Cunts Dined With Me

Regular readers may remember that before Christ's Mass I had the fortune to become ensconced within a tribe of Great Apes. I spent a long time studying the behaviour of these unfortunate creatures and was able to contribute to science with my findings. Fortune favoured the brave once again last night as the creatures were released into human society and I was able to provide them with lodgings for the evening. Knowing their dietary habits already (ie Thursday being 'Curry Night'), I provided a mouth watering curry avec poppadoms. It was a brave step, allowing these beasts into my house, so I brought along a companion, Moogdroog, who was to serve as official war artist. I wasn't sure if the creatures were sufficiently house trained, but science calls and I bade them welcome.

'You may release the chains, the beast is placated with Becks'

Once over the threshold the patriarch ('Tim') began making his presence known by waving his horse's head handled cane around the place willy nilly. The matriarch ('Cath') bemoaned the decor and inspected the contents of my fridge. After placating both with bottles of beer I drove them into the front room after a quick tour around the West Wing and guest bedrooms. I fed the pair and they seemed to like the fare, although 'Tim' displayed his usual distaste for vegetables by leaving red pepper lumps on his plate. Moogdroog finally turned up after 'Tim' had eaten all the food in the house, leaving her with nothing. Thankfully she had already planned ahead and feasted on chips and wine. Then the evenings entertainment got underway.

You will have someone's eye out with that... Too late!

I discovered that there is only one thing the West Yorkshire great apes appreciate and that is rudimentary beat combos such as Black Lace. It reminds them of the Working Man's Clubs of their homeland. They are also partial to the tribal sounds of Rusty Lee. Her 'Invitation to Party' certainly got the dance floor moving. Realising I was onto a winner I tried out Geoff Love's Big Disco Sound Close Encounters Of The Third Kind. This had 'Tim' whooping for joy during the Star Wars cantina band section.

Tranquilise the Beasts!

The evening drew to a close and the zoo bus arrived to whisk them off back to their pen in the wilds of Huntington. In their time in my house, they had consumed 15 crates of Becks lager, 25 bottles of white wine, 18 bottles of Red wine and 16 bottles of Tesco's finest Cava. I fought the hangover by staying in bed this morning. I was to have a bed delivered from Ikea, but had misread the order and the thing was being dropped off NEXT Friday... So with my tail between my legs I went to work for the afternoon, missing chip day by a whisker.

What day is the recycling?

I started teaching this week as well. I battered my students with four years of war compressed into two hours. They were glassy eyed, dumbstruck and tearful by the end. Job well done I think.

Salsa Sauce

I was on a watching brief today. For the three people who read this shit who are not archaeologists I shall explain what a watching brief is. When a developer decides to build something new, like an abattoir next to a children's soft toy factory, for instance, the development has to pass through several stages of archaeological investigation that has to be paid for. Full scale excavation is the highest of these stages, with a desk based assessment at the lowest. The developer has to take this extra cost into account when they decide to build a pole dancing club next door to a primary school, for instance. One of the most prolific activities of an archaeologist is the watching brief. This is an activity that entails the archaeologist being dispatched to a site that is being built, say, an artillery range next door to a playground, for instance, and literally watching the machine that is building the foundations of, for instance, the chemical warfare development plant next to the nursery. We are there to make sure that any archaeological remains are fully recorded in accordance with the local County Archaeologist's brief.

Shits and giggles never stop in archaeology...

This is what I was doing today and as usual it was no different from any other watching brief in the country. In that, when I arrived I was separately told by the cross eyed farmer and the grumpy machine driver that 'you won't find anything here, this is waste of your time and my money.' Despite my decade long experience and three years studying the subject of archaeology they still knew better. I guess when the farmer bought the land we were working on he must have stripped the entire field down to it's natural subsoil, identified and recorded any archaeological cut feature that existed in the pre-modern strata. It is my understanding that the farmer not only recorded these features to the acceptable levels of academic peerage that govern archaeological grey literature but submitted the report to the local Sites and Monuments Record office for future rumination under a tried and tested academic framework. This is the only course of action I can think of that would lead both these men to the conclusion that 'you won't find anything here.' Although, I had my doubts, especially when the farmer told me the village we were working in was the place the Vikings had 'parked their boats before walking to the Battle of Stamford Bridge', and I insisted on following the brief I had been given, that is, to watch the machine work for any archaeological remains, rather than listen to their, obviously, greater knowledge. I was texting Logan Josh throughout the day, I was telling him about the above situation and his reply sums up today's work:

I love that shit. As if we have not been sent by a third party but rather we have insisted we be allowed to watch. East Yorks farmers are the worst. They still think the English Civil War is raging and get all their 'news' via someone they know who attends church.

And in other news, we will be following Prince Rupert's campaign against Cirencester...

I was watching Knightmare the other night. Do you remember it? It was the spoddy Dungeons and Dragons rip off that was on ITV back in 1756 or sometime when I was in my early teens. It was a nerd fest, where three fantasy role-playing social retards had to navigate their equally 'insecure around girls' mate through a computer generated 'dungeon'. I fucking loved it! I sat transfixed trying to work out how many rooms they must have built to emulate the dungeon. I never cottoned on that it was all done in some tiny studio painted green with the images overlaid with computer graphics. I was a simple child. I always remember that every time the dungeoneer walked into a new room they asked 'Where am I now?' (they were wearing a helmet through which there were no eye holes) their three spoddy mates would always answer 'You're in a room!' NO FUCKING SHIT SHERLOCK!! WHERE ELSE ARE THEY GOING TO BE? IN A FUCKING FIELD? ON AN AEROPLANE'S WINGS? UP A FUCKING TREE?

Where am I now?

Erm....

Anyway, watching it again made me come to new conclusions about Knightmare. The first thing that struck me was the uneasy idea of a bearded creepy man in a tabard locking children in his 'dungeon'. If I had kids I would not be allowing a man called Treguard of Dunshelm to look after them. 'Yes, they'll be fine in my dungeon, there's plenty of fun awaiting!' Fun for who, Treguard? If that is your real name, which I very much doubt. Unless you had really nerdy parents who played D&D. I swear that man is wanted in Vietnam on statutory rape charges. AND WHERE THE FUCK IS DUNSHELM? IS IT A CUT PRICE CLOTHES SHOP IN ROTHERHAM?

A picture paints a thousand words...

But watching further I realised that the show was nowhere nearly as good as I remember. Treygard's introductions seemed to go on forever. It was like sitting through one of Ataturk's speeches. He was explaining the rules of the game in prose so formal it made me go blind. Once away from the most boring man in history the kid in the dungeon came across several other characters that lived in the dungeon. Generally the first was a wall monster called, I shit you not, Granite Arse. At least that's how I heard it. The second seemed to be one of Treguard's former child sex slaves, Lillith, or something. These two inhabited the lower reaches of the dungeon and as the kids progressed they met more characters. This got me thinking, were the actors who played these parts paid a proper wage or bit pay depending on their screen time? Imagine if you got the job of playing Cobble the Gnome? Imagine if Cobble resided on the forty sixth level of the dungeon and to reach the level the children would have to toil for six long years to get there. With the complete retards that took part in this game there would be no chance of you ever drawing screen time and therefore no chance of ever getting paid. Since most of the kids who took part couldn't even spell SHROUD or SHOVEL for simple level one spellcasting, Cobble the Gnome would be a very poor gnome indeed. I bet Cobble still drinks heavily now, trying to blunt the pain of what could have been an illustrious television career dashed by brainless idiot children that couldn't even work out right from left when walking along a chasm edge.

No! Your other left, you fucking prick!!

By the way, the farmer was right. There was nothing there. I didn't find anything.

Like a Tudor vacuum cleaner saying “How do you do?”

So much has happened in the past week that I have blanked most of it out of my mind. The horror of swapping cars between staff members has been too much for my tiny little brain to cope with. Instead I shall illustrate my week with several well thought out and tastily arranged lithographs that I have about my personal communication device. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin:

There is a caption competition for these pictures. Do your worst. Leave them in the comments

I went to see True Grit on Wednesday Orange 'two for one' night with Anna. The cheap bastards that we are.  Anyway, it's brilliant, it's like a visual Johnny Cash song. Go and see it.

IHYAYHM

I've been very busy of late writing a course I shall begin teaching a month, so the last thing I've wanted to do after spending all evening writing is write some more shit, so the Blog has taken a step back for little while. But as it's Valentine's day I thought I do a little presentation of some music for all you lovers out there:

Now if you'll excuse me I'll get back to my piss stained mattress to weep and masturbate

Come Die With Me

I've been watching a lot of Come Dine With Me of late. It's the sleeper hit of 4OD. I don't watch it for the cooking, I don't watch it for the party tips, neither do I watch it for the competition. I watch it because of Dave Lamb, the narrator. His caustic remarks could strip the paint off of a fence. I sit watching it wondering why the fuck anyone would put themselves up for such public humiliation? It's been on telly for over twenty series, surely the cunts that go on it know what they're letting themselves in for? They must have seen it before they sign up for it. Do they delude themselves by thinking Lamb will not pick up on their strange habits and ways? Do they think he will take them into his heart and be nice to them? Whatever the fucking idiots think he generally kicks them when they're down. He's my hero.

Did you ever know that you're my hero?

It got me thinking, all this Come Dine With Me viewing, what kind of party would I throw if I ever got on the show. Well you get a budget of £125 to spend on your meal, this I would pocket and try to do it as cheaply as possible. Crisps are a nutritious (when enjoyed within a healthy diet) and tasty snack, so they could be the basis for my meal. As a starter I would serve a few bowls of Prawn Cocktail crisps. I would write it on the menu as 'Crunchy Prawn Cocktails!' so the fucking idiots that came round would be none the wiser. Next up is the main. Again, bags of crisps can be very filling, maybe some Bacon Flavour Wheat Crunchies mixed up with Quavers would become 'Cheesy bacon surprise!' For the vegetarians amongst the diners I would provide them with 'croustilles de fromage et l'oignon'; a packet of Cheese and Onion Walkers. The pudding is more tricky, but I would serve several bags of Boots Own Brand Yogurt & Mint Crisps. Bam, Yogurty pudding right there! All washed down with a four pack of Stella! A definite score of ten all round!

'I FUCKING LOVE CRISPS, ME!'

Anna came round last night and forced me to exceed my bandwidth by making me watch more CDWM. This wasn't the only time she's been round this week. Last Tuesday she rocked up at my doorstep demanding to be fed. Thankfully I had some food on the go already so gave her the lion's share of that before blows rained down on me. Saturday was little different, I had cooked a curry and she'd got wind of it. Before you could say 'Chicken Jalfrezi' she was banging on my door and screaming that she wanted my 'fookin' food, you four eyed cunt!' I dutifully invited her in and she insisted on me helping her drink two bottles of wine and half a bottle of Sailor Jerry's rum whilst watching Gorky's Zygotic Mynki and Hawkwind videos on Youtube. How could I refuse? I am in fear of what that girl could do next!

It's amazing what growing up in a small Welsh village mixed with a parent's 70's vinyl collection and handfulls of magic mushrooms can do...

I awoke this morning eerily without a hangover. I'm writing this still waiting for it to kick in. It still hasn't and it's freaking me out. I was up early to collect Ninjasaurus Rex from the station as we were to attend Nerdfest 2011, also known as Vapnartak. It's a big wargaming event here in York. I'd not been to it for ten years and back then it was in the Merchant Adventurer's Hall. It had three trade stands, four display games and a man dressed up as a Fallshirmjager brandishing an MP44 at the public. It was unrecognisable today, it has grown out of all proportion, like a Lovecraftian beast taking over the Racecourse. There were even Jousting reenacters galloping around the paddock to tilt at one another as they passed every five minutes. There was about a million games in progress, four trillion trade stands and countless numbers of fat balding middle aged men panting over 15mm high toy soldiers in Einsatzgruppen B uniform. Logan Josh and Anna were both dragged along to make up the numbers. Both suffered terrible shock at the mass of Nerdism on public display. Josh was stunned into silence (for once) by the horror of it all. He was all excited about it when I mentioned it a few weeks ago. Now he will wake up screaming at the memory of grown men arguing about the correct buttons used on the coats of French Voltigeurs during the Battle of Borodino. Anna took it much better, she was a willing participant in finding out why Peter Pig is called Peter Pig. She even bought some figures; King Alfred and his burnt cakes or something. Mr Rex and I are much better versed at these events and took it all in our stride, engaging the nerds with chats about new figure ranges and fat Americans wearing tiny t-shirts. I came home, nerdy but happy with a bag positively brimming with a game, a t-shirt and some plastic Russian tanks. Happy Days.

Oh God! The smell! The smell!

Buy for the Future!

I have just returned from a shopping experience at Morrison's and regular readers and those that know me will know I am a tolerant man, I don't allow much to wind me up, but today is different. Having just spent an hour standing behind couples staring at fish fingers wondering whether to buy the tuna friendly dolphin flavour ones or the lungfish flavour ones, I have come with a new way of shopping. Pay attention this is the future!

Every Little Helps...

The customers (or drones, if you prefer) will be brought to the site of the supermarket (now renamed food factory) on special monorail transport, each carriage of which will have separate compartments big enough to house one drone. From the moment they step onto the monorail a door will close behind them, therefore trapping them until released by the robot driver upon arrival at the food factory. The drones will not be released simultaneously but one at a time allowing each drone to step off the monorail onto a moving walkway, again with individual places per drone. I'm not sure how the drones will be fixed in place here, but it might involve magnets, which would require everyone in the country to have metal sheeting inserted into the soles of the their feet at birth. This moving 'walkway' will carry the line of drones into the opening of the food factory and stop them in front of a computer terminus. At this juncture the drones will punch in their requirements to sustain them for another week. It will be a simple menu, with little choice, ie, wholemeal bread, multi-grain bread, kibbled bread, rye bread and fruit bread will be under the single button marked 'BREAD'. Choice confuses drones. It confuses and frightens them. The less choice the better. People operate quicker when there is less choice. So you would have a computer screen that looks something like this:

Press your buttons now!

Obviously this is still a work in progress, I feel that there may be too many meat and vegetable choices. But not to worry, the future is still ages away yet, so we've got time to work on it. The drone would have five minutes to press each button the appropriate amount of times for each product they wanted. Then they press done. After five minutes, whether the drones have finished or not the walkway will whisk them around the shop. First stop will be a machine that fits a shopping basket to the drones front, again, maybe through magnets and more invasive surgery. The computer will have worked out which drones want what from the computer terminal they were standing in front of and will stop in front of the large vending machines that make up the food factory. The food will be packaged in a similar way to this:

Om Nom Nom

Each drone will have their choices dropped into their baskets and when all have been thus served, the walkway will transport all the drones to the checkout, where a computer scanner will minus the cost of the food from the amount of work hours the drones have stored in their implanted computer chips that are stored in the frontal lobes of the the drone's brain. They earn this virtual money by spending the week working in munitions factories to feed the on going war with America. Yes, this my friends is the future of the shopping trip as we know it! Hopefully it won't be long off now!!

Keep the eating! Keep them fighting!!

I went to see Black Swan on Friday night, here is a film review ala Logan Josh:

Natalie Portman plays Nellie Deane, a country secretary who comes to the big city in search of fame, fortune and gold dust. She immediately falls in with a bad crowd at her work place and swiftly loses her job by setting off the smoke alarms with an unauthorised fireworks display in the boss' office. Losing her income means she loses her penthouse flat in the heart of the city and has to move in with her on-off boyfriend Crash Barfight (Bob Carolgees sans Spit the Dog) in the suburbs. Portman befriends the neighbour, a Mexican cleaner who doesn't speak a word of English (a beautiful portrayal by an uncredited Esther Rantzen). Portman and Rantzen embark on a series of moral crusades against the uncontrolled and illegal fishing of the River Hudson by the Mafia. The city government previously having turned a blind eye to Mafia bosses throwing grenades into the river to farm the livestock and sell the catch to nursing homes for hyper inflated prices. Portman and Rantzen change this blinkered view and also eventually win over the hearts of the mafia bosses, Portman marrying one of the 'made guys' in the process. Carolgees returns to the scene however and attempts to upset the apple cart by literally upsetting an apple cart in the street. It is his metaphor for his undying love for Portman. She realizes she married the wrong man and uses her mafia connections to have her husband killed so she can return to the arms of her former lover. They marry and live happily in Montana farming cats.

'Four Stars (out of 100)' Daily Bugle

'Weak and emasculating' Metropolis Daily

'A fine cast let down by a weak script' Gotham News

Hate Songs in E Minor

On Monday I went to the cinema to see 127 Hours, it was OK, a bit like an extended pop video, just like all of Danny Boyle's films are,and if you know what the ending is already you are pretty much just waiting for it to happen. I thought it would have made a better documentary, given that Aron filmed himself as he was trapped. Anyway, being in the cinema got me thinking, I was surrounded by arseholes as usual. Cinemas seem to be full, these days, of cunts that don't know how to behave in cinemas. What do I mean? Well everyone that goes to the cinema seems intent on stuffing themselves so full of sweets and popcorn and nachos(!), it's fucking disgusting. Just because you've left your house to go and see a film doesn't mean that you have to ram as much sugar and saturated fat down your fucking mouth as possible. I don't sit at home watching telly whilst shovelling hand fulls of jelly tots in my gaping maw, do I? People always buy far too much as well, as I'm leaving the place I always see massive amounts of left over food all over people's seats. There's enough food left over from the average viewing to feed the five thousand. FUCKING EYES TOO BIG FOR YOUR BELLY! SAVE YOUR FUCKING MONEY NEXT TIME, YOU FUCKING ATROCIOUS REPTILE!!

I need more cake to get me through Avatar

Not only that but people sit through films discussing them, you're not BARRY FUCKING NORMAN, SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND LET THE REST OF THE CINEMA ENJOY THE FILM!!! Can't they keep their thoughts to themselves for two hours? Does the rest of the room have to endure their verbal diarrhea?

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!!

These things are not the only things that get me mad about the cinema at Centretainment. The ceiling lights in the picture house are off centre. I notice it every time I go. It makes me mad. Right, listen, the ceiling is made up of lots of what appear to be two foot by two foot square tiles. There are three rows of lights running from the back of the room to the front and these are embedded in the tiles. But they're not embedded in the centre of the tiles, rather they are haphazardly placed within the surface area of the tile. This begs the question, which came first the tiles or the lights? If the lights were there first it would explain why they are off centre from the tiles. But if that's the case, then what was there before the tiles? What held the lights up? And just why was whatever it was removed to make way for the tiles? If the tiles came first, you'd think that the electrician who put the lights in would have centred them in a tile, keeping an aesthetic within the confines of the movie theatre. Also, the lights are not even equally aligned down the ceiling. One of the rows is closer to the wall than it's opposite number. It's like the whole thing was designed by a gang of retarded monkeys with no hands. SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?? Is it all there just to try to fuck with my mind? Am I being toyed with by Centretainment, is this all just a massive psychological game to see how long I last before my mind shatters into a million pieces?

You are literally blowing my mind...

Berny and I were chatting on site the other day when he asked the question 'what's your favourite love song?' Given that Berny is a Punk and still thinks it's 1976, I would have thought his idea of a love song would be something along the lines of Bell-End Bop by GBH it quite surprised me when he said his favourite love song was 'Hello' by Lionel Ritchie. This was because a girl he once knew had given him the single as a sign of her affection. Being the little Rat Scabies punk he was he placed the disc upon the turntable, allowed the opening bars to begin then promptly threw the fucking thing out of the window. This song is not only hilarious for that reason, watch the video, at about three and half minutes through, Lionel, the protagonist calls the woman of his dreams. She's blind, not only does he call this vulnerable young woman in the middle of the night but he waits nearly five full seconds before saying anything. All she can hear is his heavy breathing down the line, then he bellows 'HELLO!' at her. The poor girl must be frightened out of her wits. He may as well be saying 'I'm outside your house and can see you. Get ready cos I'm coming in and I've got a knife!' Later about five minutes into the video she sculpts a clay head that is supposed to look like Lionel, it turns out more like one of the heads on Easter Island. But she is blind after all...

The crops are failing! Raise another statue for the Gods!!

Berny also asked me what my favourite Gay Anthem was, my vote is always in the YMCA camp (don't excuse the pun...). Berny's was something by Kylie. There was a silence for a while until Berny broke it by asking what my favourite heterosexual song was. I told him Sniper At The Fag Parade by Meat Shits.

Can I get this at my local HMV?

I'm moving to York tomorrow, the house doesn't have internets connection yet so there may not be any more postings for a wee while. We'll see how we get on.