Sometimes I feel like covering other people’s songs.
Sometimes I feel like the hype just isn’t justified.
Sometimes I feel like selling out.
Sometimes I feel like releasing a deluxe four disc edition of my debut album which is entirely unnecessary as it features the same ten songs over and over again.
Sometimes I should just stop.
(Musical parody and rant done with. To continue and resume again shortly.
Plus, have you seen her face? I wish I hadn’t. FACT)
Stood in the takeaway after going to Digital at about half two in the morning. The pizza has been ordered and it’s taking longer than it should. I spy a strange looking man stood directly opposite me and even though I’m watching the awful music video on the TV behind him I can tell he thinks I’m looking at him and debating whether or not to come over and start a…
“You know that food shop two places down?”
Erm yeah.
“Don’t go in there. The guy touches himself up whilst he’s doing the food. Behind the counter when you’re not looking he’s doing it. You believe me, don’t you?”
Of course I do man.
“It’s disgusting, it’s just disgusting. Touching yourself and doing the food and… it’s disgusting…”
He then proceeds to wander off with his equally odd-looking friend.
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!
(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.
Despite science and most of the population of the United Kingdom saying that it wasn’t possible I have defied all to actually create the world’s greatest invention… THE WHEEL OF THRUSTING!
It’s only a prototype but my lord does it purr like a kitten. To ensure that it has been made to the highest quality and standard it will be accompanying me tonight as I travel back to the Motherland (aka Leeds) to see Wilco in concert and will be making most of my decisions whilst under the influence. Furthermore it will then follow me further afield on Friday, drawing back to Leeds but then hopping into a car-dro-mat and driving with Mr Head down to Didsbury to see how it copes with the Manc way of life.
Once it has passed these crucial tests it will be then sent to the first and only customer of the Home Beans Shopping Network, Mr Christopher James Marshall. I believe that is all gentlemen. If I could work this shizz machine I would upload a photo but I can’t can’t can’t so I won’t won’t won’t.
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?
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.
Good Morning and thank you for staying with us after that particularly foisty advert break.
To further thank you for your allegiance we, the Home Beans Shopping Network, would like to present this one in a lifetime offer to you, the viewers, as in you, not me, the T 4500 Deluxe:
This is for today’s modern parent. Not only does it have unstealable nickel chrome wheels but also lush 50 / 50 wool and velour interiors for that smoother ride. Your baby will have no quarms with entering and riding around this babe magnet. Furthermore after thorough tests it has been confirmed that it can achieve speeds up to 20 mph; that’s 7mph faster than the leading competator.
And that’s not all. This wouldn’t be the 21st century without some pointless mechanical alterations. The T 4500 Deluxe can be controlled remotely with a remote control. What good would that do I hear you ask? Coupled with the fact that it also has its very own camera on the top of the bonnet you can do all your parenting right from your sofa such as:
Taking baby to the park.
Visiting friends and family.
Picking up tabs and cider from the shop down the road.
All these and more can be yours for the taking. This is not available in any shops, at least none that you’d think twice about going in. How much would you pay for this marvel? Two hundred? One fifty? You can if you want to as we are willing to accept higher offers BUT NO. You can buy this sweetened honey for the low low price of one hundred fifteen as well as four weeks of milk vouchers. Yes. We take milk. We’ll take your milk. Oh!
It’s the discount pebble sale here at Marshall’s World of Pebbles! Come on down to our Discount Pebble Warehouse for some kerr-azy discounts on pebbles at prices you can’t afford to miss!
Big white pebbles! Ideal for poncey minimalist flats where graphic designers and marketing executives live, with whitewashed floorboards and arty candles and that sort of shite. You might like to get an enormous jar of these pebbles and put it in a corner. Yeah, cos that’ll be individual. £12 a dozen.
Little brown pebbles! Super for sprinkling on cakes and other desserts. Or get a whole truck full of them and use them on your driveway, if you want to spend the rest of your life raking the damn things back into place again. Supposedly a good security measure but a shotgun is better and makes less noise. £42 per hundredweight.
One huge pebble with swirly bits! Lots of fun for the whole family can be had if your whole family are some sort of mentalists who take pleasure in looking at rocks like this one. If you are then you’ll probably appreciate being able to buy one off us at stupid prices instead of just picking up armloads of them for free at any beach. Just £150 a pop.
So come on down for all your pebble bargains to Marshall’s World of Pebbles! Carcroft, Thorp Arch and Denby Dale. Offer must end Sunday.
