Archive for the ‘Misc.’ Category

Was…was it something I said? Was it something I didn’t say? Maybe my choice of retweets and pseudo-humorous take on news items was not the sort of wisdom you had come to seek when you clicked the ‘Follow’ button. Or perhaps you didn’t mean to press it, but chose to wait an appropriate amount of time to pass before you removed me from your list. Maybe you thought that was the polite thing to do, rather than make it obvious you hadn’t intended to click ‘Follow’.

It’s okay, I won’t be mad. You can tell me…

As for the whole ‘promise of cake’ thing: was that what intrigued you? Rest assured I did not mean to get your hopes up about delicious baked goods being delivered to you. God, I really hope you weren’t just a follower because you were under the impression that a scrumptious gateaux was being prepared. My apologies if you were mislead. This also wasn’t some elaborate jape, where I suckered people in knowing they had a fancy for Boston cream pies only to laugh maniacally when no cake was presented. Like some pastry-based Ebay scam.

I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. Please...please don't look at it...

I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Please…please don’t look at it…

I know I’m fairly new to the whole Twitter thing, but I’m making the most of the 140 characters I’m given. I’m not about to waste those characters with banal details about my toilet breaks and Spongebob quotes. I wanted to show you what I had to offer in my little corner of the Internet. But somewhere along the line, things went wrong.

Please come back to me. Let’s get a debate going. Just tell me what I did that made you not love me any more. I’ll promise I’ll do what it takes to clean up my act, cut down on booze, wash my dishes when — oh, sorry…force of habit…

I promise. No more empty promises about Battenbergs. No more re-tweets from Ricky Gervais, if that’s what it’ll take. If you need more dick jokes, I got plenty. If not, consider them gone. But I must know how I can make amends. We barely got to know each other. I bet you would have liked me. I’m sure we would have gotten along famously. Besides, 69 followers is pathetically small. And it makes my girlfriend giggle…

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Posh!

Sorry, I’ve just always fancied beginning a statement that way. Though it’s less of an introduction and more of an exclamation. It’s how I imagine rich folk would swear. You know, if they ran out of monocle cleaner at the worst possible time. I like to think that in extreme cases, they just straight up vomit live pheasants into stovepipe hats.

Now you know why they're so deep...

Now you know why they’re so deep…

I would like to say I’m somewhat couth and cultured. It’s just I don’t have the financial backing to prove it. And my twirly cane has fallen into a river. A river of homeless people. So I’m going to make amends the only way I know how: with alcohol. So for your reading pleasure, I have taken on the task of tasting and analysing some expensive red wines from around the world. Or at least opposite the Cheese Strings in your local Waitrose (probably)…

Château Ducru Beaucaillou, 2007, St Julien

Price: £79

The Wine Society says:

Bruno Borie made a stunning success of the challenging 2007 vintage and this was a standout wine at the primeur tastings. 90% Cabernet Sauvignon, 10% Merlot, with top-quality press wine adding tannin and body.

My notes:

I bet this is how Jesus’ blood would taste if he hadn’t had a transfusion in, like, months. I like the way the, er, liquid (red) pours into the glass. It’s almost like it fits the receptacle perfectly. Okay, right off the bat it’s obvious I’m not sure what I’m talking about. Also, the waitress keeps giving me funny looks, all because I insisted she address me as Lord Lordington: Hymen Remover.

Almaviva 2008

Price: £75

The Wine Society says:

2008 is a wonderful vintage for the top Maipo wines, with a long, cool autumn resulting in a late harvest of ripe yet fresh grapes. Yields were low (20-45hl/ha). The blend is 66% Cabernet Sauvignon and 8% Cabernet franc from Puente Alto in Maipo for structure and a cedary top note, with 26% carmenère from Peumo, Rapel, for flesh. Aged 18 months in new French barriques. Patience will be rewarded.

My notes:

Okay, apparently you’re not supposed to swallow the wine up in this bitch. I also feel a bit guilty quaffing wine that’s worth more than I make in a day, especially when Strongbow is on offer. This Almaviva is rather refreshing, though. It has a rather rich and chocolately quality about it. Each sip is like a smooth intake with a heavenly cocoa texture and aftertaste. I should probably stop dipping my Mars Bar into it…

Château Le Boscq, 2005, Saint-Estèphe

Price: £29

The Wine Society says:

Generous, modern claret from the Dourthe stable, superb in this ripe vintage, when a smaller quantity of top-quality wine was made. Still showing seductive oaky flavour but with plenty of lush fruit in support.

My notes:

First of all, I’m not quite sure why wines with an ‘oaky’ quality are good. If someone tried to sell me a drink based on its proximity to a Birch tree I’d probably never shop there again. Secondly, what is the fascination with naming wines “Castle” (Chateau for you uncultured vermin)? I’m willing to bet that noble knights and kings drank and ate only the finest, but I’m also willing to suggest they had a room in said castle specifically for poop.

Côtes du Roussillon Villages, Tautavel, Clos des Vignes, Domaine Gardiés, 2008

Price: £14.50

The Wine Society says:

Jean Gardiés is one of the top growers in the Roussillon with vines close to the famous prehistoric caves. This is full-bodied and generous with a touch of spice.

My notes:

This is a bit more reasonably priced, but holy balls that is one giant ass-fuck of a name. Wine tastes pretty good. Could use a 2×4 in it, though. These posh folk love their wine with some willow or some shit. Also, I’m sure our waitress has taken a liking to me. She keeps grimacing at my choice of outfit and wafting me away with a doyley. Which I’m pretty sure is the international symbol for ‘do things to me that put my family name in the gutter’.

Ch Cheval Blanc 1990 St Emilion

Price: £675

The Wine Society says:

We laugh in the face of poor people when we crack this bad boy open. [paraphrased slightly]

My notes:

They…they’re laughing. They are downright chortling right onto their servant’s lapels. They’ve just paid nearly £700 for a bottle of wine and they don’t seem phased by this figure. It’s like you and me splashing out on Japanese beer because we feel domestic stuff is beneath us. Oh god, they’re not even drinking it! They’re just pouring it onto the floor. The poshest one (I just call him Swish #3) has smashed one end of the bottle against a marble column. He’s…he’s advancing on me…shit! I’ve been uncovered. They know I’m not rich! They’ve seen me secretly munching on a saveloy in between glasses. This is it…if I don’t make it out, tell my wife I love her. And the hor d’oeuvres were delectable…

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A Late Arrival…

Posted: March 16, 2013 in Misc.

There will be a post up tomorrow. Should be a good one.

Why the late upload? Your Mum, that’s why…Okay that was mean.

I have company over and this entry could take a while. Worth the wait? Your Mum thinks so. Sorry,I don’t mean to keep bringing her up what with her condition and all.

Tomorrow. I promise…

No Post This Week…

Posted: January 26, 2013 in Misc.
Tags:

I’m not proud of the fact that I’m breaking my weekly update schedule for the first time. But today I’m making an exception. I shan’t go into detail so have a video instead…

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Until we see the word SALE written 300ft high on our local high street we can be a somewhat civilised bunch. Over the decades great accomplishments have been achieved by the common people and injustices have been won and fought.

So why is that even as the 21st Century reaches its teen years (expect acne and impulse purchases of 30 Seconds To Mars CDs) the very pinnacle of insulting – especially on the Internet – is still to refer to someone as being ‘gay’? I’ll give you an example:

Yes I browse MemCenter. What of it..?

Yes I browse MemeCenter. What of it..?

That, there, is current pop schlock 1Direction. The implication here is that they are being referred to as homosexuals despite seeming non-plussed by such an accusation. If you’ve browsed the Internet for even one unproductive caffeine-fuelled afternoon you’ll have noticed that Justin Bieber is pretty much the go-to fella in everybody’s I-don’t-like-you-and-must-call-your-sexuality-into-question finger pointing.

But my point here is that if we are a society that rallies together to fight for gay rights (the debate about gay marriage still continues unabated) why are we also still deriving humour from homophobic insults aimed at the eyesores of pop culture? I get that it’s a joke and that perhaps Bieber isn’t outright being called a homosexual but the lesson I walk away with when I see examples of the above is that your best tactic when confronted by something you hate is to call it gay.

The whole ‘gay’ joke thing seems to be back in vogue after it enjoyed a rather lengthy stay in the mid to late 90’s when I was at secondary school. I’m not opposed to it in an ironic sense. For instance: if my friend/s see me kissing my girlfriend they may be inclined to yell out the word “GAY!” at me in a comical fashion. See, that’s funny because obviously it’s tongue-in-cheek. Of course we’re not being ousted as homosexuals whilst in an obviously heterosexual relationship.

And for the record: Justin Bieber and 1Direction are atrociously bad products of a corrupt music industry that perpetuates the shallow, pretty-boy aesthetic of so-called musicians who’s only real goal is to make a mockery of music as an art form and carve valleys in the bank accounts of low self esteem-having individuals who are relentlessly bombarded by songs about finding love whilst their whole world collapses around them because life isn’t what Backstreet Boys told them it would be like.

Which, to me, is a much, much better insult.

Leave a comment ya big fairy

…Everybody is clamouring for a zombie apocalypse. Something about a populace overrun by scuffling corpses reanimated by a virus/chemical testing/voodoo magic/a new iPhone (you know who you are) awakens this dormant and almost primate urge to shoot the bejeezus out of things; namely people.

In instances like this the walking dead risen from eternal rest is a rare moment in which regular people want the same thing as necrophiliacs. Though for polar reasons obviously. (graves are hard to dig, yo)

The whole zombie apocalypse thing has pretty much been done to death. You only need to have a quick root in your local Game or Gamestation retailer to see enough zombie related titles to keep you going through an actual outbreak. But what’s weird is that it’s still on the cutting edge of popular culture whereas most phenomenon would have found its way bumped right down the meme hierarchy by now, like an X-Factor winner who’s been reduced to cabaret acts on family cruise holidays.

What strikes me as a little bias (though understandable) is everyone who deeply fantasises about this apocalypse always imagines how they’d survive. Where they would go, what supplies they would scavenge, the best places to secure a defence etc. You probably already know at least one person who has seriously considered – or actually worked on – a survival plan for such an inevitability.

But everyone always thinks of themselves as being amongst the survivors. No one ever considers the real possibility that they might actually wind up as one of the undead. Everybody wants to be the gun toting gun toter, toting their guns like it’s a keytar and not a deadly assault weapon. For places like England where guns are about as ubiquitous as a child with a law degree this should be an almost laughable thought process.

Let’s face it: we can’t all be heroic survivors donning bandannas and standing on supermarket rooftops with perfect sniper aim. The vast majority of people are going to have to be zombies. It’s not an apocalypse otherwise. It barely qualifies as an infestation.

I’m not suggesting people opt for becoming a zombie. We all want to survive. But for a popular gaming and movie fictional franchise it’s become so embedded in our culture that people talk with complete sincerity about it happening, as though it’s anything but an impossibility. So I don’t think it would hurt for people to have some degree of realism. I know ‘realism’ and ‘zombie outbreak’ aren’t the best bed fellows but when it comes to the walking dead – to paraphrase from a Cracked.com columnist slightly – we don’t so much suspend disbelief as we do strap it to a jet pack.

I’ll get the ball rolling on this one: I don’t think I would count myself amongst the survivors. I like to think I’m a fast runner but I have piss poor stamina. Put me in a situation where I’d have to fight my way through zombies and I could probably handle one or two. Maybe more. And only then with a blunt weapon which, as everyone knows, puts me at greater risk of being bitten.

Not to mention that zombies are essentially just corpses. Much of their body is just dead weight (Heh, dead weight. That’s funny, I’m funny…) so it wouldn’t take more than a few to pin me down. Game over for me. Mrrrrrrrrraaaaaaarrrrrrrr…etc.

And then with so many people turning all around you that unthinkable situation that everyone dreads will eventually have to be dealt with: killing a loved one. I’m just going to throw my hands up here and straight up admit that I couldn’t do it. No, I don’t care if it’s for survival putting a machete to a loved one’s brain when they’re a zombie is not something I could envision doing. I’m still human, which means I still have my emotions.

Remember that running I mentioned before? I’d be doing that with much less than thought that hacking away at – say – my girlfriend’s face. “But what if you’re in a situation where you can’t escape?” Then I’d be doing everything I can to make sure killing wasn’t an option: kicking, pushing, climbing. Anything.

“But what if it’s an absolute last res-” Shut up imaginary hindsight person. You’re ruining my rant. Also, you don’t exist…

“But I love you”.

I love you too IHP. But move along now.

Oh sure I would be alongside everyone else amidst the apocalypse, trying to survive. And I’m not saying that you couldn’t count on me when the time came. But let’ just say that if the zombie apocalypse was an episode of The Weakest Link then I’d probably be out by about the second round. And I wouldn’t even have a witty comeback to smite Anne Robinson with.

So I’ve accepted my fate. I’d be good for a while but eventually I’d become so overwhelmed, so exhausted that it probably wouldn’t be much longer until zombies began spreading my insides on Ritz crackers. And you know I’m okay with that. Because it just means that if I do survive to the end (is there an end to these things??) it’ll just make the victory that much sweeter.

I can’t believe I found an image for ‘brains on crackers’…

So who’s with me? Come on, don’t be a wuss! You get to eat brains…

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Act I Scene 1

Set in modern day Britain in the interior of a common household kitchen. The WASHING MACHINE sits quietly under one counter.

Enter A PILE OF WASHING

PILE OF WASHING: And a pleasant morning to you Washing Machine. My but you are looking rather dashing today.

WASHING MACHINE: Why thank you Pile Of Washing. If you don’t mind me saying so you too are looking spiffing were it not for a varying degree of stubborn stains. Is that why you have come to visit me today?

POW: Indeed it is my fine fellow. It has been several moons since my last wash and I am in dire need of a good cleansing. Are you up to the task?

WM: But of course. Always happy to oblige.

POW: Wonderful. In which case I shall get myself ready. However, I do have an unusual request if I may be so bold.

WM: Pray, do tell.

POW: Well, it’s a little embarassing but the trouser part of me appears to have brought along a passport of some sort.

WM: Is that so?

POW: Verily. It is wedged quite comfortably in one of the pockets. I am hesitant but feel it has been placed there with much forethought so I request permission to bring it with me to this morning’s programme.

WM: Curious. Are you sure it won’t be detrimental to its health? A fragile item such as that may well become damaged during the spin cycle.

POW: Indeed. That was also my concern. However, perhaps it has been left there on purpose. It is, afterall, looking rather grubby and has seen better days.

WM: Perhaps. However, it may be in your best interest to confront our owner on this matter. Just to be safe.

POW: Regrettably I cannot.

WM: Why so?

POW: I am a pile of washing and thus incapable of talking.

WM: Indeed.

POW: What say you then on the matter?

WM: I believe I have no choice but to accept it alongside yourself. Methinks we shall discover in due time whether this was a fruitful endeavour or not. Progress, after all, must sometimes be a risky business. Let us experiment then, sir. For science.

POW: For science.

The PILE OF WASHING proceeds to enter the WASHING MACHINE and soon the cycle begins unabated.

The PASSPORT proceeds to get the FUCK washed out of it…

END SCENE


So, what did we learn today children..?