OK, the title is a quote from Dogma, a great movie by Kevin Smith, it was said by the character Cardinal Glick, played by George Carlin, an even greater person who is sadly no longer with us.
If you've not seen Dogma, or heard of George Carlin, then go and do some research now - In fact, go and watch as many of Kevin Smith's films as you can - They're all great, sweary, but great. When you've gone that, Google George Carlin... I'll wait, it's worth it, believe me.
Done? Good weren't they? - You know the stocky chap in the long coat and the backwards baseball cap in the films? That was your actual Kevin Smith! - Hardly a Hitchcock style cameo - But if you're gonna make great films, then I say why not star in 'em too?
Anyway, enough frivolity, I'd like to talk to you about God (was that the sound of a hundred *back* buttons being pressed?). I don't neccessarily mean your actual Judeo-Christian, Monotheistic, Capital G type god, it could be your multi armed, blue coloured one, or your elephant headed one, or any one of a thousand different deities that people have blamed stuff on for the past few thousand years.
As the more eagle-eyed of you will have spotted, I am a regular church-goer and I believe in a supreme being, I have Faith. What I don't got is Religion.
"But if that's true, why do you go to church?" I hear the four people who are still reading this say.
There are a number of reasons really, Mrs Dandy is a confirmed Anglican Religionite, and there are some nice, friendly and most of all odd people there, but mainly it's because I enjoy running the mixing desk (this is the 21st. Century people, it's not all massive organs and people going Ah-ah-aaaahhhhh in a angelic fashion now) it makes me feel like Rick Wakeman - It also gives me the chance to poke fun at the fundamentalists...
OK - That will have made some hackles rise, so let me explain what I mean by fundamentalists - I take the word to mean, someone who believes that the Bible (or any religious text pertaining to a particular belief system) is infallible, an historic record rather than a book of moral stories and hints and tips on how to live a better life.
This becomes so all-consuming to some people that they forget all about the 'Be Excellent to each Other' stuff (See, Bill & Ted, George Carlin again - Isn't it amazing how this stuff all fits together - I don't just throw this down on the page you know?) and concentrate on the 'Thou shalt not' and 'Righteous smiting of the unbeliever' stuff. In short, they get caught up in the Dogma (Oh my Gods it's like I've got a plan for this thing, right?) - The words of the text themselves rather than the meaning.
There're also people who just go to church because they want to be seen to be important, the kind of people who like to slip into everyday conversation 'So, I said to the Vicar....' They really ruffle my cassock - These are the people for whom I really hope there is an afterlife, 'cos they got a big old shock coming to them with the whole rapid downwards motion and the fire and the pitchforks and the 'Oh no it burns - freunlaven!'
On a different note, if you'll pardon the pun, there was a song sung a couple of weeks ago called 'Our God is greater' - Inoffensive little song, quite jolly and stuff. But it got me thinking, greater than what? Is it kind of a religious football chant? Should religion be so confrontational?
So what do I actually believe? Do you really care? Do I care if you care?
I believe that the state of the world we live in is not ALL down to chance - That there's a guiding influence. I'm not a creationist, I believe in evolution, but I have no problem with the idea that the evolutionary system has been pushed in a particular direction at different points in history.
I don't believe that there's neccessarily a plan for everyone, or anyone for that matter. But I do believe that there's something greater than us that on occasion, helps out - I don't mean in the 'God bless Mummy & Daddy and please can I have a Pony' way. I mean in the 'Holy Crap my brakes aren't working, we're all gonna die!' way - Although they do say that everyone becomes a believer in situations like that.
It could all be luck, I don't profess to know - It could be Aliens, Gods, Goddesses, a giant bowl of spaghetti and meatballs reaching down with his Noodley Appendages.
But as far as I'm concerned, there's something there... After all, if there wasn't there'd be times when I was just sat in the car talking to myself - And that would mean I was mad.
Friday 30 November 2012
Thursday 29 November 2012
Deconstruction Complete
I just love Charity Shops (Thrift Stores, for my legion of American readers) - They're a veritable Alladin's cave of dead people's stuff and broken toys. My local 'shopping centre' has about seven and every time I go out to buy the ingredients for an Ocelot Stew, or Sweet and Sour Crispy Peacock I try to pop into as many as I can. I don't neccessarily want to buy anything - It's kind of like a trip to the museum, but with added mothballs.
There is nothing you can't get (OK, there are a huge number of things that you can't get, just shuddup and go with it) and if you wait in the store long enough, you will see every single consumer item that has been sold in the past hundred years or so. I've seen everything from Hello Kitty Handbags to Victorian Violet Wands on those hallowed shelves (Before you ask, no, I didn't buy it, there was too much month left at the end of the money). We all need to support these places, they can't be allowed to die out.
Don't get me wrong, for me, it's nothing to do with the Charity, for all I care the money could go straight to Albanian gangsters who live only to wallpaper their houses with kittens' eyelids. It's the whole digging through the crap aspect of it that appeals to me, a bit like you guys must feel reading this Blog... Most of the time it's all odd shoes and canteens of cutlery with all the knives missing - But occasionally you'll find an original copy of Action Comics Number 1 - In A1 condition. OK, so someone's drawn a penis on the cover in sharpie, but still..
Anywho, I was in one a few months ago, digging through a tub of naked Action-Men (GI-Joes), odd Sticklebricks and Matchbox cars that had so few wheels between them that they'd only be completely at home in Back to the Future 2, when the very worthy lady behind the counter asked;
'Are you looking for anything in particular?'
Now, I froze, because I didn't want to say, 'No, I'm just pretending to be an archaeologist' - Which was the sad truth, so I replied with the first thing that came into my head, 'I don't suppose you have any Lego do you?'
She thought for a second, she actually did that thing where you tap your index finger on your lips and look up (which I know you're all doing now, so stop it!) then said,
'No, I don't think so, but if you give me your number, I'll give you a call if some comes in'
Ok, I mean she wasn't completely unattractive in a 'Person who works in a charity shop and probably has a part share in a rescued pony' kind of way, but I couldn't take the chance that she was hitting on me, after all, I'm a married man... So, in true tabloid style, I made my excuses and left.
A week or so later, I was walking past the same shop when I saw what I thought was a first edition StarScream in the window (It turns out it wasn't) - As I was deciding whether to in, the worthy lady's face appeared and mouthed 'OO-ee God, sumly Go!' (You're doing it again... stop it!). She beckoned me into the store like Morpheous asking Neo to show him Kung-Fu and said,
'It's just come in, you can have first look!' And then she did that excited stiff handclap thing.
It took me a good few seconds to figure out what the blinking-flip she was talking about, and I still didn't twig until she brought out a cardboard box with Lego in it.
'I'm afraid it's not all Lego, but feel free to sort out what you don't want.'
So, picture the scene, avid readers, I'm sat on the floor, in a busy-ish Charity shop, sorting out a box of mixed toys that was about 80% Lego, when she came up and said,
'Let me know when you've got that one sorted and I'll bring you the next one'
Now, I did that thing where you go all slittly-eyed and look from side to side (Again? Stop it!) and said, 'There's more?'
'Yeah, a couple of small ones'
So all in all there were three decent sized boxes of Lego and a box of assorted rubbish, which I kindly re-donated to them. Quite gingerly I asked, 'And how much would you like for all these?'
'Well, I'm sorry, but Lego's quite expensive to buy isn't it, I'm afraid I can't let it go for less than £20...'
I nearly pooped an actual kitten in my rush to get out my wallet.
'Tell, you what,' I said, 'It's all in a good cause isn't it? I'll give you £25.'
You know, I think she was genuinely touched, and I desperately tried not to blurt out 'But it's worth, like £200 Muhahahahaaha!' and twirl my moustache.
So, once I'd filled out the Gift-Aid certificate - It seemed the right thing to do. I picked up the three boxes of Lego and struggled out of the shop. Now, I didn't have the car with me because the shops are only about 10 minutes walk from my house. So I had the two open boxes balanced on top of each other in front of me, and a box, with what I thought was a fairly close-fitting lid, gripped with the spare fingers of my right hand... You can guess what happened, by my usage of 'what I thought was', right?
The lid came off the box, and spewed about a kilo of lego all over the pavement. Embarrassing enough you might think, but no, it chose to let go at a traffic island, on a three lane road, at rush hour, with halted traffic.
I don't think Bono got anywhere near that amount of applause when he anounced that he had single-handedly saved the entire African population from starvation - And to get the same amount of 'Woooo!'s I would have to have been wearing a severely short skirt and little else. My face actually felt like it was about to spontaneously combust.
Was it Karma? - Would it have happened if I'd offered what some people might say was a 'fair' price?
Yeah, it probably would... Because even though they say that Karma's a bitch, she's also got a bloody good sense of humour.
There is nothing you can't get (OK, there are a huge number of things that you can't get, just shuddup and go with it) and if you wait in the store long enough, you will see every single consumer item that has been sold in the past hundred years or so. I've seen everything from Hello Kitty Handbags to Victorian Violet Wands on those hallowed shelves (Before you ask, no, I didn't buy it, there was too much month left at the end of the money). We all need to support these places, they can't be allowed to die out.
Don't get me wrong, for me, it's nothing to do with the Charity, for all I care the money could go straight to Albanian gangsters who live only to wallpaper their houses with kittens' eyelids. It's the whole digging through the crap aspect of it that appeals to me, a bit like you guys must feel reading this Blog... Most of the time it's all odd shoes and canteens of cutlery with all the knives missing - But occasionally you'll find an original copy of Action Comics Number 1 - In A1 condition. OK, so someone's drawn a penis on the cover in sharpie, but still..
Anywho, I was in one a few months ago, digging through a tub of naked Action-Men (GI-Joes), odd Sticklebricks and Matchbox cars that had so few wheels between them that they'd only be completely at home in Back to the Future 2, when the very worthy lady behind the counter asked;
'Are you looking for anything in particular?'
Now, I froze, because I didn't want to say, 'No, I'm just pretending to be an archaeologist' - Which was the sad truth, so I replied with the first thing that came into my head, 'I don't suppose you have any Lego do you?'
She thought for a second, she actually did that thing where you tap your index finger on your lips and look up (which I know you're all doing now, so stop it!) then said,
'No, I don't think so, but if you give me your number, I'll give you a call if some comes in'
Ok, I mean she wasn't completely unattractive in a 'Person who works in a charity shop and probably has a part share in a rescued pony' kind of way, but I couldn't take the chance that she was hitting on me, after all, I'm a married man... So, in true tabloid style, I made my excuses and left.
A week or so later, I was walking past the same shop when I saw what I thought was a first edition StarScream in the window (It turns out it wasn't) - As I was deciding whether to in, the worthy lady's face appeared and mouthed 'OO-ee God, sumly Go!' (You're doing it again... stop it!). She beckoned me into the store like Morpheous asking Neo to show him Kung-Fu and said,
'It's just come in, you can have first look!' And then she did that excited stiff handclap thing.
It took me a good few seconds to figure out what the blinking-flip she was talking about, and I still didn't twig until she brought out a cardboard box with Lego in it.
'I'm afraid it's not all Lego, but feel free to sort out what you don't want.'
So, picture the scene, avid readers, I'm sat on the floor, in a busy-ish Charity shop, sorting out a box of mixed toys that was about 80% Lego, when she came up and said,
'Let me know when you've got that one sorted and I'll bring you the next one'
Now, I did that thing where you go all slittly-eyed and look from side to side (Again? Stop it!) and said, 'There's more?'
'Yeah, a couple of small ones'
So all in all there were three decent sized boxes of Lego and a box of assorted rubbish, which I kindly re-donated to them. Quite gingerly I asked, 'And how much would you like for all these?'
'Well, I'm sorry, but Lego's quite expensive to buy isn't it, I'm afraid I can't let it go for less than £20...'
I nearly pooped an actual kitten in my rush to get out my wallet.
'Tell, you what,' I said, 'It's all in a good cause isn't it? I'll give you £25.'
You know, I think she was genuinely touched, and I desperately tried not to blurt out 'But it's worth, like £200 Muhahahahaaha!' and twirl my moustache.
So, once I'd filled out the Gift-Aid certificate - It seemed the right thing to do. I picked up the three boxes of Lego and struggled out of the shop. Now, I didn't have the car with me because the shops are only about 10 minutes walk from my house. So I had the two open boxes balanced on top of each other in front of me, and a box, with what I thought was a fairly close-fitting lid, gripped with the spare fingers of my right hand... You can guess what happened, by my usage of 'what I thought was', right?
The lid came off the box, and spewed about a kilo of lego all over the pavement. Embarrassing enough you might think, but no, it chose to let go at a traffic island, on a three lane road, at rush hour, with halted traffic.
I don't think Bono got anywhere near that amount of applause when he anounced that he had single-handedly saved the entire African population from starvation - And to get the same amount of 'Woooo!'s I would have to have been wearing a severely short skirt and little else. My face actually felt like it was about to spontaneously combust.
Was it Karma? - Would it have happened if I'd offered what some people might say was a 'fair' price?
Yeah, it probably would... Because even though they say that Karma's a bitch, she's also got a bloody good sense of humour.
Wednesday 28 November 2012
I'm like an attention whore, innit?
... An' I ain't even lying though Brah!
You know those people who say 'It's a small world'? Don't you just want to smack them in their gurning, platitude espousing, pie slots? No? Then maybe I'm just over-reacting.
It's not, really - If you wanted to walk around the equator, you're gonna need a few pairs of boots... It's about 25,000 miles, which is only a 10th of the distance to the Moon! - It's got a surface area (both wet and dry before the nit-pickers start) of about 197,000,000 square miles. (I am so hot for Wolfram Alpha right now!)
I know that that isn't what they mean, I know they're probably talking about Globalisation and the Transglobal Information Superhighway and High Speed point to point air travel, but while it still takes me two hours to drive the 55 miles to work, my view is that the world's pretty bloody massive.
OK, I can feel myself calming down now, I've had my second coffee and some chocolate.
This wasn't even going to be a full post, I was just going to document my Internet footprint so that those of you who only follow my Twitter can look at my DeviantArt, or my Facebook friends can subscribe to my Twitter, or suchlike and wherefore.
So, where can you find me?
Well, here, obviously... The Chimping Dandy Blog - The place that I put stuff that serves to both make me sound clever and to make you smile. You can comment on this, it is allowed - I'd quite like it in fact.
Via eMail: thechimpingdandy@hotmail.co.uk
You can email me here should you wish to ask a question that you feel is too intimate for the comments section, or if'n you're plain shy.
On DeviantArt Occasionally the mood takes me to scribble uncontrollably with pens & pencils on paper - Some of which isn't completely unrecognisable, I sometimes post my stuff here, feel free to comment. I also do tattoo flash, which I really should start charging for, as its popularity is increasing (I am very shallow... The price will depend on how well I know you and/or how pretty you are).
On Twitter: Follow me at @Chimping_Dandy
(Aaaarghhh - No wonder no-one follows me.. I forgot the Underscore!)
A lot of what i post is drivel - No, seriously, you have been warned. I'm a great believer that Jack & Noah are collecting all the 'Stream of Conciousness' type tweets, feeding them into a giant robot in the shape of Godzilla wearing a sombrero and a 'SkyNet' T-Shirt and waiting for the day when it becomes self-aware. Of course, rather than destorying Tokyo, it will more likely travelling the world discussing Kerouac and telling people what its favourite flavour of crisp is.
If you're a real stalker, you'll be able to find my Facebook page, it (currently) has the donor image that my Blog & Twitter avatar were cloned from as the Profile Picture - I'm not going to post the URL here - If you really want to know the 'real' me, then feel free to mail me and I'll drop a link to you.
I am also more than happy to be a guest contributor to other people's blogs, why anyone would want me to be is a source of constant wonderment to me, but if you're interested in that, then let me know. Here's one I did earlier for James Josiah's Flash Fiction Blog, which you should follow if you're not squeamish:
T-Minus 4 Minutes
It doesn't have to be fiction, I can rant about most things given enough time.
Normal service will be resumed tomorrow, I was thinking of something on 'The Whit and Whisdom of Nickleback' - To be read in the voice of Stewie Griffin.
P.S. For those of you who are interested in such things - This Blog was originally going to be called 'The Digital Orgone Accumulator'. But I decided that:
a) It made me sound like Dave Brock's Hipster brother
b) My good friend Pete came up with a much better name - for which I am eternally grateful.
P.P.S. The name has nothing to do with digital cameras...
You know those people who say 'It's a small world'? Don't you just want to smack them in their gurning, platitude espousing, pie slots? No? Then maybe I'm just over-reacting.
It's not, really - If you wanted to walk around the equator, you're gonna need a few pairs of boots... It's about 25,000 miles, which is only a 10th of the distance to the Moon! - It's got a surface area (both wet and dry before the nit-pickers start) of about 197,000,000 square miles. (I am so hot for Wolfram Alpha right now!)
I know that that isn't what they mean, I know they're probably talking about Globalisation and the Transglobal Information Superhighway and High Speed point to point air travel, but while it still takes me two hours to drive the 55 miles to work, my view is that the world's pretty bloody massive.
OK, I can feel myself calming down now, I've had my second coffee and some chocolate.
This wasn't even going to be a full post, I was just going to document my Internet footprint so that those of you who only follow my Twitter can look at my DeviantArt, or my Facebook friends can subscribe to my Twitter, or suchlike and wherefore.
So, where can you find me?
Well, here, obviously... The Chimping Dandy Blog - The place that I put stuff that serves to both make me sound clever and to make you smile. You can comment on this, it is allowed - I'd quite like it in fact.
Via eMail: thechimpingdandy@hotmail.co.uk
You can email me here should you wish to ask a question that you feel is too intimate for the comments section, or if'n you're plain shy.
On DeviantArt Occasionally the mood takes me to scribble uncontrollably with pens & pencils on paper - Some of which isn't completely unrecognisable, I sometimes post my stuff here, feel free to comment. I also do tattoo flash, which I really should start charging for, as its popularity is increasing (I am very shallow... The price will depend on how well I know you and/or how pretty you are).
On Twitter: Follow me at @Chimping_Dandy
(Aaaarghhh - No wonder no-one follows me.. I forgot the Underscore!)
A lot of what i post is drivel - No, seriously, you have been warned. I'm a great believer that Jack & Noah are collecting all the 'Stream of Conciousness' type tweets, feeding them into a giant robot in the shape of Godzilla wearing a sombrero and a 'SkyNet' T-Shirt and waiting for the day when it becomes self-aware. Of course, rather than destorying Tokyo, it will more likely travelling the world discussing Kerouac and telling people what its favourite flavour of crisp is.
If you're a real stalker, you'll be able to find my Facebook page, it (currently) has the donor image that my Blog & Twitter avatar were cloned from as the Profile Picture - I'm not going to post the URL here - If you really want to know the 'real' me, then feel free to mail me and I'll drop a link to you.
-+-+- Shameless Advert -+-+-
I am also more than happy to be a guest contributor to other people's blogs, why anyone would want me to be is a source of constant wonderment to me, but if you're interested in that, then let me know. Here's one I did earlier for James Josiah's Flash Fiction Blog, which you should follow if you're not squeamish:
T-Minus 4 Minutes
It doesn't have to be fiction, I can rant about most things given enough time.
-+-+- End of Shameless Advert -+-+-
Normal service will be resumed tomorrow, I was thinking of something on 'The Whit and Whisdom of Nickleback' - To be read in the voice of Stewie Griffin.
P.S. For those of you who are interested in such things - This Blog was originally going to be called 'The Digital Orgone Accumulator'. But I decided that:
a) It made me sound like Dave Brock's Hipster brother
b) My good friend Pete came up with a much better name - for which I am eternally grateful.
P.P.S. The name has nothing to do with digital cameras...
Tuesday 27 November 2012
Excelsior!
As has already been mentioned, I am a Superhero... At least to small children who don't know any better. And as Stan Lee once said (or FDR, or Jesus, depending on who you believe) "With great power comes great responsibility" This is of course totally true, and now I am greatly empowered by the Internet, I will try to become responsible for at least some of your entertainment.
Isn't it strange that (arguably) the two 'coolest' Superheros - Batman & Iron Man, have no superpowers whatsover, no unassisted flight, no transmogrification, telepathy or ability to smell things from a profoundly long distance. What they do have is cash, and plenty of it - Want to fly, see in the dark or have weaponry extruded from your own orifices? Well, cold hard cash is your friend - According to Forbes, approximately $10,000,000,000 will see you be able to set yourself up as either of the cool crusaders.
If I'm honest, I don't have that kind of money... So, what do you do if you can't buy Superhero-dom, you're not from another dimension/planet and you don't fancy being bitten by anything (radioactive or otherwise).
Well obviously, you make it up... But then that opens another can of deep fried, crispy, Winston Hobbes'. What superpowers do you arbitrarily give yourself? You can discount the whole flying thing straight away, I mean, you can't pretend to fly... Well, I mean you can, but usually only the once, and onlookers would probably describe it more as falling, especially to the reporter from the local paper, just before they said 'He was a nice man, he kept himself to himself'. You could probably, just about, give yourself super(ish)-strength - Given enough time, discipline and motivation I suppose... Which are, of course, the three main reasons that I'll never have that. (See also: Mad acrobatic / Ninja skills, swordplay, accuracy whilst throwing stuff or even being able to play 'Smoke on the Water on the Electric Guitar)
So, we need to think outside of the box, really get the grey-matter jiggling about - Go to the esoteric end of the scale - I have thought about, and rapidly discounted:
But only because of their lack of crime fighting applications and the fact that they are a bit pants. Then I found it, the perfect pretend super-power...
Wait for it...
I can stop time! - for as long as I like!... You don't believe me?
OK, I'll do it now. 3... 2... 1... *Bamff* Ha! you didn't notice did you? That's because I actually stopped time, you were frozen in an actual bubble... of time! My only problem is, I stopped too which is a bit of an issue where using it for anything even remotely heroic is concerned - I'm working on it, honest.
Just think though, if you could actually do that, with a thought, or pressing a button on an old watch you found in an antique shop that had magically disappeared when you tried to take it back because it never told the right time. With a *click* or *Bamff* or *Boop* everyone around you freezes and you are free to do whatever you like... Think of the possibilities... Erm... Ah... Now try to think of possibilities that don't involve changing rooms, stealing money or anything involving the words sneaking, inappropriate or without being caught.
Oh my Gods... I'm a SuperVillain!
Isn't it strange that (arguably) the two 'coolest' Superheros - Batman & Iron Man, have no superpowers whatsover, no unassisted flight, no transmogrification, telepathy or ability to smell things from a profoundly long distance. What they do have is cash, and plenty of it - Want to fly, see in the dark or have weaponry extruded from your own orifices? Well, cold hard cash is your friend - According to Forbes, approximately $10,000,000,000 will see you be able to set yourself up as either of the cool crusaders.
If I'm honest, I don't have that kind of money... So, what do you do if you can't buy Superhero-dom, you're not from another dimension/planet and you don't fancy being bitten by anything (radioactive or otherwise).
Well obviously, you make it up... But then that opens another can of deep fried, crispy, Winston Hobbes'. What superpowers do you arbitrarily give yourself? You can discount the whole flying thing straight away, I mean, you can't pretend to fly... Well, I mean you can, but usually only the once, and onlookers would probably describe it more as falling, especially to the reporter from the local paper, just before they said 'He was a nice man, he kept himself to himself'. You could probably, just about, give yourself super(ish)-strength - Given enough time, discipline and motivation I suppose... Which are, of course, the three main reasons that I'll never have that. (See also: Mad acrobatic / Ninja skills, swordplay, accuracy whilst throwing stuff or even being able to play 'Smoke on the Water on the Electric Guitar)
So, we need to think outside of the box, really get the grey-matter jiggling about - Go to the esoteric end of the scale - I have thought about, and rapidly discounted:
- Being able to make things taste slightly different
- Lengthening the shelf life of cut flowers
- Instantly doubling the number of bubbles in a standard bottle of carbonated drink
But only because of their lack of crime fighting applications and the fact that they are a bit pants. Then I found it, the perfect pretend super-power...
Wait for it...
I can stop time! - for as long as I like!... You don't believe me?
OK, I'll do it now. 3... 2... 1... *Bamff* Ha! you didn't notice did you? That's because I actually stopped time, you were frozen in an actual bubble... of time! My only problem is, I stopped too which is a bit of an issue where using it for anything even remotely heroic is concerned - I'm working on it, honest.
Just think though, if you could actually do that, with a thought, or pressing a button on an old watch you found in an antique shop that had magically disappeared when you tried to take it back because it never told the right time. With a *click* or *Bamff* or *Boop* everyone around you freezes and you are free to do whatever you like... Think of the possibilities... Erm... Ah... Now try to think of possibilities that don't involve changing rooms, stealing money or anything involving the words sneaking, inappropriate or without being caught.
Oh my Gods... I'm a SuperVillain!
Monday 26 November 2012
This IS the Blog you're looking for
In hono(u)r of my first real follower (Anakin.1138, the Chimping Empire is glad that you have found us, and hopes that you will be a powerful ally in our assault on the Rebel Blogosphere) I have decided to tackle a thorny issue - One that has divided the most astute minds of our, and no doubt many other generations to come.
Will anyone actually die because Lucasfilm is now a part of Disney?
Simple Answer: No - The End. (Shortest... Blog... ever..!)
Ah, right, you want more? Fair enough.
Let me explain my basic standpoint on the current six films, I liked them all. Not every part of every one, I mean, they could probably have cut episodes I-III down to two films by cutting out all of the Shaak riding and the no dialog, soft focus 'Oh how deeply in love we are' bits, then bulked it back up to three films again with more Pew-Pew Dakka-dakka-dakka "Ah! Jedi scum, you've only gone and cut my other arm off". And Jar-Jar? Meesa Likea kick yousa in da Poodoo... But other than that, on the whole, pretty good.
Did I like the special editions I hear you ask? - Again, some good bits, some bad bits - Mos Eisley was a lot more impressive, Han treading on a slimmed-down Jabba's tail - not so much.
And of course... HAN SHOT FIRST! - That-Is-All
Did George Lucas ride roughshod over our collective childhoods with his spikey death boots of death? No, not really - As I understand it, the accepted reasoning says that there were things he wanted to do in the original trilogy that the technology wasn't up to - so when the technology was available, he added the extra bits and got some of it a bit wrong. And it's not just me that thinks this, actual real people think the same thing, take the popular blogger Bob Suicide for instance - She's very passionate about it
(If you don't know who Bob Suicide is, I suggest you don't google her unless you are over 18 and not at work)
All in all, taken as a franchise, they're good, old fashioned, Saturday Morning fun films - I mean even the wipes and fades that are used between scenes evoke that feeling, completely intentionally I might add.
So, I hope we can all accept that they're a source of entertainment and not a religion or a way of life (Even though I freely admit that put Jedi on my Census document).
So, put yourself in Uncle George's (Spikey Death) Boots (of Death) - You make a trilogy of films that take the world, quite lidderally, by storm - They're globally applauded as the best thing since hot and cold running sliced bread. You make a potload of cash, you ride the wave for ten or so years and start re-mastering the originals - They're not so applauded, it's the kind of applause you get when a magician pulls a rabbit out of his previously empty hat, but it's dead - Still pretty impressive, but there are a lot of people who would have preferred not to see it. Then a few years after that, you go back to the beginning of the story and go a bit SFX-mental with fully digital actors and suchlike. You try to sell the story to a new generation of kids who expect everything to float, glow, be Wi-Fi / HiFi / HD / 3D / 5.1 Surround and Smel-o-vision. The kids love it, but the Fanboys hate it, and when I say hate, I mean squeeze your pet Pangolin through a mangle then wear it as a codpiece style hate. This time the rabbit's not just dead, the magician's left holding a pair of cute little bunny ears that look a bit green around the edges and smell like a zombie's jockstrap. So you realise the kids are the future and produce an animated series, targeting the kids directly - Then you re-imagine the cartoon series in full CGI - Then you realise that you may well have 'Jumped the Shark'.
So, whaddya do? Who could ressurect this franchise that's spiralling down towards Coruscant without a fireship in sight? Who knows more about selling stuff to kids than anyone in the known Universe? Who didn't kill the Marvel franchise when they bought it? Who's already been successfully marketing Star Wars toys for at least the past 10 years?
I reckon that it was his only real choice. Of course if Episode VII is completely dingo's kidneys (fetid or otherwise) then I shall replace this post with one that's just a picture of George Lucas being crucified - in 3D. And then deny that this version ever existed, you can think of it as "This IS the Blog you're looking for - The Special Edition"
Will anyone actually die because Lucasfilm is now a part of Disney?
Simple Answer: No - The End. (Shortest... Blog... ever..!)
Ah, right, you want more? Fair enough.
Let me explain my basic standpoint on the current six films, I liked them all. Not every part of every one, I mean, they could probably have cut episodes I-III down to two films by cutting out all of the Shaak riding and the no dialog, soft focus 'Oh how deeply in love we are' bits, then bulked it back up to three films again with more Pew-Pew Dakka-dakka-dakka "Ah! Jedi scum, you've only gone and cut my other arm off". And Jar-Jar? Meesa Likea kick yousa in da Poodoo... But other than that, on the whole, pretty good.
Did I like the special editions I hear you ask? - Again, some good bits, some bad bits - Mos Eisley was a lot more impressive, Han treading on a slimmed-down Jabba's tail - not so much.
And of course... HAN SHOT FIRST! - That-Is-All
Did George Lucas ride roughshod over our collective childhoods with his spikey death boots of death? No, not really - As I understand it, the accepted reasoning says that there were things he wanted to do in the original trilogy that the technology wasn't up to - so when the technology was available, he added the extra bits and got some of it a bit wrong. And it's not just me that thinks this, actual real people think the same thing, take the popular blogger Bob Suicide for instance - She's very passionate about it
(If you don't know who Bob Suicide is, I suggest you don't google her unless you are over 18 and not at work)
All in all, taken as a franchise, they're good, old fashioned, Saturday Morning fun films - I mean even the wipes and fades that are used between scenes evoke that feeling, completely intentionally I might add.
So, I hope we can all accept that they're a source of entertainment and not a religion or a way of life (Even though I freely admit that put Jedi on my Census document).
So, put yourself in Uncle George's (Spikey Death) Boots (of Death) - You make a trilogy of films that take the world, quite lidderally, by storm - They're globally applauded as the best thing since hot and cold running sliced bread. You make a potload of cash, you ride the wave for ten or so years and start re-mastering the originals - They're not so applauded, it's the kind of applause you get when a magician pulls a rabbit out of his previously empty hat, but it's dead - Still pretty impressive, but there are a lot of people who would have preferred not to see it. Then a few years after that, you go back to the beginning of the story and go a bit SFX-mental with fully digital actors and suchlike. You try to sell the story to a new generation of kids who expect everything to float, glow, be Wi-Fi / HiFi / HD / 3D / 5.1 Surround and Smel-o-vision. The kids love it, but the Fanboys hate it, and when I say hate, I mean squeeze your pet Pangolin through a mangle then wear it as a codpiece style hate. This time the rabbit's not just dead, the magician's left holding a pair of cute little bunny ears that look a bit green around the edges and smell like a zombie's jockstrap. So you realise the kids are the future and produce an animated series, targeting the kids directly - Then you re-imagine the cartoon series in full CGI - Then you realise that you may well have 'Jumped the Shark'.
So, whaddya do? Who could ressurect this franchise that's spiralling down towards Coruscant without a fireship in sight? Who knows more about selling stuff to kids than anyone in the known Universe? Who didn't kill the Marvel franchise when they bought it? Who's already been successfully marketing Star Wars toys for at least the past 10 years?
I reckon that it was his only real choice. Of course if Episode VII is completely dingo's kidneys (fetid or otherwise) then I shall replace this post with one that's just a picture of George Lucas being crucified - in 3D. And then deny that this version ever existed, you can think of it as "This IS the Blog you're looking for - The Special Edition"
Saturday 24 November 2012
What a Maroon!
Originally posted on facebook 20/11/12
It's a good thing that someone commented on this Facebook post this morning, else I would never have spotted that I'd not actually Blogged, the Facebook post, where everyone said I should start a Blog... What am I? (Don't answer that)
It's a good thing that someone commented on this Facebook post this morning, else I would never have spotted that I'd not actually Blogged, the Facebook post, where everyone said I should start a Blog... What am I? (Don't answer that)
Friday 23 November 2012
Your name's not down, but your girlfriend can come in.
This may suprise a few of you - But I am actually a fully fledged, licensed and notarised 'Door Supervisor' (What we all used to call a Bouncer).
In the dim and distant past, probably about twenty years ago, as I'd done some freelance bailiffing work, I would occasionally get accosted by the bouncers of local biker bars and clubs (Whom I'd known previously, I mean these guys didn't just spy my rippling biceps and go - 'He looks like he'd fill a doorway') and asked if I'd like to 'watch the door' whilst they stepped away from their posts for a bio break or to *cough* check some young lady's ID *cough*. This slowly evolved into me becoming one of those people that everyone hates - 'The guy who gets into places for free'. You'd rock up at the door of your venue of choice, the bouncer would ask 'Working?', I'd reply, 'Can do, if you're busy' and then there'd be some fist-bumping or that fist-handshake thing and I'd go and get a bottle of Dog and sit down for the rest of the night. The only proviso was that if things did kick off, you were seen to be in the front row, handing out righteous judgement with whatever blunt instrument came most readily to hand.
This very seldom happened if I'm honest as, contrary to popular opinion, biker bars (in the UK certainly) tend to be self policing, and also, bikers in general are a pretty good natured bunch - Visit one, you'll love it, but it's probably best not to wear a tie unless you like people pointing at you and laughing. (This does not apply if you're female and dressed as a schoolgirl, feel free to wear a tie then, although in fairness, you'll probably still get pointed at - Although it's unlikely to be with a finger.)
However, it all tailed off as things got more and more regulated, you started to need certification, you had to have a 'Little Blue Badge' issued by the local authorities, then the SIA (Security Industry Authority) got involved and it all went to hell in a handcart... Bouncers became Doormen, then Door Supervisors, the bats and socks full of pennies got replaced by politeness and psychology and it became 'safe'... OK, let's qualify that bit, I mean it became safer for the punter. You were significantly less likely to wake up in a ditch, looking at a selection of your own bodily fluids, wondering why you could see the back of your own head. It was no safer for the guy in the monkey suit saying 'I'm sorry sir, not tonight, try again next week' as the local authorities had not seen fit to regulate the behaviour of drunks to the same extent, it was still quite acceptable for them to lash out with glasses and broken WKD bottles and whatever else they carried about their persons.
I thought myself to be well out of, for want of a better word, you could describe as 'A mug's game' and settled down to a life of comfort, videogames and beer. That is of course until my wife commented that I should probably 'Do something in my spare time', it seems that sitting, drinking beer and playing games aren't 'something' as far as the current Mrs Dandy is concerned. I took this to heart, and within a couple of months I was offered a place on a Door Supervisor training course - Spooky!
Our instructor was a little Scots fella, who had been invalided out from 3 Para after (IIRC) smashing both of his legs (or arms) to pieces after a faulty parachute deployment - And he was, without doubt, the most double-hard b*st*rd that I have ever had the honour to meet. He would merrily go through the official SIA Door Supervisors Training Handbook with us, then slam it shut and say 'Tammorae, I'll tich ya poufters whae ya rally need tae knae'
And he did... We learned what bits to poke, where to chop or twist, how fast, how hard and how long for - In fairness, he did preface every demonstration with 'An ya shoul' ne'er do thas, but ye'll nee' to knae how to defen agin it' - It was the first time I ever saw anyone use the 'sleeper hold' to it's natural conclusion and also the first time I saw a guy who was probably only 5'5" subdue a guy around a foot taller, one handed. (It should be noted that the big fellah wasn't just tall, he was probably about 300lbs and has once been sacked for knocking someone out with a live chicken - He works for the BBC now I think, or at least he did the last time I met him)
And he also HATED first aid training, don't get me wrong, he still taught it, and taught it well, but his opinion was that it made you soft and you'd worry about hurting someone if you thought you might have to fix them again afterwards. To this end, he organised a bit of 'role play' the day after the first aid training. He set the classroom up to mimic a darkened nightclub layout and slumped one of our number in the corner, then he let us in, one at a time and told us that it was the end of the night and the rest of the club was clear, 'Whad'ye dae?' Of course, we were all still in 'Helpful First Aider' mode, we checked for breathing and conciousness and stuff and went to help, whereupon the guy opened his eyes, brought an empty syringe from behind his back, and stabbed us in the neck, 'Yer deid, if ya lucky, it wae jus drogs, if ya wea onlucky it wea infected blod, if ya wae rilly onlucky it whuz jus' full o' air !' he cried, with more than a little glee - The only guy who passed this test was the one who he'd put in the sleeper hold - Maybe it focuses the mind?
I've used it a couple of times since, even done security for bands and suchlike. All in all, a pretty great experience, people who are interested in self defence should definately look into it - I've taught a lot of what I learned to my daughter, and will be doing the same when my son's a little older - So that's something for the next generation of bullies to look forward to.
In the dim and distant past, probably about twenty years ago, as I'd done some freelance bailiffing work, I would occasionally get accosted by the bouncers of local biker bars and clubs (Whom I'd known previously, I mean these guys didn't just spy my rippling biceps and go - 'He looks like he'd fill a doorway') and asked if I'd like to 'watch the door' whilst they stepped away from their posts for a bio break or to *cough* check some young lady's ID *cough*. This slowly evolved into me becoming one of those people that everyone hates - 'The guy who gets into places for free'. You'd rock up at the door of your venue of choice, the bouncer would ask 'Working?', I'd reply, 'Can do, if you're busy' and then there'd be some fist-bumping or that fist-handshake thing and I'd go and get a bottle of Dog and sit down for the rest of the night. The only proviso was that if things did kick off, you were seen to be in the front row, handing out righteous judgement with whatever blunt instrument came most readily to hand.
This very seldom happened if I'm honest as, contrary to popular opinion, biker bars (in the UK certainly) tend to be self policing, and also, bikers in general are a pretty good natured bunch - Visit one, you'll love it, but it's probably best not to wear a tie unless you like people pointing at you and laughing. (This does not apply if you're female and dressed as a schoolgirl, feel free to wear a tie then, although in fairness, you'll probably still get pointed at - Although it's unlikely to be with a finger.)
However, it all tailed off as things got more and more regulated, you started to need certification, you had to have a 'Little Blue Badge' issued by the local authorities, then the SIA (Security Industry Authority) got involved and it all went to hell in a handcart... Bouncers became Doormen, then Door Supervisors, the bats and socks full of pennies got replaced by politeness and psychology and it became 'safe'... OK, let's qualify that bit, I mean it became safer for the punter. You were significantly less likely to wake up in a ditch, looking at a selection of your own bodily fluids, wondering why you could see the back of your own head. It was no safer for the guy in the monkey suit saying 'I'm sorry sir, not tonight, try again next week' as the local authorities had not seen fit to regulate the behaviour of drunks to the same extent, it was still quite acceptable for them to lash out with glasses and broken WKD bottles and whatever else they carried about their persons.
I thought myself to be well out of, for want of a better word, you could describe as 'A mug's game' and settled down to a life of comfort, videogames and beer. That is of course until my wife commented that I should probably 'Do something in my spare time', it seems that sitting, drinking beer and playing games aren't 'something' as far as the current Mrs Dandy is concerned. I took this to heart, and within a couple of months I was offered a place on a Door Supervisor training course - Spooky!
Our instructor was a little Scots fella, who had been invalided out from 3 Para after (IIRC) smashing both of his legs (or arms) to pieces after a faulty parachute deployment - And he was, without doubt, the most double-hard b*st*rd that I have ever had the honour to meet. He would merrily go through the official SIA Door Supervisors Training Handbook with us, then slam it shut and say 'Tammorae, I'll tich ya poufters whae ya rally need tae knae'
And he did... We learned what bits to poke, where to chop or twist, how fast, how hard and how long for - In fairness, he did preface every demonstration with 'An ya shoul' ne'er do thas, but ye'll nee' to knae how to defen agin it' - It was the first time I ever saw anyone use the 'sleeper hold' to it's natural conclusion and also the first time I saw a guy who was probably only 5'5" subdue a guy around a foot taller, one handed. (It should be noted that the big fellah wasn't just tall, he was probably about 300lbs and has once been sacked for knocking someone out with a live chicken - He works for the BBC now I think, or at least he did the last time I met him)
And he also HATED first aid training, don't get me wrong, he still taught it, and taught it well, but his opinion was that it made you soft and you'd worry about hurting someone if you thought you might have to fix them again afterwards. To this end, he organised a bit of 'role play' the day after the first aid training. He set the classroom up to mimic a darkened nightclub layout and slumped one of our number in the corner, then he let us in, one at a time and told us that it was the end of the night and the rest of the club was clear, 'Whad'ye dae?' Of course, we were all still in 'Helpful First Aider' mode, we checked for breathing and conciousness and stuff and went to help, whereupon the guy opened his eyes, brought an empty syringe from behind his back, and stabbed us in the neck, 'Yer deid, if ya lucky, it wae jus drogs, if ya wea onlucky it wea infected blod, if ya wae rilly onlucky it whuz jus' full o' air !' he cried, with more than a little glee - The only guy who passed this test was the one who he'd put in the sleeper hold - Maybe it focuses the mind?
I've used it a couple of times since, even done security for bands and suchlike. All in all, a pretty great experience, people who are interested in self defence should definately look into it - I've taught a lot of what I learned to my daughter, and will be doing the same when my son's a little older - So that's something for the next generation of bullies to look forward to.
Thursday 22 November 2012
So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, adieu.
Just looking through some old emails and found my 'Goodbye' letter to my previous colleagues.
(Please note, this was sent to friends within the company and not to anyone in the management team - I can do professionalism sometimes you know!)
Thought you lot might find it funny.
(Please note, this was sent to friends within the company and not to anyone in the management team - I can do professionalism sometimes you know!)
Thought you lot might find it funny.
So, that was my last shift for the unstoppable global technological supergiant that is [My previous employer].
Cool.
It was quiet, but then you’d expect that I guess, with the first part of the Helpdesk transfer to India now being completed.
Firstly I’d like to say that on the whole, the past sixteen months or so (apart from anything involving actual work or being able to pay my bills of course) has been, at worst bearable and at best, uproariously funny.
The people I’ve worked with have been a mixed bag, mostly mad as badgers (But in a good way) a couple certifiably psychotic, and still fewer with their heads so far up their respective poop-chutes that it’s a wonder they don’t jump to another dimension every time they break wind.
OK, so this is the part where, traditionally, I should rail against all the injustices that I believe have been visited upon me without fear of retribution…
Well, here’s the turn-up for the books – I’m not going to. It’s pointless, we all know about the history of ill considered, knee jerk reactionary, short-sighted, parochial decisions that have been made on a more and more regular basis over the past six months or so. We’ve all received the same morale-sapping, draconian, divisive emails. And if any of us had cared enough for it really to have been a ‘showstopper’ as our colleagues over the pond might say, then we would have stood up and tried to do something about it or at least voted with our feet.
Instead, let’s remember some of the good times:
The night the drunken old guy got in and urinated down the stairs before the Police arrived.
The ghost of the cute little girl upstairs (Now I’m not sure that anyone who hasn’t worked the nightshift has ever experienced her) but you can often hear her running around up there in the early hours of the morning – And it’s quite an experience the first time you get woken up by her giggling or tugging on your shoe if you’ve fallen asleep on the sofas in reception during your break. (And as of last night we have two new believers).
The vending machines with the undocumented gamble feature – I don’t mean the gamble you take that there’s actually anything in the vending machine when you come on shift and the shops are closed (Same applying to tea, coffee and/or milk) – But the gamble when you put your money in and it either eats it then sits there looking at you with that ‘Come at me Bro’ expression on its readout, or the crisps (because it’s invariably crisps) get stuck against the glass and you spend your next 60p using another bag of crisps (bag price 49p) from the row above to try and knock them down.
So, time to sign off because I’m starting to bore myself, and I’ve got a lot longer attention span than most of you.
I’d just like to take this time to thank [My Manager] for doing the best job he could be expected to do with the tools he was allowed to use (and finally agreeing to put me out of everyone’s misery) and [The Customer Services Manager] for reminding me on several occasions of the importance of not indiscriminately murdering your workmates with a blunt instrument.
I’m not going to send everyone an individual ‘I liked you because..’ message, because I’d probably forget someone, and there’s the whole thinking of nice things to say about everyone issue, which most of you by now, will know that I’m not particularly good at.
Good luck to the Helpdesk team and Luke, I hope you make a go of your new positions within the group (P.S. Luke, my Dad – Who spent a lot of time in Germany after the War - advises using this formal, traditional German greeting every time you meet someone new “können Sie mir helfen? Ich habe meine Hoden in der Küche Schublade gefangen”)
It’s time for me to go now, but let me leave you with my one and only regret…
I only ever got to see one of you completely naked (and if that single, completely true statement, doesn’t put the rumour mill into overdrive, I don’t know what will)
Please feel free to keep in touch using the details below, connect to me on Facebook, use smoke-signals, carrier pigeons or an Ouija board – Whichever makes you happy.
Wednesday 21 November 2012
Bruno Who-now?
Originally posted on Facebook 18/5/12
I heard a song on the radio last night, not sure who it's by, I'm sure someone will tell me, but it consisted of some American chap explaining to his girlfriend just how much he loved her... Nothing wrong with this you might think, very popular in this type of affair. But some of the ways that he was happy to prove it were a little, well, extreme if you ask me:
"I would catch a grenade for 'yah'" - Now, I'm assuming that they are stood in close proximity, what with their undying love and everything. The standard fatal blast radius of the U.S. standard issue M67 grenade is 5 meters - So they'd both be, like, a snotty red mess, not altogether attractive to either sex you'd think.
"Throw my hand on a blade for 'yah'" - OK, so maybe he's a Ninja, I mean, intercepting a knife, mid-air isn't impossible - Just very, very, improbable. If you've got the 'Mad Ninja Skillz' to do that, why not trip the guy before he throws the knife and have it away on your toes before he gets up?
"I'd jump infront of a train for 'yah'" - What? The girl he's desperately trying to woo is either standing on the tracks already, or has just asked him to do it, so either
A) she's completely dog-shavingly mental or
B) borderline psychotic / Sociopathic.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I've been out with some complete nut-jobs in my time, but never one that said "Prove you love me by throwing yourself under the 10:17 to Birmingham New Street"
I heard a song on the radio last night, not sure who it's by, I'm sure someone will tell me, but it consisted of some American chap explaining to his girlfriend just how much he loved her... Nothing wrong with this you might think, very popular in this type of affair. But some of the ways that he was happy to prove it were a little, well, extreme if you ask me:
"I would catch a grenade for 'yah'" - Now, I'm assuming that they are stood in close proximity, what with their undying love and everything. The standard fatal blast radius of the U.S. standard issue M67 grenade is 5 meters - So they'd both be, like, a snotty red mess, not altogether attractive to either sex you'd think.
"Throw my hand on a blade for 'yah'" - OK, so maybe he's a Ninja, I mean, intercepting a knife, mid-air isn't impossible - Just very, very, improbable. If you've got the 'Mad Ninja Skillz' to do that, why not trip the guy before he throws the knife and have it away on your toes before he gets up?
"I'd jump infront of a train for 'yah'" - What? The girl he's desperately trying to woo is either standing on the tracks already, or has just asked him to do it, so either
A) she's completely dog-shavingly mental or
B) borderline psychotic / Sociopathic.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I've been out with some complete nut-jobs in my time, but never one that said "Prove you love me by throwing yourself under the 10:17 to Birmingham New Street"
"Take a bullet straight through my brain" - And what happens directly after this? The undisclosed assailant simply pops a cap in one's soul-mate too. So, you're decalring your love by effectively just standing there and letting both of you get shot.
You'd have to ask yourself if a girl who was constantly being shot at, stabbed and having explosives thrown at her (not to mention making her home on an active railway track) was a good choice in the first place, I mean, why are all these people trying to kill her? Is she involved in organised crime?
Remember when songs were about walking in fields on a summer's day and seeing some lovely rabbits?
You'd have to ask yourself if a girl who was constantly being shot at, stabbed and having explosives thrown at her (not to mention making her home on an active railway track) was a good choice in the first place, I mean, why are all these people trying to kill her? Is she involved in organised crime?
Remember when songs were about walking in fields on a summer's day and seeing some lovely rabbits?
Monsters of Rock 1981
Originally posted on Facebook 20/5/12
I commented on a friend of mine's status update earlier, to the effect that I agreed with her that Guns 'n' Roses were pretty good live, and that the first time I had seen them was some twenty-four years ago, in 1988, at Monsters of Rock.
Little Baby Jebus, that made me feel old! - Right up until I remembered that that wasn't my first MoR, no, that had been in 1981, when I was 13!
If I'm honest, I can't remember a great deal about it, other that I really wanted Blue Oyster Cult to be great, as I'd just bought 'On your feet or on your knees', their 1975 live album, second hand, from Way Ahead Records, in the Main Center. But they weren't, the sound was rubbish and they didn't play 'I ain't got you' which was, and still is, my favourite live BOC track.
Didn't pay much attention to More or Blackfoot, as I didn't know much of their stuff... Slade were, well, Slade really - they got the crowd going a treat as usual...
Now, I didn't think much to Whitesnake previous to this, As I thought David Coverdale was a bit of a posturing git that seemed to permanently want to procreate with his microphone stand. But their set was brilliant - I think I even sang, well, shouted, along to 'Don't Break my Heart again'
AC/DC were the headliners - And were, as ever, absolutely kitten manglingly brilliant. The lead-singer, Brian Johnson, was still fairly new, as Bon Scott had only died (I think) the year before - But they were pretty much faultless - As faultless as a bunch of Aussies (one wearing his school uniform) and a Geordie can be at least!
Just under 31 years ago... Good God!
I commented on a friend of mine's status update earlier, to the effect that I agreed with her that Guns 'n' Roses were pretty good live, and that the first time I had seen them was some twenty-four years ago, in 1988, at Monsters of Rock.
Little Baby Jebus, that made me feel old! - Right up until I remembered that that wasn't my first MoR, no, that had been in 1981, when I was 13!
If I'm honest, I can't remember a great deal about it, other that I really wanted Blue Oyster Cult to be great, as I'd just bought 'On your feet or on your knees', their 1975 live album, second hand, from Way Ahead Records, in the Main Center. But they weren't, the sound was rubbish and they didn't play 'I ain't got you' which was, and still is, my favourite live BOC track.
Didn't pay much attention to More or Blackfoot, as I didn't know much of their stuff... Slade were, well, Slade really - they got the crowd going a treat as usual...
Now, I didn't think much to Whitesnake previous to this, As I thought David Coverdale was a bit of a posturing git that seemed to permanently want to procreate with his microphone stand. But their set was brilliant - I think I even sang, well, shouted, along to 'Don't Break my Heart again'
AC/DC were the headliners - And were, as ever, absolutely kitten manglingly brilliant. The lead-singer, Brian Johnson, was still fairly new, as Bon Scott had only died (I think) the year before - But they were pretty much faultless - As faultless as a bunch of Aussies (one wearing his school uniform) and a Geordie can be at least!
Just under 31 years ago... Good God!
The Philpott Fire
Originally posted on Facebook 31/5/12
OK Derby, I get it... We've had a pretty crappy time of it recently as far as kids being hurt and killed and feelings are running high... But some of the hate that's been pouring out of normally quite lucid people has made me wonder. I'm probably going to get pilloried for this but it's bringing to mind the old Frankenstein films with the torches and the pitchforks, and that's not a good look for anyone I know...
First of all, let's imagine that you're all right - A couple makes the concious decision to kill six of their children, by fire. If that's what happened then I hope they both burn forever in whatever portion of Hell that Satan reserves for people who commit any kind of crime against defenseless children.
Can you imagine doing that? Can you imagine looking into your own children's eyes (remember, that Jayden, the youngest, was only five years old) as you tucked them into bed, kissed them goodnight, all the time knowing that within hours you would start a fire with the sole intention of burning them alive? No, of course you can't, because you're a human being... You can maybe almost forgive the single mother who shakes her baby to death out of frustration and lack of support - But this is something so far off the scale of normal human behaviour... Unforgivable, completely - And if this is the case then I side firmly with the 'Death's too good for 'em' brigade.
But then, instead, imagine for a second that you're stuck, you're at your wits end. Maybe the bills are piling up, maybe you owe money to people at 2,476% APR, or even worse, to people who'd rather take the use of your legs away with a bat if you don't pay up. You're desperate, and you turn to crime... Not mugging old ladies, not doing over Post Offices, just a nice, quiet bit of insurance fraud. It'd be easy, take what real valuables you had to your mates house, the irreplaceable stuff.. Old photos, your Mum's jewellery, stuff like that, then just start a small fire...
Once you've tucked the kids up in bed, pour a bit of petrol by the front door, make it look like someone lit it through the letterbox. Why would the kids still be there? To make it look more believable of course - I mean, what psycho would set fire to his own house with the kids still inside? You let it burn for a while, after all there has to be some real damage. Then the fire takes hold... You never realised how fast cheap polyester carpet burns, or how difficult it is to put out, the flames spread to the stairs (all one piece of carpet, remember) and the wallpaper catches, the curtains smoulder and the poisonous smoke is filling the house. You shout for help, you yell the kids to wake them up... Maybe the smoke's already done it's work, it happens quicker than you think. You start to panic.
You try to make it up the stairs but the flames beat you back, you realise there's nothing you can do, then you hear the sirens and think everything will be OK...
But it's not, and it never will be again... How would you feel knowing it was all your fault? That through your own stupidity you'd accidentally murdered six of your own children?
Then again... What if they're telling the truth? someone HAD tried to burn down their house with them in it? And we're all so desperate for blood and spectacle that shouting 'Murderers!' is easier than thinking 'If it can happen to them, maybe it can happen to me'?
I don't have any association with the Philpotts and I know precisely as much about the case as 99.99% of other people - i.e. virtually nothing - But the above scenarios are as likely as any other one that's been made up using the freely available facts.
Rest in Peace, and I pray to God that justice is done.
By the way, when was the last time you checked the batteries in your smoke alarm?
OK Derby, I get it... We've had a pretty crappy time of it recently as far as kids being hurt and killed and feelings are running high... But some of the hate that's been pouring out of normally quite lucid people has made me wonder. I'm probably going to get pilloried for this but it's bringing to mind the old Frankenstein films with the torches and the pitchforks, and that's not a good look for anyone I know...
First of all, let's imagine that you're all right - A couple makes the concious decision to kill six of their children, by fire. If that's what happened then I hope they both burn forever in whatever portion of Hell that Satan reserves for people who commit any kind of crime against defenseless children.
Can you imagine doing that? Can you imagine looking into your own children's eyes (remember, that Jayden, the youngest, was only five years old) as you tucked them into bed, kissed them goodnight, all the time knowing that within hours you would start a fire with the sole intention of burning them alive? No, of course you can't, because you're a human being... You can maybe almost forgive the single mother who shakes her baby to death out of frustration and lack of support - But this is something so far off the scale of normal human behaviour... Unforgivable, completely - And if this is the case then I side firmly with the 'Death's too good for 'em' brigade.
But then, instead, imagine for a second that you're stuck, you're at your wits end. Maybe the bills are piling up, maybe you owe money to people at 2,476% APR, or even worse, to people who'd rather take the use of your legs away with a bat if you don't pay up. You're desperate, and you turn to crime... Not mugging old ladies, not doing over Post Offices, just a nice, quiet bit of insurance fraud. It'd be easy, take what real valuables you had to your mates house, the irreplaceable stuff.. Old photos, your Mum's jewellery, stuff like that, then just start a small fire...
Once you've tucked the kids up in bed, pour a bit of petrol by the front door, make it look like someone lit it through the letterbox. Why would the kids still be there? To make it look more believable of course - I mean, what psycho would set fire to his own house with the kids still inside? You let it burn for a while, after all there has to be some real damage. Then the fire takes hold... You never realised how fast cheap polyester carpet burns, or how difficult it is to put out, the flames spread to the stairs (all one piece of carpet, remember) and the wallpaper catches, the curtains smoulder and the poisonous smoke is filling the house. You shout for help, you yell the kids to wake them up... Maybe the smoke's already done it's work, it happens quicker than you think. You start to panic.
You try to make it up the stairs but the flames beat you back, you realise there's nothing you can do, then you hear the sirens and think everything will be OK...
But it's not, and it never will be again... How would you feel knowing it was all your fault? That through your own stupidity you'd accidentally murdered six of your own children?
Then again... What if they're telling the truth? someone HAD tried to burn down their house with them in it? And we're all so desperate for blood and spectacle that shouting 'Murderers!' is easier than thinking 'If it can happen to them, maybe it can happen to me'?
I don't have any association with the Philpotts and I know precisely as much about the case as 99.99% of other people - i.e. virtually nothing - But the above scenarios are as likely as any other one that's been made up using the freely available facts.
Rest in Peace, and I pray to God that justice is done.
By the way, when was the last time you checked the batteries in your smoke alarm?
Dads 'n' Kids Advert
Origianlly posted on Facebook 9/6/12
PLEASE NOTE - This was an advert that I put on Facebook for a Dads 'n' Kids group that I (sort of) help out at, run from my local Church in Derby - It runs every 1st Saturday AFTER the 1st Thursday of every month - It's still running if anyone would like to come. (TCD)
So, it'll soon be time for another 'Dads 'n' Kids' morning - in about three hours in fact...
Come listen to good music, eat bacon, read newspapers, eat bacon, play on the Wii, eat bacon, watch cartoons, eat bacon, drink coffee, eat bacon and possibly decorate cakes...
There was a rumour about cake decorating, I can neither confirm nor deny this.
PLEASE NOTE - This was an advert that I put on Facebook for a Dads 'n' Kids group that I (sort of) help out at, run from my local Church in Derby - It runs every 1st Saturday AFTER the 1st Thursday of every month - It's still running if anyone would like to come. (TCD)
So, it'll soon be time for another 'Dads 'n' Kids' morning - in about three hours in fact...
Come listen to good music, eat bacon, read newspapers, eat bacon, play on the Wii, eat bacon, watch cartoons, eat bacon, drink coffee, eat bacon and possibly decorate cakes...
There was a rumour about cake decorating, I can neither confirm nor deny this.
Open to any male parent, carer or owner-operator of children - Must bring a child (or bacon) to gain admittance, if you do not have a child, we have a number of spares that can be provided on a first come, first served basis.
Anywho - St Mary's Church - Boulton Lane, Alvaston, Derby - 10ish 'til 12ish (No religiousness whatsoever, unless you bring it yourself in a resealable box)
In fact, the only vaguely religious thing that ever happens is that the local vicar often arrives and performs the "Miracle of the disappearing bacon sandwiches" - I think his current record is seven - If that doesn't make him worthy of Canonisation, I don't know what does.
Be there... It's great!... Well... it's pretty good... I mean, it's not Star Wars on Ice or anything... I'll be there... That's gotta count for something... There'll be other people who are cool too... Probably...
Anywho - St Mary's Church - Boulton Lane, Alvaston, Derby - 10ish 'til 12ish (No religiousness whatsoever, unless you bring it yourself in a resealable box)
In fact, the only vaguely religious thing that ever happens is that the local vicar often arrives and performs the "Miracle of the disappearing bacon sandwiches" - I think his current record is seven - If that doesn't make him worthy of Canonisation, I don't know what does.
Be there... It's great!... Well... it's pretty good... I mean, it's not Star Wars on Ice or anything... I'll be there... That's gotta count for something... There'll be other people who are cool too... Probably...
My Dandy-Sense is Tingling...
Originally posted on Facebook 15/6/12
A few weeks ago, I was walking to school to collect the BoyChild from his daily servitude and I chanced to pass by a young mother with a toddler. Now this little chap must have been about 4 years old, all shiny cheeks and touseled hair -
(Actually, for the punchline to make sense, you'll need to know what I was wearing... It was windy and sunny, but not particularly warm and those who know me well will be aware of my fascination with full-length coats - So I had on a long, lightweight leather 'duster' with my leather cut-off over the top, black jeans, my New-Rocks and shades).
As I passed by, the wind caught my coat and made the tails flap in an alarming but seemingly heroic fashion.
He turned to his mother, and in a hushed, serious tone said - "Mummy... That man's a Superhero"
Well, made me chuckle anyways.
A few weeks ago, I was walking to school to collect the BoyChild from his daily servitude and I chanced to pass by a young mother with a toddler. Now this little chap must have been about 4 years old, all shiny cheeks and touseled hair -
(Actually, for the punchline to make sense, you'll need to know what I was wearing... It was windy and sunny, but not particularly warm and those who know me well will be aware of my fascination with full-length coats - So I had on a long, lightweight leather 'duster' with my leather cut-off over the top, black jeans, my New-Rocks and shades).
As I passed by, the wind caught my coat and made the tails flap in an alarming but seemingly heroic fashion.
He turned to his mother, and in a hushed, serious tone said - "Mummy... That man's a Superhero"
Well, made me chuckle anyways.
Two-Handed Lightsaber? [Edited Meme]
Originally posted on Facebook 28/6/12
As some of you may (or may not know), I recently changed the text notification sound on my crappy phone to the Lightsabre 'Power-up' noise from Star Wars... What? you didn't know I was a geek? Really?
I was in the Westfield Centre yesterday when I needed to use the facilities. I walked in, to find that only one of the urinals was free between a couple of burly gentlemen. I carefully maneuvered between them and undid my fly - It was at this point that I received a text from an Agency, and of course, the Lightsabre noise went off!
The two guys looked at me quizzically, I very calmly turned, looked at them both and said -
'You know, that's happened every time since I bought the Special Edition on Blue-Ray'
As some of you may (or may not know), I recently changed the text notification sound on my crappy phone to the Lightsabre 'Power-up' noise from Star Wars... What? you didn't know I was a geek? Really?
I was in the Westfield Centre yesterday when I needed to use the facilities. I walked in, to find that only one of the urinals was free between a couple of burly gentlemen. I carefully maneuvered between them and undid my fly - It was at this point that I received a text from an Agency, and of course, the Lightsabre noise went off!
The two guys looked at me quizzically, I very calmly turned, looked at them both and said -
'You know, that's happened every time since I bought the Special Edition on Blue-Ray'
All Olympic'd out
Origianlly posted on Facebook 30/7/12
So I want to see the local news... I turn on BBC 1 just before the hour this morning, sit back and watch the Olympic Rowing quarter finals or something for ten minutes.
So I look on the TV Guide and realise that the BBC morning news is now the BBC morning olympics coverage. I go to the 'News' section of the TV guide, select 'BBC News'
And see the rowing again...
Now I'm probably being grumpy, and you might say that the olympics is a big thing and it's only once every four years - But I would much rather see Lord Coe et al on our brand new olympic-sized skating rink trying to get away from a gross of badly shaved rabid warthogs than have this namby-pamby runney-roundey, jumpey-uppey, throwey-stuffey, floppey-aboutey, timey-wimey, 'Oh! aren't we all so bloody athletic', spandex covered sausage fest thrust at me on every channel known to man or super-intelligent shade of the colour blue.
And yes, I spelled olympics with a lower-case 'o' on purpose - Hmph!
So I want to see the local news... I turn on BBC 1 just before the hour this morning, sit back and watch the Olympic Rowing quarter finals or something for ten minutes.
So I look on the TV Guide and realise that the BBC morning news is now the BBC morning olympics coverage. I go to the 'News' section of the TV guide, select 'BBC News'
And see the rowing again...
Now I'm probably being grumpy, and you might say that the olympics is a big thing and it's only once every four years - But I would much rather see Lord Coe et al on our brand new olympic-sized skating rink trying to get away from a gross of badly shaved rabid warthogs than have this namby-pamby runney-roundey, jumpey-uppey, throwey-stuffey, floppey-aboutey, timey-wimey, 'Oh! aren't we all so bloody athletic', spandex covered sausage fest thrust at me on every channel known to man or super-intelligent shade of the colour blue.
And yes, I spelled olympics with a lower-case 'o' on purpose - Hmph!
This job is... Taken!
Originally posted on Facebook 2/8/12
So, having just read a book called 'Positively Confrontational Interview Technique' written by some American guy called Bryan Mills, I went into the office this afternoon and said to the woman that was going to be interviewing me:
I don't know who you are.
I don't know what sort of employee that you want.
If you are looking for a cable-monkey, I can tell you I don't have the patience.
So, having just read a book called 'Positively Confrontational Interview Technique' written by some American guy called Bryan Mills, I went into the office this afternoon and said to the woman that was going to be interviewing me:
I don't know who you are.
I don't know what sort of employee that you want.
If you are looking for a cable-monkey, I can tell you I don't have the patience.
But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career.
Skills that make me a Godsend for people like you.
If you give me the job now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you,
I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you,
I will find you,
and I will kill you.
I didn't get the job...
I got a better one - I am now a 'Team Leader' rather than a lowly 'Field Engineer' - Just goes to show, if you don't ask, you don't get!
Skills that make me a Godsend for people like you.
If you give me the job now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you,
I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you,
I will find you,
and I will kill you.
I didn't get the job...
I got a better one - I am now a 'Team Leader' rather than a lowly 'Field Engineer' - Just goes to show, if you don't ask, you don't get!
Go-Kat Diet [Edited Meme]
Originally posted on Facebook 24/10/12
So, as the few of you that have met my cat will attest to - She has a pretty loud meow. We ran out of food a couple of days ago and she just wouldn't shut up. Fearing for my sanity (and not being able to lock her in the soundproof cupboard) I took a trip to Asda. (Walmart)
I walked up and down the aisles, but couldn't think of anything else that I actually needed - So all I got was one of the giant bags of Go-Kat, put it in the trolley and walked to the checkout.
It was pretty busy, and there were a couple of people in the queue behind me. After a few minutes I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned around, and the woman behind me said 'Snap! Do you have a cat too?'
I looked at her trolley, noticed that she had the same brand of catfood in there, adjusted my face to 'really serious' and replied 'No, I'm going to try the Go-Kat diet again, even though I ended up in hospital last time!'
'Diet?' She asked
'Yeah, it's a complete food, so you just put a load of the biscuits in each of your pockets and eat some whenever you're hungry'
'Oh! OK, are they poisonous to humans though?' She asked, in a very concerned voice, 'Is that why you ended up in hospital?'
'No,' I replied, 'I had this sudden urge to defecate in my next door neighbour's garden, and he ran me over with his lawn-mower'
So, as the few of you that have met my cat will attest to - She has a pretty loud meow. We ran out of food a couple of days ago and she just wouldn't shut up. Fearing for my sanity (and not being able to lock her in the soundproof cupboard) I took a trip to Asda. (Walmart)
I walked up and down the aisles, but couldn't think of anything else that I actually needed - So all I got was one of the giant bags of Go-Kat, put it in the trolley and walked to the checkout.
It was pretty busy, and there were a couple of people in the queue behind me. After a few minutes I felt a tap on my shoulder, turned around, and the woman behind me said 'Snap! Do you have a cat too?'
I looked at her trolley, noticed that she had the same brand of catfood in there, adjusted my face to 'really serious' and replied 'No, I'm going to try the Go-Kat diet again, even though I ended up in hospital last time!'
'Diet?' She asked
'Yeah, it's a complete food, so you just put a load of the biscuits in each of your pockets and eat some whenever you're hungry'
'Oh! OK, are they poisonous to humans though?' She asked, in a very concerned voice, 'Is that why you ended up in hospital?'
'No,' I replied, 'I had this sudden urge to defecate in my next door neighbour's garden, and he ran me over with his lawn-mower'
Recipe: The Concussion Chilli with Rottweiler sauce
Originally posted on Facebook 30/10/12
Regular readers will remember that I promised to slowly release recipies from the 'Real' hairy bikers - i.e. Myself and Mike Farrish.
Today it's the turn of - 'The Concussion Chilli with Rottweiler sauce'
One thing to bear in mind is that although the ingredients and method are (with one fairly major exception) things you will find in the average kitchen, the complete dish takes a total of six months to complete - It can be prepared in advance.
You will need for the chilli: The standard ingredients to make a completely normal chilli - meat, tomato (fresh or tinned), onions, chocolate, herbs and spices, but specifically, and I can't stress this enough, no baby carrots.
You will need for the sauce: one 100lb+ good natured Rottweiler and a high-pressure water supply.
* Take a large pot and make a chilli as per any one of a thousand recipies as can be easily found on the Internet.
* Get slightly drunk and taste the chilli - decide it is nowhere near spicy enough and put in four more whole chillis.
* Get slightly more drunk and taste the chilli - decide it is nowhere near spicy enough and put in four more whole chillis.
* Get really quite drunk and taste the chilli - decide it is nowhere near spicy enough and put in four more whole chillis.
* Drink all the beer that is available and decide that you may as well put in all the chillis that you have in the house.
* Wake up and lift the lid off the chilli pot.
* Stop crying and look around at everyone else in the room with an expression of disbelief and mild panic on your face - as if to say 'I don't know anyone stupid enough to try that'.
* Remember that you do, in fact, know someone - And call your very good, but incedibly gullible, friend (ours was called Steve, but feel free to substitute your own as you see fit).
* Make sure that there is a clear path between the chilli pot and the nearest toilet (this is VERY important).
* Give 'Steve' a fork and ask what he thinks the chilli needs.
* Be completely suprised when he says 'Why have you put baby carrots in it'
* Turn to each other and mouth the words 'Baby Carrots?', then turn around just in time to see a fork with half a dozen whole chillis on it be swallowed whole.
* Congratulate yourself on clearing such a nice path to the toilet.
Now, for the sauce:
Wait six months (Yes, six)
* Have a party at your house on a Saturday night that gets completely out of hand and culminates with everyone becoming unconcious on the sofas, floor, hammock, garden or sideboard (It is important that the Rottweiler is invited, but 'Steve' is not)
* Approxiamtely 10:00 on the Sunday morning, arrange for 'Steve' to burst into the house and yell 'Helloooo' at the top of his voice, in payback for having long-term colonic shock due to the Baby Carrot incident.
* The Rottweiler should now launch himself at the interloper and stick a good 8" of doggy tongue down his throat - In a completely friendly, non-treatening way.
* 'Steve' will recoil from this and grab the first thing that comes to hand to wipe his mouth - You should make sure that this is the blanket that the dog sleeps on, for added gameyness, if you are a connoisseur of such things, it will help if the dog is slightly incontinent.
* Explain to 'Steve' what he has just done, he will make his way at a brisk pace to the kitchen, stumbling over slumbering bodies along the way, whilst trying to hold in his breakfast.
[Interlude] - I should probably explain that the house I was living in at the time had quite high water pressure, to the point where if you held a glass under the cold tap and turned it on full, it would blow the bottom out of the glass - [/Interlude]
* 'Steve' will now hold his head under the cold tap and turn it on full.
* Marvel at what a strange sound the human head makes as it bounces off the rim of a stainless steel sink.
* You now have three choices as to how you wish to finish off the sauce:
1 - Call an ambulance
2 - Continue to laugh until you feel quite sick
3 - Let the dog lick him awake
(We chose a mix of 2 & 3 - but obviously you should let your conscience be your guide)
Regular readers will remember that I promised to slowly release recipies from the 'Real' hairy bikers - i.e. Myself and Mike Farrish.
Today it's the turn of - 'The Concussion Chilli with Rottweiler sauce'
One thing to bear in mind is that although the ingredients and method are (with one fairly major exception) things you will find in the average kitchen, the complete dish takes a total of six months to complete - It can be prepared in advance.
You will need for the chilli: The standard ingredients to make a completely normal chilli - meat, tomato (fresh or tinned), onions, chocolate, herbs and spices, but specifically, and I can't stress this enough, no baby carrots.
You will need for the sauce: one 100lb+ good natured Rottweiler and a high-pressure water supply.
* Take a large pot and make a chilli as per any one of a thousand recipies as can be easily found on the Internet.
* Get slightly drunk and taste the chilli - decide it is nowhere near spicy enough and put in four more whole chillis.
* Get slightly more drunk and taste the chilli - decide it is nowhere near spicy enough and put in four more whole chillis.
* Get really quite drunk and taste the chilli - decide it is nowhere near spicy enough and put in four more whole chillis.
* Drink all the beer that is available and decide that you may as well put in all the chillis that you have in the house.
* Wake up and lift the lid off the chilli pot.
* Stop crying and look around at everyone else in the room with an expression of disbelief and mild panic on your face - as if to say 'I don't know anyone stupid enough to try that'.
* Remember that you do, in fact, know someone - And call your very good, but incedibly gullible, friend (ours was called Steve, but feel free to substitute your own as you see fit).
* Make sure that there is a clear path between the chilli pot and the nearest toilet (this is VERY important).
* Give 'Steve' a fork and ask what he thinks the chilli needs.
* Be completely suprised when he says 'Why have you put baby carrots in it'
* Turn to each other and mouth the words 'Baby Carrots?', then turn around just in time to see a fork with half a dozen whole chillis on it be swallowed whole.
* Congratulate yourself on clearing such a nice path to the toilet.
Now, for the sauce:
Wait six months (Yes, six)
* Have a party at your house on a Saturday night that gets completely out of hand and culminates with everyone becoming unconcious on the sofas, floor, hammock, garden or sideboard (It is important that the Rottweiler is invited, but 'Steve' is not)
* Approxiamtely 10:00 on the Sunday morning, arrange for 'Steve' to burst into the house and yell 'Helloooo' at the top of his voice, in payback for having long-term colonic shock due to the Baby Carrot incident.
* The Rottweiler should now launch himself at the interloper and stick a good 8" of doggy tongue down his throat - In a completely friendly, non-treatening way.
* 'Steve' will recoil from this and grab the first thing that comes to hand to wipe his mouth - You should make sure that this is the blanket that the dog sleeps on, for added gameyness, if you are a connoisseur of such things, it will help if the dog is slightly incontinent.
* Explain to 'Steve' what he has just done, he will make his way at a brisk pace to the kitchen, stumbling over slumbering bodies along the way, whilst trying to hold in his breakfast.
[Interlude] - I should probably explain that the house I was living in at the time had quite high water pressure, to the point where if you held a glass under the cold tap and turned it on full, it would blow the bottom out of the glass - [/Interlude]
* 'Steve' will now hold his head under the cold tap and turn it on full.
* Marvel at what a strange sound the human head makes as it bounces off the rim of a stainless steel sink.
* You now have three choices as to how you wish to finish off the sauce:
1 - Call an ambulance
2 - Continue to laugh until you feel quite sick
3 - Let the dog lick him awake
(We chose a mix of 2 & 3 - but obviously you should let your conscience be your guide)
Recipe: The 'Yeah, should be fine' Chilli
Originally posted on Facebook 7/10/12
So, with everyone giving it the 'Ohh, I'm cooking the Hairy Biker's Barbeque' or 'I've just made the Hairy Bikers Jam Roly-Poly' - I've decided to share some recipes that me and my old mate Scots Mick used to throw together, In that we've both an interest in motorcycles and we're both (to a greater or lesser extent) hairy.
The 'Yeah, should be fine' Chilli
1. Hang around outside a function room that's holding a badly attended party.
2. After the few guests leave and the organisers troop out with the food, muttering about what a waste it all is, ask them 'Are you going to throw that away?'
3. Look at them like Puss in Boots from Shrek
4. Realise that that doesn't really work when you're not a cartoon
5. Get them to empty everything off the plates and platters into a bin liner.
6. Go home and pour the contents of the bin liner into a cauldron
7. Pour in a couple of cans of chopped tomatos
8. Add a bottle of chilli sauce.
9. Put on a slow heat and stir, occasionally saying things like 'Is that cauliflower?' and 'Should we have taken the bread off the egg mayonnaise sandwiches first?'
10 Go to pub
11 Leave pub, remembering that you don't need to go to the Greek as you have hot food at home
12 Divide the chilli up between all willing participants, setting aside anything you can't actually recognise
13 Eat, incredibly gingerly
14 Wish you'd gone to the Greek
Coming soon: The Baby Carrot and Concussion Chilli (With Rottweiler Sauce)
So, with everyone giving it the 'Ohh, I'm cooking the Hairy Biker's Barbeque' or 'I've just made the Hairy Bikers Jam Roly-Poly' - I've decided to share some recipes that me and my old mate Scots Mick used to throw together, In that we've both an interest in motorcycles and we're both (to a greater or lesser extent) hairy.
The 'Yeah, should be fine' Chilli
1. Hang around outside a function room that's holding a badly attended party.
2. After the few guests leave and the organisers troop out with the food, muttering about what a waste it all is, ask them 'Are you going to throw that away?'
3. Look at them like Puss in Boots from Shrek
4. Realise that that doesn't really work when you're not a cartoon
5. Get them to empty everything off the plates and platters into a bin liner.
6. Go home and pour the contents of the bin liner into a cauldron
7. Pour in a couple of cans of chopped tomatos
8. Add a bottle of chilli sauce.
9. Put on a slow heat and stir, occasionally saying things like 'Is that cauliflower?' and 'Should we have taken the bread off the egg mayonnaise sandwiches first?'
10 Go to pub
11 Leave pub, remembering that you don't need to go to the Greek as you have hot food at home
12 Divide the chilli up between all willing participants, setting aside anything you can't actually recognise
13 Eat, incredibly gingerly
14 Wish you'd gone to the Greek
Coming soon: The Baby Carrot and Concussion Chilli (With Rottweiler Sauce)
The Tech, it is a-changing
Originally posted on Facebook 13/10/12
So, I'm sat here on my crappy laptop - The processor's not fast enough, it's not got enough memory and Windows keeps telling me that I'm running low on disk space - Chrome chugs like a diseased tugboat and IE won't even run.
What're the specs? it's got a 32bit - 1.4Ghz processor, two 10Gig HDDs (The C: drive has 100Meg free) and 384Meg of RAM.
30 years ago, my first computer had an 8bit - 3.25Mhz (Not Ghz - 1720 times slower) processor, no HDD and 16K (Not Meg - 24,000 times smaller) of RAM and it ran like a dream, it never slowed down, hardly ever crashed and every single game I bought for it worked first time.
OK, it used to get a bit hot occasionally (Hot enough to melt the varnish on my brother's coffee table in fact) and sometimes the extra 15K of RAM would would wobble and/or fall off, but it would never just sit there looking at you going 'what?' as everything froze and the HDD thrashed itself into oblivion.
Moore's Law? Less' Law more like it
So, I'm sat here on my crappy laptop - The processor's not fast enough, it's not got enough memory and Windows keeps telling me that I'm running low on disk space - Chrome chugs like a diseased tugboat and IE won't even run.
What're the specs? it's got a 32bit - 1.4Ghz processor, two 10Gig HDDs (The C: drive has 100Meg free) and 384Meg of RAM.
30 years ago, my first computer had an 8bit - 3.25Mhz (Not Ghz - 1720 times slower) processor, no HDD and 16K (Not Meg - 24,000 times smaller) of RAM and it ran like a dream, it never slowed down, hardly ever crashed and every single game I bought for it worked first time.
OK, it used to get a bit hot occasionally (Hot enough to melt the varnish on my brother's coffee table in fact) and sometimes the extra 15K of RAM would would wobble and/or fall off, but it would never just sit there looking at you going 'what?' as everything froze and the HDD thrashed itself into oblivion.
Moore's Law? Less' Law more like it
I'm a Bigot, You're a Bigot, We're ALL Bigots...
Originally posted on Facebook 7/11/12
OK Friends, (I think I know most of you well enough to call you friends now) I’d like to talk a little bit about bigotry.
Not the piddly little types of bigotry that you can easily sweep under the carpet, like racial bigotry – I mean, when it comes down to it, does it really matter what colo(u)r the President of the World is? Do we have to cry ‘it’s only because all the minorities voted for him’? – If that’s the case, it should make the 2024 Presidential Election interesting as I believe that’s the one where, according to recent figures, Americans of white, Anglo-Saxon descent become the minority in what they still insist on calling ‘their own country’.
Nor do I refer to bigotry about sexual orientation. I mean some of my dearest friends have nommed more Axminster than I could ever possibly hope to buy knocked off Chinese DVDs of, it doesn’t make their opinion any less valid than those who enjoy their sausage with a side order of hot fish yoghurt does it?
Religious bigotry? Nope, not talking about that either. Despite not being what anyone in possession of all of their marbles would describe as a Christian, I go to Church every Sunday, and whilst I freely admit that there are people there who I would not trust to look after a straightened out paperclip, This has nothing to do with their religious beliefs, it’s just that they’re as mad as badgers!
No, I’m talking about that most insidious of bigotries… Musical bigotry! (there, I said it!) I know that I’m not an expert; I don’t have a GCSE in ‘Musical Appreciation’ and I don’t sing or play an instrument with any degree of skill or finesse but, as the Pope said when Michelangelo presented him with the painting of the Penultimate Supper (You know, the one with the kangaroo and the jellies and the three Christs) ‘Look, I’m the bloody Pope, I may not know much about art, but I know what I like!’… Obviously I’m not the Pope, I’ve never worn a brown shirt, but you get the idea.
Can you think of a time when you’ve looked down on someone because they like Dubstep, or made assumptions about the intelligence of people who like any kind of music where the ‘artist’ has to mention their own name repeatedly in the body of the song so they don’t forget who they’re listening to? – I know I have, and I thought that that made me a bad person, a bigot of the highest order. But then I looked at my own musical tastes and realised that I was a victim too. In the past people had laughed at me for quite liking Duran Duran and Adam & the Ants and this was bad enough until I said something during a discussion about popular music that has subsequently caused me to be treated like a leper. I remember it was a Thursday, and quite sunny, and we were all sat in Starbucks drinking Venti iced X 2 H O WC CRFL’s when I uttered the fateful words ‘You know, some of the stuff by Maroon 5 and Nickleback isn’t that bad’
There are some things you can never take back… All the people at the table instantly took out their Non-generic smartphones and unfriended me from Facebook and I was given real Paddington hard stares from over the tops of their hipster glasses until I felt so uncomfortable that I had to put on my hemp flip-flops, get back on my leopard-print Schwinn Stingray and cycle all the way home.
I have never spoken to any of them again.
Remember kids, bigotry is bad, especially when it’s directed at me.
OK Friends, (I think I know most of you well enough to call you friends now) I’d like to talk a little bit about bigotry.
Not the piddly little types of bigotry that you can easily sweep under the carpet, like racial bigotry – I mean, when it comes down to it, does it really matter what colo(u)r the President of the World is? Do we have to cry ‘it’s only because all the minorities voted for him’? – If that’s the case, it should make the 2024 Presidential Election interesting as I believe that’s the one where, according to recent figures, Americans of white, Anglo-Saxon descent become the minority in what they still insist on calling ‘their own country’.
Nor do I refer to bigotry about sexual orientation. I mean some of my dearest friends have nommed more Axminster than I could ever possibly hope to buy knocked off Chinese DVDs of, it doesn’t make their opinion any less valid than those who enjoy their sausage with a side order of hot fish yoghurt does it?
Religious bigotry? Nope, not talking about that either. Despite not being what anyone in possession of all of their marbles would describe as a Christian, I go to Church every Sunday, and whilst I freely admit that there are people there who I would not trust to look after a straightened out paperclip, This has nothing to do with their religious beliefs, it’s just that they’re as mad as badgers!
No, I’m talking about that most insidious of bigotries… Musical bigotry! (there, I said it!) I know that I’m not an expert; I don’t have a GCSE in ‘Musical Appreciation’ and I don’t sing or play an instrument with any degree of skill or finesse but, as the Pope said when Michelangelo presented him with the painting of the Penultimate Supper (You know, the one with the kangaroo and the jellies and the three Christs) ‘Look, I’m the bloody Pope, I may not know much about art, but I know what I like!’… Obviously I’m not the Pope, I’ve never worn a brown shirt, but you get the idea.
Can you think of a time when you’ve looked down on someone because they like Dubstep, or made assumptions about the intelligence of people who like any kind of music where the ‘artist’ has to mention their own name repeatedly in the body of the song so they don’t forget who they’re listening to? – I know I have, and I thought that that made me a bad person, a bigot of the highest order. But then I looked at my own musical tastes and realised that I was a victim too. In the past people had laughed at me for quite liking Duran Duran and Adam & the Ants and this was bad enough until I said something during a discussion about popular music that has subsequently caused me to be treated like a leper. I remember it was a Thursday, and quite sunny, and we were all sat in Starbucks drinking Venti iced X 2 H O WC CRFL’s when I uttered the fateful words ‘You know, some of the stuff by Maroon 5 and Nickleback isn’t that bad’
There are some things you can never take back… All the people at the table instantly took out their Non-generic smartphones and unfriended me from Facebook and I was given real Paddington hard stares from over the tops of their hipster glasses until I felt so uncomfortable that I had to put on my hemp flip-flops, get back on my leopard-print Schwinn Stingray and cycle all the way home.
I have never spoken to any of them again.
Remember kids, bigotry is bad, especially when it’s directed at me.
Hello, Good Morning and Welcome...
Well,
You're probably wondering why I've asked you here?
I've been posting inane claptrap on Facebook for a few years now, in fact most of my adult life has been characterised by its high claptrap quotient, in my time I have made a great many people angry and uncomfortable with my opinionated spouting.
But I've made more people laugh, and those people convinced me that I should bring a little bit of 'Lolage' into the lives of the Hoy-polloy (That's you, that is) by starting a blog, so I did.
And this is it.
I can't guarantee that it's all going to be funny, or original (I have a congenital defect called Plagurissimus Neologosia which means I occasionally shamelessly steal other Internet Memes, edit them, and pass them off as my own - It's an illness, I can't help it.)
It might even make you think, probably it will make you think 'Why am I reading this rubbish?' But keep going, if it doesn't make you smile, or nod, I'll give you your money back.*
So, sit back, relax, and have a quick read. It won't take long, feel free to comment
Please note, the next few posts will be Facebook posts from the mists of history - I'll get on with the new stuff a bit later.
* No monetary refund will be made - This is a lie... Well, not this bit, the other bit, up there where I said 'Give you your money back' - Not gonna happen, I don't have any
You're probably wondering why I've asked you here?
I've been posting inane claptrap on Facebook for a few years now, in fact most of my adult life has been characterised by its high claptrap quotient, in my time I have made a great many people angry and uncomfortable with my opinionated spouting.
But I've made more people laugh, and those people convinced me that I should bring a little bit of 'Lolage' into the lives of the Hoy-polloy (That's you, that is) by starting a blog, so I did.
And this is it.
I can't guarantee that it's all going to be funny, or original (I have a congenital defect called Plagurissimus Neologosia which means I occasionally shamelessly steal other Internet Memes, edit them, and pass them off as my own - It's an illness, I can't help it.)
It might even make you think, probably it will make you think 'Why am I reading this rubbish?' But keep going, if it doesn't make you smile, or nod, I'll give you your money back.*
So, sit back, relax, and have a quick read. It won't take long, feel free to comment
Please note, the next few posts will be Facebook posts from the mists of history - I'll get on with the new stuff a bit later.
* No monetary refund will be made - This is a lie... Well, not this bit, the other bit, up there where I said 'Give you your money back' - Not gonna happen, I don't have any
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