Thursday, June 22, 2006

My Nightmare

One day, one of the cave dwellers slips free of their chains, haltingly makes their way, blinking, to the mouth of the cave, then stumbles back to report that the shadow on the wall is indeed that of Vernon Kay.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Giant Ass Police Sniper

New cartoon series, 'Assy McGee'. Completely brilliant... but, no, really, seriously, is this a spoof or not? Someone got money for THIRTEEN episodes of this? Really? A GIANT ASS ROGUE VIGILANTE COP SNIPER?!?!?! [voice getting higher and higher with incredulity...]

No, probably not. The internet is a tissue of lies and distractions. Look, a sleepy baby cat. Now get back to work, fuckheads. Money never sleeps.

World Cup: A few preliminary points of irritation...

World Cup! Football excitement. A few preliminary points of irritation...

1. Soccercentric advertising. Beverage companies in particular really like the 'crowd holding up bits of card to form a picture' image - Bud[weiser made by Anheuser-Busch] and Coke in particular in particular. The idea of mass-participation is obviously going to give an corporate enterprise a stiffy, so couple that with actual mass participation imagery... and you have a recipe for CGI-drenched fakery, on every level. NO ONE WHO LIKES BEER LIKES BUD, IT'S PISS. And I like a soft drink, but I don't regard it as a communal rite. Supporters: there for the football, and a bit thirsty. There's nothing else to buy, and you're not allowed to take your own bottles into the stadium. So don't crow about this triumph of informed and enthusiastic consumerism, because it isn't one, it's a triumph of strategic sponsorship arrangement and the illusion of choice.

Further to this: adverts like the Honda 'Impossible Dream' one, which I watched with jaw hanging last night. Ok, I'm English-speaking, English-born British, living in London - I want to see England do well. There was, however, something particularly irritating about Honda's long-winded absurdist take on this - a moustachioed Anglo-type [possible elder brother of the 118 twins] races in various modes of conveyance, all in Eng-er-land team colours, while singing 'The Impossible Dream' - crashing over a waterfall to emerge in an England-coloured hot air balloon, rising through the mist.

Honda. That bastion of aspirant Anglitude. Well, if there's going to be a cynicism pissing contest, they started it. 'Hot air', 'impossibility'... the tropes of the advert represent absolute insincerity, ambiguously phrased mockery of everything, a waste of money. EVERYONE is doing it, I single Honda out for ire due to the elaborate and entirely misplaced triumphalism of their adverts. Hate something, change something, hate something change something FOOT THROUGH THE TELLYYYY!!! [Extended breaking glass FX followed by blissful silence] No, I can still hear the sounds of gridlock and a slowly asphyxiating planet... oh, this is the real world, isn't it? No flying cartoon engines here. Still, they support England! ENG-ER-LAND! That's better.

2. Commentators losing the plot.
Wayne Rooney as football's eternal youth, a young scruff in from the park perenially clamouring for a kick about. Last night it seemed like the pundits were queuing up to have a tug onto the acne-pitted digestive biscuit that is 'Wayne Rooney' - the talismanic figurehead, the carrier of a nation's dreams, the fotballer's footballer... the sulky-faced cunt.

HE'S NOT THE MESSIAH! AND he's not a tousle-haired, cap-askew, ruddy-cheeked schoolboy, you slavering perverts. He's 20 years old and a multi-millionaire.

If - IF - England are lucky, they have a potential ambassador for Viagra in thirty years' time. Thank fuck Theo Walcott's not played yet, or we wouldn't be able to see the pitch for all the tissues discarded from the commentary box.

I'm honestly not that annoyed. The multiple refractions and representations of Popworld [which Soccerland is one mighty nation of] seem so numerous, and yet they all fit into one shrinking white dot in the middle of my screen with such ease!

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Thanks Be To Bill

Thanks indeed be to Bill. It must be pretty obvious to anyone reading this [post, blog] that the late/early Bill Hicks has been an influence on the writer - well, not so much an influence as pretty much a constant feature in the life of for about the last 15 years... yes, in an influential way but also in an antithetical way... Articles and critques which centre on speculations about a Bill Hicks of the Now seem a bit pointless. His work can be criticised. However, he remains unable to update his philosophies to encompass theoretical trends and modes of thought of the years since his death for a pretty conclusive reason.

Anyway, he's not a leader, that was one of his points, isn't it? For me, extrapolation was always what it was about... and I suppose the last few posts have been proper Randy Pan the Goat Boy...

Heh! What can one say... look abashed... gah! There's no outrunning the goat sometimes. And essentially I'm able at this point in the morning to put it down to the whole of modern western culture being seen as the flight from astral and physical gnosis by religion... [exhales, passes] - what started that one off? Oh, the Tuesday of the Beast, that was it. So conjoin cosmological background, smut, universal awe and frustration at the posturing required... and that I have been currently reading the Bill Hicks - Agent of Evolution biograph by Kevin Booth, which is pretty good and makes nice "man for a'that and a' that" reading.

And outside the sun beams down, the skies are blue, a bird sings at my window, and it's the weekend. So why am I sat in typing this shit again?

[sound of computer closing down, door slamming, sandals shuffling samba-style to the park]

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Lady Mucca

Poor Heather. The Currant Bun [Britain's most widely read tabloid, and don't you fucking forget it] is currently help!ing ex-Beatle Sir Paul McCartney to not give away a couple of hundred million because of Heather's HORRIFYING past [or perhaps it's just because Tit Shots Flog Rag Non-Shock -WHO CARES? -] in 'HARDCORE PORN' pics.


These reproduced pics of Heather Mills in cheapo Smutbuch are NOT hardcore porn.

Call me pedantic, but there's an important distinction to be made here.

Science vs Faith: The 'debate' continues

So in the Metro today there was report on the latest edict from the Pontifical Council in the Vatican, which said " 'Never before has human procreation, and therefore the family, which is its natural place, been so threatened as in today's culture.' " It blames feminism, same-sex unions, IVF, the use of contraception and abortion. [The edict, not the Metro report.]

Contrast this opinion with these figures from the Earthtrends website, United Nations Population Division, and the US Census bureau, via [I heart the interweb]:

Population of Earth 1950: 2,556,000,053
Population of Earth 1930: 4, 32,602,000
Population of Earth 2005: 6,453,628,000

The bra-burning faggots running the abortion clinics have got to be stopped! We've only multiplied the population of the planet by 39.6% in just over fifty years! THIS THREAT TO PROCREATION IS EVIDENT TO ALL BUT THE HEATHENS BLINDED BY REASON!


'We're a virus with shoes, ok? That's all we are.'

I'm coming back... I will return... [Beastmania 2]

from the Revelation of St Mark the Peripatetically Enthused

4,xi: And o thankfully did the 6th of the 6th 2006 diminish, taking with it lots of quasi-religious beast-larks.

4,xii: Which was a small bird which did have colossal boots its tiny legs appended thereunto and though it would take off in flight these boots would cause the playful little thing to crash to the ground crushing the people flat thereby.

4,xiii: And with it did 06.06.06, 6th June 2006, June 6 2006 and other even less numeralogicalistically significant combinations thereof ['Tuesday'] take documentaries about the remake of The Omen, explanations of how 'www' is '666' - look you verily unto this contentious and to me thoroughly plausible alternate explanation of 'who the beast "really" is', which did remind me of the contextually contingent nature of words, words, my favourite thing [apart from food, sex, trees, cats, larks, etc].

4,xiv:And with it did depart all the Da Vinci Code Hysteria and tremulous fingering for understanding or distraction in an apparently indifferent cosmos, which gladfully did fade back to a mumbling as of devouts with their face an inch from a wall or floor or a copy of the Metro or the computer monitor as of lunch breaks, for they knew that time was short.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006


Thanks to a confluence of the western calendar and the number six, everyone seems to be talking superstitious bollocks today.

A close reading of the biblical text reveals the number of the magic mushrooms taken by St John on Patmos to be approximately 6.66 dried grammes... Through a glass, very darkly, etc.

More on the beast when I've done at work... proof we're in the endtimes, it's the hottest day of the year and here I am in the basement slaving. Gah!