Posts filed under 'Great'
Topical news today on Newsboost. It has been reported that during one of her concerts at the Manchester MEN Arena Beyonce, or the bootylicious Beyonce as she has come to be known as, invited a young boy on stage to join in with a duet.
The boy then proceeded to sing and received a kiss on the forehead from the glamarous singer. Bless. The poor lad is trying to find someone who took a photo of the magical scene as his mum was too far back to get a decent shot. Double bless. If I was eight I suppose that could float my boat although I didn’t start fancying girls until I was twelve and even then it was ones wearing gas masks.
Not only did he get the kiss though he was also handed by Beyonce a towel which she had used to dry her face. “Thanks for being my fan, now please take this sweaty piece of cloth as an eternal reminder.” Did she not have something stashed away for the boy to have? Did it really have to come down to some locker room junk, covered in beads of perspiration and dripping makeup?
Then again people are that crazy that they do buy things doused in sweat from celebrities, fingernails and other assorted oddities. In the spirit of this and in preparation for my astounding career as a singing chimneysweep (it’ll happen) I have chopped all my hair off and tied it into generous yet highly-expensive locks. Currently retailing at £19.99 – buy now!
November 24th, 2009
(Look At Him Spaz) He’s A Zombie Spaz – David Bowie
It has been suggested that towards the end of the eighties David Bowie struggled to keep up with the rest of the musical world. After suffering bad sales as a result of The Smiths stealing all the teenagers and students, the Pixies scooping up the twenty and thirtysomethings and Daniel O’Donnell continuing his assault on the over fifties, David was left wondering what to do next. It was only a matter of time though before some magical happened.
The legend goes that David and David Byrne from Talking Heads were sat having a coffee in a New York deli. David (Bryne) felt a little too warm and so decided t o take his over-sized red jumper off. Unfortunately though he was having trouble getting it over his noggin and thus a struggle ensued. As David (Byrne) wiggled and shook like sex on fire David (Bowie) pointed at the chaos and shouted, “Look at him spaz! He’s a blondie spaz!” Byrne at this point going through his blonde hair / pinstripe suit / green socks phase.
Knowing that there was a song lying dormant in there waiting to be left out David (Bowie) left David (Byrne) and ran to his recording studio down the road, hidden by a giant owl. Byrne suffered massive head trauma and didn’t get out of the jumper for the next seven years.
Bowie harnessed the spirit of the eighties: Synths! Changing the lyrics ever so slightly to also coincide with the 132nd anniversary of Halloween the single ‘(Look At Him Spaz) He’s A Zombie Spaz’ was released on 17th October to a fanfare of praise and adoration from not only his dedicated fans but from the hardcore journalista massive. It remained at number one for three weeks and funded at least twelve of his holidays the following year.
The song has been cast aside; given how popular Bowie was in the seventies it rarely gets any radio airplay and is his least favourite of all, even favouring that awful duet with Mick Jagger over it. With such insightful lyrics such as, “Watch him go, he’s ready to flow, he’ll knock you down with a whip of his gown,” and, “Jigging along like this catchy song, you know you been beat when you come up and meet…”.
One day ‘Zombie Spaz’ will be popular again. For now it remains a guilty pleasure and a hidden gem.
November 12th, 2009
As it happens, and with December looming out of the woodwork, I really need to get my arse in gear with the Christmas Gangster Rap album. I’ve got some rhymes down here and there but at the moment it’s a page with some song titles dotted across:
Possible Song Titles
Pimp That Tree
Check Tha Cold / Check Tha Snow
Cold Piece of Coal, Peace To Tha Soul
Meal for Three: You, Her and Me
Brave Tha Sales
Shopping Like a Mother F*cker
Crackers and B*tches
Cook That Bird!
No Christmas for Me (I W*nked in my Stocking) – instrumental
It’s really, really, really hard being an inspirational music writer / producer / maestro you know.
October 13th, 2009
Are you in? No, not you, the other one at the back. Yeah you… are yo… what? So that’s a… a no right, okay.
Episode 18 – Noose Lips Chop Chips
Hanging from the nose of the president Vixen uses the last of her strength to pull herself back up on top of Mount Rushmore. The eternal monument has a red haze; a lot of blood has been spilled and all in the name of death!
Still, with Sir Chester Lester finally behind bars it appears as though the greatest enemy of the city has finally been vanquished, or has it? Has he? Will they now?
Vixen attends a celebration in her honour only to have ti crashed by a very attractive and familiar-looking woman. Before she can change into her now slightly more alluring costume guest speaker Angela Lansbury has been captured. The streets are filled with screaming people. Bobby Paul needs to take his shirt back to Next and get a refund. Such a tall order. Vixen follows the trail left by her new nemesis to a crocodile-infested swamp. Luckily though theur gnashers are nothing compared to our heroine’s personalised style of judo karate kendo martial arts, taught to her secretly at the age of three. She was still on rusks then.
In a cafe in the middle of the swamp Angela Lansbury hangs in a cage next to the specials menu above a pit of seedy vultures, desperate for attention. The queue at the cashier hasn’t moved for the last five minutes as a minor searches through his pockets for enough change to buy a custard cream. The evil capturer is revealed: but… it’s Vixen! How can this be? Oh no no, the capturer may look like her but she’s no Vixen. This is Crazy Gazey, Vixen’s identical half-sister who could also be her cousin only nobody went that far with the family tree. A titanic battle ensures however it ends with the inevitable yet satisfying conclusion with Angela Lansbury safe in the arms of a 2.99 coffee and donut lunchtime deal. But what of Crazy Gazey? She escapes and comes back in the, ah ah, that would be telling.
October 6th, 2009
The following documents are the minutes of a top secret meeting and should be treated as such.
(Me and Ian are secret agents right?)
Continue Reading September 24th, 2009
Bought me a cat and the cat pleased me,
I fed my cat under yonder tree.
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
Bought me a hen and the hen pleased me,
I fed my hen under yonder tree.
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
Bought me a duck and the duck pleased me,
I fed my duck under yonder tree.
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
Bought me a goose and the goose pleased me
I fed my goose under yonder tree.
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
Bought me a sheep and the sheep pleased me,
I fed my sheep under yonder tree.
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
Bought me a pig and the pig pleased me,
I fed my pig under yonder tree.
Pig goes oink, oink,
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
Bought me a cow and the cow pleased me,
I fed my cow under yonder tree.
Cow goes moo, moo,
Pig goes oink, oink,
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
Bought me a horse and the horse pleased me,
I fed my horse under yonder tree.
Horse goes neigh, neigh,
Cow goes moo, moo,
Pig goes oink, oink,
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
Bought me a dog and the dog pleased me,
I fed my dog under yonder tree.
Dog goes bow-wow, bow-wow,
Horse goes neigh, neigh,
Cow goes moo, moo,
Pig goes oink, oink,
Sheep goes baa, baa,
Goose goes hissy, hissy,
Duck goes quack, quack,
Hen goes chimmy-chuck, chimmy-chuck,
Cat goes fiddle-i-fee.
September 8th, 2009
I have to say it. It has been burning a hole in my face for some time now and it’s too much. If I don’t let it all out I will surely end up a crust of a man, a shallow bed and breakfast at the end of the country serving hot oil instead of coffee and making toast out of tyres. Something like that.
I FEEL OPPRESSED GENTLEMEN!
You see me, right, I am one, right? As a person I am one person therefore I am one. You see the world, right? The world is like six billion or so, I don’t know the exact figures. So, with this in mind, one up against six billion is not only bad, possibly terrible odds but also horribly oppressive. I feel oppressed by the whole world.
How’d you like them apples?
September 3rd, 2009
Do you remember the days when our websites were just endless lists about things that didn’t mean anything?
Well, ours was I don’t know about yours. It was easy, it was simple, it was just plain fucking lazy let’s face it but every so often it doesn’t hurt to re-vist them for tear-stained nostalgia. So to honour another year of da beans’ existence let me present, in no particular order, the top five weird names from the Metro map I saw before going out tonight.
Drum roll please!
- Lamesley
- Kibblesworth (good name for a dog)
- Biddick (juvenile but funny)
- Wideopen (again, very juvenile)
- Witherwack (my personal favourite)
See? Don’t you wish we could all do lists and be happy?
July 7th, 2009
I’ve been keeping quiet about this, but a few days ago I was called very early in the morning by the Archbishop of Brixton who said I needed to take a cab to Buckingham Palace immediately. So I put on a smartish t-shirt and headed down there, and blow me if Queen Liz wasn’t there sobbing into her cornflakes. Her butler, Tootingtons, explained that she was sick of being a queen and all her life had wanted to make fry-ups in a cafe on the Brentwood Bypass. I pointed out that the Brentwood Bypass wasn’t opened until about twenty years after her coronation, but he wasn’t interested.
Anyway, before she could get her hands greasy she had to find a replacement and I was the best person in the world, so I was the obvious choice. In the end I agreed to become King Christopher I on the condition that they kept it quiet and didn’t make a fuss. So we had a low-key coronation at Westminster Abbey, and I am now king while Liz is buttering toast in a lay-by on the A12.
I decided that, while I wouldn’t be giving up my job or moving out of my flat or having my face on coins and stamps, I should do something to commemorate what is quite an exciting personal development. The first thing I did was declare that Streatham will now be known as Streatham Regis, in light of my living there during my reign. The second thing was that I need a carriage of state in which I can process through my realm and which can transport me to state events.
So on Thursday I went over to Danrick Autos in Basildon and bought this:
If I pass you in the street, please stop and remove your hat in respect for your new low-key head of state.
June 14th, 2009
You want action? You want adventure? You want girls (or maybe just one)?
You need VIXEN HAWK!
Episode One – The Pilot Episode
Young Victoria wakes up from a twelve month coma and realises that not only does she possess the strength of twelve women but she can run as fast as a chip van, possibly twelve. It all could be traced back to that bizarre traffic accident when she crossed the road only to be mauled by a helicopter full of strange glowing vats of oozing goo. There was a symbol on the side but gosh, Victoria just can’t quite remember it. Perhaps she will in twenty episodes time though, in time for the two-parter towards the end of the series.
First though to action. No longer known by her name, Victoria has a quick costume change and covering her face with a mask made of velour she becomes the ass-kicking, villain-snubbing, chip van-chasing Vixen Hawk.
She needs answers. Vixen traces the pilot of the helicopter to his grave; he’s dead. His brother could hold some answers but alas he too died in the accident. His sister survived the accident but broke her ankle stepping out the ambulance and broke to death.
Tragedy follows Vixen like a crow with a bad chude. Not only does she need to solve this mystery but work out how to get her old job at the office back and resume her relationship with Bobby Paul. Too much for a one hour pilot; definitely needs a series. And so it did.
CULT SERIES PULP! READ MORE SOON!
May 27th, 2009
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