I'm all about the scarlet nail polish

Fucking internet purchases. I've ordered a metric fuck-tonne of T-shirts over the last 3 or 4 weeks from various sites on the 'net, and not one of the fuckers has arrived. Some of these companies are no more than two-bit fucktards, but the others are respectable entrepreneurs. I reckon my bastard postman is knocking them off...I've never seen him, which makes me suspicious.

Anyways, my parents were down visiting for the weekend, which meant a coupla days of heavy boozing. God, I was working on both days too, I didn't start until 4pm. It was a merry old time. I was supposed to meet them in a (very heavy duty) Ranger's pub to watch the Old Firm game on Sunday, but I got there so late it was full. There was a whole swathe of guys jostling to get in, and after talking to a few of them we decided to get a taxi to another pub showing the game. It was a strange sensation watching the game with a load of random crazy Scotsmen, none of whom knew one another an hour before, but I had a good laugh. And the 'Gers won.

The boys come down this weekend, so no doubt I'll be fuckin' pratted for most of the time. Ah, the heady life of an alcoholic.

Keep it Jackson...

"We'd be fools not to ride this strange torpedo to the end"

Hunter S. Thompson

RIP

July 18th 1939 - February 20th 2005

"Age of Stupidity"

Nathan Barley just finished 20 minutes ago. All I can really say is 'hmmmm'. It was ok, not at all 'laugh-out-loud' funny, but still pretty good for a first episode establishing it's characters and setting the scene. It was quite slow and subdued, not what most people would be expecting from 'Meedja Terrorists' Morris and Brooker. The dialogue was more reminiscent of Brooker's stuff, I thought, but it did bear the hallmarks of Chris Morris' direction. The bit when Ashcroft was being interviewed for the Weekend on Sunday was excrutiating, almost Jam like. And speaking of Ashcroft, I thought Julian Barratt's acting was excellent. Nathan Barley himself was pretty obnoxious, but not how I imagined him from TVGoHome

The funniest bit? The 'Nazi Experiments in Colour' poster behind the film producer, that gave me a bit of a chuckle. It could almost be a headline from the Day Today - 'Nazi experiments with colour result in German pigment embargo'.

"Peace and fuck you! Believe!"

Scuppered at the last hurdle?

I'm not at all religious. I'd like to think that when we all die our souls go to Heaven and all that shit, but it's just not sensible in any way, is it? Okay, so maybe a tiny, sliver of a percent of my irrational mind could entertain the suggestion that maybe, just maybe, there could be an afterlife. But do you know what that tiny sliver of a percent worries about? Do you? It worries that, when we finally shuffle off this shitty flesh sack and go to meet our maker (whoever that may be), he won't make it particularly easy to get into Heaven/Valhalla/Nirvana/Wherever.

Basically, I worry that when you and the Big Man finally go head-to-head, he gives you one obstacle to overcome before ascending to the realm of harps and angels. He sits you down in his blinding white office, wheels in a video/TV combo (like they used to do in school when you were gonna watch a documentary about 'Dangers in the Kitchen' that the Home Ec teacher taped off Bitesize Revision on BBC 2 the night before), takes a tatty, Asda's own brand VHS from his briefcase and proceeds to show you every silly and embarrassing thing you've ever done. And you have to watch it all, with him cackling over your shoulder like the twisted bastard he truly is. Imagine it, having to explain all your idiotic behaviour to the Creator of the Universe. All your late night drunken phone calls. All your piss poor chat up lines. All the unfunny shit you were spewing while stoned or gouched or wasted. All your totally pathetic emo moments - randomly punching walls and all that shit. All those wasted opportunities. All the times you done fell over, durrr. Those times you were sick....through your nose. All of it. With JAHWEH sat there pissing himself. "What the fuck were you trying to do there?", he'd say, "How exactly was that going to work?"

And that's what the tiny sliver of a percent of me worries about. That God's a little bit off-kilter in the humour department.

On a seperate note - I watched 'Heathers' again the other night. I had totally forgotten how fuckin' awesome it is. You must purchase it, even if the 'Special Edition' is a bit sparse with the extras. Oh, and get the new LCD Soundsystem album - don't think, just get it.

Panda forward, chums. 2005 is marching ever onwards

Le singe

There I am, trying to calm down the bear in the cage, when over strolls a little bastard monkey. He proceeds to noise up the poor bear by poking him with a stick he found. I go over to intervene and the little fucker jumps up and attacks me, jumping all over me, hitting me with his little stick. He even attempts a few bites, and that's the last thing I need - fuckin' rabies. I manage to fight him off, even though he's unnaturally strong for a small primate, and hurl him over towards a large oak tree. He scrabbles about in the grass and somehow, he finds a knife. One of those stilletto numbers, proper fuckin' nasty. He advances towards me, screaming and screeching like a monkey possessed and lunges at me, stabbing. At this point, and I swear to God, my mobile goes off, waking me up. A fuckin' shitty text message. How annoying is that? I really wanted to know how I was gonna disarm that monkey, and if I was gonna release the bear. I read the text message, then conked back out. My dream this time was far more bizarre, epic and unresolved. Why can I never finish the good dreams?