Death spares not the tiger

Have a good Hogmany folks. Whatever you do, under no circumstances, no matter who offers you it - don't drink Pruno, for fuck's sake.

And try not to fucking die, that would be terribly uncool.

Have you ever tried photocopying a mirror?

In addition to all the super-cool shit I got for Xmas (Japanese 'Casshern' DVD, 'Prince of Persia' on PS2, Disinformation 'Book of Lists', some bitchin' T-shirts) my wee brother nabbed this forgotten gem on DVD - Brainscan. I don't know if you've ever seen it, but it's a fuckin' belter. It's an early 90s trashy horror, starring Edward "John Connor" Furlong as a young geeky high schooler (with limp!) who gets embroiled in a 'virtual reality' game where he must stalk and kill people around his neighbourhood. Egged on by the game's 'Trickster' (look, that's him on the cover, aren't you scared? Go on, admit it, you've shat yourself), he embarks on a virtual killing spree each night, unhampered by his gimpy leg.

But, dun-dun-dun, is it a game? Bodies start popping up everywhere and Frank "Skeletor" Langella turns up as a detective trying to make sense of the bloodshed. And Furlong's his number one suspect.

It gets a whopping 5.2 on IMDB, so you know it's not gonna be Apocalypse Now, but who cares. Our brains all need a certain amount of shite films to keep ticking over, and this is ideal fodder.

Buy it cheap and break it out at your next all night drinking session.

'Five dead, thirty three wounded in Domino Day tragedy'

Can you believe it's all over? Xmas is done for another year. Santa was good to me, he furnished me with many new and shiny DVDs, some CDs and some other stuff to see me through the cold, early months of 2005. It was good to see the family and the boys again - suffice to say I drank my fair share of cerveza and ate enough turkey to stun a horse. Optimo on Boxing Day was fucking sweet, too. My jaw's still fucked.

And now I'm back at work. Watching Domino Day on Channel 5. Can you fucking believe it? They actually have guys commentating on toppling dominoes. TOPPLING FUCKING DOMINOES! With classic lines like 'Wake up, and smell the dominoes, my friend' and 'Careful down there, you're about to be covered... in DOMINOES', it's like watching Alan Partridge, and I'm far too fucking tired for that.

To put the full stop on 2004, I shall be seeing in the bells on Hogmany at Hoxton Pimps. Roots Manuva is playing live, as are Fat Truckers, DJ Vadim, Attica Blues and shitloads of other folks, it's on till 7AM, for fuck's sake. It will be good.

Fucking Xmas Cheer

I got all my Xmas shopping done in a record 2 hours. I'm a fucking Xmas ninja. I could have done it quicker, too, if it wasn't for trying to find that wee special something for that someone special. Haha, what a fucking waste of time that was.

Good old Glasgow boys Slam have a new single out. Tyrone Palmer's doing the vocals again and it's a pretty cool tune, but the best thing is the video - it's just mad as fuck. Have a look HERE. I'm sure I've seen him kicking about, off his champer, at Pressure.

Two new CDs have arrived in the post today, how's that for timing. I canny even remember what I ordered, it's so exciting - Xmas has come a whole day early.

Well, wish me luck folks - tonight is our annual 'Xmas Eve Piss-can Party', where we see who can get the drunkest in the quickest time. If you don't have a motherfucker of a hangover on Xmas Day, then you will be liberally doused in mockery. Oh yeah, it's fucking snowing outside, too - I'd better get my beer jacket on before I leave the house. Last year I'm sure someone shat themselves in the middle of Queen Street.

Happy Festivus!

Well, I'm back in Glasgow now and it's fuckin' nasty up here. I've actually been dumped - at Xmas time, no less. The world is a harsh place indeed.

Oh well, at least I get to see the boys again.

Jim Bexley Speed says 'Believe in Jesus'

Almost Xmas time, peeps, which means high levels of tryptophan, beer, red wine, chocolate and family fun. Today's my last day of work, which means I have a wonderful train journey back up to Glasgow the morra morning. I reckon my recent CD purchases shall be getting the arse ripped out of them during the FIVE FUCKING HOURS it takes to get up to Glasgow Central. Why can't the Japanese take over British Rail / Railtrack / Fucknut / Whatever they're called now? I heard their bullet trains can do over one million miles per hour (heading downhill with a favourable wind behind you, obviously).

Anyways, enough of my moaning - join me later when I'll be discussing the traditional Scottish Xmas celebration of 'Swan Bricking'; I'll have more on the fucking shambles that is my 'Friendster Network Searches'; the 'Far Too Fuckingly In-depth' mess that gives you all you need to know on Shoelace Tension Discrepancy may put in an appearance, or I may actually write something interesting, who can say?

Eat shit and die, you shittering shit

I was going to shrink that photo down or crop it or some shit, but in the end I thought you would want to see it in it's entire glory. WHAT IN THE HOLY FUCK IS WRONG WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA?! If you are eagle eyed, you may spot the subtle signature of one 'Rob Liefeld'. Now, I used to be a wee bit of a comic fan in my teen years. Mcfarlane, Liefeld, Larsen and co had just jumped ship from Marvel to form Image comics, where they could have creative control of their stuff and... yadda yadda yadda... to cut a long story short - I lapped their Image shit up. I never noticed anything particularly wrong with Liefeld's art, I was probably more interested, as any adolescent with an abundance of spunk, in the huge fucking breasts on every second page. Oh and the guns, too.

It's only now that I have grown up (hahahahaha) and started to read a few *adult* comics that I realise how shitty his stuff looks. It really is aimed at horny 13 year old magpie children. "Whoa, look at the tits on that, look at the entirely unfeasible curvature of her spine, the muscles upon muscles, the giant fucking shiny guns and swords, the glowing eyes, Jesus this is the best thing ever!!!"

Now, I canny really draw, but I can get the fucking eyes in the right place. He obviously has ability, but he seems to have a fucked up grasp of human proportion, musclature and skeletal structure. And he canny draw feet! Sweet Mother of Christ, his comics look like they take place in a special school.

If it wasn't for browsing the Something Awful forums yesterday, I could have totally forgotten about Rob Liefeld and the collection of his comical abortions I have gathering dust back up in Glasgow, so I'd like to say thanks to them. Go check out the thread, it's hilarious/terrifying.

I think when I'm back up over Xmas I'm going to have to dig out my comics, to see just how much of his shit I have. I suppose it's good for a laugh, we all love to mock the afflicted.

If you want to read some good comic books, may I suggest The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (both volumes), The Filth, The Walking Dead (both volumes), Monkey Vs Robot and anything from Scarygoround.

Jack Ruby only had nine fingers

Well, I seem to be amassing quite a collection of hangovers, and Santa hasn't even been yet.


In other news, I have developed an unhealthy obsession with Lara Flynn Boyle. I think she could be the most perfect specimen of womanhood in existence, if it wasn't for 2 things - she is a bit thin sometimes, and Jack Nicholson has had his muck in her. Christ, that was a whole sentence. After trawling the 'net for a good 20 minutes I have found this, which now adorns my screen in work. I suggest you to download it for your pleasure.

I've noticed that Blogger doesn't appear to update with the new content until you hit refresh, which is a bit odd. It means that the ones of people who actually look at this shite won't even be seeing the new shite I've been typing. Fuck.

This is a fucking rubbish post, it really is. I have nothing of value to say whatsoever. Hopefully I'll have something decent later on, when the dulling hangover fog has lifted slightly. Maybe I'll tell you about the wonders of Shoelace Tension Discrepancy. With the aid of graphs.

(By the way, I strongly advise watching Neighbours over the coming few weeks. In addition to the lesbians, Harold doped up on Viagra and other varied drug abuse, corrupt cops and the like, there is also some hot incest action brewing. You have been warned)

Dipsomaniac run amok

So here I sit in work, casually watching 'Ready Steady Cook', STILL recovering from a hefty set of drinking excursions (party on Saturday, session on Sunday, work Xmas party on Monday) and being in possession of roughly 37% of required Xmas presents. My brain is completely fucked; I'm tired, hungry, shaky and bored and I need to go home after work and tidy up my room, wash clothes, put up curtains, cook dinner and play GTA. I'm working the next 5 days, then I'm stuck on a train for 5 hours back to Glasgow come Tuesday morning. All in all, the run up to Xmas isn't going very well for me.

But I have found this: Tesco Value Lager! For fuck's sake - is there nothing Tesco can't render down through their magical process into the cheapest possible alternative? I shudder to think what in God's name it tastes like, and at 3% - WHY WOULD YOU FUCKIN' BOTHER? Imagine the looks you'd get if you sauntered up to the checkout with a crate of these beauties under your arm. I'm tempted to wander into Tesco down the road, to thank them for brightening up my horrendously shite day.

I got 2 new albums in the post yesterday - Scientific American - Strong For The Future and Team Doyobi - Pushchairs For Grownups [Remixed]. They are still ensconced in their shiny cellophane wrappers at the mo', but I shall report back on their quality soon(ish).

Get your ass to Mars

Is this the best band ever -> A R N O C O R P S?

I think you'll find it is. Any band that can base entire songs around Schwarzenegger films are heroes in my book.

No son mis drogas

Holy fucking shit, it's getting worse:



'Burberry wallets'? 'Oakley shades'? Who the fuck are these neds and what are they doing in my network.

It appears that love now occupies the top 2 spots - good show, romantics. Also, I like the differences between the primitive male search 'gift for women', it's almost like a caveman grunt; and the more sophisticated female response 'Christmas gift ideas for boyfriend', classy.

Hipsters, Emo kids and Clubbing punks have been replaced by horoscopes and henna. Henna? Jesus Christ - go the whole fucking hog and get a real tattoo. Show some fucking conviction.

schlechte Tätowierung

I was on Friendster yesterday, nicking about as you do, when I noticed the wee box down the bottom right entitled ‘Popular searches in my network’. I’ve glanced at it a few times and it’s always had really inane or banal searches listed in it. Now, I think of myself as a pretty cool motherfucker, with some pretty cool friends (and some totally random Friendsters) so it always saddens me to see that the top searches are shit like ‘Cheap CDRs’, ‘Pop Idol’ and ‘Erectile disfunction’. So imagine my surprise when I looked at it this time, and it looked like this:



Not exactly the most interesting top 10, I know, but I think we can glean a fair bit of info about the ‘statistically average’ person within my network of Friendsters (of which there are 60,000 or some shit - I don’t know, it’s fucking meaningless anyways). Let’s start with a quick rundown first, shall we:

1. What the fuck? This sounds like the name of either a bad Channel 5 reality show or one of those ‘Teach Yourself the 7 Tricks You Need to Know to Fuck Women’ books. Tip for you, cuntwit - if she’s touching your hand and laughing at your shitty jokes as you sit in the wanky pretentious wine bar you thought would impress her out of her skivvies, then you’ll be firing sackfulls of your fetid seed up her by midnight.

2. Aww. Did someone get dumped? Bottle of Absinthe, cheap pills and an even cheaper hooker. That should mend it for couple of days. Until the feeling of dread creeps back in, and you can hear the razor blade calling from the toilet cabinet. “Go on. Do it. You’re worthless. She never really loved you anyway, she just liked your car,” it says, beckoning you in.

3. You too can body pop, headspin and six step your way to fame. If only you can find the right website. Then you’ll show them, you’ll fucking show them all.

4. Here’s a tip for you, if you actually feel the need to do a ‘Hipster Quiz’, you’re not really a hipster, are you? You’re a prick.

5. Hmmm, I’m not sure if this refers to whole ‘Cyber-kid-tech-Goth’ thing, or to the Ben Sherman shirts and Rockport boots ‘Chav-in-his-best-gear’ look. Either way, go to a fucking shop - you’ll need to try the fucking things on to see how much of a cunt you look before you buy them.

6. It’s the name your mother gave you, darling. She was pretty on the money when she named you after some Crackwhore she heard about on the Six O’clock News, dead and limbless in a ditch in Toxteth.

7. Fuck off; you could never be cool enough to have a Pirate name. That’s why you need some random program to generate one for you. Captain Cuntface, that’s yours that is. See, who needs a generator.

8. ‘Emo hair’? I think this is another one like the ‘Hipster Quiz’ above. If you actually need to search out an Emo hairstyle for you to swipe, you canny really be considered ‘Emo’. This is the first one on the list that I could actually envision some of my mates searching for, which is a pretty sad indictment, really.

9. “‘Tests on Emotional Intelligence’ Question 1: Do you search for Tests on Emotional Intelligence on Friendster? If you answered yes to Question 1, you have no Emotional Intelligence.” I actually have done a test on ‘E.I’ before. It was part of some course in work, I don’t really remember. What I do remember though is that it was pretty accurate. It called me a prick. [Note to self - this one isn’t funny]

10. If you have been spending time searching for all this shite, how on Earth could you have time to fall in love? And anyways, love is not a tangible thing, you cannot get some computer program to try and quantify it by asking you probing questions. There is no standard unit for love, no ‘Kilo-amores’ to measure it with. You just fucking know.

So, after that (somewhat lengthy [and somewhat rambling]) rundown, what have we learned? Well, the ‘statistically average’ person in my Friendster network has just been dumped; they’ve then brushed up on their social skills, got a little cooler and tried to learn a few ‘seduction techniques’. A fancy new haircut came next; then they changed their name (ho name for girls / pirate name for guys), learned some dance moves and hit the clubs decked out in their new apparel. The result of all of this was probably a drink and drug fuelled one night stand, which, in the warm and hazy light of the Sunday comedown, blossomed into something meaningful.

They then lived a full and interesting life, ignoring the Internet for the most part, until they were dumped again. At which point the cycle repeats. Ad nauseam.

Centrifugal is NOT the same as Centripetal

Well, that was a stoater of a weekend. I ended up sitting up till 5AM on Friday night watching shite on Channel 5. Did you know that Tom Hanks was in an old episode of Love Boat? I swear to fuck, he was actually in it - and he was a right prick. I’d never seen the programme before, and will hopefully never see it again. It’s the biggest pile of drivel I’ve ever clapped eyes on. Why are all these ‘sexy’ people going on cruises by themselves? Why do they all fall in ‘love’ after knowing someone for a mere few days? Why is the acting so abominable? And the moralising, by God I was nearly sick.

I was awoken at 9AM on Saturday by the fucking workies, in to finish the double glazing on the flat. They whipped out all the windows in my room and left all the doors open (including the front door), thus turning the flat into the fuckin’ Tundra. I sat there like a fucking icicle for most of the morning - I was barely even conscious, sitting there watching ‘Ministry of Mayhem’. It got so bad, I ended up wandering over to work just so I could have somewhere warm to have my lunch. I done fuck all on Saturday night, too.

On Sunday I did 8 hours on GTA. It’s a sad state of affairs when you stay in so you can shag your virtual girlfriend. She’s not even that nice.

[God, this blog is slowly descending into the sort of shitty interweb diary a cunt like this might write.]


Come back later for fun and japes – I’ll be doing a rundown of the ‘Popular Searches in my Friendster Network’. Riveting stuff.

Bang

My new slimline PS2 still isn't hooked up yet. There must be something wrong with me.

Cowboy up, motherfucker

Holy fucking Christ. I have a scandalous hangover. Is that even how you spell scandalous? I also learned that ten pin bowling is really not my game. I'm better off sticking to pool.

I got an email yesterday from a random girl, telling me I'm pretty ace. How cool is that? Evidently, she seen one of my lists on Amazon when she was searching for a badge maker, and felt compelled to email me. I knew I was doing those lists for a reason.

In other news prolific Canadian writer Pierre Berton is dead. Celebrity Death Beeper, I think you're pretty much scraping the bottom of the barrel.

I know I'm gonna end up drunk in a ditch in Camden this weekend. Stroll on.

Sweet mother of mercy...

How fuckin' cool is that new Citreon advert? I'm amazed it's taken an ad agency this long to plunder the Transformers for ideas.


If I was any more gay I'd fuck Jacques Lu Cont (and quite possibly that robot, too).