Idle nocturnal channel hoppers invariably stumble, completely by accident of course, upon the programme 'Sexcetera'. I'm not going to go into any great detail as all it really is, is a show where reporting types tell us about various saucy activities/people/events/products/shows. So in any given episode there will be reports about Dita Von Teese and the art of...well...tease, erotic cartoons, swinger conventions, sex-dolls and bordellos. All mixed up in a smiling Kira Reed shaped bucket.
Basically it's post-pub nudity-filled telly, thus brilliant.
The reason I bring it up is related to the swinger parties I mentioned. You see, I saw it a couple of nights ago and there was a couple who organise parties for people that masturbate. I know it sounds strange, being that masturbating is essentially a party for one so shouldn't require much organisation, but they seemed keen. So keen they immediately advertised it in the personal ads.
"Tom and I put an ad in the personals asking for anyone that enjoyed masturbation to get in touch with us" said the female half of the couple. Now, I don't know if they are prepared or not, but by rights they should end up with approximately 6.794 billion responses.
That's a lot of cheese and pineapple.
Friday, 30 October 2009
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Goodbye Mr Chips. Mmm...chips.
Theatre Royal Drury Lane, 25/10/09, Teaching Awards 2009.
"Blimey it's hot in here. I realise that it's an old theatre and as such exotic things such as fans hadn't been invented yet, and as such were difficult to install, but neither had that Wembley sized lighting rig and noone seems to have minded. They are probably why I'm so hot. Or maybe it's because of the (slightly unnecessary) warm-up man. Perhaps there is a market-gap for a cool-down man. Someone who shuffles unenthusiastically on to the stage making a few uncomfortable jokes, causing the audience to swallow any potential chuckles and instead shift awkwardly in their seats buttoning up their coats. Actually, I think Jim Davidson's already got this covered.
The Teaching Awards Chief Executive has just come onstage and spoken about "150 winners with us here tonight". I momentarily feel the ceremony stretching out before me like a vast ocean of polite applause, before I realise they have already won and we will see ten of them. My palms breathe a sigh of relief.
We are asked to spend five minutes clapping, presumably so that it can be inserted into moments when jokes fall flat and they don't have to broadcast a thousand-strong stoney-faced audience sitting in eerie silence. We also film the end before the show starts. This means that we sit down, watch ivory plinking thimble Jamie Cullum 'sing us out' with something forgettable while Christine Bleakley dances around an invisible handbag and Jeremy Vine sways the uncomfortable dance of the designated driver at a wedding. They then say goodnight, tell us what fun we've had tonight and walk offstage, only to walk back on two minutes later to tell tell us what fun we're going to have. Jeremy tells us it will all make sense when we watch it on telly. The fact that we are not at home watching it live on telly but sat in the theatre with him, frowning and sweaty, appears to have eluded him.
Jeremy Vine's microphone isn't turned up as loud as Chrisine Bleakley's. Presumably how audible you are is directly proportional to the quality of your legs. She booms like an Irish Brian Blessed, he whispers like an ashmatic ninja.
Speaking of booming voices, Patrick Stewarts presenting an award later. I never really thought about the quality of his legs, I suppose it's always the quiet ones. Or rather, not.
Jamie Cullum presented 'SEN Teacher of the Year' and told us how passionate he is about music in schools. His new album's out on 29 October. You may not know that, but I do because Jamie C is very passionate about music in schools. It's called 'The Pursuit' by the way. Oh, and he recorded it in LA. It's his "usual mix of Jazz and Pop and all teh crazy stuff going around my [his] head". Oh, and he's a mop-headed pug that needs to be left in a car on a hot day. He didn't mention this but I read between the lines.
Thank you speeches are a curious thing. I wonder how many people would still say "this isn't really my award, this is for all my students and colleagues" if the awards host leaned over and plucked the trophy from their hands muttering "I'm terribly sorry, there must have been some mistake" whilst scribbling out their name."
Normal service, whatever that may be, will resume.
Friday, 23 October 2009
Give them enough rope...at least that's the theory
If you missed it last night, you really should go to the BBC website and watch Question Time featuring British National Prick, Nick Griffin. It was easily the most life-affirming bit of telly I've seen since I stopped watching 'The Secret Millionaire' for the sake of my tearducts life-expectancy. So, for that, I thank the Question Time audience.
Griffin manages to plumb whole new levels of odiousness, chuckling into his fleshbeard as he's reminded of his holocaust denial ("oh me, what am I Like, hur hur"). Yet, at times, you almost feel sorry for him. He just seems rather out of his depth. See, usually he’s either not standing alone on his hateful platform, or he is preaching to herds of mooing racist imbecilic homophobes that hang on his every word. He’s rarely found sitting alone in a room full of people that would rather just hang him (and his every word).
It was the way that to ‘prove’ his points, he would simply make up facts, surveys and opinion polls. When asked where he got this information from he would simply say “oh…it was in all the papers”. I’m not sure what is the worse possibility, that he was either woefully unprepared, or that he bases his entire party manifesto on stuff he reads whilst shoving bacon and eggs into his fat f***ing face and pulling his pud over Jan Moir’s Stephen Gately article (of which click here to read Charlie Brooker's critique).
Also, he's got funny eyes, like he's part-chameleon, and he's using his independently rotating eyes to keep watch for homosexuals lurking insidiously in the shadows, ready to leap out and bum his children.
He's probably brilliant at pub quizzes though.
"Team Blacksout, for the burning cross trophy, what is the German for 'My Struggle'?".
Griffin manages to plumb whole new levels of odiousness, chuckling into his fleshbeard as he's reminded of his holocaust denial ("oh me, what am I Like, hur hur"). Yet, at times, you almost feel sorry for him. He just seems rather out of his depth. See, usually he’s either not standing alone on his hateful platform, or he is preaching to herds of mooing racist imbecilic homophobes that hang on his every word. He’s rarely found sitting alone in a room full of people that would rather just hang him (and his every word).
It was the way that to ‘prove’ his points, he would simply make up facts, surveys and opinion polls. When asked where he got this information from he would simply say “oh…it was in all the papers”. I’m not sure what is the worse possibility, that he was either woefully unprepared, or that he bases his entire party manifesto on stuff he reads whilst shoving bacon and eggs into his fat f***ing face and pulling his pud over Jan Moir’s Stephen Gately article (of which click here to read Charlie Brooker's critique).
Also, he's got funny eyes, like he's part-chameleon, and he's using his independently rotating eyes to keep watch for homosexuals lurking insidiously in the shadows, ready to leap out and bum his children.
He's probably brilliant at pub quizzes though.
"Team Blacksout, for the burning cross trophy, what is the German for 'My Struggle'?".
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Revisting familiar Dens
It's never nice when something repeats on you. Least of all when it wasn't much good the first time around, like doner meat and chips, or episodes of 'My Family'. Happily this is not the case with Dragons' Den as laughing at people that think they've come up with the solution to the eternal problem of cucumbers going rotten, or children not being excited by wellies, never gets old. Just in case it starts to though, those magnificent folks at the Beeb have come up with their own invention: 'Dragons' Den on Tour'. Yes, I know it's been on for ages but it only recently dawned on me that this was a thinly diguised way of re-cycling the series you're still watching on Dave. I'm quick like that.
The basic idea is that our beloved Dragons are travelling the country, catching up with both those that they laughed in the faces of and those that they invested in. I say 'invested in', but they invariably say 'took a punt'. This is slightly misleading as 'took a punt' kind of implies some form of jovial 'yeah, I'll have a go, it's a laugh innit' basis. But it isn't, its foundation is actually 'I'll give you some money that I wouldn't miss in order that I own 75% of your pointless, desperate soul. If I end up losing my doubloons, I will carve your soul from your unemployed shell with my gold-plated talons and remove my percentage thin slice by thin slice'. Happily it also provides the opportunity for those they laughed in the faces of to (sometimes) laugh back at them. Such as the fellow who lost out on investment in his online diamond retailer but has since been quite the success. True, the business operates out of his kitchen, but from little acorns grow great...er...diamond retailers. This is the new material. The rest of his segment deals with his original pitch where he was asked what the biggest seller on his website was and he replied "I don't know, cds or dvds I suppose". Yes, he had misheard the question and thought he was being asked what sold the most across the whole of the internet. The Dragon's thought he was mental and refused to part with a bean.
So this is the format for the entire show, fifteen minutes of old stuff for five minutes of new stuff. But what of the 'Tour'? Well, between clips you see a bus with the legend 'Dragons' Den on Tour' running down the side. I would really like to believe this is how the Dragons are getting about, every one of them couped up in the back feeling car-sick, Deborah Meadon giving the boys a sucky sweet and telling them not to sit over the wheelarch, then trying to cajole them into a chorus of 'One Man Went to Mow'. The thing I like most about thinking this is how they travel is because I can actually see Duncan Banatyne exiting the bus toilet waving his hand in front of his face and mumbling to Theo "ye might wanna give it a few minuts", causing Theo to crease up his little dormouse-face.
Sadly, the bus is utterly and completely irrelevant. Obviously the Dragons don't travel by bus, they arrive by limo, dusting off their noses, sweating champagne and zipping themselves up while an unseen model in the backseat wipes their mouth. Because that's how millionaires travel. Not stuck in a bus eating Fox's glacier mints in the hope that it distracts them from Banatyne's smelly poos.
This is presumably why Paul Daniels won’t die a virgin.
The basic idea is that our beloved Dragons are travelling the country, catching up with both those that they laughed in the faces of and those that they invested in. I say 'invested in', but they invariably say 'took a punt'. This is slightly misleading as 'took a punt' kind of implies some form of jovial 'yeah, I'll have a go, it's a laugh innit' basis. But it isn't, its foundation is actually 'I'll give you some money that I wouldn't miss in order that I own 75% of your pointless, desperate soul. If I end up losing my doubloons, I will carve your soul from your unemployed shell with my gold-plated talons and remove my percentage thin slice by thin slice'. Happily it also provides the opportunity for those they laughed in the faces of to (sometimes) laugh back at them. Such as the fellow who lost out on investment in his online diamond retailer but has since been quite the success. True, the business operates out of his kitchen, but from little acorns grow great...er...diamond retailers. This is the new material. The rest of his segment deals with his original pitch where he was asked what the biggest seller on his website was and he replied "I don't know, cds or dvds I suppose". Yes, he had misheard the question and thought he was being asked what sold the most across the whole of the internet. The Dragon's thought he was mental and refused to part with a bean.
So this is the format for the entire show, fifteen minutes of old stuff for five minutes of new stuff. But what of the 'Tour'? Well, between clips you see a bus with the legend 'Dragons' Den on Tour' running down the side. I would really like to believe this is how the Dragons are getting about, every one of them couped up in the back feeling car-sick, Deborah Meadon giving the boys a sucky sweet and telling them not to sit over the wheelarch, then trying to cajole them into a chorus of 'One Man Went to Mow'. The thing I like most about thinking this is how they travel is because I can actually see Duncan Banatyne exiting the bus toilet waving his hand in front of his face and mumbling to Theo "ye might wanna give it a few minuts", causing Theo to crease up his little dormouse-face.
Sadly, the bus is utterly and completely irrelevant. Obviously the Dragons don't travel by bus, they arrive by limo, dusting off their noses, sweating champagne and zipping themselves up while an unseen model in the backseat wipes their mouth. Because that's how millionaires travel. Not stuck in a bus eating Fox's glacier mints in the hope that it distracts them from Banatyne's smelly poos.
This is presumably why Paul Daniels won’t die a virgin.
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
Tubular Bell-ends
Like the graceful rhinoceros that I am, I stumbled over something the other day. Specifically, this video of a church attempting to cure a teenager of being gay.
By exorcism.
Of course they deny that it was an exorcism. That would be ridiculous. No, this was a straightforward casting out of spirits. Presumably the spirits of a dead motorcycle cop; a dead Indian; a dead construction worker and a dead cowboy.
I have read about attempts to ‘cure’ gay people before, for instance Anthony Perkins' (actor who played ‘Psycho’s Norman Bates) biography referred to him visiting someone that specialised in curing/conning angst-ridden homosexuals.
Amazingly, it didn't work.
The standard way for morally bankrupt bigots (or 'Therapists') to solve the problem of people having the audacity to find their own gender attractive is (predicatably) aversion therapy, be it through electro-shock treatment or nausea-inducing drugs. So for instance, should a gay man successfully have this therapy, be standing at a urinal and find a man next to him waving an erection around like an Orange user trying to find mobile reception, the man would promptly be sick onto it and wend his merry way.
So why exorcism? Seriously guys, I know you are devoutly religious and therefore prone to thinking that anything you don’t like in a man (like another man’s penis for example) is down to Beelzebub’s unholy meddling and not due to something as ker-azy as nature, but is exorcism really the most logical way of dealing with it? Do you honestly think the act accomplishes ANYTHING?
“Your problem is solved, hooray!”
“Hooray! So how did you manage it?”
“Well I shouted for a while, waved my arms around a bit and here we are. Sorted. Bob’s your uncle”
“Don’t change the subject. Now how about a cuddle...”
“Begone Satan!”
Perhaps they just prefer traditional methods. Which makes me wonder how they dry their ducking stool, inside by the radiator or outside by the pyre?
Either way, my favourite part of the story is actually where they say the church had taken care of the boy, providing him with clothes. "He was dressing like a woman..." they said. Well if they provide him with dresses what do they expect?
NB: This is all irrelevant really, since it wasn’t an exorcism was it. It was a casting out of spirits. Which reminds me, are you hungry? Fancy a sandwich? Oh, sorry I’ve not got anything for making sandwiches. Would some ham and mustard between two slices of buttered bread be ok? Excellent.
By exorcism.
Of course they deny that it was an exorcism. That would be ridiculous. No, this was a straightforward casting out of spirits. Presumably the spirits of a dead motorcycle cop; a dead Indian; a dead construction worker and a dead cowboy.
I have read about attempts to ‘cure’ gay people before, for instance Anthony Perkins' (actor who played ‘Psycho’s Norman Bates) biography referred to him visiting someone that specialised in curing/conning angst-ridden homosexuals.
Amazingly, it didn't work.
The standard way for morally bankrupt bigots (or 'Therapists') to solve the problem of people having the audacity to find their own gender attractive is (predicatably) aversion therapy, be it through electro-shock treatment or nausea-inducing drugs. So for instance, should a gay man successfully have this therapy, be standing at a urinal and find a man next to him waving an erection around like an Orange user trying to find mobile reception, the man would promptly be sick onto it and wend his merry way.
So why exorcism? Seriously guys, I know you are devoutly religious and therefore prone to thinking that anything you don’t like in a man (like another man’s penis for example) is down to Beelzebub’s unholy meddling and not due to something as ker-azy as nature, but is exorcism really the most logical way of dealing with it? Do you honestly think the act accomplishes ANYTHING?
“Your problem is solved, hooray!”
“Hooray! So how did you manage it?”
“Well I shouted for a while, waved my arms around a bit and here we are. Sorted. Bob’s your uncle”
“Don’t change the subject. Now how about a cuddle...”
“Begone Satan!”
Perhaps they just prefer traditional methods. Which makes me wonder how they dry their ducking stool, inside by the radiator or outside by the pyre?
Either way, my favourite part of the story is actually where they say the church had taken care of the boy, providing him with clothes. "He was dressing like a woman..." they said. Well if they provide him with dresses what do they expect?
NB: This is all irrelevant really, since it wasn’t an exorcism was it. It was a casting out of spirits. Which reminds me, are you hungry? Fancy a sandwich? Oh, sorry I’ve not got anything for making sandwiches. Would some ham and mustard between two slices of buttered bread be ok? Excellent.
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