Thursday, 27 November 2008

A Poo so big...

...that it's Colossal in size!

I hereby dedicate this blog to the memory of Colossal Poo, or Peter as he's known outwith the realms of the internet. The much-loved Irishman appeared on the Damnation Festival message boards for a number of years and lit up our lives with a plethora of amazing and brilliant posts.

Despite the fact that he has not once made it across to the festival in its four year history, he is revered nonetheless as a Damnation legend.

Sadly he has seen fit to abandon us, and last posted on Dec 11 2007. Fare ye well, Poo.

This, then, is a selection of the greatest posts he ever made:

-My name is Peter McCaughan and I just followed through.

-check out his bebo, it's hilarious 
had to stop heckling him when i realised he actually is gay. i don't know why that should make him exempt, but i don't think Mr. Bebo would take too kindly to it.

-tomorrow me and my flatmates have a hearing at the university - this awful bitch from the ground floor has made a number of complaints, the vast majority of which are complete (weird) lies. 
this is the woman who insists we called her a nigger. the white woman who insists that we called her a nigger...

-Whatever happened to the unbeatable double team of Danny DeVito and Arnold Scwarzenneger? 
Actually I think I can answer my own question in one word: 

-i thought this was going to be where we could all list a 'whatever happened to...' 
whatever happened to Vipers? you used to always hear about them - like, remote control cars would be called, like SUPER VIPER, or a fictional team in a cartoon soccer series might be called THE VIPERS. 
what ever happened to Vipers?

-my mum said she'd, very generously, give me £50 for new shoes... so i got £6 gola council estate specials from dunnes, then spent the rest on games and booze 

-can't go wrong with a butternut squash 
plus it's chunky enough to batter your bumrape victim to death afterwards, and you can eat the evidence, fucking brilliant 
i used to sell them

-once at a fozzy gig i got hammered and joined a backyard wrestling federation 
they liked my cowboy schtick

-i remember being pissed in my mate's bedroom when we were 14 or 15 listening to windowlicker, and at the appropriate bit miming spraying champagne everywhere 
his mum walked in and thought we were in the throws of some kind of mass fag act

-i won't even tell you about the time my sister walked in on us listening to It's Raining Men

-perusing the bank of films on ntl that you can rent out, with my better half, we discovered a whole genre of porn which i didn't know existed...
'chav porn' 
we decided it wouldn't make for a very romantic valentine's night but i can't lie, i'm a bit interested 
'stick those big hooped earings up my bum, with your tracksuit.... and your burberry cock'

-i had to wipe my ass with cheap tissues the other day (not toilet roll, tissues).... and before i spotted the tissues it was very, very, very nearly panty liners 
imagine that... a fanny pad up your arse, yowza

-apparently everyone in the world thinks i'm a dealer. EVERYBODY! 
not just drugs either, i get people calling me up looking for, well, mostly pills but often really dodgy porn and shit. is it the beard?! fuck knows.

-i wanna sell some homemade nerd shit to sell on ebay... 
like a sticker that says FIREWALL REBEL to stick to your laptop or whatnot 
i reckon it'd sell like hot cakes

-the topic this morning on the hilarious Jeremy Kyle show: 
my stomach ACHES from laughing

-my friend says that he'd rather have the semen of 6 men rubbed all over his face than eat their pubes. i think that is just obscene.

-one night when i was 15 i arrived home wearing only a purple thong and a pair of hobnail boots... from what i hear a policeman had to remove me from a tree.

-after a few ales i have a tendency to dress like an adult baby. it's not a fetish thing though, really. i've gotten two baby-sceptics into nappies too. 

-the other night i told some people that two of my friends were my brother and sister, then touched them erotically and told them some very dirty things.

-i also am quite good at yo yo - i once went on tour with Yo Hans. a tour of shopping centres.

-one time my friend wet the bed when he was about 13.... 
his mum asked if he'd had a wet dream. 
what the fuck kind of BEAST does she think he is?!?!??

-if his ass is really tight it'd be good when the laxatives eventually work - cos it'll all fire out with such tremendous pressure, like when you sort of squidge the end of a hose..... 
he could probably take someone's eye out... with his shit hahaha

-The voice of Starkweather in Manhunt is done by Brian Cox... my flatmate heard this and responded with 'aw wow! i love ANYTHING with cox in it!!' 
he'll never live it down.

-what the fuck... does newsround have prodigy for a theme now? oh no, it's an advert. 
last night my friend said he 'saw something on the news' about a really big burger... after a bit of cojoling he admitted it was actually Newsround.

-I used to be (and still have to some extent) utterly obsessive about our WK. 
i actually had a very cool WK t shirt but i ripped it in half when WK came on one night and i 'hulked out'. 
still wear it like, but now it says 'ANDREV K' because my mum sewed it up for me

-pepperami noodles phwwwoooooooaaaawwww, fucking awesome! 
last year i lived for a week on 2 packets of them, a packet of chilis and a jar of beetroot. 
on the last day, my friend came round and saw the squalor i was living in and bought me a loaf of bread. 
and some fags.

-actually once i drank a bottle of mouthwash.... but that was a silly night.

-i finally fixed my megadrive, and popped in micro machines 96.... 
you may remember that this game features a track editor, so you can design your own courses and race on them? 
Well, i thought i'd give it a bash... and made an outdoor course, with a ramp, a winding sorta feel, megafast cars and have it marked out with peas and other foodstuffs, like to show the edge of the 'road'. 
I called this track, 'POOWWERLD' 
Then i went to save it.... i nearly bust a gut laughing when it transpired that, when I had last played this game/used the track editor (i was probably about 12), I had also created a track called 'POOWORLD'. I booted the track up and lo and behold, it was very very very very nearly identical, save for a few extra twists and turns. 
I guess some things never change 

-i went into a toilet cubicle the other day, after a few pints, with a pen in one hand and my cock in the other (well i didn't get my cock out till i got inside the toilet... for once) 
but yes, my intention was to write 'JOHN CANDY' on the wall, in big letters 
i didn't tell a SOUL about this plan 
lo and behold, some cunt beat me to it. 
what are the odds of THAT?!?

-It's Not Normal! 
Our most recent game, and perhaps the simplest. Wherever you are, be it out for a coffee, sitting at home or out on the piss, it's great. Especially the latter. You simply do everything in a way that is contrary to the usual – for example, you might stand on your seat, or if someone holds out their hand for you to shake it, you might hold out your foot. 
Last week this game led us to dress in ridiculous costumes, buy some roses, piss in the girls' toilets, rearrange the furniture in the bar, swap clothes in the bar, wear nappies, talk to our penises and other such jollities. 
A simpler title for this game would be 'be a dick'. 

-He Got Tha Horn!
Is whenever you sing or play music out the window. It is particularly funny to rap, and rap about passers by, including their atire, company, etc. However, this game has gotten us into much trouble in the past. 
It got its name from when I played my saxophone out the window, and shouted that I 'had the horn'... some chinese tourists walked past and took photographs. They seemed very interested, pointing and sayin 'ooohh! he got tha horn!!!'

-He Got Tha Horn reached its apex whenever we saw a woman about to cross the road. We were rapping, innocently enough, 'yeahhh nigga cross the street, who ya gonna meet when ya cross the street, G?' 
Long story short, she lives in our building and told the landlord that we had tried to bully her into crossing the road whenever it was full of traffic, calling her a nigger. 
She's white. 

-37% of me is made entirely out of bees

-99.6% of me is a black man.

-unbelievably, a guy i know from bangor has my precious tape of 2 days worth of farting, with keyboard accompaniment, recorded with my Talkboy.

-To much hilarity, a pal of mine insisted one day that, were there such a tournament, he would be in the 'top 3 Goldeneye players in the WORLD'. 
Clearly this was a statement of such monumental bullshittery that, 'Robbie Best: World Goldeneye Champion' is now inscribed into the wall of every public cubicle we may venture into

-I spent my last 50p on 5 doughnuts today. That genuinely is my last 50p in the word, apart from the £1.21 in the bank.

-i'm usually unlucky with meeting celebreties.... har mar superstar called me a 'perverted cunt' 
then i boked on his shoes the bastard

-here's the first ever canine mutilator track, Shit Your Ass. It was recorded 6 or 7 years ago when i should have been revising for my GCSEs, which explains the line "i'm not doing revision, i'm nasty, i'm heavy metal, i'm going to eat your ass, i like digestive biscuits'. I think this one gets better towards the end.

-i did two funny pisses the other day in the bar 
the first one was in the gents, and there were 3 other people there who i didn't know, at the urinal 
so i started talking to my cock, calling it danny... telling danny that he had to be good and sick up some wee for me. then i decided that it wasn't going to be just any old danny, and started telling Mr.DeVito that he had to get back into his zip up house. 
then i left. 
half an hour later i did a wee in a cubicle in the fem toilets, but i kept (reasonably) quiet this time. but there was another boy with me, but we weren't being gay. 
i think by this point my sexy girl had decided that she hated me, although i think she's stopped hating me now.

-my dentist has the rather unfortunate name of 'Dr. Gay' 
'Hello? Hello, I'd like an appointment with Doctor Gay please' 
give me strength!

-my barber, well actually hairdresser, wasn't nice to me when i walked in with shoulder length hair but whenever she'd finished james deaning me she was rather nice 
that was a while ago though, it's getting long again 
(when i say james deaning me i mean she was giving me a bit of a quiff.... i don't mean she crashed my car)

-in school me and my friend pearce played Lactobaciliasidophili in a play about teeth, 'Revolt of the Foolish Molar'. 
It was seriously surreal... 
I was asked to play a molar, a much more high profile part, but asked if i could be a lactobaciliasidophili instead because we got to wear black, chant and spike our hair like cool bastards. 
i probably spelled those words wrong there too, i clearly know nothing about teeth

a gaggle of old men inevitably end up rolling down some sort of hill in a bathtub, being chased by nora batty (complete with rolling pin). 
for twelve fucking seasons.

-so i'm watching a young boy wave his wand around for a hairy man. 
i'm also watching Harry Potter.
Every time someone mentions 'He who cannot be named' i think of Gary Glitter! 

-once i went on holiday to york with my folks... they went and did the touristy things during the day, looked at a wall and stuff.... we split up after brek and met at dinner. 
they said, 'so pete, what all did you do today?' 
'i went to pizza hut buffet' 
'oh! and then what?' 
'uh... and then i met you....' 
I was there ALL day, was GREAT! had to poo in the middle, was scared in case they'd take my plate thinking i was gone, wiped extra fast.

-maybe a good question would be, has anybody had any really memorable shits? 
something seasonal springs to mind – for a few years in a row i did a poo after Christmas lunch and it was the kind where there is absoloutely NO wiping needed, whatsoever. 
what a present that was!

-I might also point out that I don't condone paedophilia but I do think that Gary Glitter is my favourite, as he takes it to brand new levels. 
The man gets thrown out of cambodia for bumming too many children... where it's pretty much LEGAL, then in Vietnam, where he's allowed to have sex with a 13 year old, he just HAS to push the boat out and get a 12 year old. 
He's passionate about the sport, I'll give him that. 
Seriously though, paedophilia isn't cool.

-Did you ever have 'The Phantom Shitter' ? 
At our school there was a jobby lying on the toilet floor one day, right in the middle, beside the sinks. It was such a big day, everyone was all 'have you seen it yet?!' 
I remember my joy as my friend Mark took me to look. 
I brought it up at a get-together one time, and a teacher there from another school said that it has happened at EVERY school he has EVER taught at. 
The Phantom Shitter.

-The worst place that you've ever done a poo? 
I think mine is in my turtles pants, age 7, moments before a saxophone lesson with a sexy 6th former. 
I did take some joy in lending the pants to my friend Peter Moffett to use as swimming trunks on holiday a year later. There's even a photo of him wearing them. And last I heard, they were sitting in Jonny Gaston's bedroom for some reason.

-I know a chap who used to 'collect farts' by trapping them in bottles in the bath. He has also talked at length about the dubious pleasures of putting 'bath bombs' underneath his testicles so that they 'go all fizzy'.

-Why does Snoop Dogg carry an umbrella? 
Fo' Drizzle.

-not a bad beard.... i see you decided to go for the below chin 'underbeard'.... for years i shaved that area, now i too embrace it. 

-Once when i was drastically underage I saw a KISS tribute band in Brighton called PISS and they had giant inflatable cocks that sprayed green goo all over the crowd, it was class as fuck and i pulled a hot 20 year old and decided that from that moment on I would always have a moustache. Then i got back to the hotel and my nose bled like a bastard, I'm not sure why this happened, but instead of cleaning it up I just took lots of photos and went to bed, all bloodied. Great stuff!

-i don't know if it's just where i live, but there does seem to be a wild lot of paedos! nearly everybody i know had one at their school.... 

I'ma go send him a message demanding that Poo re-enters our lives.

Tuesday, 25 November 2008

The triumphant return!

So this marks my first blog in nearly a month, and for that I can only apologise to my loyal readers. Sorry to both of you.

In that time I've had all sorts of nonsense happen, including my orchestration of Carcass' return to UK soil and having a builder round...

Now, the latter may seem like a non-event, but the man left a grave impression on me. In fact, short of tying me up and silencing my screams as he bummed me against a wall, a visit from the builder actually couldn't be any worse.

In short, we had a leaky roof. Chap had been out and after a look up his ladders and a Saturday of banging noises disturbing my mum from her Dallas DVDs, the guy declared he'd solved the problem. My auld man squared up with him and off he went.

You can imagine our surprise when the leak continued despite being several hundred pounds in repairs poorer. Quick on the phone, my dad arranged a day and time and as I was off my work that morning, it was left to me to deal with the guy.

Back up his ladders, another morning of banging and my usual inhospitable treatment, namely not offering a cup of tea in the British tradition. My missus takes issue with this but as I explained last week when the gas man was out - If you like tea and don't have the initiative to bring a flask with you, tough luck I say. I believe my exact words were; "I'm not his mum."

"That should be you, son. I've sealed the lead flashing and that should be enough to stop it. Before I go, is it alright if I use the toilet?"
"Of course."

Bringing a flask will be as much a requisite as bringing your own portaloo for any future builders, let me tell you.

After an unusually long time, the guy reappears and with a "Thanks" he takes his white van and naffs off. Glad to have the house to myself so I can laze about doing nothing in peace, I close the door and... wonder what that UNGODLY smell is?!

Wow. What I thought was my builder spending a quick penny was obviously a grubby old man doing a big sit-down poo. No wonder he took so long. Doesn't this break some strangers code? A slash is fine but surely a shit is out of bounds? Of course I wouldn't have OK'd it if I'd known he was dropping some kids off. Two fingers up the nose still isn't enough as I scramble to light a candle and retreat like this is a World War II frontline.

I need a few hours just to recover.

Much later all's well, I've had a good lunch and the candle I note upon return to the scene of the crime, is all burned out. There's no smell, but I do now notice some dirt marks on the floor. He's trailed something in - talk about crossing a line. The stuff won't shift, and so there's now a black mark on my bathroom floor. Brilliant. Could he not have cleaned this himself?

I'm mildly outraged. I sit down, ready myself for a wee jobby of my own, and ponder the state of Britain's manual labour industry. Builders running amok, pooing in people's bathrooms. Frankly, not on!

But then...


Or by way of an image, something like this:

What is this stuff on the underside of the toilet seat? There's a brown goo...

I cut my post-poo pee short as only possible in emergency situations - a lorry headed your way as you piss by the side of the road, shouts of "FIRE!" coming from outside a bathroom or the sudden realisation that a mad axe-man has just burst into your house - and jump up like I'm spring-loaded.

"Surely...not..." leaves my lips, as much to the builder himself wherever he is at this point, as to myself and the room at large.

Like inspecting a potential suitcase bomb, I cautiously lift the lid for a better look and instantly run through all the possibilites that explain this situation:

-He was eating a Nutella sandwich moments before using the toilet and some spread has transferred from his hands to the seat.

Erm... at that, I'm done. What else could it be? I'm praying to God, to Allah, to the fat elephant, that the guy is a messy fan of choc sarnies. With all my might, I'm praying. But the only way to guarantee peace of mind is to smell, and in a moment which I admit with hindsight could have been better thought through, I move in for a sniff...


As I'm stood there unsure whether to wipe my own arse first or continue with horrible job, a wad of Wet Wipes in hand, ever-so-gingerly wiping another man's faeces off my toilet seat and near crying like a mother testifying in a murder trial, I stand back every now and again and utter the words "What the fuck?" in an increasingly irate and confused tone. "WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?"

The roof has since leaked but I refuse to have that man set foot in my house again. I'd rather we actually drowned before I see him.

No wonder he can't seal a roof when he can't wipe his own arse properly. Grotty bastard.

Thursday, 30 October 2008

Mad Mark - the man, the myth, the legend

Let me introduce you to our pal Mark. He's something of a hero of mine, and gets called Mad because he looks like the kid from the mag of the same name:

So we're sat round a campfire with Mad Mark, downing some cheap lager and having daft chat as we always do. The conversation is "Best ever gig" and Mark hits us with Alice Cooper. Wrong.

We debate the best four Metallica albums. To everyone else, this is simply putting 'Kill 'Em All', 'Ride The Lightning', 'Master of Puppets' and '...And Justice For All' in the correct order (which, incidentally, is MOP, AJFA, RTL and KEA). Not Mark. He lists 'Metallica' and 'Load' and 'Reload' in his top four. Horrific.

Then the conversation turns to "At what age did you lose your virginity?", and while most of the 20-odd campers bore us with stories of being 16 and getting five minutes of missionary, Mark hits us with the story to end all stories.

"I was 13."


"We were in the woods."


I piped up with the obvious question on all our minds: "Were you drinking some cider from a 3 litre bottle?"

"We were drinking some cider from a 3 litre bottle."

This tale was suddenly taking a turn for the fantastic.

"Me and my mate were there with two girls. They both wanted a shag, so I took one and did her against a tree."


"Err, no. So, we finished up and I thought that was that. But then she tells me she wants go back to her place for more."

So what happened?!

"I told her it was my bedtime and that I had to go home. So I went home."

Epilogue - his mate pumped her instead.

Monday, 27 October 2008


I ask you, to what end has a dog ever helped an FBI investigation?

There's a great myth in Hollywood that finding out about a man's pet holds the key to his undoing. This seems like nonsense to me.

Take "The Fugitive" for example. Quoting directly here: "Find out his name, his age, his weight, his social security number... his location, relatives, pets, everything."

In various altered forms I've heard this line uttered in countless crime films and TV shows, but not once have I seen any evidence that finding out that the man in question has a black staffy called Tasha helps the hunt in any way.

It actually seems like a real waste of police resources. For instance, I'd think sitting his wife down and holding a cattle prod to her fanny would be far more likely to produce the guy's location than say checking local veterinary records and confirming that he once owned a cat that had to be put down due to complications with diabetes.

One of these days, I'd love to see a criminal undone by the home address listed on his pet's collar.

Sunday, 26 October 2008

For Those About To Rock (Fuck Off)

Something is very wrong with the world when people like AC/DC.

In uttering the words "I like AC/DC", you're effectively saying that you have no problem with this:

To a man, they are easily, without any competition, the gimpiest rock band of all time.

Musically, they're every bit as bad as a man in a small girl's purple vest. Ever noticed that you literally never hear anyone mention an AC/DC song that isn't "Highway To Hell", "Back In Black" or "Thunderstruck"? That's because every other song they've released on 15 albums (yep, 15!) is absolutely woeful, and almost indistinguishable from the 3 big singles. As for Brian Johnson's singing - like Mickey Mouse sucking helium after a kick to the balls. Woeful. James Hetfield needs to slam his head against a car door, Taken-style, then go "HUH! Yeah." in his trademark style.

I would honestly rather dook for apples in a chip fryer than listen to any AC/DC album from start to finish.

Take new album "Black Ice" - featuring such classics as "Rock 'n Roll Train", "She Likes Rock n Roll", "Rock n Roll Dream" and "Rocking All the Way". They put more imagination into naming the Saw sequels (Saw II, Saw III, Saw IV, Saw V, Saw VI and... Saw 3D! Hah, see)

Lastly, something I feel has gone unaddressed for far too long now:

What is this man doing?

Duck Walking around stage... In a school boy's uniform. A velvet school boy's uniform.

All I'm saying is, there's no justice in the world when Dimebag Darrell gets gunned down in his prime and Angus Young roams unscathed.

Friday, 24 October 2008

You are less of a man than Aron Ralston

You are less of a man than Aron Ralston.

Sorry, but you are. I am. Even Jack Bauer is, and I don't say that lightly.

You think Chuck Norris is manlier? Wrong. Despite what the idiots at Chuck Norris Facts may claim Chuck Norris can do, all he's actually done is grin and grimace his way through a bunch of shite films that no-one actually watches.

Aron Ralston, meanwhile, went off into some mountains alone and got trapped by a falling boulder. His arm was crushed between the huge rock and a mountain wall, pinning a lesser man to his untimely death. After five days of being trapped, out of food and drink and with all hopes of help diminished, Ralston was pissed off and decided he was having no more of this bullshit - so he used the vice-like grip of the boulder to break his own arm and then sawed through the bone with a dull pen knife.

That's right. He cut off his own fucking arm.

Starving and dehydrated, arm bleeding profusely and close to shock, it was enough to kill any lesser man (you, I or Dawn for example). But not Aron Ralston. Bleeding arm and all, he then rappelled 65 feet, hiked 7 miles and climbed 800-feet to safety.

Here he is now, looking suave with a claw for a hand:

Yes, a CLAW FOR A HAND. Could he actually be any manlier?

Aron Ralston: manlier than Dawn.

Thursday, 23 October 2008

1, 2, 3...

A music festival's fine and dandy when there's brilliant bands on, but the difference between a good fest and a great fest is what you do in the down time - when all the bands are shite power metal "wank wizards" (as Barbour would call 'em), you've got to innovate and have a little campsite fun.

At Bloodstock '08 we cured the boredom with a tarpaulin of all things.

This is one of our better efforts:

This attempt wasn't quite so successful, resulting in a dislocated shoulder and a trip to the First Aid tent:

The paramedics soon appeared and politely asked us to stop as they were "running out of ambulances". Barbour suggested taxis, and we continued. This poor fella clearly wasn't a fan of his time spent mid-air:

At the top, he decided he wants off - and at the bottom, he scrambled like a half-eaten zebra escaping the jaws of a lion. Big wimp.

Last but definitely not least, gravity said "No" to this fat bastard:

Suffice to say that the next time we go camping, a tarpaulin will be up there with loo roll on the packing essentials list.

Wednesday, 22 October 2008

The 3 greatest things on the internet

After much internal debate, I can now reveal what I believe to be the three greatest things on the internet, not including the sort of rancid porn video that you sit a mate down to watch and then video their horrified reaction, which is obviously comedy gold in a very league of its own.

3) In 3rd place, it's Garfield Minus Garfield, the greatest comic ever. I do love Perry Bible Fellowship and think that deserves special mention, but the fact that some smart-ass has taken possibly the least funny comic of all time and turned it into something as genius as this - - deserves immense credit. Without his irritating little tit of a cat, Jon becomes the saddest, most tragic cartoon character of all time. And that's excellent.

2) 1000 Tiny Things I Hate, the only blog on the internet that's better than mine. Seriously - - different class. On discovering it, I caught up with 108 blog posts in one night. I now check it faithfully for updates. I have no idea who Jon Brown is but I really want to meet him, just to give him a good firm pat on the back.

1) The best thing on the internet, bar none. This picture:

Of course I don't expect anyone else to find it funny. I don't even know why I find it funny. But I really, seriously do. No amount of captioned lol-cats will ever make me cry with laughter the way I did when I first saw an anteater looking for a square-go.

God bless the internet.

Tuesday, 21 October 2008

Yvonne Smith

Everything that's great about my pal Yvonne can be summed up in one picture:

This is the story, which was later picked up by The Sun and Daily Star, of how Yvonne discovered Biffy Clyro and a year later had spent £10,000 on following them around Europe. The woman is, in a word, silly.

So when the discussion between five of us once came round to dirty sex, Yvonne was at once out of her depth and in disbelief.

"You've never heard of a Donkey Punch?"
"No? What is it?"
"It's when you're doing someone up the bum and as you reach the point of ejaculation, you punch the back of their head to make their anus tighten up."
"What the fuck?! No-one actually does that!"

"What about Blumpy?"
"What's that?"
"When you're getting oral sex while taking a shit."
"Eugh! Gads! That's horrible! No-one actually does that!"
"Dawn's done it."

(Dawn will probably deny this, but it'll sure make for a good rumour)

"You must have heard of Angry Pirate though."
(I mean, who hasn't?)
"No. Do I even want to know?"
"That's when standing up, you're getting oral sex and jizz in the girl's eye. She jumps up in anger, you kick her in the shin and so she's left hopping around on one leg, one defunct eye and screaming "AAAAARGH!" - thus, Angry Pirate."
"That's horrible. That doesn't happen!"

"What about Docking?"
"Yeah. When two men stand with their dicks out, let the two heads meet, one pulls his skin back while the other pulls his skin forwards and over the other one's head."
"That's awful!"

After a pause where we all enjoyed another giggle at her expense, she came out with something that she has never since lived down.

"Do straight guys do that?"

"Yes, Yvonne. Straight guys, who would never normally look at another man's dick, are the world over docking each other's cocks something rotten. I know there's nothing I love more of a Friday night than getting the boys round, sinking a few cold ones, playing Pro Evo and while the night's still young, housing my best mate's helmet in my foreskin."

Yvonne Smith, ladies and gentlemen.

Monday, 20 October 2008

PS, I Hate You

I recently watched "PS, I Love You" on strong recommendation and the express promise that I'd love it. People had come out of the cinema ecstatic, a new lease of life - my mum and sister couldn't stop talking about it - even my mate Gav confessed he nearly cried, and he's from Pollok for Christ's sake - it was suggested that this may indeed be the first film to make me cry since I shed tears at the ending of "My Girl", aged 6.

(Seriously though, Macaulay Culkin dies?! What the hell?)

So I survived only half an hour of "PS, I Love You" before refusing to suffer any more. Here's why: Gerard Butler's accent.

Now, my sole previous experience of Gerard Butler was 300. With that, he went straight to the top of the list with Russell Crowe and Kiefer Sutherland of celebrities I'd love to sink a pint, have an arm-wrestle and share a packet of KP salty nuts with.

Just look at this shit: "This is Sparta!"


So I don't think it was unreasonable for me to assume that his role in "PS, I Love You" would be vaguely similar; that if he wasn't booting people off of cliffs, he was at the very least wrestling wolves and shouting loudly.

Then it turns out that he's a loved-up (I suppose the clue was in the title) half-man with the world's WORST ACCENT OF ALL TIME: What is this??

He's from Paisley! Gerard Butler does not speak with an Irish accent. There is a sea between Paisley and the people who do speak with an Irish accent.

His voice is actually nails-on-a-blackboard intolerable, which is why the DVD had to go off. I admit, I did cry at "PS, I Love You", but only at the worst impression of an Irish accent ever commited to film.

Ways they could have made this film better:
1) Cast an Irishman as the Irishman
2) Have Gerard Butler play a Scottish character
3) Have Gerard Butler play an Irish mute

King Leonidas must be shouting loudly in his grave.

Sunday, 19 October 2008

Bill & Ted's Excellent Poseidon Adventure!

I found an old message board topic from a few years back over on our forums yesterday which had involved us taking two movie titles with a common word and amalgamating them into one. In most cases frankly I'd sooner see our version than the original. Here are some of my favourites:

American History Pie

A hysterical gross-out look at four violent neo-nazi high school thugs who make the ultimate pact: to lose their virginity by prom night.

As the desperate group try to work their way into the pants of their female classmates, the comedy just keeps on coming as their plans hopelessly backfire on them.

The laughs come thick and fast as one student fails to score with a foreign exchange student, while another decides to try his luck by curb-stomping a black would-be car thief. And you'll feel your sides splitting come the movie's comedy finale: the shower rape scene.

A light-hearted teen comedy that hilariously teaches the lesson that violence begets violence.


The Godfather of the Bride Part II

Family trouble continues to plague Michael Corleone (Steve Martin) in this hilarious comedy!

As he attempts to expand the family business into Las Vegas, Hollywood and Cuba, Corleone must also deal with mid-life crisis - brought on by the double pregnancy of his newly-married daughter and wife, Frank "Five Angels" Pentangeli's problems with the Rosato Brothers, and an assassination attempt at his family home.

Audiences will be rolling in the aisles at this sequel's rib-tickling scenes, including the baby shower of the century and the miscarriage of Michael's wife!


Deep Throat Impact

A teenage astronomer (Elijah Wood) discovers an object amongst the stars at night. He and his teacher soon realise that it's a comet on a direct collision course for earth!

When the NASA space mission "Messiah" fails to destroy the comet, the President (Morgan Freeman) announces that special caves will be built, and the government will have to hold a lottery-of-fate to randomly select 800,000 ordinary American citizens to repopulate the earth after the strike.

But all is not lost. A routine check-up on Linda Lovelace (herself) shows a bizarre anomaly; the doctor finds that her clitoris is located at the back of her throat. Linda soon becomes proficient at the art of "Deep Throat" oral sex. Now, she faces her biggest challenge yet; swallowing an entire comet.

Rated 18 for scenes of nudity.


Laura Ingalls Wilder: Party Liason

Popular 18th century autobiographist Laura Ingalls Wilder finds herself in some American university, organising parties for nerds. But disaster strikes, when a poor summer leads to a low crop yield, forcing all the students into a life or death struggle against the elements, prairie dogs and rampaging cowboys.


Ferris Bueller: Judgement Day

A street-wise shape-shifting cyborg decides to take the day off school to kill a young boy, John Connor, in order to prevent him from becoming a resistance leader. The Human army have forged a doctor's note for the reluctant Cameron, a reprogrammed Terminator nerd whose job is to protect Connor.

Ed Rooney, the suspicious Dean of Student Robots, knows all about Ferris' plan but fails time after time to catch him in a variety of hilarious ways! Meanwhile, Ferris' sister droid Jeanie is frustrated that Ferris gets away with his ploys and she doesn't. Can Ferris assassinate John Connor; or will his principal cyborg manage to save the day?


Big Mamma Mia's House

Set on a colourful Greek island, FBI agent Malcolm Turner (Martin Lawrence) is going deep undercover as he disguises himself as big black grandmother Hattie Mae Pierce, aka Big Mamma Mia.

Assigned to trap a brutal bank robber, Turner must bring his suspect down through a mixture of sleuth work and randomly performing wholly irrelevant songs by popular 70s pop group ABBA.

It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings!


Cloverfield of Dreams

Clover (himself) is a novice creature who becomes convinced by a mysterious voice that he is supposed to go on a rampage around New York ruining everbody's shit. The film's underlying themes are the fulfillment of dreams, how people can overcome any regrets they may have about the life choices they make and fucking shit up.

A delightful, heartwarming tale for all the family. May contain extreme peril.


Bill and Ted's Excellent Poseidon Adventure

At midnight on New Year's Eve, the S.S. Poseidon is struck by a tidal wave and is capsized.

The Reverend Frank Scott heads for safety with nine survivors, including a New York detective and his ex-prostitute wife, two honeymooners, haberdasher James Martin, and Bill S Preston esq. and Ted Theodore Logan of rock band Wyld Stallyns. Failure to escape the ship would be both bogus and uncool!

Setting out from the grand ballroom the survivors eventually reach a time-travelling phone booth, whereupon they set out on an awesome historical adventure involving Billy The Kid, Joan of Arc and Abraham Lincoln!

The survivors band together through their plight, generally being excellent to each other!


And one last one - someone obviously didn't get the point of linking films by a common word, but it's great all the same!

Taxi Jaws

A disillusioned shark goes on the rampage in his taxi in 1970s New York city. Robert Shaw stars as a 12 year old prostitute.

Saturday, 18 October 2008

T-Bone is Da illest

A thought-provoking or hilarious piece of graffiti is one of my favourite things in the world.

Scotland has a real lack of clever graffiti, instead boasting walls with "KYT Ya Bass!" and rarely-complimentary messages about the police and/or pope. There's no Bansky to be found in Ayrshire, just a fanny called Joke who "wis ere", there and everywhere.

A sharp wit and a permanent marker is really unbeatable for a good giggle:

Scotland, of course, is not without its own jokers. While neds who scrawl barely legible bollocks on bus stops outweigh the true comedians, they do exist. My favourite piece of graffiti was in the maternity ward of a Glasgow hospital, where a poster read: "THE FIRST FIVE SECONDS OF A CHILD'S LIFE ARE THE MOST DANGEROUS..." 

Underneath it, someone had scribbled: "The last five aren't so great either."

Friday, 17 October 2008

Dawn Roper

It's time to introduce you to someone - a lady, if she can generously be described as that, who will be a recurring character in my blog. That lady's name is Dawn Roper, and she is a very silly person. With Yvonne, who we'll meet later, she forms the worst double act since Hitler & Göring.

So. Some friends and I recently took a wee road trip down to Manchester for a club night, foolishly allowing Dawn to tag along. We arrived in town, unpacked the bags at the hotel and set out for the night with designated driver Kel at the wheel.

As we stopped at some traffic lights, clubbers and revellers spilled out in front of the car and went on their merry way. Gesturing at one pair, Dawn casually remarked: "Those two went a bit overboard with the fake tan, eh?"

Stunned silence.

"Dawn," I managed. "Those women are black. Actually black."


Thursday, 16 October 2008

Sex, Toast and Rock & Roll

I've dipped my toe in the various pools of the music industry. I admit I'm no major player - I've got nothing on the guy who removes brown M&Ms for Van Halen, or the Photoshop genius who edits Lady Gaga's dick out of every publicity pic - but I've done enough to know that it's a pretty nutty business.

Your first look at a tour rider is enough to make you realise this. Divas run amok. From stadium-touring girl groups to the grimmest black metal bands, musicians are ready to flip without warning if their dressing room is found to be without the vegan-friendly, wheat-free, gluten-free, Fair Trade lettuce that they asked for.

The funniest example I've ever heard of balls-to-the-wall craziness involved a certain mega rock band who for legal reasons, will not be named. Suffice to say they are smashing, pumpkins.

A chap I know, who we'll call Jim not so much to protect his identity as through a long-held desire of mine to write a story that required a name change, has a job driving vans at Reading & Leeds Festival every year. I was surprised to learn this, not least because he looks 11 years old, which last time I checked is not old enough even to own a provisional.

Bands arrive and get driven around the huge site by Jim, for which he gets a free ticket and camping. I begrudge him this, because I or anyone else at the festival could quite easily perform this simple task in order to get a free ticket. I'd probably struggle after the daily crate of cheap cider I consume, but I'm pretty sure I could do it without fatalities. (I don't actually have a driving licence, although I do have all gold cups on Mario Kart 64, including the Mirror Mode ones)

So one time, Jim is happily driving this particular rock band around site, and is given the fairly major task of ferrying them to stage for their headline performance in front of 80,000 fans. Having done so successfully, presumably navigating a course of lost and drunk students along the way, Jim arrives backstage with the band in one piece. He smiles, switches the engine off, and there's a silence which would normally be punctuated by the band saying their "Thank yous" and stepping out.

Suddenly, frontman Billy says to Jim: "Eat this bit of toast."

Jim, momentarily confused and fairly certain that 'What to do if a headline act offers you breakfast' wasn't covered in the short Dos and Dont's speech that the festival representative gave the crew on Friday morning, manages to quickly regain composure. Flying solo without prior toast-based guidance, he swiftly thinks on his feet and replies: "No thank you."

Strangely persistent, Billy says again: "Eat this bit of toast."

Jim replies: "No thank you, I'm not hungry."

There's a shift in the mood of the van. Suddenly there's a tension. Billy seems offended, then irately and with deadly seriousness utters the immortal line: "Eat this bit of toast or we are not going on stage."

And with that, Jim accepts the toast and forces himself to eat it, secretly knowing that his action and his action alone is responsible for the headliners taking to the stage that night. He bravely shoulders the responsibility and refuses to disappoint 80,000 anxious fans, consuming the toasted bread. The band went on to play a hits-packed set to rave reviews that night, their first UK festival appearance of the decade.

And I just want you all to know that we have Jim to thank for that.

Wednesday, 15 October 2008

Hello reader

Three beekeepers meet at a conference.

One asks the other two, "So, how many bees do you have?"

The second beekeeper responds, "Well, I have around 50,000 bees in 3 hives."

The third says, "I have about 150,000 bees in 8 hives. How many do you have?"

"Oh, I have about a million bees," says the first beekeeper.

"A million bees?! How many hives do you have?"

"Just the one."

"You have a million bees in one hive?!"

"Yeah..." he says. "Fuck 'em, they're only bees."