This blog is pretty much defunct nowadays. I have kinda lost interest, but also don't really have too much time to write stuff for it. That's not to say I may pick it up again at some point in the future, but until I do I will occasionally publish real text message conversations I have with He-Who-Cannto-Be-Named. Like this recent one:
Him: I was wondering if you'd like to be in a home movie I'm going to make. It will be released on the internet. Do you still have your crotchless spider man costume?
Me: What is it about? Will I be the star?
Him: It's a super hero movie, a kind of 'unofficial' adaptation of Alan Moore's Watchmen. Working title is 'Crotchmen'. How do you feel about working with animals?
Me: Sounds great! I like Roger Moore, he's my favourite James Bund. They say never work with children or animals. But I've certainly 'worked' with both before, if you know what I mean?
Him: I think I do know what you mean! That's why I think you'd be perfect for this role. Do you know what your pain threshold is for electricity?
Me: I've not tested it fully. Will this be like method acting?
Him: Yes. Don't worry about it. Just 'be' your character. The more authentic it looks, the better.
Me: Is it going to be guerilla style cinema?
Him: There may be a gorilla involved, yes. Or at least a bonobo or a chimp.
Me: That doesn't sound much like a super hero film. Have you got a script I could have a look at?
Him: It doesn't really have a script. This is proper Ken Loach style movie making. Improvised realism is key. Besides there won't be much dialogue anyway, cos most of the time you'll have something stuffed in your mouth.
Me: OK, well it would be nice to meet some of my fellow actors, you know, to get a feel of how we'll work together.
Him: No need. You're all professionals. Just turn n the day and it will be fine. I'll pay you thirty pounds for eight hours work, take it or leave it. You need to bring some nipple clamps too.
Me: OK, I guess I have been an out of work actor for so long any job is worth taking. Thanks for this opportunity!
Him: Don't mention it. I mean that literally. Don't tell anyone about this.
Me: Ooh, all hush hush? I love secret projects!
Him: Good, cos if you go blabbing about this one I'll break your fucking knees.
Me: Wow, this is exciting, a really big secret!
Him: Shut the fuck up and go and get a full body wax.
Me: I like a director who takes control.
Him: I hope you like a chimp that takes control too.
Then it all went quiet for a bit until I got this:
Him: I keep getting texts from Dominoes Pizza, almost every day. I never reply but they keep texting me. Do you think they fancy me or something?
Me: Text them back, see if they want to go for a drink.
Him: I called Dominoes, they didn't want to go for a drink but they said I could come round for a pizza! I'm so excited! I just need to decide what to wear!
Showing posts with label He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. Show all posts
Showing posts with label He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. Show all posts
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
Sexual Textual
You know the deal, He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named send each other idiot text messages. I publish them here:
Him: One of these days you're going to get lazy, and mess up. And when you do, I'll be waiting.
Me: That's nice, you'll clear up after me? Brilliant, I've always wanted a maid.
Him: Don't mention it. Just wanted you to know I'll always be there for you.
Me: I broke into your house yesterday while you were out and masturbated in your bathroom. Then I wiped myself off with your towel. You're welcome.
Him: You're a stupid idiot and you've got a stupid idiot face.
Me: Then I went into your kitchen and put my fingers up my bum and wiped them on all your utensils. Om Nom Nom.
Him: You smell of stink.
Me: So do your knives and forks.
Him: I don't understand you. What do you hope to gain from this behaviour? Happiness? satisfaction? Is that why you do it?
Me: I hope that you get the taste of my anal passage in your mouth. Nothing else.
Him: Why is that so important to you?
Me: Because I want you to be humiliated in front of your peers when you throw a dinner party and they all use your grimy knives and forks.
Him: I don't host 'dinner parties'. I don't even have a dining table. My guests eat pizzas off plates on their knees using their fingers, and if that's not good enough for them I tell them to fuck off. So your little 'gesture' has been wasted.
Me: Not quite, cos before I did it, I shit in your bed.
Him: That's actually quite a relief because I thought I'd done that in my sleep. I was quite worried, I was about to go to the doctor.
Me: I also placed your doctor's thermometer up my bottom. So you should go and ask him to take your temperature.
Him: It sounds like you put an awful lot of thought and effort into this. I'm almost flattered.
Me: I've also put all the pens in your office up my anus. There's no escaping my bottom.
Him: You're assuming I want to escape from your bottom.
Me: You will do when you taste it. I've been eating only toothpaste for the last month.
Him: Minty fresh, nice.
Me: No. Quite the opposite actually.
Him: You monster.
Me: Don't judge me so quickly. You haven't seen what I did in the fridge yet!
Him: Why can't you just leave me alone? Why can't you bear to see me happy?
Me: To be honest, I'm not really fussed either way. Your emotional well being has no influence on anything I do to you anyway. Happy or sad this would still happen. You're nothing to me. You really liked you dog didn't you?
Him: Go away.
Me: This is not going away for a long time, we're in for the long haul here.
Him: Isn't it past your bedtime?
Me: It's past your life time.
Him: That doesn't make sense.
Me: It will. How would your family react to you if you were deformed by, say, a fire?
Him: Isn't there something on telly you could be watching. Like Come Dine With Me or the Only Way is Essex or any of the other bullshit you like?
Me: I'm watching telly right now. You mean so little to me that I can juggle the two easily. What about if you were disabled and couldn't go to the toilet alone? Would your family still stand by you?
Him: No, my father would spurn me as a twisted monster, not that it's any of your business.
Me: OK, I'll take that on board, thanks. Anyway, I'm off to find some nails, detergent, plastic ties and lime. I hope you sleep well tonight.
Him: I will, as soon as you stop texting me.
Me: I'm going to make sure you're buried face down.
Him: I won't care, I'll be dead.
Me: No you won't.
Next morning:
Him: I cried myself to sleep last night.
Me: :( why? I'm sad for you. :(
Him: One of these days you're going to get lazy, and mess up. And when you do, I'll be waiting.
Me: That's nice, you'll clear up after me? Brilliant, I've always wanted a maid.
Him: Don't mention it. Just wanted you to know I'll always be there for you.
Me: I broke into your house yesterday while you were out and masturbated in your bathroom. Then I wiped myself off with your towel. You're welcome.
Him: You're a stupid idiot and you've got a stupid idiot face.
Me: Then I went into your kitchen and put my fingers up my bum and wiped them on all your utensils. Om Nom Nom.
Him: You smell of stink.
Me: So do your knives and forks.
Him: I don't understand you. What do you hope to gain from this behaviour? Happiness? satisfaction? Is that why you do it?
Me: I hope that you get the taste of my anal passage in your mouth. Nothing else.
Him: Why is that so important to you?
Me: Because I want you to be humiliated in front of your peers when you throw a dinner party and they all use your grimy knives and forks.
Him: I don't host 'dinner parties'. I don't even have a dining table. My guests eat pizzas off plates on their knees using their fingers, and if that's not good enough for them I tell them to fuck off. So your little 'gesture' has been wasted.
Me: Not quite, cos before I did it, I shit in your bed.
Him: That's actually quite a relief because I thought I'd done that in my sleep. I was quite worried, I was about to go to the doctor.
Me: I also placed your doctor's thermometer up my bottom. So you should go and ask him to take your temperature.
Him: It sounds like you put an awful lot of thought and effort into this. I'm almost flattered.
Me: I've also put all the pens in your office up my anus. There's no escaping my bottom.
Him: You're assuming I want to escape from your bottom.
Me: You will do when you taste it. I've been eating only toothpaste for the last month.
Him: Minty fresh, nice.
Me: No. Quite the opposite actually.
Him: You monster.
Me: Don't judge me so quickly. You haven't seen what I did in the fridge yet!
Him: Why can't you just leave me alone? Why can't you bear to see me happy?
Me: To be honest, I'm not really fussed either way. Your emotional well being has no influence on anything I do to you anyway. Happy or sad this would still happen. You're nothing to me. You really liked you dog didn't you?
Him: Go away.
Me: This is not going away for a long time, we're in for the long haul here.
Him: Isn't it past your bedtime?
Me: It's past your life time.
Him: That doesn't make sense.
Me: It will. How would your family react to you if you were deformed by, say, a fire?
Him: Isn't there something on telly you could be watching. Like Come Dine With Me or the Only Way is Essex or any of the other bullshit you like?
Me: I'm watching telly right now. You mean so little to me that I can juggle the two easily. What about if you were disabled and couldn't go to the toilet alone? Would your family still stand by you?
Him: No, my father would spurn me as a twisted monster, not that it's any of your business.
Me: OK, I'll take that on board, thanks. Anyway, I'm off to find some nails, detergent, plastic ties and lime. I hope you sleep well tonight.
Him: I will, as soon as you stop texting me.
Me: I'm going to make sure you're buried face down.
Him: I won't care, I'll be dead.
Me: No you won't.
Next morning:
Him: I cried myself to sleep last night.
Me: :( why? I'm sad for you. :(
Friday, 14 September 2012
Drokk it!
I went to see Dredd 3D last night, along with Ali, Sam, Nathan and Cath. Timmy Teacakes was supposed to come too, but he cried off cos he had to do a bit of work for once. Of all of us there was only Nathan and I who had any idea at all what Judge Dredd was even about. I mean, Christ, as we were waiting for the others I had to give Ali a quick run through of 35 years of dispensing justice, muties, the Cursed Earth, the Dark Judges, PJ Maybe, Chopper, the Judda, lawgivers, lawmasters, futsies and Call-Me-Kenneth just to bring him up to speed.
So there I sat, with my mega-mega-family bucket of popcorn, eight bags of Haribo and an ocean of fizzy pop waiting for the movie event of my life. There was that other Judge Dredd film a few years ago, but the less said about that the better. I hope they have collected up all the DVDs of it and buried them in the Mojave Desert. Either that or fired them into the sun.
How was it? I was so fucking disappointed, no Dark Judges, no Walter, no Maria, no Call-Me-Kenneth and Mega City One looked like Leeds. Anyway here is my review:
So there I sat, with my mega-mega-family bucket of popcorn, eight bags of Haribo and an ocean of fizzy pop waiting for the movie event of my life. There was that other Judge Dredd film a few years ago, but the less said about that the better. I hope they have collected up all the DVDs of it and buried them in the Mojave Desert. Either that or fired them into the sun.
How was it? I was so fucking disappointed, no Dark Judges, no Walter, no Maria, no Call-Me-Kenneth and Mega City One looked like Leeds. Anyway here is my review:
Dredd (Owen Wilson) is a scientist who has just invented a time travel machine in his garage in Wisconsin. He spends the afternoon with his wife, Trisha (Susan Sarandon) going back to various epochs to see what it was all about. In a dream like montage they visit 12th century Prague, 18th century Vienna, and 20th century Cleethorpes. Retiring to bed, ready to tell the world in the morning of their discovery Dredd accidentally leaves the machine on. During the night a cat jumps on the controls and summons a Tyrannosaurus Rex from a million years BC and a sixty foot robot from a million years AD. Dredd and Trisha are awoken as their house is torn to pieces by the two monsters whaling on each other. Fearing for their lives, they grab the cat and run. In the maelstrom, the machine summons Napoleon's Grande Armée on their way to Moscow. Soon there is 20,000 Frenchmen battling a giant dinosaur and a giant robot in one of cinema's finest moments akin to Citizen Kane. The army is called and soon manage to calm things down and make everyone see sense. The Robot and the Dinosaur get married and the soldiers open a theme park with Napoleonic themed roller-coasters. Dredd smashes the machine with a baseball bat, but not before transporting himself and Trisha back to 20th century Cleethorpes where they live happily ever afterwards.
Score: 15 on 10!
And here is some text messages of He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named:
Him: One more day closer to death. I suppose that's something to look forward to at least. (this was received at 09:05...)
Me: Why don't you do the world a favour and fucking hang yourself? No one would miss you.
Him: Who are you, my therapist? Because that's what he keeps telling me.
Me: No, but he pays me to say this stuff to you.
Him: So you don't really mean it? That makes me feel a bit better.
Me: No, I do mean it, that's why I took the job. It's like getting paid to do your hobby! It's totes good money too, another bonus!
Him: Dick
Me: Woah! I'm just doing my job! Don't have a fucking go at me! You're such a bellend sometimes. I don't have a go at you about that racist drivel you teach your students.
Him: That's not racist. It's true. It's all backed up by hundreds of academic publications going back to the nineteen thirties.
Me: In German?
Him: What difference does that make? Now look who's being racist!
Me: I'm going to report you to the head of your department.
Him: Don't bother, he already hates me. They all do, the shower of cunts.
Me: No wonder with that attitude.
Him: I hope your sandwich today has Ebola in it and you die shitting blood and bleeding out of your eyeballs.
Me: How did you know what I am having for lunch?!
Him: You're just so fucking predictable, like the phases of the moon, or the changing of the season, or an episode of 'My Family'.
Me: You really like kicking a guy when he's down, don't you? Why can't you have more respect for me?
Him: I hope you catch Lyme disease from watching Dredd, and die suffering from painful skin cracking facial palsy.
Me: What is your beef?
Him: What do you think about those princess kate topless photos? I can't fell but feel that this wouldn't have happened if she bore herself with proper regal dignity, instead of WALKING AROUND WITH HER TITS OUT LIKE A COMMON FUCKING TRAMP WHORE.
Me: I hate her for what she's done to the queen. I always said that about her, didn't I?
Him: Well lady di never strutted around with her boobs flapping for all the world to see, that's for sure. She had class. God I miss her so much.
Score: 15 on 10!
And here is some text messages of He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named:
Him: One more day closer to death. I suppose that's something to look forward to at least. (this was received at 09:05...)
Me: Why don't you do the world a favour and fucking hang yourself? No one would miss you.
Him: Who are you, my therapist? Because that's what he keeps telling me.
Me: No, but he pays me to say this stuff to you.
Him: So you don't really mean it? That makes me feel a bit better.
Me: No, I do mean it, that's why I took the job. It's like getting paid to do your hobby! It's totes good money too, another bonus!
Him: Dick
Me: Woah! I'm just doing my job! Don't have a fucking go at me! You're such a bellend sometimes. I don't have a go at you about that racist drivel you teach your students.
Him: That's not racist. It's true. It's all backed up by hundreds of academic publications going back to the nineteen thirties.
Me: In German?
Him: What difference does that make? Now look who's being racist!
Me: I'm going to report you to the head of your department.
Him: Don't bother, he already hates me. They all do, the shower of cunts.
Me: No wonder with that attitude.
Him: I hope your sandwich today has Ebola in it and you die shitting blood and bleeding out of your eyeballs.
Me: How did you know what I am having for lunch?!
Him: You're just so fucking predictable, like the phases of the moon, or the changing of the season, or an episode of 'My Family'.
Me: You really like kicking a guy when he's down, don't you? Why can't you have more respect for me?
Him: I hope you catch Lyme disease from watching Dredd, and die suffering from painful skin cracking facial palsy.
Me: What is your beef?
Him: What do you think about those princess kate topless photos? I can't fell but feel that this wouldn't have happened if she bore herself with proper regal dignity, instead of WALKING AROUND WITH HER TITS OUT LIKE A COMMON FUCKING TRAMP WHORE.
Me: I hate her for what she's done to the queen. I always said that about her, didn't I?
Him: Well lady di never strutted around with her boobs flapping for all the world to see, that's for sure. She had class. God I miss her so much.
Tuesday, 4 September 2012
Mark of the Beast
It was my birthday last month, six weeks ago. He-who-cannot-be-named sent me a present, six weeks late. I opened it to find this:
With this torn piece of paper:
and the reverse:
Who needs enemies, eh?
Who needs enemies, eh?
Monday, 11 June 2012
The sign o' the times
It has been a while since I posted any of the text messages between myself and He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named, so here I present a few from the last couple of days:
6 June:
Him: How many chips do you think you've eaten in your life so far? Something for you to calculate while you sit around on your arse.
Me: I think it's somewhere around nine.
Him: Craig says you're lying to yourself. He says he knows for a fact because he's seen you eat more than nine.
Me: I said ABOUT nine. It might be a couple more.
Him: OK, that makes sense.
7th June:
Him: In this enlightened day and age, why are people still allowed to play bongos in public?
Me: I know. They need to be flogged in public.
Him: They need to be anally violated with their own bongos.
Me: And strangled.
10th June:
Him: Which do you like best, black metal or being bum fucked like a little bitch? I'm asking because I'm assuming you're familiar with both.
Me: Both equally, but I would prefer to watch you being burnt at the stake.
11th June:
Me: Would you prefer to be persecuted as a 17th century witch or a 20th century Jew?
Him: Not sure, I'll have to think about that one and get back to you.
Me: Don't take too long, I've got a bunch of people here who are getting pretty agitated.
Him: I'd rather be the witch, because then at least then I could use my magic to defend myself.
Me: OK, we have to decide whether to burn you, drown you or crush you under an oak door. I'll get back to you.
Him: I told you, I'm using my magic to defend myself by turning myself into a cat.
Me: No, you see, your magic doesn't really exist and you're just some lonely middle aged eccentric woman that the rest of the village have taken a dislike to. It's mob law and I can't do much about it, even though I'm the local Squire.
Him: Why are you such a dick even in hypothetical scenarios?
Me: You can't talk to me like that! I'm a Squire! No wonder you've got yourself into this situation. You've only got yourself to blame old woman.
Him: I'm gonna turn you into a newt, mother fucka.
Me: Your magic doesn't exist no matter how many magic mushrooms you take. How many fucking times?
Him: Then why the fuck are you threatening to burn me at the stake?
Me: It's the rule of the mob. As Squire I have to keep the village happy and they want to burn you. Or drown you or crush you under an oak door. I don't make the rules, I just abide by them.
Him: This is fucking bullshit, I want a lawyer.
Me: We burnt him last week. Someone said he was using magic to increase his cow herd's milk yield. I think it was just jealousy, but it's mob rule.
Him: Soon the mob will turn on you. You realise that, don't you?
Me: No they won't. They love and obey their social betters. You do own a cat, don't you?
Him: No I don't own a cat.
Me: Hmm, that's a bit of a shame. It would have strengthened our case against you if you had a familiar. Never mind, there's probably loads of other stuff we can pin on you. I'm sure you'll have a wart somewhere.
Him: Is this how you spend your time now that you're on the dole? Persecuting innocent people?
Me: You're not innocent. You are a lonely middle aged eccentric woman who probably has a cat and a wart. You're banged to rights.
Him: I'm going to put a hex on your ass. I'm going to tell everyone that you made me use my powers on numerous occasions to deal with your chronic impotence.
Me: Your 'powers' don't exist and you won't be heard above the braying of the crowd. They can get pretty rowdy when they're mad!
Him: They're all a bunch of cunts and I hope they die of AIDS.
Me: At least they won't be burnt, drowned or crushed under an oak door while a braying crowd kill your cat. Anyway, I'm at the cinema now, so I've lost interest in you and your idiocy. OK BYE!
6 June:
Him: How many chips do you think you've eaten in your life so far? Something for you to calculate while you sit around on your arse.
Me: I think it's somewhere around nine.
Him: Craig says you're lying to yourself. He says he knows for a fact because he's seen you eat more than nine.
Me: I said ABOUT nine. It might be a couple more.
Him: OK, that makes sense.
7th June:
Him: In this enlightened day and age, why are people still allowed to play bongos in public?
Me: I know. They need to be flogged in public.
Him: They need to be anally violated with their own bongos.
Me: And strangled.
10th June:
Him: Which do you like best, black metal or being bum fucked like a little bitch? I'm asking because I'm assuming you're familiar with both.
Me: Both equally, but I would prefer to watch you being burnt at the stake.
11th June:
Me: Would you prefer to be persecuted as a 17th century witch or a 20th century Jew?
Him: Not sure, I'll have to think about that one and get back to you.
Me: Don't take too long, I've got a bunch of people here who are getting pretty agitated.
Him: I'd rather be the witch, because then at least then I could use my magic to defend myself.
Me: OK, we have to decide whether to burn you, drown you or crush you under an oak door. I'll get back to you.
Him: I told you, I'm using my magic to defend myself by turning myself into a cat.
Me: No, you see, your magic doesn't really exist and you're just some lonely middle aged eccentric woman that the rest of the village have taken a dislike to. It's mob law and I can't do much about it, even though I'm the local Squire.
Him: Why are you such a dick even in hypothetical scenarios?
Me: You can't talk to me like that! I'm a Squire! No wonder you've got yourself into this situation. You've only got yourself to blame old woman.
Him: I'm gonna turn you into a newt, mother fucka.
Me: Your magic doesn't exist no matter how many magic mushrooms you take. How many fucking times?
Him: Then why the fuck are you threatening to burn me at the stake?
Me: It's the rule of the mob. As Squire I have to keep the village happy and they want to burn you. Or drown you or crush you under an oak door. I don't make the rules, I just abide by them.
Him: This is fucking bullshit, I want a lawyer.
Me: We burnt him last week. Someone said he was using magic to increase his cow herd's milk yield. I think it was just jealousy, but it's mob rule.
Him: Soon the mob will turn on you. You realise that, don't you?
Me: No they won't. They love and obey their social betters. You do own a cat, don't you?
Him: No I don't own a cat.
Me: Hmm, that's a bit of a shame. It would have strengthened our case against you if you had a familiar. Never mind, there's probably loads of other stuff we can pin on you. I'm sure you'll have a wart somewhere.
Him: Is this how you spend your time now that you're on the dole? Persecuting innocent people?
Me: You're not innocent. You are a lonely middle aged eccentric woman who probably has a cat and a wart. You're banged to rights.
Him: I'm going to put a hex on your ass. I'm going to tell everyone that you made me use my powers on numerous occasions to deal with your chronic impotence.
Me: Your 'powers' don't exist and you won't be heard above the braying of the crowd. They can get pretty rowdy when they're mad!
Him: They're all a bunch of cunts and I hope they die of AIDS.
Me: At least they won't be burnt, drowned or crushed under an oak door while a braying crowd kill your cat. Anyway, I'm at the cinema now, so I've lost interest in you and your idiocy. OK BYE!
Tuesday, 27 March 2012
Hungry Hungry Hippos
First of all, read a brand new interview with Abwehrschlacht conducted by Crucifixion 'Zine HERE.
He-who-cannot-be-named showed up at my house on Sunday morning and set fire to it. I ran out into the street with only the clothes on my back and everything else perishing in the fire. He stood there in front of me as I wept on the pavement and said 'You might as well come to and see a film with me, now that you're out of the house.' Being in an unstable state of mind I agreed and he dragged me bodily across York to the cinema to see The Hunger Games. He dumped my battered, charred and bruised body in the worst seat in the cinema and proceeded to masturbate throughout the film despite my protestations. I guess the sight of children killing each other is enough to get him going. He was quickly ejected by security as it became very apparent early on that two mid thirty year old men was not the demographic the film wished to reach. This is the first time I have been surrounded by adolescent girls since I was at school. I sank low in my chair just in case the Police decided to do a quick sweep of the theatre and my name ended up on their fucking register. Again.
The film is actually pretty good and explores some very adult themes for what is essentially a teeny movie marketed like Twiglet. The characters are fleshed out; in particular Woody Harrelson, as the former Humger Games winner and mentor of the new combatant kids. He starts off as a drunken oaf and as HWCBN pointed out, so would you be if you'd just had to kill 23 other children then spend the rest of your career teaching other children to do the same to other children. I'm not sure how much of the dystopian future, reality TV satire was recognised by the target audience, but it had two hunks competing for the beautiful heroine, so I guess they still went home happy. Over all I enjoyed it and would recommend that you see it if you were already considering going but don't break the doors of the cinema down to see it. Anyway, here is my in depth review:
Ratchet Formangler (Joe Bonomo) is an American First World War pilot flying for the Escadrille Layfayette in France in 1917. As a high scoring Ace, Formangler leads his squadron into a fray with the legendary Flying Circus of the Red Baron, he is separated from his flight during an unfair fight against 17 enemy machines. As he twists and turns above the French countryside, firing at the occasional Fokker that gets in his path, his plane is suddenly struck by lightening. Formangler is knocked unconscious by the strike and when he comes to he finds he is flying over a desert landscape unknown to him. He puts his battered SE5A down on a strip of land near an oasis and begins to drink from the pond. As he does so, he is approached by a beautiful woman (Yareli Arizmendi) dressed only in animal furs carrying a wooden spear. Initially cautious Formangler tries to make nice and discovers the woman only speaks in a primitive language unknown to him. She refers to herself as Ugg. Suddenly four men appear, dressed in furs and carrying clubs. One bashes Formangler unconscious and they drag Ugg off by her hair kicking and screaming. The hours pass and Formangler wakes to find Ugg gone but tracks leading off into the distance. He follows the trail, pistol at the ready and eventually comes across a cave dwelling where the four men and a tribe of others are gathered around a large fire dancing a sacred dance and banging drums made from human skulls. In the middle of the gathering is a large totem pole to which Ugg is bound. As Formangler watches, and formulates a plan of rescue, a Tyrannosaurus Rex appears above the mountain tops and advances on the congregation. Formangler suddenly realises that he was sent back in time during the dogfight! The crowd scatter leaving the struggling Ugg tied to the pole as a sacrifice prompting Formangler to run back to his plane. Quickly synthesising petrol from a nearby tar pit he starts the engine and takes to sky to do battle once again but this time against a dinosaur! As he presses home the attack on the T. Rex, a Pterosaur swoops down from the clouds and tries to bring the plane down. Quickly dispatching the flying menace, Formangler makes short work of the T. Rex with his remaining ammunition. Landing the plane again, he frees Ugg and plants a huge kiss on her. As this is a modern construct she has no idea what he is doing, but likes it. With the T. Rex dead the tribe return to their cave home and begin worshipping Formangler like a God, sacrificing the four men in his honour. Formangler marries Ugg in a primitive ceremony and lives out a long and fruitful life teaching the cave people the wonders of interpretive dance.
7 on 10
He-who-cannot-be-named showed up at my house on Sunday morning and set fire to it. I ran out into the street with only the clothes on my back and everything else perishing in the fire. He stood there in front of me as I wept on the pavement and said 'You might as well come to and see a film with me, now that you're out of the house.' Being in an unstable state of mind I agreed and he dragged me bodily across York to the cinema to see The Hunger Games. He dumped my battered, charred and bruised body in the worst seat in the cinema and proceeded to masturbate throughout the film despite my protestations. I guess the sight of children killing each other is enough to get him going. He was quickly ejected by security as it became very apparent early on that two mid thirty year old men was not the demographic the film wished to reach. This is the first time I have been surrounded by adolescent girls since I was at school. I sank low in my chair just in case the Police decided to do a quick sweep of the theatre and my name ended up on their fucking register. Again.
Shoot the dirty old man!
The film is actually pretty good and explores some very adult themes for what is essentially a teeny movie marketed like Twiglet. The characters are fleshed out; in particular Woody Harrelson, as the former Humger Games winner and mentor of the new combatant kids. He starts off as a drunken oaf and as HWCBN pointed out, so would you be if you'd just had to kill 23 other children then spend the rest of your career teaching other children to do the same to other children. I'm not sure how much of the dystopian future, reality TV satire was recognised by the target audience, but it had two hunks competing for the beautiful heroine, so I guess they still went home happy. Over all I enjoyed it and would recommend that you see it if you were already considering going but don't break the doors of the cinema down to see it. Anyway, here is my in depth review:
Ratchet Formangler (Joe Bonomo) is an American First World War pilot flying for the Escadrille Layfayette in France in 1917. As a high scoring Ace, Formangler leads his squadron into a fray with the legendary Flying Circus of the Red Baron, he is separated from his flight during an unfair fight against 17 enemy machines. As he twists and turns above the French countryside, firing at the occasional Fokker that gets in his path, his plane is suddenly struck by lightening. Formangler is knocked unconscious by the strike and when he comes to he finds he is flying over a desert landscape unknown to him. He puts his battered SE5A down on a strip of land near an oasis and begins to drink from the pond. As he does so, he is approached by a beautiful woman (Yareli Arizmendi) dressed only in animal furs carrying a wooden spear. Initially cautious Formangler tries to make nice and discovers the woman only speaks in a primitive language unknown to him. She refers to herself as Ugg. Suddenly four men appear, dressed in furs and carrying clubs. One bashes Formangler unconscious and they drag Ugg off by her hair kicking and screaming. The hours pass and Formangler wakes to find Ugg gone but tracks leading off into the distance. He follows the trail, pistol at the ready and eventually comes across a cave dwelling where the four men and a tribe of others are gathered around a large fire dancing a sacred dance and banging drums made from human skulls. In the middle of the gathering is a large totem pole to which Ugg is bound. As Formangler watches, and formulates a plan of rescue, a Tyrannosaurus Rex appears above the mountain tops and advances on the congregation. Formangler suddenly realises that he was sent back in time during the dogfight! The crowd scatter leaving the struggling Ugg tied to the pole as a sacrifice prompting Formangler to run back to his plane. Quickly synthesising petrol from a nearby tar pit he starts the engine and takes to sky to do battle once again but this time against a dinosaur! As he presses home the attack on the T. Rex, a Pterosaur swoops down from the clouds and tries to bring the plane down. Quickly dispatching the flying menace, Formangler makes short work of the T. Rex with his remaining ammunition. Landing the plane again, he frees Ugg and plants a huge kiss on her. As this is a modern construct she has no idea what he is doing, but likes it. With the T. Rex dead the tribe return to their cave home and begin worshipping Formangler like a God, sacrificing the four men in his honour. Formangler marries Ugg in a primitive ceremony and lives out a long and fruitful life teaching the cave people the wonders of interpretive dance.
7 on 10
Fuck Yeah!!
Friday, 24 February 2012
Old School? New School? Shit, I didn't even go to school!
I haven't been writing this Blog for the past few weeks as much as before, as I have been putting my energies into other stuff, like reading books on the First World War so that I can write a fucking essay, so please, fucking excuuuuuuuuuuse me! I was actually going through the old Blog posts and found one I was going to write a while back and decided as it's Friday night, then I might as well write it now, since my life is one long unemotional roller coaster ride and all that.
I have a pair of shoes that I have had for quite a while now and they are my 'best' shoes in that they are not the ones covered in concrete which I wear to work, nor are they a pair of wedding shoes that make me walk like a dandy when I wear them, neither are they a pair of sandals that still have the dust of Greece upon them and finally nor are they a pair of running shoes that have been untouched since my Dublin days. No, they are none of these, they are in fact a pair of Airwalk skater shoes. In black. I like skater shoes as they are comfortable and have a slight resemblance to the footwear one sees in Judge Dredd. I can imagine I'm wandering the mean streets of Mega City One in my Airwalks, as I prance around the quaint cobbled byways of Olde Yorke.
Problem is, in recent weeks the insides of the shoes have shattered. Something in the soles is made of plastic (I don't know what so don't ask me what, do I look like a fucking shoe scientist? Go and ask Mr Clarks, Jesus) and these have been turned into shards through the action of me walking. And these shards in turn have been cutting into my feet making me hobble through the streets of Olde Yorke rather than prance. It is the same sensation as having a small bed of nails in each shoe. Like I'm walking on broken glass. I have not had a chance recently to go shoe shopping and as you know how much I hate that, I needn't go into details here. Needless to say, my feet hurt and I still have to face the unbearable prospect of buying new shoes...
And this Blog post would not be complete without an exchange between He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named and I:
Him: happy valentine's day alex, i hope you got me something nice this year, since you obviously forgot last year, you jerk.
Me: Was it you that sent me that envelope stuffed with ginger pubes? Not cool, dude. Not cool.
Him: No that wasn't me. I sent you the baby bottle filled with a mixture of my blood and semen. Did you get it?
Me: Yeah. I drunk it thinking it was ribena.
Him: Who do you love most, damien rice or james blunt? and you can't say both!
Me: I like rice's whining, but blunt's rugged good looks. Oh! I can't decide! It's too hard!
Him: Your face is like a bag of shit that's been set on fire and stamped out by a gorilla.
Me: Your face is that gorilla, you brute.
Him: I hope you realise that the only reason i allow you to live is in case i need to harvest your organs one day.
Me: Don't bother, they're all fucked.
Him: Well, i wish you'd take more care of my property.
Him: Do you remember how during our degree i used to steal your lunch money and punch you in the back of the head in lectures? I still smile about that.
Me: I don't remember that at all. I do remember getting together with Julian Richards and Steve Roskams and flushing your head down the toilet. what larks ay?
Him: I do remember that. I wasn't laughing then and I'm not laughing now.
Me: I was and still am. So are those two, in fact, we all laughed like drains on Friday when I saw them. Julian was doing impressions of you.
Him: Julian can go fuck himself. He always picked on me. On our first dig he used me as a wheelbarrow for two days.
Me: It was for three weeks not two days. You're thinking of the time you had to clean the portaloo with your tongue.
Him: Thanks for opening up these old wounds. Now I'm walking home and i can't stop crying. people are looking at me with pity and disgust.
Me: Nothing new there then. I think my best memory of university is when Julian and I ran you over in that bus. I don't remember why Steve wasn't there. He must have been ill or something.
Him: You'll be fucking sorry when Ross turns up.
Me: Remember that seminar when Steve was stamping on your neck and shouting 'shit worm! shit worm!' over and over? How we all laughed.
Except you, who couldn't breathe.
I don't know what it had to do with the early Christianisation of Britain. Fucking funny, anyway.
Him: In a way you were hurting yourselves more than you were hurting me.
Me: No were weren't
Him: Shouldn't you be working?
Me: Shouldn't you be shutting your fucking sewer mouth?
Fin.
Do I really have to write another blog post? I don't even get paid for this...
I have a pair of shoes that I have had for quite a while now and they are my 'best' shoes in that they are not the ones covered in concrete which I wear to work, nor are they a pair of wedding shoes that make me walk like a dandy when I wear them, neither are they a pair of sandals that still have the dust of Greece upon them and finally nor are they a pair of running shoes that have been untouched since my Dublin days. No, they are none of these, they are in fact a pair of Airwalk skater shoes. In black. I like skater shoes as they are comfortable and have a slight resemblance to the footwear one sees in Judge Dredd. I can imagine I'm wandering the mean streets of Mega City One in my Airwalks, as I prance around the quaint cobbled byways of Olde Yorke.
'Drokk!'
Problem is, in recent weeks the insides of the shoes have shattered. Something in the soles is made of plastic (I don't know what so don't ask me what, do I look like a fucking shoe scientist? Go and ask Mr Clarks, Jesus) and these have been turned into shards through the action of me walking. And these shards in turn have been cutting into my feet making me hobble through the streets of Olde Yorke rather than prance. It is the same sensation as having a small bed of nails in each shoe. Like I'm walking on broken glass. I have not had a chance recently to go shoe shopping and as you know how much I hate that, I needn't go into details here. Needless to say, my feet hurt and I still have to face the unbearable prospect of buying new shoes...
Just back from the garage to buy some milk...
And this Blog post would not be complete without an exchange between He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named and I:
Him: happy valentine's day alex, i hope you got me something nice this year, since you obviously forgot last year, you jerk.
Me: Was it you that sent me that envelope stuffed with ginger pubes? Not cool, dude. Not cool.
Him: No that wasn't me. I sent you the baby bottle filled with a mixture of my blood and semen. Did you get it?
Me: Yeah. I drunk it thinking it was ribena.
Him: Who do you love most, damien rice or james blunt? and you can't say both!
Me: I like rice's whining, but blunt's rugged good looks. Oh! I can't decide! It's too hard!
Him: Your face is like a bag of shit that's been set on fire and stamped out by a gorilla.
Me: Your face is that gorilla, you brute.
Him: I hope you realise that the only reason i allow you to live is in case i need to harvest your organs one day.
Me: Don't bother, they're all fucked.
Him: Well, i wish you'd take more care of my property.
Him: Do you remember how during our degree i used to steal your lunch money and punch you in the back of the head in lectures? I still smile about that.
Me: I don't remember that at all. I do remember getting together with Julian Richards and Steve Roskams and flushing your head down the toilet. what larks ay?
Him: I do remember that. I wasn't laughing then and I'm not laughing now.
Me: I was and still am. So are those two, in fact, we all laughed like drains on Friday when I saw them. Julian was doing impressions of you.
Him: Julian can go fuck himself. He always picked on me. On our first dig he used me as a wheelbarrow for two days.
Me: It was for three weeks not two days. You're thinking of the time you had to clean the portaloo with your tongue.
Him: Thanks for opening up these old wounds. Now I'm walking home and i can't stop crying. people are looking at me with pity and disgust.
Me: Nothing new there then. I think my best memory of university is when Julian and I ran you over in that bus. I don't remember why Steve wasn't there. He must have been ill or something.
Him: You'll be fucking sorry when Ross turns up.
Me: Remember that seminar when Steve was stamping on your neck and shouting 'shit worm! shit worm!' over and over? How we all laughed.
Except you, who couldn't breathe.
I don't know what it had to do with the early Christianisation of Britain. Fucking funny, anyway.
Him: In a way you were hurting yourselves more than you were hurting me.
Me: No were weren't
Him: Shouldn't you be working?
Me: Shouldn't you be shutting your fucking sewer mouth?
Fin.
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
My hands are cold....
Below is a typical weeks exchange of text messages between myself and He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named.
Me: 13:42, 27 Jan; If we were in a band you'd be the ugly one at the back
Him: 13:52, 27 Jan; You mean I'd be the drummer? Cool.
Me: 14:28, 27 Jan; You misspelled 'bummer'
Him: 09:25, 28 Jan; We are not so very different, you and I.
Me: 09:29, 28 Jan; We are. Don't kid yourself.
Him: 14:50, 28 Jan; I am going to see the Artist today. it had better be good or I will fucking end you.
Me: 14:50, 29 Jan; What's your address, you twisted little shit
Him: 15:04, 29 Jan; * **** ******, ****** ******. What are you sending me? I hope it's something tasty.
Me: 15:05, 29 Jan; It's a dead rat.
Me: 19:35, 29 Jan; I'm not sending anything. I need to give the police an address.
Him: 19:39, 29 Jan; The police don't need my address, they've been around enough times already. Not cos of anything I did, just because my neighbours are fucking cunts with no sense of humour.
Him: 18:43, 1 Feb; I've been trying to think of what thing about you i hate most. And the answer is, everything.
Me: 19:31, 1 Feb; I hate your top half most. Although your bottom half is a close second.
Him: 09:11, 4 Feb; Racist
Him: 12:02, 4 Feb; Thank you for the postcard. I liked the cat on the front, that was the best bit.
Me: 12:04, 4 Feb; I hope you choke on it.
Him: 10:17, 5 Feb; Why do you love world war one so much? I just read up about it on wikipedia, it sounds awful. Literally thousands of guys were killed.
Me: 10:18, 5 Feb; I didn't know that. Fuck. I didn't know anyone got hurt during it. I hate that shit.
Him: 12:30, 5 Feb; Maybe you should drop out of your MA. You don't want people to think you are condoning that sort of violent behaviour.
Me: 12:31, 5 Feb; Yeah. I'll go to the next lecture and ask about it. I feel I should point it out to everyone else on the course as well. Maybe they don't know either.
Me: 13:34, 6 Feb; What's your favourite bit of the star wars trilogy? My bit is when you started crying because you were scared by Yoda.
Him: 13:36, 6 Feb; I wasn't scared. I just happened to think of something really sad at that moment. It was the holocaust. I thought of the holocaust and it made me sad.
Me: 13:37, 6 Feb; Why did you run out of the cinema screaming 'that little green man is going to get me!' then?
Him: 13:38, 6 Feb; Because I used to think Hitler had green skin. I had him mixed up with the incredible hulk.
Me: 13:39, 6 Feb; My other favourite bit is when you shat yourself at the ewoks.
Him: 16:47, 6 Feb; I saw on the news that Britain's roads have been declared 'treacherous'. If there's one thing I can't stand it's a traitor. So I'm going out tonight to teach the nation's roads a lesson they won't forget.
Me: 16:49, 6 Feb; Don't attack the red bits though. I hear they're a psychopath.
Him: 08:23, 7 Feb; I've got a restraining order on you from a judge. You're not allowed within a hundred miles of me. So you need to move house.
Me: 08:24, 7 Feb; That's not how it works. You got the order in place, you move.
Him: 08:27, 7 Feb; Whatever. You're the one who gets arrested. And anally raped in prison. Which you'd probably enjoy. Because you're a massive bender.
Me: 08:28, 7 Feb; Why are you so bitter?
Him: 08:29, 7 Feb; Because I know you.
Me: 13:42, 27 Jan; If we were in a band you'd be the ugly one at the back
Him: 13:52, 27 Jan; You mean I'd be the drummer? Cool.
Me: 14:28, 27 Jan; You misspelled 'bummer'
Him: 09:25, 28 Jan; We are not so very different, you and I.
Me: 09:29, 28 Jan; We are. Don't kid yourself.
Him: 14:50, 28 Jan; I am going to see the Artist today. it had better be good or I will fucking end you.
Me: 14:50, 29 Jan; What's your address, you twisted little shit
Him: 15:04, 29 Jan; * **** ******, ****** ******. What are you sending me? I hope it's something tasty.
Me: 15:05, 29 Jan; It's a dead rat.
Me: 19:35, 29 Jan; I'm not sending anything. I need to give the police an address.
Him: 19:39, 29 Jan; The police don't need my address, they've been around enough times already. Not cos of anything I did, just because my neighbours are fucking cunts with no sense of humour.
Him: 18:43, 1 Feb; I've been trying to think of what thing about you i hate most. And the answer is, everything.
Me: 19:31, 1 Feb; I hate your top half most. Although your bottom half is a close second.
Him: 09:11, 4 Feb; Racist
Him: 12:02, 4 Feb; Thank you for the postcard. I liked the cat on the front, that was the best bit.
Me: 12:04, 4 Feb; I hope you choke on it.
Him: 10:17, 5 Feb; Why do you love world war one so much? I just read up about it on wikipedia, it sounds awful. Literally thousands of guys were killed.
Me: 10:18, 5 Feb; I didn't know that. Fuck. I didn't know anyone got hurt during it. I hate that shit.
Him: 12:30, 5 Feb; Maybe you should drop out of your MA. You don't want people to think you are condoning that sort of violent behaviour.
Me: 12:31, 5 Feb; Yeah. I'll go to the next lecture and ask about it. I feel I should point it out to everyone else on the course as well. Maybe they don't know either.
Me: 13:34, 6 Feb; What's your favourite bit of the star wars trilogy? My bit is when you started crying because you were scared by Yoda.
Him: 13:36, 6 Feb; I wasn't scared. I just happened to think of something really sad at that moment. It was the holocaust. I thought of the holocaust and it made me sad.
Me: 13:37, 6 Feb; Why did you run out of the cinema screaming 'that little green man is going to get me!' then?
Him: 13:38, 6 Feb; Because I used to think Hitler had green skin. I had him mixed up with the incredible hulk.
Me: 13:39, 6 Feb; My other favourite bit is when you shat yourself at the ewoks.
Him: 16:47, 6 Feb; I saw on the news that Britain's roads have been declared 'treacherous'. If there's one thing I can't stand it's a traitor. So I'm going out tonight to teach the nation's roads a lesson they won't forget.
Me: 16:49, 6 Feb; Don't attack the red bits though. I hear they're a psychopath.
Him: 08:23, 7 Feb; I've got a restraining order on you from a judge. You're not allowed within a hundred miles of me. So you need to move house.
Me: 08:24, 7 Feb; That's not how it works. You got the order in place, you move.
Him: 08:27, 7 Feb; Whatever. You're the one who gets arrested. And anally raped in prison. Which you'd probably enjoy. Because you're a massive bender.
Me: 08:28, 7 Feb; Why are you so bitter?
Him: 08:29, 7 Feb; Because I know you.
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Got Milk?
As I mentioned in the last post I went along to see War Horse with He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named as he made his way to York from D***** we had the following text conversation:
Him: Dear alex, i should be getting to york about ten past one. Shall i come to yours for lunch, or do you want to meet in town? Lots of love, ****
Me: Dear ****, I'm sorry to tell you I'm in Basingstoke today. So your journey is wasted. I hope you die. Lots of love Alex.
Me: Actually, i didn't check cinema times, did you?
Him: Yes, there's a show at 4pm. So you're not in Basingstoke? Was that some kind of fucking joke? Did you think you were funny, clown boy? Did you?
Me: I don't even know where Basingstoke is. Do you want to come here, but buy some tickets on the way over? We can have lunch here. What do you want?
Him: I'll eat whatever you put in my face, you know that. I'll get tickets on the way over. Basingstoke is in Hampshire.
Me: OK, I might get us a pizza! I don't know where Hampshire is. Or give a fuck for that matter.
Him: Hampshire is somewhere south of sheffield, that's all you need to know. I fucking hate pizza, and if you get pizza i'll throw it in your FUCKING FACE.
Me: Then I'm certainly not interested. What flavour do you want on your pizza. I know you love pizza.
Him: I don't mind. Get avocado ice cream flavour if you can. Or margherita.
Me: Pepperoni? Only gays eat gay flavour pizza.
Him: Yeah that's fine. Thanks petal.
Two hours later
Him: I'm at D***** station, i just bought my ticket to york, now i'm sitting on a bench waiting for my train to arrive.
Me: So?
Him: I just thought you might like to know that everything is going to plan so far.
Me: Fuck you and fuck your plan.
Five minutes later:
Me: In light of that, I'm changing dinner plans. We're having Mexican wraps instead.
Him: You can't fuck with the plans like that, it was all arranged. Now you've fucked everything up. And you probably expect me to pick up the pieces, as usual.
Me: Yeah.
Him: I just got on my train. At least i'm following the plan. Let's see if we can salvage something from this shipwreck of a sunday.
Me: Make sure you get good fucking seats at the cinema or I will set the dogs on you.
Him: Where would you like to sit?
Me: In the middle, you know where.
Fifteen minutes later
Me: And can you get some milk, please, I love you.
Him: For fuck's sake.
Me: I love you.
Him: Fuck off. You're only saying that so i'll get you some milk.
Me: No, I do.
Him: Right i've got the tickets. I'll pick up some milk. anything else i can get you? The golden fleece perhaps? The holy grail?
Me: Actually, I've decided i don't want to go to the cinema after all. I'm gonna stay in and paint some tanks. So don't bother coming over.
Him: Okay. I guess i'll see you around at some point.
Me: Don't count on it. Actually, will you put the milk on my doorstep? ring the bell so i know it's you, but fuck off immediately.
Him: If you let me in i can put the milk in the fridge for you. I wouldn't want you to over exert yourself by going all the way to the front door to pick it up.
Me: But I'd still have to get up to let you in. And I'd see you. No dice.
Him: I've left milk on window sill, i'm going back to d*****
I looked up and there was a pint of milk on the window sill.
Him: Dear alex, i should be getting to york about ten past one. Shall i come to yours for lunch, or do you want to meet in town? Lots of love, ****
Me: Dear ****, I'm sorry to tell you I'm in Basingstoke today. So your journey is wasted. I hope you die. Lots of love Alex.
Me: Actually, i didn't check cinema times, did you?
Him: Yes, there's a show at 4pm. So you're not in Basingstoke? Was that some kind of fucking joke? Did you think you were funny, clown boy? Did you?
Me: I don't even know where Basingstoke is. Do you want to come here, but buy some tickets on the way over? We can have lunch here. What do you want?
Him: I'll eat whatever you put in my face, you know that. I'll get tickets on the way over. Basingstoke is in Hampshire.
Me: OK, I might get us a pizza! I don't know where Hampshire is. Or give a fuck for that matter.
Him: Hampshire is somewhere south of sheffield, that's all you need to know. I fucking hate pizza, and if you get pizza i'll throw it in your FUCKING FACE.
Me: Then I'm certainly not interested. What flavour do you want on your pizza. I know you love pizza.
Him: I don't mind. Get avocado ice cream flavour if you can. Or margherita.
Me: Pepperoni? Only gays eat gay flavour pizza.
Him: Yeah that's fine. Thanks petal.
Two hours later
Him: I'm at D***** station, i just bought my ticket to york, now i'm sitting on a bench waiting for my train to arrive.
Me: So?
Him: I just thought you might like to know that everything is going to plan so far.
Me: Fuck you and fuck your plan.
Five minutes later:
Me: In light of that, I'm changing dinner plans. We're having Mexican wraps instead.
Him: You can't fuck with the plans like that, it was all arranged. Now you've fucked everything up. And you probably expect me to pick up the pieces, as usual.
Me: Yeah.
Him: I just got on my train. At least i'm following the plan. Let's see if we can salvage something from this shipwreck of a sunday.
Me: Make sure you get good fucking seats at the cinema or I will set the dogs on you.
Him: Where would you like to sit?
Me: In the middle, you know where.
Fifteen minutes later
Me: And can you get some milk, please, I love you.
Him: For fuck's sake.
Me: I love you.
Him: Fuck off. You're only saying that so i'll get you some milk.
Me: No, I do.
Him: Right i've got the tickets. I'll pick up some milk. anything else i can get you? The golden fleece perhaps? The holy grail?
Me: Actually, I've decided i don't want to go to the cinema after all. I'm gonna stay in and paint some tanks. So don't bother coming over.
Him: Okay. I guess i'll see you around at some point.
Me: Don't count on it. Actually, will you put the milk on my doorstep? ring the bell so i know it's you, but fuck off immediately.
Him: If you let me in i can put the milk in the fridge for you. I wouldn't want you to over exert yourself by going all the way to the front door to pick it up.
Me: But I'd still have to get up to let you in. And I'd see you. No dice.
Him: I've left milk on window sill, i'm going back to d*****
I looked up and there was a pint of milk on the window sill.
Friday, 18 November 2011
Horse Droppings
I was standing talking to Tab the Muffer on Tuesday afternoon when I got the following text of He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named...
Him: I got given a flyer for a student 'loveshack club night'. Do you think I should go? It's just that the flyer counts as an invitation, and it would be rude to turn it down.
Me: It sounds like fun, I would go if i were you. You may see some of your students there. Then at least you'd know someone.
Him: That's true, i could hang out with them the whole evening. It wouldn't be awkward because i already know them and we could talk about medieval things.
Me: Yeah, or you could break down their latest essay marks with them. You might even get a staff discount for the door entry.
Him: Yes I have some student supervisions coming up, i could schedule them for loveshack wednesday, i think that would be most convenient for all concerned.
Me: They'd probably love you for that. They'd know you were always thinking of their education.
Him: I think i will go along. I'll let you know how it goes.
It all went quiet until Wednesday 22:12
Him: Ok, i'm at loveshack night, i think i see some of my students, i'll go and say hello
Me: Yeah, Good luck! I'm sure they'll be really excited to see you.
Him: It's pretty crowded and noisy in here. I'm waving but don't seem to have noticed me yet. I'll see if i can get closer.
Me: Are they on the dancefloor?
Him: Yes i am trying to get to them. It's really hot in here, i shouldn't have brought my jacket and jumper. I get really irritated when it's too hot.
Me: Is there a cloakroom? Or is it expensive?
Him: I don't know, i was invited here, i didn't expect it to be so hot. Just tried talking to one of my students but she walked away, it is quite dark, she probably didn't recognise me, she must just think i'm some random weirdo.
Me: Go and make sure she knows who you are. You're there for them, remember.
Him: Fucking shit this guy with her just punched me and gave me a nosebleed
Me: What the fuck? Do they know who you are?
Him: He's not one of mine, he might be her boyfriend. I've stopped the bleeding, it's ok, must just be a misunderstanding. I'll try again.
Me: Keep at it, they'll appreciate it.
Then nothing until Thursday morning 08:13
Him: I'm in a graveyard. I don't remember how I got here. And i'm wearing someone else's clothes and my wallet is missing
Me: OK first thing to do is not to panic.
Him: How am i not supposed to panic, i'm giving a lecture in half an hour, i don't even know where i am and i feel sick
Me: Can you call in sick? Surely there must be a sign near the graveyard?
Him: Right i've found my way to the lecture theatre but there's like only three students here, and one of them is crying.
Me: At least they showed up. Do you recognise any of them from last night?
Him: Hard to say, i don't remember much of it and they are all avoiding eye contact. Guess i'll give my lecture anyway, we'll see how it goes.
Me: Are you still wearing someone else's clothes? That might be it.
Him: I vomited on the slide projector and a couple of students. The head of dept wants to see me.
Me: it might have been a bad idea to go last night.
Him: I got given a flyer for a student 'loveshack club night'. Do you think I should go? It's just that the flyer counts as an invitation, and it would be rude to turn it down.
Me: It sounds like fun, I would go if i were you. You may see some of your students there. Then at least you'd know someone.
Him: That's true, i could hang out with them the whole evening. It wouldn't be awkward because i already know them and we could talk about medieval things.
Me: Yeah, or you could break down their latest essay marks with them. You might even get a staff discount for the door entry.
Him: Yes I have some student supervisions coming up, i could schedule them for loveshack wednesday, i think that would be most convenient for all concerned.
Me: They'd probably love you for that. They'd know you were always thinking of their education.
Him: I think i will go along. I'll let you know how it goes.
It all went quiet until Wednesday 22:12
Him: Ok, i'm at loveshack night, i think i see some of my students, i'll go and say hello
Me: Yeah, Good luck! I'm sure they'll be really excited to see you.
Him: It's pretty crowded and noisy in here. I'm waving but don't seem to have noticed me yet. I'll see if i can get closer.
Me: Are they on the dancefloor?
Him: Yes i am trying to get to them. It's really hot in here, i shouldn't have brought my jacket and jumper. I get really irritated when it's too hot.
Me: Is there a cloakroom? Or is it expensive?
Him: I don't know, i was invited here, i didn't expect it to be so hot. Just tried talking to one of my students but she walked away, it is quite dark, she probably didn't recognise me, she must just think i'm some random weirdo.
Me: Go and make sure she knows who you are. You're there for them, remember.
Him: Fucking shit this guy with her just punched me and gave me a nosebleed
Me: What the fuck? Do they know who you are?
Him: He's not one of mine, he might be her boyfriend. I've stopped the bleeding, it's ok, must just be a misunderstanding. I'll try again.
Me: Keep at it, they'll appreciate it.
Then nothing until Thursday morning 08:13
Him: I'm in a graveyard. I don't remember how I got here. And i'm wearing someone else's clothes and my wallet is missing
Me: OK first thing to do is not to panic.
Him: How am i not supposed to panic, i'm giving a lecture in half an hour, i don't even know where i am and i feel sick
Me: Can you call in sick? Surely there must be a sign near the graveyard?
Him: Right i've found my way to the lecture theatre but there's like only three students here, and one of them is crying.
Me: At least they showed up. Do you recognise any of them from last night?
Him: Hard to say, i don't remember much of it and they are all avoiding eye contact. Guess i'll give my lecture anyway, we'll see how it goes.
Me: Are you still wearing someone else's clothes? That might be it.
Him: I vomited on the slide projector and a couple of students. The head of dept wants to see me.
Me: it might have been a bad idea to go last night.
Saturday, 15 October 2011
I am the God of War
Before we get into the meat of this post, enjoy the horses doovers, if you will. It's a video I made for Abwehrschlacht's song 'Die Sturmtruppen':
And that cheeky cunt Pledge Manners has been at it again, reviewing this product:
By now, you know the drill, He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named sends me a text, I reply in kind, then write them out here for you to crow at:
Him: Yesterday i saw a student walking down the street playing a harmonica. A fucking harmonica. Today i saw him doing it again. If i see him a third time i may lose control
Me: I can't believe you held your temper in the first place. I would have stabbed it with a breadknife and dumped the body in some woods in staffordshire.
Him: How easy do you think it is to beat someone to death with a mouth organ? I might try that instead. I'm guessing it would take some time.
Me: You could speed up the process by selotaping the mouth organ to a breadknife then stabbing it and dumping the body in some woods in staffordshire.
Him: Man, you're just the craziest!!
Me: I went to a psychotherapist today. He was dutch. What do you think of that?
Him: Why did you want to see a psychotherapist? Especially a dutch one?
Me: Physio Dickhead.
Him: Your text said psychotherapist, check your outbox. Maybe you are going crazy. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something.
Me: Oh yeah. Lol. Freudian slip. I prolly need one of those as well. My back is fucked. He touched me in my privates. Dutch bastard.
Him: Well he's foreign, maybe when you said 'my back hurts' he thought you said 'please finger fuck my penis'. You should get a book called 'treat your own back'. I got it when i fucked my back a few years ago. It's really good.
Me: You're not coming anywhere near me with your 'healing hands' you fucking pervert.
Him: I wouldn't touch you if i were wearing gloves and you were drowning in a tub of bleach. But check that book out, it's good.
Me: Will do. Dutch pervert.
Him: It's cultural, touching someones privates is like shaking hands to the dutch. I should know, i lived there for three months. They were touching my privates all the time. Sometimes they tied me up too, or left me gagged in a cellar for days. They only do that when you get quite close to the family though.
Me: Sounds like you got TOO close.
And that cheeky cunt Pledge Manners has been at it again, reviewing this product:
By now, you know the drill, He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named sends me a text, I reply in kind, then write them out here for you to crow at:
Him: Yesterday i saw a student walking down the street playing a harmonica. A fucking harmonica. Today i saw him doing it again. If i see him a third time i may lose control
Me: I can't believe you held your temper in the first place. I would have stabbed it with a breadknife and dumped the body in some woods in staffordshire.
Him: How easy do you think it is to beat someone to death with a mouth organ? I might try that instead. I'm guessing it would take some time.
Me: You could speed up the process by selotaping the mouth organ to a breadknife then stabbing it and dumping the body in some woods in staffordshire.
Him: Man, you're just the craziest!!
Me: I went to a psychotherapist today. He was dutch. What do you think of that?
Him: Why did you want to see a psychotherapist? Especially a dutch one?
Me: Physio Dickhead.
Him: Your text said psychotherapist, check your outbox. Maybe you are going crazy. Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something.
Me: Oh yeah. Lol. Freudian slip. I prolly need one of those as well. My back is fucked. He touched me in my privates. Dutch bastard.
Him: Well he's foreign, maybe when you said 'my back hurts' he thought you said 'please finger fuck my penis'. You should get a book called 'treat your own back'. I got it when i fucked my back a few years ago. It's really good.
Me: You're not coming anywhere near me with your 'healing hands' you fucking pervert.
Him: I wouldn't touch you if i were wearing gloves and you were drowning in a tub of bleach. But check that book out, it's good.
Me: Will do. Dutch pervert.
Him: It's cultural, touching someones privates is like shaking hands to the dutch. I should know, i lived there for three months. They were touching my privates all the time. Sometimes they tied me up too, or left me gagged in a cellar for days. They only do that when you get quite close to the family though.
Me: Sounds like you got TOO close.
As wolves amongst sheep we have wandered...
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
On Martson Moor Baht'at
The esteemed Mr McKibbin and He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named rolled into town this weekend, demanding that they stay at my house. What could I do to refuse? HWCBN gave me such a thrashing that I lost consciousness three times and the sight in my right eye due to the crushing of my orbit as the blows rained down on me from his billy club. When I finally came round the two were ensconced on my sofa braying at my predilection like crows. It will take weeks to remove the blood from the carpet. The reason they were in town was because Pragya was having the final of three marriages, all to the same bloke, go figure. Three marriages and I had not been invited to a single one. Not only that, but I was expected to put up these two, who had been invited. Talk about rubbing my face in it. What am I? A fucking hotel? I took umbrage at this turn up of events and went to Nathan's housewarming party instead. But before I did, the three of us went out for a drive at HWCBN's insistence. He broke my ulna as a warning. First stop was to Marston Moor to have a good look at where King Cromwell had smashed the Frenchies in 1389 or something, then it was off to Spofforth Castle to have a good look at some ruins where King Cromwell had smashed the Frenchies in 1389 or something. Here are two photos taken by the amazing talents of McKibbin:
As I said, that evening I took myself off to Nathan's housewarming party where he had dug a ten foot deep fire pit and stuffed an entire reindeer down there to cook. Later all Hell broke loose involving blue cheese. The less said about that incident, the better. In other news, I have mostly been hopping back and forth between sites and have spent a bit of time at Hes East helping Becky finish off the Roman well she's been hacking out. I present a series of photos for your delight and to give you some idea of the conditions we have to work in:
Marston Moor
Me
As I said, that evening I took myself off to Nathan's housewarming party where he had dug a ten foot deep fire pit and stuffed an entire reindeer down there to cook. Later all Hell broke loose involving blue cheese. The less said about that incident, the better. In other news, I have mostly been hopping back and forth between sites and have spent a bit of time at Hes East helping Becky finish off the Roman well she's been hacking out. I present a series of photos for your delight and to give you some idea of the conditions we have to work in:
Thursday, 15 September 2011
Lazy Journalism
OK, it's that time that I again that I lazily write out some of the text message conversations I have had recently.
Ninjasaurus Rex is the subject of this latest tirade. He sent me a picture of a toy church he'd bought and included the message:
Him: My new toy. A sixties style happy clappy hippy church. I'm looking forward to burning it down.
Me: LOL, make sure there's a little plastic vicar in there when you do.
Him: I might use those PP nuns...
Me: Rape them first if you do.
Him: I'm too big for them to take.
Me: No, you're not. Don't flatter yourself.
Him: My wang is as big as an entire Peter Pig's nun's body, I'll have you know.
Me: No it's not, I've seen it.
Him: Your eyesight is far better than I thought then.
Me: It's microscopic.
Him: You giggy twat.
No response
Him: You four eyed nerk.
No response
Him: If you were a transvestite superhero, what powers would you have?
Me: Xray vision, invisibility and the ability to walk through walls. the only ones you need.
Him: I *know* that! I want superpowers that a transvestite superhero would want.
Me: A non clashing super hero costume?
Him: Is always being able to find an absolute bargain in the end of season sales a superpower?
Me: It is for Gok Wan.
Him: You know he's secretly straight, don't you? What a genius way to feel up loads of women and get away with it!
Me: I might try being secretly straight then.
Him: You could start by keeping your gay bear hair.
Me: It takes one to know one.
Him: You giggy twat.
No response
Him: The ability to coordinate any person's clothes with a single punch: Pow! Now you have brown shoes with your jeans!
Another one concerned He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named:
Me: Have you ever sat down and gave serious thought as to why it is that i absolutely fucking hate you?
Him: No, i hardly ever think about you.
Me: You do. You think about me all the time. Especially when you are touching yourself. There is a load of good films coming to the city screen this month. They are showing goodfellas on monday, you can crash here if you like?
Him: OK cool, I have booked my ticket, getting train down after work on monday and train back in the morning. This better be worth it or i'll kick you in the pancreas.
Me: I don't know where you are going to stay. I'm not here monday.
Him: Are you sleeping in the cinema?
Me: What cinema? I'm going on holiday on saturday for a week.
Him: Who is this?
Me: Your worst enemy.
Him: I hate you.
Then the next morning:
Him: Great. I walk into d----- for the first time since i got back. How long does it take till i see some student prick wearing a fedora? Two minutes. It isn't even term time yet. Fuck sakes. This is going to be a long year.
Me: Nail it to his fucking head. You need to make a swift and decisive statement to stop anymore of this shit.
And finally, I wrote the lyrics for this song about fourteen years ago, back then Johnny took them and changed bits and pieces so they fitted the music but they are still essentially mine and are just as relevant (to me anyway) today. Enjoy the 'Leaf.
Ninjasaurus Rex is the subject of this latest tirade. He sent me a picture of a toy church he'd bought and included the message:
Him: My new toy. A sixties style happy clappy hippy church. I'm looking forward to burning it down.
Me: LOL, make sure there's a little plastic vicar in there when you do.
Him: I might use those PP nuns...
Me: Rape them first if you do.
Him: I'm too big for them to take.
Me: No, you're not. Don't flatter yourself.
Him: My wang is as big as an entire Peter Pig's nun's body, I'll have you know.
Me: No it's not, I've seen it.
Him: Your eyesight is far better than I thought then.
Me: It's microscopic.
Him: You giggy twat.
No response
Him: You four eyed nerk.
No response
Him: If you were a transvestite superhero, what powers would you have?
Me: Xray vision, invisibility and the ability to walk through walls. the only ones you need.
Him: I *know* that! I want superpowers that a transvestite superhero would want.
Me: A non clashing super hero costume?
Him: Is always being able to find an absolute bargain in the end of season sales a superpower?
Me: It is for Gok Wan.
Him: You know he's secretly straight, don't you? What a genius way to feel up loads of women and get away with it!
Me: I might try being secretly straight then.
Him: You could start by keeping your gay bear hair.
Me: It takes one to know one.
Him: You giggy twat.
No response
Him: The ability to coordinate any person's clothes with a single punch: Pow! Now you have brown shoes with your jeans!
Another one concerned He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named:
Me: Have you ever sat down and gave serious thought as to why it is that i absolutely fucking hate you?
Him: No, i hardly ever think about you.
Me: You do. You think about me all the time. Especially when you are touching yourself. There is a load of good films coming to the city screen this month. They are showing goodfellas on monday, you can crash here if you like?
Him: OK cool, I have booked my ticket, getting train down after work on monday and train back in the morning. This better be worth it or i'll kick you in the pancreas.
Me: I don't know where you are going to stay. I'm not here monday.
Him: Are you sleeping in the cinema?
Me: What cinema? I'm going on holiday on saturday for a week.
Him: Who is this?
Me: Your worst enemy.
Him: I hate you.
Then the next morning:
Him: Great. I walk into d----- for the first time since i got back. How long does it take till i see some student prick wearing a fedora? Two minutes. It isn't even term time yet. Fuck sakes. This is going to be a long year.
Me: Nail it to his fucking head. You need to make a swift and decisive statement to stop anymore of this shit.
And finally, I wrote the lyrics for this song about fourteen years ago, back then Johnny took them and changed bits and pieces so they fitted the music but they are still essentially mine and are just as relevant (to me anyway) today. Enjoy the 'Leaf.
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
A Torrent of Shit
More texts from He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. It was his birthday:
Me: Happy Birthday, you shit
Him: I can do anything i want today, i think i might fucking stab someone in the gut.
Me: Well, it's your special day princess.
Him: That's what I'll tell the coppers, i'm a princess and it's my special day so they can fuck off.
Me: You tell 'em girlfriend!
Him: The copper was being a dick so i stabbed him too. Then more cops came. Now i'm hiding in the fun factory at the harvester restaurant where i was having my birthday party before the police spoiled it.
Me: OK. It's a pretty tricky situation you've got yourself into. At least you're in a place with food so you should be able to hold out for a while.
Him: I've taken a bunch of toddlers hostage, should i start cutting them now to show i'm serious, or should i wait for a bit, or maybe just cut one to start with
Him: The little shits won't stop screaming and crying, i can hardly think with all this fucking noise
Me: Give them some chips that will keep them quiet
Him: Awesome idea thanks, that worked really well. One of them would not shut up so i cut her and put her outside, problem solved! We make a great team.
Me: I'm just giving you advice. We are not a team. In fact i was the one who called the police in the first place.
Him: Bullshit, you're not getting out that easily. You said it was my special day. You said i was a princess. You as good as stabbed that girl yourself.
Not the only ridiculous text messages I received this week, however, were from He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named, I got the following off of Berny:
Thinkin about doin a riot in york, u in? I know a big furniture shop where i hav a hire purchase account with, could start there, yeah? Then always wanted a blackberry, there is a nice hat shop i like, after wine store then finish off with sex shop. Sound good?
Me: Happy Birthday, you shit
Him: I can do anything i want today, i think i might fucking stab someone in the gut.
Me: Well, it's your special day princess.
Him: That's what I'll tell the coppers, i'm a princess and it's my special day so they can fuck off.
Me: You tell 'em girlfriend!
Him: The copper was being a dick so i stabbed him too. Then more cops came. Now i'm hiding in the fun factory at the harvester restaurant where i was having my birthday party before the police spoiled it.
Me: OK. It's a pretty tricky situation you've got yourself into. At least you're in a place with food so you should be able to hold out for a while.
Him: I've taken a bunch of toddlers hostage, should i start cutting them now to show i'm serious, or should i wait for a bit, or maybe just cut one to start with
Him: The little shits won't stop screaming and crying, i can hardly think with all this fucking noise
Me: Give them some chips that will keep them quiet
Him: Awesome idea thanks, that worked really well. One of them would not shut up so i cut her and put her outside, problem solved! We make a great team.
Me: I'm just giving you advice. We are not a team. In fact i was the one who called the police in the first place.
Him: Bullshit, you're not getting out that easily. You said it was my special day. You said i was a princess. You as good as stabbed that girl yourself.
Not the only ridiculous text messages I received this week, however, were from He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named, I got the following off of Berny:
Thinkin about doin a riot in york, u in? I know a big furniture shop where i hav a hire purchase account with, could start there, yeah? Then always wanted a blackberry, there is a nice hat shop i like, after wine store then finish off with sex shop. Sound good?
Saturday, 6 August 2011
All the Fun of the Fair
Some background, Sam is excavating in Durham, He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named wanted to see the excavation so I put the two in touch. He went to see her and I received the following text messages:
Him: I went to see sam's dig. She got all the other people to hold me down in the dirt while she stamped on my stomach. 'this is from alex' she said. It was awful.
Me: Well I guess she only did it because you deserve it. I don't remember telling her to do that but i guess i must have.
Him: I don't care whose idea it was, it has ruined my afternoon
Me: That was the plan. So it's worked?
Him: Yes. Even the dig was fake, the thing was an elaborate hoax to humiliate me. I guess it was you who arranged all my students to be there too. Jerk.
Me: That was me! I admit it! Was your departmental head there as well? He was invited.
Him: He couldn't make it. He sent his wife and kids though. There was a candy floss seller and a small funfair, and donkey rides. Everyone was having fun except me.
Me: I did tell the mayor of durham about it so he must have set the whole thing up. I had nothing to do with the funfair. I'm pleased it came off though.
Him: I went to see sam's dig. She got all the other people to hold me down in the dirt while she stamped on my stomach. 'this is from alex' she said. It was awful.
Me: Well I guess she only did it because you deserve it. I don't remember telling her to do that but i guess i must have.
Him: I don't care whose idea it was, it has ruined my afternoon
Me: That was the plan. So it's worked?
Him: Yes. Even the dig was fake, the thing was an elaborate hoax to humiliate me. I guess it was you who arranged all my students to be there too. Jerk.
Me: That was me! I admit it! Was your departmental head there as well? He was invited.
Him: He couldn't make it. He sent his wife and kids though. There was a candy floss seller and a small funfair, and donkey rides. Everyone was having fun except me.
Me: I did tell the mayor of durham about it so he must have set the whole thing up. I had nothing to do with the funfair. I'm pleased it came off though.
Monday, 1 August 2011
Knightmare
This weekend started off well, Kate bought me a teapot and cup (with a cat on it) for my birthday. I've been wanting a teapot for a while but it is usually the last thing I think of when I'm out shopping. I'm generally starving and too keen on packing up the trolley with things I can eat on the way home rather than planning for a full week of meals or porcelain items. Anyway, the teapot was also accompanied by a trip out to Silverwood to see some training trenches dug by the Barnsley Pals in the olden days when there was an important war on. That was good and I liked it.
That wasn't the only war themed occurrence this weekend. Whilst working out at Bridlington I drove past Sledmere House everyday and saw that there was a living history event on this weekend and had decided to go a long time ago. Thing is, I wasn't keen on the idea of going alone, I mean reenactors are always better when you have someone else to laugh at them with. So I got on the Bat Phone and informed He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named that there was something astir. He checked it out and saw there were a bunch of fucking Romans riding about on horses and wet his pants over it. He duly turned up at my house about 6.30am on Sunday morning demanding tea (which I made with the new tea pot...) and blathering on and on about the fucking Romans.
We hit Sledmere about midday and the dressing up fun had already begun. The Sealed Knot were doing a drill practise with pikes. Now, call me cynical, but I always thought a pike block would consist of about one thousand young and physically fit men. What we got was seven middle-aged fat men:
As we were sitting watching the drill display a chap sat down next to me dressed as a Parlimentarian (or a Royalist, I couldn't really tell, it's not my period, the English Civil War...) and lit up a fag. I asked him if the cigarette was a genuine seventeenth century one. It wasn't but it gave him cue to tell us all about himself for the next half an hour. I was quite interested in why a man of nearly fifty would suddenly decided to take up (fake) arms and join in the dressing up fun. I skirted around asking him when his wife had left him or if he was just going through some sort of mid-life crisis. He didn't need to tell me directly, the amount of money he'd spent on his gun told me he was single. He was a nice guy and at the end of the day it's a case of whatever floats your boat, so if he gets off on dressing up as a soldier from four hundred years ago then more power to him. All the while at the front the fatties did some nice baton twirling with the flags, even if the guy doing it looked like he spent the rest of his free time LARPing:
The Romans were up next and He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named was leaping about like a Romanian dancing bear and whooping like a banshee. They pranced about on the horses and showed off their various skills in how to bring down the Hun. We thought there would be a better spectacular if a bunch of Vandal reenactors charged on from stage left and sacked the Roman camp for four days solid. But sadly, they didn't show up. It got me thinking, getting a barbarian reenactment society together would be pretty cheap, all you need is a bunch of sticks for spears and some blue body paint. No expensive armour or clothes when you're skyclad!
Then it was time for the mums and dads to take the kids down to the front to stroke the Romans. He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named begged and begged for me to take him down to the front, I told him he wasn't allowed to go down there on his own, but his nagging was so incessant I had to accompany him. He was frightened by the horse's big faces, but managed to chat up Gimli the Dwarf about his dragon flag thing.
Next up were the Knights in Battle. I was most looking forward to these, but they were very disappointing; it was just a bunch of nobs smacking each other with swords. Their commentator was rubbish as well. I couldn't tell who was winning or losing or even who was who due to her bad commentary. It also made me mad because she was dressed as a Nun.
Enough was enough and we headed home to have a barbecue and finished off the weekend with a visit to the cinema to see Captain America. Here is a review ala Logan Josh:
Set during the time of the Boxer Rebellion, Captain America is a tale of teenage angst and desperation in the face of overwhelming odds. Chris Evans plays Dexter Mooches, a 17 year old child violin prodigy sent away from home for the first time to Magic School on the west coast of Sudan. At school Dexter is bullied mercilessly due to his short stature and receding forehead. His only friend is an invisible mouse called Midge Ure. Only Dexter can see this mouse, but he manages to convince one of the other boys, Marian Cleeble (Whoopie Goldberg, playing brilliantly against type) of its existence. The three set off on a journey to find the elixir of life when it is discovered that their ancient Professor (Hank Williams, uncredited) has only minutes left to live. The plucky trio confront several adversities on their journey. In one brilliant set piece, Dexter and Marian have to battle their way out of a siege armed only with colanders and a spatula. Spoiler alert! It is revealed part way through that Midge is not actually a mouse, but is a young woman after all (played by Mädchen Amick) and has been searching for a true heart to unlock the curse that she has been living under. Dexter's sense of duty and compassion are the key to breaking this voodoo. Although she is still invisible to every one except Dexter, they quickly fall in love and are married in the Spring. Having gained the elixir and saved the Professor the three heroes live happily ever after on a yacht trading rum between Caribbean islands. 0 out of 100!!! Make sue you miss this one!
Hello mum!
That wasn't the only war themed occurrence this weekend. Whilst working out at Bridlington I drove past Sledmere House everyday and saw that there was a living history event on this weekend and had decided to go a long time ago. Thing is, I wasn't keen on the idea of going alone, I mean reenactors are always better when you have someone else to laugh at them with. So I got on the Bat Phone and informed He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named that there was something astir. He checked it out and saw there were a bunch of fucking Romans riding about on horses and wet his pants over it. He duly turned up at my house about 6.30am on Sunday morning demanding tea (which I made with the new tea pot...) and blathering on and on about the fucking Romans.
Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooring
We hit Sledmere about midday and the dressing up fun had already begun. The Sealed Knot were doing a drill practise with pikes. Now, call me cynical, but I always thought a pike block would consist of about one thousand young and physically fit men. What we got was seven middle-aged fat men:
It's hardly the Battle of Edgehill, is it?
As we were sitting watching the drill display a chap sat down next to me dressed as a Parlimentarian (or a Royalist, I couldn't really tell, it's not my period, the English Civil War...) and lit up a fag. I asked him if the cigarette was a genuine seventeenth century one. It wasn't but it gave him cue to tell us all about himself for the next half an hour. I was quite interested in why a man of nearly fifty would suddenly decided to take up (fake) arms and join in the dressing up fun. I skirted around asking him when his wife had left him or if he was just going through some sort of mid-life crisis. He didn't need to tell me directly, the amount of money he'd spent on his gun told me he was single. He was a nice guy and at the end of the day it's a case of whatever floats your boat, so if he gets off on dressing up as a soldier from four hundred years ago then more power to him. All the while at the front the fatties did some nice baton twirling with the flags, even if the guy doing it looked like he spent the rest of his free time LARPing:
I bet your mother is so proud!
The Romans were up next and He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named was leaping about like a Romanian dancing bear and whooping like a banshee. They pranced about on the horses and showed off their various skills in how to bring down the Hun. We thought there would be a better spectacular if a bunch of Vandal reenactors charged on from stage left and sacked the Roman camp for four days solid. But sadly, they didn't show up. It got me thinking, getting a barbarian reenactment society together would be pretty cheap, all you need is a bunch of sticks for spears and some blue body paint. No expensive armour or clothes when you're skyclad!
How much did that lot cost?
Then it was time for the mums and dads to take the kids down to the front to stroke the Romans. He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named begged and begged for me to take him down to the front, I told him he wasn't allowed to go down there on his own, but his nagging was so incessant I had to accompany him. He was frightened by the horse's big faces, but managed to chat up Gimli the Dwarf about his dragon flag thing.
'So is it a real dragon?'
'No, you fucking oaf, it's made out of metal.'
Next up were the Knights in Battle. I was most looking forward to these, but they were very disappointing; it was just a bunch of nobs smacking each other with swords. Their commentator was rubbish as well. I couldn't tell who was winning or losing or even who was who due to her bad commentary. It also made me mad because she was dressed as a Nun.
WHAT'S GOING ON?
Enough was enough and we headed home to have a barbecue and finished off the weekend with a visit to the cinema to see Captain America. Here is a review ala Logan Josh:
Set during the time of the Boxer Rebellion, Captain America is a tale of teenage angst and desperation in the face of overwhelming odds. Chris Evans plays Dexter Mooches, a 17 year old child violin prodigy sent away from home for the first time to Magic School on the west coast of Sudan. At school Dexter is bullied mercilessly due to his short stature and receding forehead. His only friend is an invisible mouse called Midge Ure. Only Dexter can see this mouse, but he manages to convince one of the other boys, Marian Cleeble (Whoopie Goldberg, playing brilliantly against type) of its existence. The three set off on a journey to find the elixir of life when it is discovered that their ancient Professor (Hank Williams, uncredited) has only minutes left to live. The plucky trio confront several adversities on their journey. In one brilliant set piece, Dexter and Marian have to battle their way out of a siege armed only with colanders and a spatula. Spoiler alert! It is revealed part way through that Midge is not actually a mouse, but is a young woman after all (played by Mädchen Amick) and has been searching for a true heart to unlock the curse that she has been living under. Dexter's sense of duty and compassion are the key to breaking this voodoo. Although she is still invisible to every one except Dexter, they quickly fall in love and are married in the Spring. Having gained the elixir and saved the Professor the three heroes live happily ever after on a yacht trading rum between Caribbean islands. 0 out of 100!!! Make sue you miss this one!
Meh.
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