Curious Rumblings

Curious rumblings (rumble rumble)

11 comments September 12th, 2006

Locker Check – Number 29

Date: 7th September 2006
Time: 13:40
Location: The Baltic, Gateshead (give or take)

Locker check successful. Still locked with possessions. Didn’t actually know was going until realised was stood outside. Deposited a plastic Tesco bag, a slip from a recorded delivery sent earlier on this week and a bus ticket from Tuesday 5th September 2006. No problems with entering and leaving although shady looking man in fluroescent jacket stood outside. Ate a cheese and onion pasty then read through the job section in the paper. Thought about sandwiches.

Random thought: Grapes are the unilateral fruit of the sea. Discuss!

13 comments September 7th, 2006

Help! I’m a Fish – Yeah, f*ck off ‘cos noone cares!

I have witnessed today what could possibly pass as one of the worst animated films ever created.

It was, of course, called ‘Help! I’m a Fish!’ where three kids get turned into fish by some “crazy” scientists’ potion. In order to get back they must drink the antidote. Along the way they encounter token evil fish and token helpful companion in this case a seahorse. They escape from evil fish with seahorse’s help, find the antidote and turn themselves back, also defeating and violently killing evil fish in the process (voiced by Die Hard baddie Alan Rickman). They drown him! They turn him into a human, he forgets that humans can’t breath underwater and drowns! This film is like a f*cking U! Then to tie up the loose ends they had to leave little seahorse behind (who had become close friends with the little girl fish) but once they’re humans again they find it and the scientist guy creates some guff that turns him into a proper horse. THEN they all laugh at the end of it like it’s something normal that’s happened! Something natural, not like it’s against the laws of God or anything!

F*cking heathens, I hate them all. Smite them all for me!

September 3rd, 2006

Criteria for a ‘Pussycat Dolls’ video

1. Some jiggy shit (in that what constitutes music for the under twelves i.e. shit that jigs).
2. Some weird, flashy video with a threadbare plot.
3. Minimal clothing.
4. The fit one at the front.

I don’t mind the last two it’s just the first two that annoy me. They did that drippy ballad after the first one but since then it’s all, to quote myself, “jiggy shit”. What’s their new single, ‘I don’t need a man’ or something like that? Well if you don’t then why are you dressed in what would pass as a small teatowel? To impress the lesbians? I think not.

*thinks: just as long as the fit one’s at the front*

6 comments August 31st, 2006

Wobbly Dog and Flat Kitty – A Film Noir

*Removes the image of Marshall in suspenders from his head and continues writing/typing*

I would love to say that they were eaten and torn apart by the mysterious monsters but I don’t even think that I’m that cruel. Tyres kind. Footsteps rattle on the hard road surface. Four characters let what seems like a thousand bullets from their AK47’s, turning the army into a bloody mess in seconds. “Who are you,” commanded Wobbly Dog, “and what are these things?”

“We’re racist, jive-talking vampire ninja bunnies!” gloated the tallest, letting a hail of bullets stream into the sky never to return. “Are you kidding me?” shouted Wobby rubbing his eyes in disbelief. They were the unlikliest of heroes being that they clearly were chasing too many bandwagons with hobbies such as theirs. Everything that could go wrong was pretty much going wrong, like a prequel to Star Wars. Wobbly and Kitty were bundled into the back of the vigilantes’ jeep and off they sped. Like a panda on heat. “So let me get this straight,” rationalised Kitty, her eyes twinkling in the limited light, “you are a bunch of vigilantes who also happen to be vampire ninja bunnies?” They all turned around to meet her feline gaze. The one in the passenger seat spoke, “Hi I’m Mark, and don’t forget the jive-talking racist part. We love being racist…”
“…and jive-talking, it’s great,” said the driver who swerved past a raccoon in the middle of the road. Wobbly stood up. “So what were those things back there?” The driver spoke again, in a cool, calming voice, “they’re meteorites, exposed to salt and toxic waste. Sort of it Superman decided to give up flying and walk around in tatty clothes instead. It’d be the same sort of situation I think.”
“I think too,” said the ninja next to Kitty. “I most heartedly agree,” said Mark in the front seat. “Superman wasn’t a meteorite,” butted in Kitty, but her valid point was lost in the madness. “Anyway we’ve been fighting them for a million…”
“One million two hundred,” said Mark
“One million two hundred years,” continued the driver, “They never seem to go away. There’s like an inexplicable unlimited supply of them.”

The jeep reached its destination and everyone got out.Their headquarters was a disused community drama group building, the dusty costumes still hanging on their pegs waiting for the owners to return. A hug statue stood in the middle of the stage. “Looks like Lionel Blair,” whispered Wobbly as they were pushed into the centre of the room. “What do you want with us?” demanded Kitty, “are we prisoners or companions?” Mark looked at the others and turned back to his audience. “You’re our audience! We’ve been working on this little number for three years. Do you wanna hear it?” Wobbly and Kitty looked at each other, unsure as how to handle the situation. Before they’d even had a chance to say anything Mark shunted her away with, “okay let’s go!” The members of the racist jive-talking vampire ninja bunnies lined up and put huge smiles on their faces. A song ensued:

“We’re green, like the grass,
 We’re red, like the sun.
 We’re yellow like butter,
 But blue cos no-one,
 Loves us like purple,
 Set in our ways,
 Treats us like ladies,
 When we eat nobody pays.

 Dainty hankies in our pockets,
 Ready to dab away those crumbs.
 A package of lovliness,
 Monsters are no fun.

 Oh we might sound like meanies,
 We all hate the fallen,
 Being racist means acting like
 Hitler and Stalin…”

“Where’d they leave the keys?” asked Wobbly. “I already stole them from the first idiot,” murumured Kitty. With the haste of two figments of my imagination they made a dash for the jeep, slammed the doors shut, stuck on the radio and zoomed off. Kitty did the pedals. Wobbly used the steering wheel. Kitty turned the radio off when Barry Manilow appeared. With all their might they navigated out of the bitter back streets to the main road and using Wobbly’s keen sense of smell they drove hundreds of miles, down wrong ways and right ways past huge windows and pounting gays back to their house. It was almost light when they parked. “I need a drink, this night was f*cking sh*t” said Kitty. Wobbly looked at her not understanding what she had said. “What did you just say Kitty?” asked Wobbly. Kitty looked shifty with her eyes but shrugged and said, “I’m so glad to be home, I want to snuggle wuggle on the mat by the fire so I can rest my tired bones.” Wobbly smiled. They closed the door in joy.

4 comments August 30th, 2006

Flat Kitty and Wobbly Dog – A Film Noir

The streets were lined with smut and filth as far as the eye could see. Everywhere you looked was a junkie looking for a fix or stray girls of the night slinking into darkened cars. There’s no light here. No joy and no pain, only a desire to escape.

Two shadows cast along walls, darting between the streetlamps hoping to stay a secret. “How long have we been walking?” asked Kitty, her eyes awake to take in any hint of danger. Her companion, ears to the sky, murmurs a response, “it’s been a few hours, we have to keep going.” They exchange glances and then continue moving. Wobbly edges then continue moving. Wobbly edges around another corner and gestures to follow.

The streets in this part of town are practically deserted which unnerves both cat and dog. A thin stream of rain starts pattering on the secluded cars and sheltering under a bus stop both Kitty and Wobbly catch their breaths. “I wish we’d gotten the last bus now,” whispered Kitty, desperate not to make a sound. “No point in thinking about that now. We’ll get through this as long as we stick together.”

A pair of headlights appear at the end of the street. “Quick this way!” ushered Wobbly as they fled down a back alley. It feels smaller and smaller the further they venture into it. “Who would have thought eh…” said Kitty. Suddenly a figure emerged from underneath two dustbins, his arms held aloft. Wobbly darts forward but loses his balance and instead of pounding into his target his buckled legs send him careering into the tarmac. “Ow! Dammit!” he said standing up again and using a stray piece of wood to deck the stranger in the kneecaps. “Run Kitty, run!” he shouts but she isn’t quick enough to react. Frozen with fear she stares into the eyes of the madman. Red and fiery, barely human and pulsing like heated oranges. Wobbly ran grabbing her roughly between his teeth and away to the even darker recesses. They turn a corner and two more appear. Their numbers command authority and they don’t appear to respond to reason. “What is this, a tag team?” said Wobbly Dog, stealing a line from Die Hard II: Die Harder. His keen sense of smell was going mental. Seeing a gap the two heroes run between the monsters’ legs and back ont hte streets. How nameless and alone they feel. How piercing does the cold feel standing naked now amongst a whole army of freaks. “What is this, the freakin’ video for ‘Thriller’?” spat Kitty, clearly trying to sound urban but pulling it off with as much success as Oscar Wild in World’s Strongest Man. They cower in fear awaiting their fate like one a cardboard dog and a cat-shaped cushion can…

WHAT WILL HAPPEN? STAY TUNED…. I’ve written the other bit don’t worry, just my lunch break is ending now 😛

4 comments August 29th, 2006

This is boring

This is boring. Katie Melua is so boring that she doesn’t even deserve to be called ‘she’ anymore. Therefore she will be referred to as ‘it’ because it’s that boring. Look at it, even it looks half-bored in this picture as it blands out another blandy ballad about bicycles and trains and crazies. You can see the intensity in its face, trying to muster all the bland in the world so it can toss off another ten songs and stick them out on a cd.

Although if you think it’s bad think how being Norah Jones must be like…

 

 

4 comments August 26th, 2006

Locker Check – Number 29

Date: 18th August 2006
Time: 13:15
Location: The Baltic, Gateshead (give or take)

Locker check successful. Still locked with possessions. Having previously been sent a pencil, a blue paperclip and an old Christmas card from Noony obsessionist Sarah Jolly it was unfortunate that the pencil was left at home and therefore will have to wait until the next visit. I placed the paperclip inbetween the red and the yellow for some witty banter with the Christmas card towards the back. I also left two elastic bands in an erotic position across the top of the two Baltic leaflets from a previous expedition. Left with no complications. The weather was shit and made my hair go crazy wild. Thought a lot about apples.

Random thought: The offer is still open for that game. Also, I think I need a pet. Lemons are good but what about the citric melancholia? Any recommendations?

8 comments August 18th, 2006

I can’t taste

I can’t taste. I have a cold. I can barely smell anything therefore it’s crap when I try to eat something tasty. So I don’t try. I could be eating pillows for all I knew.

Is there anyway I can use this to my advantage? And is it counted as a super power?

7 comments August 17th, 2006

Locker Check – Number 29

Date: 9th August 2006
Time: 13:35
Location: The Baltic, Gateshead (sort of)

Locker check successful. Still locked with possessions. Has been at least two weeks since my last visit and still untouched by human hands. Added two paperclips, one red and one yellow, in the right corner closest to the door. Left with no complications. Was serenaded by a man and his banjo playing a curious cover of ‘All I have to do is Dream’ by the Everley Brothers but sort of in a West Country accent. The weather was swift and breezy like my hair.

Random thought: Give me £100 to buy a rare game from America. You know you want to… or do you?

7 comments August 9th, 2006