Real Vampires. Real Fear…and Twilight
Vampires are real. Yes they are. This is not some on-line conspiracy theory. Nor is it a tall tail. It is a simple fact.
I'm not telling you that UFOs are abducting people. I'm not trying to convince you that people are turning into wolves underneath a full moon, I won't insult your intelligence. However, there is one who walks amongst us, a spectral creature of the night, who likely feasts on blood and disappears as smoke in the night. He is come.
Bee keeper or Vampire? You decide. No, actually I decide. He's a vampire.
Granted he doesn't look like your typical vision of a vampire. No sharp teeth. Conspicuous lack of cape. And I suspect, a somewhat underdeveloped ability to attract impressionable young virgins with his raw, sexual energy. But the fact remains, he is a vampire.
He may not have been seen drinking blood or turning into a bat for japes. He may be fine with crucifixes. However that proves nothing, as over the years numerous cultural interpretations of vampires have shown us a huge variety of differing, often conflicting, abilities, strengths and weaknesses.
The latest incarnation being from the Twilight films, in which vampires are pretty teens with nice sharp teeth which are slightly whiter than usual, who brood occasionally and quite like forests but not parents. I'd like to put one of them in a locked room with Christopher Lee or Max Shreck. Then we'd see who's the real vampire and who is a stain of fear, tears and excreta that no-one could can bothered to wipe up.
Anyway, the boy pictured is a proven vampire, not because of his fear of holy water (Simon Cowell), or sleeping in a coffin (Peter Mandleson) but because he can't be out in the sun too long or his skin burns JUST LIKE A VAMPIRE. In fact he constantly has to wear Factor 50 sun cream - EVEN INDOORS. That clearly proves it. He is truly one of the un-dead. I imagine the local pitch fork and fiery torch businesses are booming in his home town, which can only be good for the economy.
So there you have it, concrete proof. And the story of a little boy with an unusual skin condition, used as a weak excuse for some tedious ramblings. I think we all know who the real monster is here. The boy. Obviously. He's a bloody vampire.
Read about it here, if you really must. But don''t blame me for how dull life really is.
The Call of Death. Maybe.
Yesterday I was driving behind a white van with a sticker which said "How's My Driving? 020 8446 8547."
I couldn't work out what disturbed me about that at first. Then I realised the number is a land line.
That raises all sorts of existential questions. How can the driver be driving and answering the land line somewhere?
Unless he's got some kind of Michael Keaton in Multiplicity thing going on. Which I doubt. God what a waste of multiple bodies that film demonstrated. I didn't even see the film but I know for a fact that at no point did he use a spare body as an alibi to get away with the horric but entirely morally jusitfiable torture and murder of a self-rightous politician or moaning child.
The Keatons at home
And what happens if I call that number on the back of the van to complain? I probably crash the car, because I'm on the phone.
Then someone rings the number from the sticker on the back of my car which says "How's my driving? 020 368 4688". Then they crash their car because they're on the phone. And someone else rings the number on the back of their car and...
...the cycle continues for ever.
Or something.
Vermin Wars
in a galaxy far, far away
there was a parallel universe.
In that universe, Luke Skywalker was a gerbil, Princess Leia was a butterfly, Jabba the Hut was still a massive slug and Han Solo can be seen here:
It tastes exactly like carbonite.
Yes. It's a mouse someone found in some malt loaf. Must have been a great game of hide and seek. Bad place to hide though. Somewhere there's a very frustrated cat.
I like malt loaf. It's one of those things you're not suppsed to eat until you're at least 75. Still though by that time I should at least be able to cut it with a real working light sabre (mutters silent prayer to robo-god of the future).
Tube Strike – Solved by Prostitutes?
There's going to be a tube strike.
Why? Because the RMT (Rail, Maritime and Transport Union) is sulking. They've asked for something and been told "no". In fact they've asked for a 5% pay rise and a promise of no redundancies over the coming year. In the current economic climate that's like a fat white kid, sitting in an Ethiopian dust bowl asking for a third slice of cake, while surround by living skeletons to weak to brush the diseased flies off their eyes.
Of course the problem for most people is how to get to work, so here are some suggestions:
Boris Jonson, who, apparently, despite my repeatedly pinching and bitch-slapping myself appears to be Mayor of London, has greatly increased the amount of public transport along the Thames. So I suggest everyone surf to work on the back of a nuclear submarine.
Harness the power of Bob Crow (Leader of the RMT) by strapping yourself to his back and making him fly you to work. Unless he isn't actually a crow, which I doubt. Otherwise why would he be called that?
There are going to be "escorts to lead cyclists across the capital". What a great idea. Who better to help you get to work than a high class courtesan, with a beautiful body, cold dead eyes and nothing on her mind but the money in your wallet and a brief break from the beatings of her pimp?
Don't go to work, you don't like it anyway.
Meat War
The world is changing. Countries that we in the 'Developed World' previously thought of as barbarous and not even good for colonising are starting to blossom. And by blossom I do of course mean, attempting to keep pace with 'The West'. Which of course must not be tolerated.
The most significant aspect of this change is that, as previously less well-off countries become richer, their populations demand the food the rest of the world enjoys. That's right it's all about the meat. They're sick of rice or dust or children's tears or whatever it is they suck up through their malformed feeding holes and they want to eat the good stuff.
Yet as our brothers in newly 'rich' countries aim to draw level with us in the meat stakes (shut up), our rightly bloated, and Internets-conjoined 'First World' ego demands we eat ever more unusual meat, just to remind them how much better than them we remain.
So, here are the top ten meat meals we should be eating to prove we are still best...
10. Golden Eagle Burger with Lion Cub Eye Salsa
9. Komodo Dragon Balls Soup with Ring Tailed Lemur Balls Cake
8. White Tiger Curry with Orang-u-nan
7. Snow Leopard Chow Mein and Crispy Blue Whale Blowhole Pancakes
6. Black Rhino Jerky, washed down with Fresh Panda Essence (obtained using the extraction method favoured in the Dark Crystal)
But you know, the problem is, even when you're chomping down on the rarest meats, there's always going to be someone disproportionately rich in one of those "Look at us, look at, us we're not poor anymore, even though 87% of our population sleeps in an AIDS hat on a crisis infested straw mat" who can match you.
So with that in mind, we have to raise our game, go the extra mile and pull as many cliches as possible out of the virus protected hat. These are the foods to remind Johnny Third World just who is big bad ballsy best and who is a living crippled hope ....
5. Unicorn Flavour Pringles, with Ewok Dip
Unicorn - even comes with a free toothpick
4. Leprechaun Bolognaise with Shaved Obama-san
3. Ligur Kebabs in pitta bread made from the ground up bones of Sadam Hussein
2. Madeline McCann au Vin
1. Baby P and pickle sandwiches
Nom nom nom
Gas BBQ? What next, shoes made of cheese?
Gas barbecue? Are you joking?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for modern technology, I’m as keen to implant nano-genius into my head and get a death-ray mounted on the bonnet of my car as the next self-hating, rage-filled suburbanite. But there are some things which just aren’t right.
Barbecues, on the surface, may be about eating food that’s slightly burnt and has a rather lovely smokey flavour but don’t be fooled. At the heart of the barbecue is the ability to make fire and cook on it. The barbecue puts us to the test. The barbecue says, “IF you were stranded on a dessert island could you hack it (with only what you can forage from B&Q)?”
Pathetic
The real barbecue asks the question and then demands you answer it. Not only that but that you do so within a short time; there’s only so long people will wait to eat before they go inside and use the grill.
The gas barbecue, on the other hand is just a cooker that happens to be outisde. All it requires is the flip of a switch. It's pathetic. And so are you for even thinking about using one.
I mean really, gas barbecue, it doesn’t even sound right, like Nazi rabbi or razor pants.
Nanny State?
Do we have a nanny state? I don't think so. I believe it is fairly easy to tell whether or not we do, the signs would be as follows:
- Mary Poppins clears the scum off the streets by wiggling her nose. She then makes an audacious and wildly popular move to seize power, explaining that a spoonful of sugar helps democracy die down.
- The army is replaced by a throng of dancing animated penguins and the police force is replaced by small squadrons of soot-faced chimney sweeps, with dubious cockney accents and hearts of gold.
- Full financial recovery is achieved within months as the city's bankers are given some first-hand lessons in what is really important in life.
- The issue of binge drinking is resolved with the plummet in alcohol sales as a result of young people realising they can get high (up) simply by telling weak jokes and laughing hysterically.
- Umbrellas start talking.
Those are the signs of a nanny state. It is not here yet but I suggest we are all mindful. I'm sure we'd all rather have an overzealous government hell bent on eradicating our human rights under the guise of protection than have to ask Dick Van Dyke for directions.
Jade Goody: Cancer?
A lot of people have said to me that it was rather coincidental that Jade Goody died on Mother's Day, a PR man's dream. Some of those people have suggested that it would significantly have benefited Max Clifford's reputation as a PR mogul. One of them even suggested that he might have waited until her family left the room and then quietly but quite deliberately held a pillow over her face to speed her delivery to the hereafter.
The pillow?
Personally I don't believe that and think it's a terrible defamation of Max Clifford's unimpeachable character. I abhor all those claims and air them here only to refute them in the strongest possible terms.
I do however believe Jade got cancer deliberately, probably by sleeping inside a microwave oven, because let's face it, that makes for a better story and snappier headline than, 'Talentless nothing, famed for no reason, fades back into the obscurity she had no right to leave behind."
The Dangers of Dieting
I’m dieting at the moment. It’s a common story, I (still) need to lose the Christmas pounds and shouting at them doesn’t appear to be scaring them off. I had a tin of Pea and Ham soup for lunch. I might have to eat a piece of bread later. Otherwise I'll be ravenous when I get home and inhale dinner.
If I'm still hungry I'll probably eat one of my girlfriend’s arms and then she’ll be all like “Ow, ow, oh God, oh Jesus there's so much blood, there's so much blood, what the hell are you doing?! You ate my arm!”
And I'd be all like “Nom, nom, nom, munch, chomp, chomp.”
She’ll be screaming and crying and stuff and then eventually once I’m full I might feel sorry and try to make it up to her by getting the little hand-held kitchen vacuum and shoving it into her bloody stump. It would probably still work because it’s cordless and maybe we could find a way to charge it from her heart, which would be more eco-friendly, which is quite important to her.
But then after a while it probably wouldn't work and she might feint from the strain or blood loss or something and then I would probably just have some chips which would ruin my diet and I really wouldn't appreciate her not helping so maybe it’s worth her remembering that, so she can try to be less selfish in future.
Alas poor media…
The writing's on the wall for CDs, it has been for ages. It's no surprise because historically one form of media has always been surpassed by a younger, better, sexier format that immediately makes the old it feel like a decrepit useless husk and its user embarrassed to be associated with it. Ever was it thus.
The CD Reaper. Camp as hell to you but to CDs he's pure terror.
Of course personal digital transfer now spells the end of single track or album storage media forever, which I will stop discussing immediately, for fear of growing metal from my eyes, wires from my fingers and speaking only in digital screams, which as we all know is the fate of people who write about such things. Yes it is.
I shall miss putting CDs into the stereo. I quite enjoyed the eager glint of the disc and the pleasant sensation of it's sharp but soft edge snugly nestled into my finger tips. I liked opening them and flicking through the inlay. I liked the feeling of having bought something solid from a record shop.
Though I have to admit I won't miss the scratches and the impossibly fragile cases or the fact that when you open the box and it's empty you KNOW you put it away, so it was DEFINITELY someone else and then you get really angry. You start shouting and ranting about how no-one has any respect for anyone else's property and maybe even a bit of spit comes out of your mouth and then you're hitting the CD rack and kicking at it and then the CD rack falls over and it's broken and you finally calm down and realise it's not the CD rack, its your housemate lying on the floor and those aren't CDs on the carpet, they're his teeth along with the irreparable pieces of another friendship, which was doomed to failure by CDs.
So on reflection I won't miss CDs. They're crap. Thank god we're getting rid of them. I hate them, they're a lot like Hitler, only much worse on a very real scale.