Posts filed under 'Tragic'
I’m confused. I’m mystified. I’m dragging myself all over the place and not settling on any sort of sane or reasonable explanation.
December. Prime Panto season, right? So why is it that every year I am forced to watch posters of these two knob jockeys crop up around Newcastle?
http://www.theatreroyal.co.uk/whats_on/pantomine.asp
The poster boasts that the two main actors, and I use the term loosely, Danny Adams and Clive Webb are returning again for what seems like the fifth year in a row due to, and I quote, “overwhelming public demand”. Overwhelming public demand? Who are these people that their lives are so devoid of any life or sense of purpose that they go into the Theatre Royal on a regular basis to enquire when those two lovely lads Mr Adams and Mr Webb are returning? Do they have an “Overwhelming public demand” voting box and whoever gets the most votes they get the moniker to appear on their next poster?
Bring back the Chuckle Brothers. All is forgiven.
November 23rd, 2009
You see this? I advise you not to do this.
Nine out of ten mechanics recommend you avoid doing this. The other 10% are being actively hunted by the police and will be shot on sight.
(I’m OK by the way.)
November 16th, 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
Welcome to November!
Now I’m a pretty open-minded individual, except when it comes to music of course. Once I even took off my shoes to scratch my foot. Twice I opened a man-hole to let bandit rats escape into the sewers. I was greeted with a curious sight this morning. I opened the Metro (the paper, not the actual Metro, although I did really because I pressed the buttom so I could get on the damn thing), read through all the tat and got to the back pages. Bouncing about on page 48 was some adverts for jobs and O’Briens Irish Sandwich Bar are advertising for two distinct roles. They are:
- 2 x Assistant Accountants
- 2 x Accounts Assistants
Does anyone else get the impression someone is taking the piss? Reading the specifications it is clear why they are different and all that but it just looks wrong.
Perhaps it’s like in the Simpsons where Homer is unemployed and there’s a job for a Supervising Technician. “I’m not a Supervising Technician, I’m a Technical Supervisor.” Titles don’t mean anything anymore.
Still, if you could be an Assistant Accountant or an Accounts Assistant which one would you be?
November 2nd, 2009
How appreciative are the elderley residents of the UK when they receive the traditional handouts during the Harvest Festival season? We were keen to find out. In order to do so we bugged senior citizen Arthur Bambo for thirteen hours when he went to the bathroom at York train station and these are the shocking results:
“What do we have here, right, lets start with the tins. There’s not even a label on that one, that’ll be interesting. Probably some weird meat or horrible shrunken vegetables in brine. Mmmm, lovely brine. I’d rather drink that than touch the veg. Okay, tin of carrots… five months out of date. Great. What the… cream of soup soup? Cream of what? Just soup? How can you… holy moley.”
Five minutes later.
“Wheat Bisks. Ha, that’s just Wheatbix but with a silly name. Such a rip off these days, why can’t they just come up with their own cereal instead of pawing off others? Wheat Bisks. What the hell is a bisk anyway? Probably just a spelling error. Oh oh here we go, now we’re into the quality items. Frozen ox feet, already dripping. Why didn’t anyone say there were frozen items at the bottom of the bag? I can’t eat these now, not that I would really want to if they were still frozen. That’s beside the point.”
Two minutes later.
“You have got to be kidding me. Stockings? Why… I bet they ran out of bags for men so they gave me a ladies one. Charming. Next I’ll find… yep, vanishing cream. Candles. Perfume? (pft… sniff sniff) that wouldn’t smell out of place in a cesspool… I best open a window… oh damn the key is in the other room… eugh, I… oh dear…”
The answer? Not very.
October 20th, 2009
Slow as slow can be
So stumbles the drunken Christmas Tree.
Dragging behind the pieces of the past
In a tatty old sack that will never last,
He scours the streets for the last sign of hope,
Something to help him, something to cope.
Sloshing in his stomach a full bottle of gin,
Lacking the whimsy, the joy and his grin.
December is gone, like the fragments of his mind,
Like the cosy living room he left behind.
Arthur “Lemon” Lemonson – 2009
May 6th, 2009
I need some clarification, some closure and some clothes to cover this naked level of understanding that me, a common beatnik, cannot get my head round.
Last week when I took the boy to school I almost arrived at the bus stop but was greeted by a curious sight. Sat on the corner by the pub was a golf ball. A golf ball that had two turds curled around it. Now I have three questions:
1. Do dogs play golf?
2. Would that be classed as modern art?
And the biggest one of all:
3. Is it marketable?
January 26th, 2009
And I thought drinking high levels of coffee and Redbull was a bad idea. This really takes every biscuit ever. In what can only be described as an act of stupidity I decided to buy one of those keyfinders that when you whistle beeps so you can find your keys. It’s a reasonable purchase, and it was for only £1.50 or so on Ebay. The thing though is that the little sh*tstain is so sensitive that you can do other things to set it off, some completely unintentional. So far I have discovered that the following makes it beep:
1. Turning on a tap
2. Audrey laughing
3. Reuben laughing
4. Reuben talking
5. Opening a drawer
6. The Bee Gees (from the next f*cking room!)
7. Coughing
8. Sneezing
Any sane person could take a few days or so of this but I shoved it in my drawer and every so often without wanting it to it would beep. I was therefore forced to accidentally hurl it down the stairs and watch it break into four separate pieces. Then I was forced (I really was) to stand on it and smash it into many more pieces to prevent the evil from ever escaping.
Oh and if anyone wants one I have a spare…
January 23rd, 2009
In my life I’ve done many pointless things, sometimes shamefully so. Among these you can include many of the videos we have made, the countless times I have completely dismantled the Lego ambulance Kev gave me and put it back together again, and the time I went to Tesco in my slippers.
This week I’ll be performing an exercise in pointlessness to put them all in the shade. I’m getting up at 5.30 on Friday morning and driving six hours north to Preston, where I will spend most of Friday and Saturday before coming home. Why? Because the Preston Bypass is turning 50 years old and I plan to be there.
It’s not going to notice if I miss the event because it’s a road, and in fact, it was completely rebuilt in 1995 so it’s not physically the same road any more either. But I will be there all the same and I’m sinking a rather alarming amount of money into the venture to travel there and back and stay over.
How pointless is your life? Share your pointless tales here, my friends, and weep with me.
December 2nd, 2008
There seems to be some confusion surrounding EEFY McJEEFY and how I am able to keep quoting his wise words. Well, here’s a short Q&A session to ease your pain.
Who is this EEFY McJEEFY?
He’s a former explorer, whose daughter is Nora, with a collection of gravels he found on his travels.
How is he so wise?
He spent many years taking words with his ears, and now others forage to access his knowledge.
Why are his words of wisdom appearing here?
He sits in my pocket, just six inches tall, and at night I put him in a box on the wall. When words I require of wisdom and truth, I give him a berry and he says words forsooth.
November 21st, 2008
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