Posts filed under 'Think about it'
So I recently finished Halo on the X-Box (after ripping through the last level in the jeep, falling 100ft down and not losing any energy, and then doing a runner to the big pointy space ship) and it wasn’t the hardest game in the world. This was probably due to the fact that I was playing on the normal level of difficulty. What did my eyes greet me when I had finished though? A short film of me blasting off saying in typical fashion, “I don’t think this is the last we’ve seen of them, in fact I think this is just the beginning.” Oh dear, are you setting me up for Halo 2? It was crap. If I had spent £300 odd quid on the console (remember it was free ladies and gentlemen) and then £50 on the game I would have been throwing my owl around in frustration.
Another disappointment was the last episode of Dexter. All in all I have no beef with it because it was exceptionally good all the way through and that they didn’t keep the other guy alive and he was forced to kill him was the best way but something so tacky as it being his brother? Predictable. Shod. They may as well have had the police chief in on it too and have some wise cracking good cop killed off a few days before his retirement. My loins hunger for more fufilling closing credits.
I might try ‘The Crying Game’…
May 19th, 2008
Welcome to the newest article to hit the shores of Beans Island. It’s sort of a sisterly accompanyment to the ‘Silly Bint of the Month’ but with fresh ideas and more longevity… actually that’s a lie because I’ve only managed to think of a couple of people who this might apply to. Nonetheless it’s never kept a good man down, head to the ground, keep the ground hit running fast nicely.
Today I wish to discuss current NME-w*nk act the Ting Tings. They’ve been hyped to buggery and to be honest their music is about as catchy as a peppercorn in a tuxedo. Everyone is wetting themselves about this “band”, because I use the term very loosely, and I can’t see the appeal OTHER than the fact that Katie White is quite attractive. Erm, not judging by the photo on wikipedia though (it borders on munterly). It’s best if we put that one to one side. I personally resent most songs that include the term DJ because it’s a lazy thing to do. Yeah come on DJ, play that song DJ, make me dance DJ, it’s hardly Shakespeare and even if Shakespeare knew what a DJ was I expect he could have written a better song. Let’s take a look at lyrics to previous single ‘Great DJ’.
“Imagine all the girls,
Ah ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.
And the boys,
Ah ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.
And the strings,
Eee, eee, eee, eee, eee, eee, eee, eee.
And the drums, the drums, the drums, the drums, the drums, the drums”
And so on, grand! I hope that they die a slow death. Peace out.
May 13th, 2008
Time for a communal poem. It’s dead easy. I will provide the start of this epic poem detailing epic events, and you write another verse for it to continue the story. It’s like Jackanory, but with rhyming and on a website.
Pie
Jurgen van Hoolen had pie on his head
He didn’t know why and it made him quite red
He woke up one morning and it was just there
Sticky and crusty and fixed to his hair
From that day to this he travelled the land
He rubbed it with solvent, he rubbed it with sand
Try as he might to shake off the pie
The pie would not budge and he let out a sigh
He went to a doctor, a witch and a priest
Who promised him cure with faith or with yeast
But no-one could fix it, not one of the men
Poor Jurgen gave up. But suddenly, then…
March 17th, 2008
Hello and welcome to the modern world. As I write this I am 2hours into a 2hour and 25 minute journey to london to see Chris. I’m using my Work laptop and the free Wifi provided by National Express.
In the last 2 hours I have probably looked out of thw indow for about 5 minutes. I have spent the rest of the time surfing the internet and watching Life on Mars. My question to you is… Is that a good thing?
On one hand I have been thoroughly entertained, and have been using free electricity from the socket in the side of the train. On the other hand I have whizzed blissfully unaware past all the countryside of England without so much as a “wow look at that massive flock of starlings” or some such, and I definately havent spoken to any of my fellow passengers.
Is this the ultimate in modern living, or more likely is all this insular technology the reason that society as a whole (at least in the UK and other developed nations) is falling apart?
Serious thought over now… sorry for the interruption.
February 23rd, 2008
Mr. Cockall interviews tomorrow’s geniuses (using song)
Who are you? Wimbly Wednesday
What’s the Idea? Inky Drinky, the thirst-quenching pigment.
What is it? It’s the only luxury fountain pen fuel that can save your life in a drought.
What does it do? For many years mankind has faced a dilemma. When heading off to trek across an arid desert, travelling with only the items you can carry in your right hand, it makes enormous sense to choose a fountain pen as one of your precious few companions. But what to fill it with? A few drops of life-saving water to stave off dehydration and death? Or an emerald blue ink with which to sketch abstract landscapes depicting your emotions as you stride among the dunes?
Now you don’t have to make that choice any longer! Inky Drinky is the ink you can drink. Charge up your Saharan scribbler with Inky Drinky, in a choice of four alluring hues. Put pen to paper with pride, and in an emergency situation, crack open the ink well and enjoy the refreshing taste of Inky Drinky. Now available in black (liquorice), blue (bilberry), red (roast beef) or green (Salad Niçoise).
So what are you gonna do about it? Nothing (!) Mr. Cockall, it’s all in my head >:)
February 21st, 2008
Shortest post on PB?
January 21st, 2008
So I had a dream last night and I went with Friya to visit Ian.
We were surprised when we got there, because he hadn’t mentioned to us that he actually lived in a big blue prison in New York. So Friya went shopping and I went back to his cell (it was obviously quite a slack prison because they let him out for long walks) and I looked through all his drawers.
Then we went out again and on the way back in there was a wheelbarrow full of corn on the cob sitting in the corridor. Ian didn’t want to steal one, because it’s generally frowned upon for prisoners to do that, but I really wanted one so I stuck it in my trousers and we went back to the room. But Ian didn’t know I’d done it. Then I thought it would get him into trouble, so I went up a spiral staircase to a different floor (it was a boys floor -Â every other one was a girls floor – but luckily the spiral staircase I went up missed a floor on the way) and casually dropped the corn cob on the floor.
When I got back to the cell, it was full of prison wardens, and one evil woman (who was English despite this being a New York jail) was telling us off for laughing too much and reminding Ian that it was a five-strikes and you’re out policy. She pointed above the door, where someone had painted (in elaborate lettering) “One and a half strikes”.
Then I woke up.
January 14th, 2008
Given Kev’s seemingly endless supply of scat-isms I suggest that we put him forward for the next series of ‘Britain’s Got Talent’, or whatever b*ggery b*llocks is auditioning around the same time. I mean he can also poom groodles, I mean groom poodles. That must count for something right?
We could make a bit of money from it. The proceeds could then be put forward for nationwide distribution of the ‘Nish’ series and perhaps even a publication of both copies of semi-autobiographical ‘Erudite Musings on the Human Condition’.
January 7th, 2008
Even though I, the Saint King, king of all the saints and all their saintly behaviour, have been banished from ‘da beans’ during the lockdown from the previous day I managed to sneak in and leave this videotaped message. This will continually play over and over again until someone locates the VCR hidden somewhere in this building.
Christmas is a time of destruction and devestation. What better way to fill your trousers than by investing in the new Saint King game? Available on all three formats of Amstrad, BBC Micro as well as Spectrum, the Saint King game has been described as ‘The Best Game Ever… to be released in the year 2007 that looks as though it should have been released 25 years ago’. Play all your favourite characters: Saint Abbo of Fleury, Saint Hugh of Lincoln, Saint John of Shanghai and San Fransisco and of course the big man himself. Give into temptation. Join the revolution. Play the game.
Tired with your usual hand cream? Bored with the lack of any imagination? Then let Saint Monica of Hippo lead you into the light. “Hand cream has been overlooked for far too long. With the Saint King’s, king of us saints and all our saintly behavious, new hand cream you will feel a million seal pups licking your fingers. It is a cream beyond creamy, so much so that a new word has been invented by the scientists who gave up their time to create such a product. This hand cream is smoothocreamarific. Available in all major shops now, but probably not until they open again as this is Christmas Eve. Get online and have delivered to your door personally by one of the saints themselves. KNOCK KNOCK. Oh, do I hear the sweet knock of Paulina of the Agonizing Heart of Jesus at my door?”
Lead. Lead sandwich… eat lead sandwiches… something chronic in your… when the animals came to me I was only a foot high… and then the snow storm blew my… in the middle of the night…
Even though I, the Saint King, king of all the saints and all their saintly behaviour, have been banished from ‘da beans’ during the lockdown from the previous day I managed to sneak in and leave this videotaped message…
December 24th, 2007
(it’s not as interesting as it sounds, but it’s as weird as the Rachel Stevens dream)
So I’m walking past Glebelands field during the daytime (even though I live a hundred miles away now) and I noticed a Dalek running across the grass. Curious and when I look a bit closer I can see that he is putting up a huge tent. When this has reached full peak I go inside the tent and notice that the Daleks are selling porn; not Dalek porn but actual human porn. I browse briefly but realise I’m getting those looks from the ones behind the counter, sort of, “buy it or put it down idiot”, so I leave quickly before any tongues start a-wagging.
Later on I’m at me mam’s house and I hear a knock on the door. I open it and right at the end of the path I see an envelope leaning against the gate. This isn’t enough to interest me so I close the door, only to hear another knock. Upon opening it a second time the envelope has gone but I can see Marshall’s head sticking out from the wall to my left. This still isn’t enough to interest me so I close the door and hear a third knock. All that’s left is a small plastic box with a present inside and a futuristic device of holding information. I can’t remember what it looked like but I put the film on and it was sort of a video diary from Marshall about how he chose his Christmas presents and wrote his cards out… but in the style of ‘The Wonder Years’ where you hear his thoughts rather than speaking.
Then I woke up and there was a text from Marshall waiting on my phone. That put the sh*ts up me I can tell you.
December 17th, 2007
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