Slit

If you make your mother ill again, like that time you did when you slit your wrists, I'll bump you off, said her auntie.

The night cheese won the Oscar™

...Of course we all remember, for how could we forget, that wonderful night when Albert Eisenstein announced that the winner of the year's Academy Award for Best Motion Picture was to be a lump of cheese. The world forever changed by that brief, timeless, moment within the Kodak theatre, LA.
For me, the communal gasp still rings in my ears even after all these years. Not only was the cheese not in competition, it was not a motion picture. Surely, I heard people say, there is some by law in the Academy's guidelines disallowing cheeses the winning of such awards. A-list hands rubbed A-list ears in disbelief. It seemed so impossible. However, even doubting Paul Thomas Anderson had to concede it was really really happening when he saw Hilary Swanky carrying the still supermarket cellophaned Cheddar up on to the podium, perched upon its tray of human enamel. The silence was as hot as the stars and heavy as the producers. It spoke nothing for the whole minute as the lights reflected off of its see through attire. At first it seemed obnoxious to us who were there but by the time the cheese had been taken backstage with its Oscar many, including Sean Pencil, had been moved to tears by the cheese's unspoken dignity. What had started off adversely became for us all; you, me, him, her and probably God too, our most cherished, enlightening, and not to forget broadcast, moment.
However, it all may have never happened. As you can probably imagine- although you really had to be there- persuading the panel was no easy deal. There he was, vice president of the academy, Adam McCadam frantically arguing cheese's claim to the award. To him it was simple: cheese more than film deserved the Oscar. Conventionally, they weren't willing to go with it. As the bookies had predicted, many wanted the award to go to the year's prestige piece; a five hour biopic of Stalin with Keanu Reeves as the lead man. Indeed, it was, and always will be, the best film of all time. But Adam McCadam was adamant. Eventually, after five drunken days culminating with the firing of a bullet into the black laced thigh of his secretary, with more where that came from, he managed to persuade his peers that cheese was worthy. Many thought he'd gone nuts but, as time went on to prove, he had merely turned genius.
Testament to the man's beautiful mind is that when, on the morning of the ceremony, the Academy's president asked him which cheese he proposed to win the award His Holiness Sir Dr Adam McCadam M.D. merely laughed and spoke the ever eternal line Cheese, my dear oh dear friend, transcends such petty notions as that of competition. And finally it got the credit it so richly deserved.

political correctness gone fuckeries

The Outsider: a poem

The outsider
Went out
For cider

Crying all the way to the bank

Max Clifford sheds a golden tear in remembrance of Jade Goody.

An observed scene

Today I observed a rather poignant scene. It was on the road outside of Angel tube station, in London. For those that don't know, it is a fairly busy road despite it being fairly calm when I was watching it. Specifically viewing two black men riding their bikes on the street. Significantly, they had begun to ride a round in circles on this usually busy street. I was engrossed. After a minute or so of this they started to ride on, somewhere bound. They had been waiting for a pal to catch up with them. Waiting in circles.

A suggested slogan

The Jobcentre. Where all advice is malicious.

Jim Davidson coming out of the closet to Roy Chubby Brown on a northern pier.

Reading Ogden Nash on the number 38

2 Poems- part inspired by Hackney (Well, Victoria to Clapton Pond).

Reflections...
Knife crime
is fine
But a gun
Get's it done.

The DJ
The idea of music on a bus
Does not put me into a fuss
Actually, I like it in theory
But reality, alas, is dreary;

Sounds from phone speakers,
It doesn't get much bleaker
Predominantly dance and rap
And more predominantly crap

So please prevent my under-duress, stress headache
Put in a pair of headphones, thanks, for fuck's 'ake.

The Cynic

A pound for a pint makes the whole world drunk

Actually it's ninety nine pence for either a pint of IPA or a bottle of San Miguel at Wetherspoons.
News which fills me with a happiness that I haven't felt in a very long time. Not since finishing off the Brandy with breakfast.

One of the lads

Whether or not Harry is a racist is about as significant as the royal family themselves. (If you believe the British monarchy to be significant you need to get yourself a sense of perspective- columns in newspapers are irrelevant, as you know). An Eton boy feeling ethnically superior to all kinds of men who are not white, upper class, or male should not be, and isn't, very surprising. Because of his high status Harry, in spite of being a ridiculous ignorant pomp much like his father (the one with the red hair rather than big ears), is taking the brunt for a much wider issue. And whereas he has rightly, sincerely or not, apologised for his racism the army has not. It is the armies' institutionalised racism which is significant.
"Our little paki friend" and not just Prince Harry's.

It's spooky