, thus, found to be protected under Freedom of Speech laws), but they were certainly not happy about my grading system, which the found to be impartial and unfair.

In the words of a man of wisdom that goes by the name of Etienne, "that place is more fortified than Fort Knox, [and one should] study hard and avoid eye contact and not pull any faces at the librarians. Otherwise," he continues, "they will hurt you." As a very articulate post-modern poet once said, in the British Library "oxygen, graphite and literature are your only tools, they equip you well."

Be warned!

2 - Always wash your hands when visiting the loo. Ideally, wash your hands before AND after either urinating, defecating, or -in certain scenarios- doing both a number one and a number two.

Now, be very careful when washing your hands. I know that England is -technically, at least- a First World country [or Developed, if you are into being politically correct; I am not], but people here are yet to discover the benefits of having one tap instead of two. See, with one tap, any individual employing said faucet can regulate the water's temperature and -thus, if common sense is as common as it claims to be- adjust it until it becomes reasonably lukewarm. The United Kingdom, however, is world famous for having two separate valves: hypothermic and scorching. Hence, you either lose your fingers to frostbite or suffer third-degree burns from the scalding heat of the water. Either way, it will hurt. Trust me. Lovely, lovely burns.

Be warned! Again.

3 - Remember to say thank you and sorry and excuse me and please and do you mind and could I and if you say so and how lovely, even if you do not mean it. Just say it. It is a long standing tradition in England to be polite, even if -or perhaps, particularly when- you are about to fuck someone over. It is one of the most striking features of the English identity. Sound polite, it will make it easier to dig the knife in. Lovely, lovely Londoners...

Be warned! Yet again.

WELCOME TO NOWHERE, Population 1

2007-11-01T19:54:00.000Z

An Inventory Of Unfunny Jokes, its presence here having certainly not been prompted by popular demand.

Q: How many people of average intelligence are needed to change a light-bulb?

A: Normally, one would suffice.

'Knock, knock...'
'Who's there?'
'The Doctor.'
'Doctor who?'
'Doctor Hilarious.'

A man walks into a bar with a dead duck under his arm. He goes to the counter and asks for a pint of lager. He drinks it, then pays for it, goes to the loo to urinate, comes back out again, and leaves.

Q: What is weirder than an ordinary-looking two-headed basilisk with a fetish for Victorian tea cups?

A: A weird-looking two-headed basilisk with a fetish for Victorian tea cups, clearly.

And, last, a joke from someone else's garden...

Q: What animal has four legs, but doesn't walk, and feathers, yet doesn't fly?

A: A dead cow with a feather duster stuck up its hind.

I believe that last joke was coined by a famous Argentinian comedian who goes by the name of Alfredo "El Gordo" Casero, certainly a man of genius.

Put yer glasses on, blurry eyes...

2007-11-01T19:49:00.000Z

Questions With No Clear Answers, because inquiry is fun and interrogation marks are sexy...

Q: If Jesus Christ came back to Earth, would he return incognito as a real estate agent?

A: I dunno.

Q: Do we actually need TV shows in which...
a) people buy houses, in order to refurbish them, in order to re-sell them?
b) celebrities are chosen at random and lumped together into...
i) a luxurious apartment?
ii) a house with transparent walls?
iii) an island?
iv) the scorching core of an active volcano?
c) a relatively famous chef visits a failing restaurant... with hilarious consequences?
d) a suburban housewife is swapped by another into a household that is not her own?
e) an antiquarian visits different attics, finding invaluable period items along the way?
f) people are given the opportunity to win ludicrous amounts of money by...
i) answering questions on their chosen area of expertise?
ii) answering general knowledge questions with the help of three lifelines?
iii) choosing boxes at random, whilst repeating at nauseam "Deal or No Deal."
iv) traveling around the world, in some form of intellectually-deficient pentathlon?

A: Hmmm, with the exception of question b iv: no, probably not.

Q: If George W. Bush managed to clone a young Adolf Hitler, as it is clearly his intention, would he...
a) buy him cowboy outfits to wear to school?
b) raise him on a diet of Dr Pepper and salt & vinegar crisps?
c) read him Umberto Eco novels adapting their final sentences into "and then the Nazis won the war"?
d) call him "Bubba," tickle his feet, and ask rhetorically "who's the prettiest baby in Texas?"?

A: I am confused now...

Q: Why am I writing all this rubbish that is -as soon as I write it- being dumped into the massive landfill site that the internet has become?

A: Man, that was really deep... I know exactly what you mean.

Ha, ha, ha, hate you...

2007-11-01T19:46:00.000Z

Ask Graeme, and he will do his best to provide you with a comprehensive answer.

Q: Dear Graeme, when disembodied voices in TV adverts for cleaning products say that said products get rid of 99.9% of bacteria... does that mean the companies do not make themselves responsible for the potentially lethal remaining 0.1%?

A: Yes, that's exactly what they mean. They also imply that, if you try to sue them, they will send hairy-chested, halitosis-suffering thugs in polyester suits to your doorstep. These men will make you regret ever having been born, sonny.

Q: Dear Mr. Graeme, a few nights ago, upon waking from uneasy dreams, I walked into my parent's bedroom and found them wrestling in their bed. George from the year above mine says they were making babies... were my parents really making love to each other so as to have another baby?

A: No, your daddy wears a condom most of the time and -whenever he doesn't- he likes coming all over your mother's face. Also, after having you, your mommy does NOT want to have any other children with your father, whose genes she now considers well beneath average. A final point, your parents no longer "make love," since you daddy keeps fantasising about your mommy's sister. But, then again, who wouldn't?

Q: Dear Graham, sometimes I feel the whole world is out to get me. I feel so alone, and I can never tell who are my real friends and who my enemies. For some reason I still ignore, most people seem to take an almost immediate dislike to me. Could you help me in any way? Please?

A: It's Graeme, not Graham, you cunt.

Cretina Fernandez de Kirchner

2007-11-01T19:38:00.000Z

Ideas For TV Shows that almost no-one would want to watch

Unsociable Reclusive Writer Big Brother House

J.D. Salinger, Thomas Pynchon, Emily Dickinson's great, great, grandniece (twice removed) and method actors playing the roles of Philip Roth's Nathan Zuckerman and Don DeLillo's Bill Gray share a small, damp, badly-lit, camera-ridden cottage near some woods, outside some town, in some Mid-Western state of the United States of America, where they each write a brand new novel and avoid making eye contact / talking to each other at all costs during a period of time still to be determined. Possible between six months and eight years.

Synchronicities In Dark Side of the Moon

Pink Floyd's seminal album is played ad nauseam as the soundtrack to a number of otherwise rather dull films, making a brilliant TV show for the small hours and the big smokers. Films would certainly include -but not be restricted to- Battleship Potempkin, Gus Van Sant's remake of Psycho, Un Chien Andalou, and anything starring, written or directed by Adam Sandler.

Heroes: Post-modernity or Plagiarism?

A particularly long and dispassionate inventory of every single "source" from which the writers of Heroes "drew inspiration," including Preacher, Watchmen, The Invisibles, The Matrix, X-Men, Fantastic Four, in addition to virtually the entire catalogue of Marvel, DC, Dark Horse and any other comic book companies exiting prior to 2007.

Emo Kids: Genius or Idiocy?

A ten-second long, well-balanced, carefully composed argument consisting of Tool's lead singer James Maynard Keenan uttering the words "Idiocy, definitely." To be shown at elementary schools around the world for educational purposes.

literally speaking...

2007-10-15T18:23:00.000+01:00

Tentative Titles for Biographies, coming to the aid of the undiscerning reader...

Axl Rose: Death of a Dilettante

No Pictures, Please: Life and Works of Thomas Pynchon

Trailer Parks and Little Sparks: The Rise and Fall of Britney Spears

He Did It First: The Art and Craft of David Bowie

Mediocrity Is Easier Done Than Said: Pete Doherty's Unauthorized Biography

oh my...

2007-10-02T21:37:00.000+01:00

Couples That Should Have Been, helping us directly channel our contempt towards them:

Sting & Madonna
This way we could all simply hate one couple, instead of having to waste so much time hating Sting & Trudie Styler, in addition to Madonna & Guy Ritchie.

Paul McCartney & Yoko Ono
In my version of History, Macca would have got snuffed instead of John. John would have smoked a lot less oregano and, perhaps, written more songs.

Angelina Jolie & Brad Pitt
For once, reality and wishful thinking converge.

The Edge & The Rock
They should both get out of the closet and drop the asinine pseudonyms. I bet The Edge would love to be between The Rock and a hard place.

Scott Weiland & Courtney Love
The real modern-day Syd & Nancy: an untalented twit and a crackwhore. You choose which is which, I still remain unsure.