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 that 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.

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).

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.

Suffice to say it doesn't have any working orifices, nor does it call me daddy or scream when it senses my presence.

OK, alright, it was a camera. OK? Now you know, it was just a camera.

But it only takes pictures of crying children.

I was going to leave negative feedback but I suddenly realised I didn't feel negative; it's a really good camera. Sure, it's got it's faults like the whole only photographing sobbing kids thing but well, it's got 12 million mega pixles .

It feels really good in my hand. Really good.

So when I email him he often reminds me to be careful what I write, so as not to get him in trouble. Of course that's like asking Hitler to become a Rabbi; unlikely, for so many reasons.

In my desire not to lose him his job I manage to restrain but have often been given pause for thought as to what the least 'safe for work' email might contain. Presuming the exclusion of images and expletives, which would lead to the message being automatically filtered, I like to think it would be something like this:

Hi mate

How was your weekend? Did you manage to bury that little girl's body OK? I know the spot I recommended is pretty isolated but you do get the occasional dog walker, should be OK though.

I had a pretty chilled out one, spent Saturday fisting a dwarf with a severed pigs trotter in a synagogue. Then on Sunday we did some gardening and watched a video. That one you made with your brother, where you violate the unborn baby. It really got us both in the mood ; )

Quick question, when you hit your wife does it make her cook better? I always presume it does but I'd like to be sure.

Anyway have a good day

Lex

That's just off the top of my head, if you're reading this and you think you can improve on it send an email to lex@lexgenn.com and if any are particularly amazing I'll publish them here.

Click here!! Go on!!! Do it!!!! Click me!!!!!! You idiot.

So today I clicked, just to see what great leaps advertising had taken with this, the most zeitgeisty (yes that is a word, becasue I say so) of media.

So here's the report: It's crap.

"Click to see more pictures". Wow, pictures, that's pretty advanced, I've never seen anything like that before, except perhaps on the inside of caves.

"Click here for video" Gosh! Moving pictures! Now there's innovation. They'll be mass producing sliced bread next.

So anyway, there you go, you're not missing anything. I'll check back in five years and let you know about any developments. Who knows, maybe they'll be working towards some clever way of recording sounds so we can replay them at our leisure. That's probably just science fiction though.

I've been trying to understand it and I think I have the answer (I promise didn't make this up)...

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The Zit On My Bald Spot

Written by F. Lawrence Caslin

Wednesday, 14 May 2008

Yeah, you read it right. I got a zit on my bald spot.It just showed up one day. Out of nowhere. The one place I don't exfoliate. Guess who found it?

Read more...

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...Read more? Read more? Are you f*%£ing joking? I'd be more inclined to click the link if it said 'kill yourself'. That would at least save me from sharing a planet with him. In case you're interested (punch yourself), his mum found it. Not surprising as he probably still lives with her.

This type of thing is why so many people think blogging is for ego-centric idiots who can't make a distinction between the minutia of their lives and having something interesting to say. He found a spot so he thought he'd tell the world. I mean come on, really, you wouldn't even mention it to your deaf cat. And if you did your feline friend would have every reason to wait till you were asleep and defecate in your mouth.

You look and you keep looking; until you admit to yourself you’ve completely forgotten what you were looking for.

You try to remember, you stare at the screen for clues but realise you’re looking at a portal to everything. EVERYTHING. You could be here for anything. Shopping, research or good old fashioned prowling, the possibilities are endless.

Staring clueless at a search engine is the modern equivalent of walking from one room to the next and standing rooted to the spot, totally unable to remember why you’re there, blank-brained and slack-jawed, like a dog trying to understand String Theory.

It’s not so bad at home, when you go into the next room your choices are relatively limited and there are clues. It’s your bedroom, you are unlikely to have gone in there to get a spare exhaust pipe for your car. The real world is much easier, everything is fine in the next room…unless you’re going in to use the computer.