Monday, 30 December 2013

Voodoo Child


Yes, Comrades

When Irie Nancy got out of work today, I struggled to make my day up to that point sound interesting. So I'm going to do you a real favour and change it a bit. Let's go back...way back...

As a nipper, when I was still kickin' it to R.E.M. and The Commitments (not like there's anything wrong with that!), the in thing was to have a vagina. Little Natalie had one, little Carly had one and little Johnny had one. Little Johnny had just found out about his vagina, or at least what such a thing was. So, he asked little Dread if he had one. God forbid little Dread look uncool - of course he had a vagina! Who do you think he was, some uncool guy? A little confused but safe in the knowledge that a vagina had to be some kind of Tamagotchi or Cyber Pet, little Dread goes home first chance he gets. He heartwarmingly explains to his parents that everyone else has a vagina, and he really wants one, so please get him one of his own, parents. Little Johnny has since gone on to join the Royal Air Force - little Dread has since gone on to write diaries for the internet.

First off, we came home so I could laugh at Nancy's childhood poem about Heaven. Seriously though, she made Heaven sound mega. We then went to the Sheba household to sing the birthday chorus to Grand Daddy Sheba. His name is Eddy. The pineapple upside-down (or is that upside-down pineapple?) cake was great.

We then decided to put this bastard Zia business to bed once and for all. We went to Camelback. For those who don't remember, I said last time that Zia shops would not have something, then you'd go back whenever, that same day even, and they'd have it. They're pulling the opposite Houdini shite now! So I give up my quest for that certain DVD, for now.

We went back and Alecia pulled up behind us. An American football game was on, but fuck all that caper innit? A foot barely connects with a ball at all in their version of the glorious game, even they admit that. I've started getting hugged by everyone as they leave too, before I've even time to ask who the bollocks they are.

We went home and watched some Super High Me. There now follows a break in transmission.

"I didn't mean to take up all your sweet time - I'll give it right back to ya one of these days"

In a bit.



Yes, Comrades

I always have loads of super ideas to write in here, then they go away. That's the tragedy. Anyway, another day off for Irie Nancy, which the poor old horse spent sleeping. I spent this time researching if I'm rubbing 'their' bellies correctly - turns out I am the master belly rubber, stand back!

Eventually the old man woke up and we sort of looked lost for a bit, with no idea what mischief to get up to. One of my gifts, I can admit, was a Zias gift card, which needed to be spent. We went to Tempe first, which had lots of odd books and Smallville DVD sets. Yabby Bassey, it seems no one likes that show after all, eh?

I love Jennifer Lawrence. She is great. As soon as I heard her talking about herself in The Hunger Games, saying "No one wants to see that idiot swinging from trees" I thought "I'd like that lady, I shall ask for her for Christmas". Jaden Smith, on the other hand..."How can mirrors be real if our eyes aren't real?" Well, yes, quite. "Jonah Hill is a genius". Just, fuck off, ok Jaden? Stop speaking to me.

Had to get that out of my system. The old beast and I (I'm referencing Monty Python when I call her those things in an ingenius callback to an entry I wrote a year and a half ago) found a new Zias which was cool and all, but it wasn't my Camelback.

We next pulled up at Alecia and X's house, where Alecia's Mum's birthday was being held and celebrated by watching a UFC fight...and making a fuck ton of racket. Seriously, everyone had warned me that Alecia's family were loud, but fuck me. Ocean's fucking Seven was less noisy! You adapt to that stuff quicker than you'd think - yes, even me.

There were three occasions of freak luck on this day. The first was that a banana milkshake was launched across the car and didn't spill. The second was when my girl Miesha Tate, who I decided was my girl just because, lost to Ronda Rousey. $10 down to Irie Nancy. Now, I've taken a few hits from women in my time, I should know which bitch was going to come out on top. Lastly, Anderson Silva broke his shin during his fight with Chris Weidman (more like, Wideman, am I right?). $20 down to Sal Sheba. Don't gamble, kids. I'm off for a cry, a Pot Noodle and a wank.

"Watch your money go round, as you fall from grace and hit the ground"

In a bit.

Saturday, 28 December 2013

What A Wonderful Man


Yes, Comrades

What a head I had. Amazing what can be done with so little beer...I walked around with a head heavier than Rick Waller's bag of potato chips and a stomach with as much going on in it as Marc Almond's (or any of the other spunk-bellied celebrities). But God put Alka-seltzer on this Earth for a reason. I accidentally used warm water so it was horrible, but never mind.

Once the make-up was on, we made haste to Sheba's. She had done her hair up so looked nothing like anyone I knew. So, I shot the stranger getting into our car. Oops. We went to Tree's cousin's so those two could get their gear. We went back and because I knew what was coming next, I had none.

Some Mexicans blew the tires up for us and we were on our way to the drive-in to see the man, the myth, the legend, Mr Ron Burgundy, the man whose quotes are stolen by fat idiots on dating sites across the globe. Yes, comrades, it was Anchorman 2. I'm sure this will come as no surprise, but the first one is better. That being said, I have seen some shitty sequels in my life - Cheetahmen 2, Jack Frost 2, Buttman and Throbbin Meet the Poker 5, why were these made?! - and Anchorman 2 is not one of them. I enjoyed it much more than expected, though the Brick parts were just bizarre.

After getting gas, we returned to my home away from home away from home to have a smoke. Nancy and I got our faces swapped in a phone app and I came out looking like the Mona fucking Lisa. If I go viral, I'm very sorry. It was jolly funny though.

And I'm spent. We tried to watch Super Troopers, which really made me laugh, but I gave up and was very pleased to get back to la-la land after a baloney sandwich. I would kill all of you, dear readers, for another baloney sandwich.


"Big devil told us to sing along and like a loving flock we obey"

In a bit.



Yes, Comrades

We all had a well-deserved lie in, which was good because I was having an absolutely scrummy dream about ponies. Such fantasies had to wait, however, as before me feet had touched the ground, I was being wheeled around the houses.

First off, I met Irie Nancy's old babysitter. I don't know how many people would get not only their babysitter, but their babysitter's daughter a present, but there you are. They were nice. Next to a house we didn't get down (out the car) at. Then, to cousin Abel's house. I'd met him and his kids (like Isaac) already, but all the same, it was nice to see them again. Like a lot of people here, seeing his eyes was a new experience, without the shades on. I forgot to bring mine, my Ray Bans. Bet you haven't got a pair.

Last up I met one of several thousand Tonys in the Nancy family. The mother apparently collects spoons from around the world. I think our spoon would have a Lacoste logo and a Stanley Knife sticking out of it. For whatever reason I've been reminded of that one video I made years ago about Captain Jack Squirrel - there is a website out there dedicated to squirrel videos. Go figure. The videos work well with rave music too.

Soon we had been home, eaten steak sandwiches, picked up Mama Sheba and Tree and had arrived at X and Alecia's house. Alecia gave us her rice, salsa and tacos which were the business. X and I enjoyed some Stella whilst the others were on the Malibu and orange. Jonathan Ross would be proud, ladies, that shandy-pants bastard.

I'm at this moment watching an ad for Bacon Bowls, with 'baconriffic' ideas. Seriously, check that shit out, this country has some of the greatest minds of our generation.

I like Breaking Bad. I only watched the fifteen minute pilot but my God it was fucking cool. Some specky twat blowing up a caravan. It's the Breaking Bad of TV shows really, Breaking Bad. We also watched Death Becomes Her, by which time the golden seal had been broken. I feel like a genius because now I know who Goldie Hawn is, thanks to Wildcats. You see how it all links up? I'm great.

We then went home to continue our bender. I can't remember specifics, but we discussed some pretty heavy shit, like Dragonball Z. It was crazy, with me and the Archbishop of Banterbury.

"My mind's gone loose inside its shell"

In a bit.

Thursday, 26 December 2013



Yes, Comrades

That day, again. We had two hours til departure to the family gathering. This was spent partaking in the usual festive panic about forgetting shit. Within about ten minutes of leaving, we were at Uncle Tony's house.

Within minutes I'm bombarded by adults and children alike whom I don't recognise. I really don't know what to make of the hugs, kisses, laughing, cheering, clapping and general happiness that's being exchanged. A boy named Isaac took a real interest in me and my homeland to the point of practically asking if he could do a documentary on me. I mean, how would you react? I felt like the King of Arizona.

With Star Wars sweeties in hand, pork, turkey, spinach, potatoes, salad, cheesecake, eggnog, Cola, spinach salad, potato salad and other stuff was consumed. "Don't sit me too near the fire". Is what I would've said if anyone in Arizona owned such a thing. Presents were given to the twenty or so kids whilst we tried to just get to the back door to get some recovery time.

We were there four hours total before we were back home, swapping outlandish music. This portion of the day was mostly spent relaxing. Between cigarettes, X, Alecia and the kids arrived. I don't know what it is, but I still don't know why people, age regardless, think torturing me will be a fun thing to do. All night was a faux magic show from the kids as we all exchanged our gifts. I was Uncle Dread for the night...that's what they (kinda) called me.

I won't be a dick and list my presents but I was very happy. I was dressed in the full Arizona gear by the end of the night and chugging Stella. It's impossible not to get caught up in it in some capacity.

But what kind of day would this be if it didn't end with a visit to Sheba's? Well, that's ok, cause that's what happened. We brought cheesecake over, just chatted about the day and were gone in about an hour.

Finally, we capped off with more music and I finished my Stella. God bless us, every one. Not you. Or you. You, yeah, you. Not you. You lot, I like you.

Merry Christmas

"Did you ever see the faces of the children? They get so excited"

In a bit.



Yes, Comrades

Woke up. Good, I remember that much at least. After loitering around, we went to a place, Mrs Nancy and me, a place I have now forgotten because the day has been one long blur. Then it was just another day until 5pm, when Trouble herself got picked up. Oh, I had a bean tamale and made twenty kids Christmas bags also.

Almost as soon as we'd arrived, we were off like whirling dervishes to Wal mart (I'm told I'm a fud and it's two words) to get socks, gift sets, a pillow and Flipz. Me and McKayla Maroney just chillin' with that last item. Then home to start Christmas stuff. I tell you, the amount of love I saw this day, was just like watching Stuart Little, this stuff can't be genuine, can it? Ah, you're a rotter, Mr Grinch.

It is genuine, just for the record. Back out again to Zias, at Nancy's insistence. She's all worried her present is going to be about as punk rock as Avril Lavigne and The Goo Goo Dolls, so she insists on spoiling me with another. I'm not writing what I asked for because you cunts will laugh at me. We also got Beatles Monopoly (they can release that now since Michael Jackson retired as champion) for the Shebas.

Next to Safeway to get Tree some Christmas cheese and a banana cream pie, also for the Shebas. Sounds like a Kindergarten Cop drug operation, dunnit? Popped home again to wrap. It wasn't no trap. Once this was done, we went on the run. With presents in the back, luck we did not lack. We took a drive to Mama's, and were sure to not hit any llamas. Word.

There were about twenty people in there and of course I was the only gringo. I learned that word from playing Xbox, which proves that games do in fact teach us useful skills to get us through in life. It was like staring into a hurricane of love and feeling the uncontrollable Christmassy urge to jump into it. Maybe the calmest place would be in its eye, the eye of love?

Nah. We all had a cool half hour though - they liked their presents, the new people were good fun, it was all very quaint. Turns out there was an undercurrent of tension in the air. But hey, Tree's reaction to her cheese cut right through it - "I'm gonna call my Mom!" Mama Sheba loved her Suns blanket too.

In what felt like no time at all, we were home again, Hat. Cheesecake-making, gift wrapping banter. P.S. I also got a fucking nice guitar bracelet.

"Tender is the night, lying by your side"

In a bit.

Catus Carnival


Yes, Comrades

First off, mad props to Mikhail Kalashnikov and Addison Cresswell for the work they do. I mean, what kind of world would we live in if it didn't have AK-47s and Michael McIntyre? Consider that. What's that, you say? Dead? Oh. Yeah, rest in peace lads.

So, after waking up and pulling myself together after these horrible losses, myself and Mrs Nancy took a drive to some shop for rugs. Cats. Cats everywhere. On cushions, rugs, pillows, bedsheets, the floor, just fucking cats. Some girl with a face like a spanked arse, a spanked monkey's arse, even, got on my tits with her face.

Next thing I know I'm doing the family shopping at Target and Fry's. I've got Target and the fabric store out of order, mah bad. I'm sure we got some funny looks, particularly when I was incredulous that once again, at Target, the Christmas aisle was chock-a with cat imagery. Country's fucking weird. The occasional pug too.

At home again, with the weird types of squash, e.g. spaghetti, that America has on my mind, I watched the first two episodes of The Twilight Zone. Not just saying this because I'm me, but watch it if you get the chance. Eventually Nancy herself was picked up from work and I was stuffed with burritos of all shapes and sizes and fried chicken. Christ, roll on Christmas dinner.

I then did my Terminator ritual. I crouch in the shower in the 'naked Terminator' pose. With eyes closed, I crouch for a minute and visualise either Arnie or the guy from the second movie. I then start to hum the Terminator 2 theme. Slowly, I rise to a standing position and open my eyes. It helps me get through my day. The only problem is the shower curtain sometimes sticks to my Terminator leg. It sort of ruins the fantasy.

So, anyway, Nancy and I sprinted from store to store because even as I write this she had Christmas shopping to do. At CVS to get photos printed, what do I see? Yep. Cats! Goddamn cats! A gift set and a gift card were bought.

At Sheba's, it was just us two and Debbie this time. Felt surreal. We learned about the Seneca Guns and how aliens use the sonic booms to power their spaceships. That's a direct quote as well. These people man, these fucking people...I mean people who believe this shit. Crazy Eights was finished at home. 4/10. Good visuals, good music, patchy story, not enough weasel-faced fucker.

In a bit.

Monday, 23 December 2013

Ça Plane Pour Moi


Yes, Comrades

First, an epilogue from the night before. Raoul posted a picture of Adriana passed out on the kitchen floor later that night; Irie Nancy and Mama Sheba had a miserable next day at work; Tree lost her phone then got it back after the finder of said phone gave up on cracking it; the Four Little Mexicans did their thing; White Guy stayed white and I slept in a bit.

Good, we're caught up. Was quite an uneventful day, really. After sitting about until 5, we remembered we had to pick Nancy up from work. There was serious fucking shit going down on my 3DS so everyone had to wait until that was resolved before we went to Arizona Mills to get X his Xmas shoes. The shop had some snazzy shoes, I must admit. I must remember to look into Creative Recreation shoes because they are good. That was alright, maybe now they'll send me some free stuff.

First Maccy Dees since I got here. I was promised an Xbox One sticker thing that I could've won an Xbox One with and I'm going to get my Xbox One sticker thing! Maybe. Someday. We drove away and I said "Christmas is cancelled".

Back to our usual hangout. I've a job trying to stretch this out, I must say. We met Sheba's friend, in inverted commas. Apparently he talks a lot but he seemed fine by me. We took our usual trip into the esoteric and to a dealer, and I'm sorry but that's about it. At home we got to see the first half or so of Crazy Eights. It's independent, by the way. I'm not one of those indie shitheads who will say because it's independent it's good, but it has that weasel-faced fucker you'd just love to belt from Red Dragon and yeah, it's alright so far. Hasta luego.

"J'ai du dormir dans la goutière, ou j'ai eu un flash en quatre couleurs"

In a bit.

Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss


Yes, Comrades

I wanna play a game. You have spent your whole life being a person...and doing...things. Today you will wake in a house that's not yours and have kinda no way out to have a smoke. The keys are here, but it will take a text to find out where they are. Live or die.

That sucked. Then the senior Nancys got back, we watched some of that film with bats where Christian Bale has marbles in his mouth then Mr Nancy and I went shopping, where I was totally blindsided as he got me shoes for Christmas. As would be expected, I had no idea what to say when this happened. We then went home to finish watching Tom Hardy punch concrete pillars apart and rub bellies (not each others'! Jesus!).

When Irie herself got back, we went to Pete's, which is basically a chippy. I got me square cod, breaded shrimp and chips, with The Journey's Midnight Train soundtracking the drive back. The food was good in the hood and nah I can't be bothered.

We went from Sheba's to her brother Raoul's. There, Ted was on. I like me some Mila Kunis but fuck, I needed out of there. Adding some Casa Rossa and a slammer to the beer in my belly, we headed to Ocean's Seven for Adriana(Raul's missus)'s birthday, after picking up her friends. That's eight of us in one car, and only one of us isn't Mexican. There are so many jokes I could make here but more importantly...

The club was bouncing, quite literally. We were packed into a tiny private area as more of Adriana's friends turned up and we started on the vodka. Adriana's chums...I think would be best described as such: Adriana is Snow White and she has her four little Mexicans: Grumpy, cause she don't smile much; Red, cause she has red hair; Cool, cause anyone who actually knows the guys on the door and so gets in without ID is pretty fucking cool, and Cher, because she looks like Cher. They seemed like nice girls all the same. There was also a guy as white as me there! Lawd it's a miracle!

You know how when Bugs Bunny is in his hole or house and a giant walks past and he bounces around the room? This club genuinely made you bounce even when outside, I can still feel the bass. A guy who looked and behaved exactly like Kip from Napoleon Dynamite and was on his own was there. He was bloody fascinating to watch. Poor Tree had to dance him off. We left and went home, bog standard ending.

"Just jot me down on your to-do list under 'put out like a fire'"

In a bit.

Saturday, 21 December 2013

Phoner To Arizona


Yes, Comrades

Following my complete bodily shutdown, I was up relatively early. We had the gaff all to ourselves, an opportunity we chose to invest in listening to Zappa, ZZ Top et al on the Classic Rock channel whilst I did the whole collecting badges and catchin' em all thing. Around one, we made haste to Sheba's, then to their work to pick up their pay.

Someone told me once to use the opening "Further to this" as it makes you sound smart. So, further to this, we stopped at the bank then off to Walmart for Christmas shopping. That's my favourite thing of all to do, by the way. I especially like it when you're bursting for a piss and the restroom's closed, for the whole time. Brilliant. All this while people who don't realise you're not at home keep trying to ring you, the knobheads. But when you leave with Cheetos, Sweetarts and grape juice, the piss stains pay for themselves. I'm joking.

Arizona Mills was next. We got separated at the Disney shop (don't ask) but eventually all got out in Dropping the shopping at the respective houses (God I feel so intelligent with those words), we had a nice fried chicken dinner at home. This included my fantastic comedy characters, which consisted mainly of third rate Walking Dead impressions. What a storm they went down.

Moving from that blatant lie to Zias, not for me this time. But I did get that White Album jigsaw for a present and Irie got Super Troopers and Crazy Eights. This Horrorfest thing, it's horrifying (pun intended) that I hadn't heard of it before. Will be checking that shit out. We tried to watch Crazy Eights later but once again I'd been slain by the Camberwell carrot, methinks.

There was a party planned but in a strategic play which will become clear later (it won't) we decided not to go. Instead, the lot of us smoked ourselves silly. I knew I was done when we left to get wraps - I waited in the car and Duran Duran's New Moon On Monday came on and I was sort of fine with that. I said "Aw that's it, no more". About an hour later we were home and come eleven, I admitted defeat.

In a bit.

Rhythm Of The Rain


Yes, Comrades

I rolled out of bed, rolled along the floor, out of my bedroom and onto the kitchen stool to eat a nice sausagey burrito. Following my further stuffing, I rolled into the shower, flopped and splashed around a bit then collapsed into the car, after more rolling. We were on our way to Ralph's house.

Ralph had turned 70 the day before and I swear to God if you'd told me I was going to meet Marlon Brando 70s era, I'd have believed you at this point. I really had to resist the urge to kiss his hand and offer him a favour involving the finest naughty salts from Peru. We left with an offer we couldn't refuse to Sheba's house. They smoked, I didn't, things were said, furniture was thrown, the fruit basket was tampered with...

Mystery Castle. A big homemade castle with dragons, knights, puppets, lots of pictures of cats, a rock shaped like a lion's head and other such oddities. The only real mystery is why it was built in the first place and why there weren't four teenagers and a Great Dane asking me where I got my counterfeit $20 bills. Actually, there may have been a sign saying "No mystery-investigating teenagers", I'm not sure.

Next was Zias, again. Poor Irie Nancy, she can't escape the place. She got Street Kings and Kick-Ass, I got a boxset with a guy that says "What?", plays with his tie and chortles a lot for the Nancy family, and Reflektor for myself. I've heard the first disc, it's a grower I think.

A quick stop home followed by a visit to Sheba's. I had a libation this time and we went to Tree's cousin's to top up. That stuff was an absolute sucker punch, I stood no chance against this mammoth ganja. With a banana milkshake in the fridge calling my name, we went home. I tried, I really tried, but at 11pm we gave up on The Hobbit and that was it, game over. We saw rain for my first time too. Different kind of rain from what I'm used to, was like a dribbling shower, the drops bounce off you. We'd kill for that kind of rain!

"Pitter patter, pitter patter"

In a bit.

Friday, 20 December 2013

Man On The Moon


Yes, Comrades

Some company or other from back home rattled my folks' cages, which in turn caused me mobile to go off, and off, and off, which in turn woke me up earlier than needed be. I heard voices. They were saying something along the lines of "Kill them. Kill them all" "You shoosh". It was Nancy's brother, X. The whole family, which is him and the parents, minus Nancy, were in.

After knocking a few years off with my toothbrush and shaving away the bankrupt pug look, I waltzed into the living room. X and I took a drive around most banks in Phoenix before finally a Travelex took my limey money and gave me dollars. Then, Last's what I imagine Boots looks like on Saturday mornings, filled with loads of frantic ladies, except instead of morning-after pills, they're going mad for cheap shoes (though $100 for D&G shoes sounds pretty standard to me). Next, Best Buy to torture myself with Region 1 crapola. They had a Law & Order boxset lasting over a hundred hours, I don't know when you're ever going to need that. Finally, ignoring all of my warnings, we took the car with the licence plate 'DATBOYX' to Zias, the big one.

First and foremost, they had a Ron Burgundy battle-ready action figure, he had a chair leg and everything. There was also a White Album cover jigsaw puzzle, a joke I didn't get until hours later. We left with series one of The Twilight Zone and a certain 99c comic.

Back at casa de Nancy, Ruby Sparks got stuck on. It were alright, whoever the main chick was in it looked like the great Emily if she'd fucked a strawberry (watch it, you'll (maybe) understand). After that fun stuff, we went and had us some bomb, which I'm told I smoked once last time. Totally believe that too - I was gone, on the moon, soaring through the cosmos whilst surrounded by marshmallow pies and looking glass eyes. On a side note, I'd love to try a marshmallow pie.

At home, despite having eaten a jumbo bag of Cheetos, a medium punch, most of a banana milkshake fit for the Gods themselves and some other stuff, we did the Mario. What? We had spaghetti, shut it! Then a cultural exchange: Blackadder for Human Giant. Pretty good.

"Here's a little agit for the never-believer"

In a bit.

Where I Find My Heaven


Yes, Comrades

Like a rock, thanks for asking. I got up before 6pm too which was just miraculous. So, my room. We're talking a double bed, a closet for me to hide in, drawers, a mirror, more drawers, Christmas mats, plugs...On a serious note, I'm one fucking lucky fucker. At that moment, the one where I left my bedroom smelling like Elton John's handkerchief cause I hadn't time to shower, we were off in Mrs Nancy's car to a destination you get no points for guessing.

Like a little lost lamb, I was dropped off at Mama Shebaaah's (get it cause lamb?). One by one, her family came through the door and I was reintroduced to them all over again. Tree's welcome was the funniest, because I knew what I'd wrote about her in the last entries, she knew, so what was said was "Hi" but I bet what she was thinking was "I heard what you said, bum burglar". Like she said, "Oh well!"

Wildcats had just started, so that's what I watched. God, if a rather unfortunate martian crash lands on Earth and asks "Ulla! What was ze 80s?" show it that movie. I liked it though. Next up was 42, a film about American footballers, namely the black ones. I wonder if in America people really do say "You wanted to see me, sir?" and 'sir' launches into some life-altering speech. Seems to happen in all these movies.

Next up was The Jeffersons. I wish I was part of a black American family in the 70s, looks a right giggle. After Prancer, which wasn't anything short of depressing, we went into Sheba's room to learn how bread is made, thanks to the Discovery Channel. So if you want to know how many baguettes the Polish produce in a week, I'm your man. An extended argument about sponges and loofahs sent us to Walmart on a sponge hunt and to be honest, that was it. I'm wrapping up because I ate too much today and must sleep.

"The blood flows through my heart and leaves like sand as I shave"

In a bit.

Lights Out, Words Gone


Yes, Comrades

Funnily enough, I spent the last night in Blighty doing exactly the same as the last time - watching Hugh Laurie decide if it's Lupus and having alcoholic beverages. The whole uproar about our hero (me) leaving was more of a downroar this time around, which was no skin off my tit. 6am comes and the father took me to the airport.

Check-in was nice and painless. Soon as the coast is clear, smokarette. After practically pulling fluff out every hole in my body just in case it was metallic, I'm sat in the departure lounge, surrounded by empty seats. A siren of a lady, for whatever reason, singled out the seat right next to me and planked herself next to me. Hmmm. Then I get my seat by the window, and who's sat next to me? Yep. I seriously thought Mummy had hired a spy or something, cause one I could've accepted, but both things happening? Hum. She said something to me in American, I laughed in confusion and fell asleep for four hours.

At Newark, I'm suspected of terrorism again, naturally. In the security room, some guy politely asks "Excuse me, I'm about to miss my flight and - " "Yeah, so's everyone else in this room, now siddown!!" Jesus, haven't even searched our cases yet and we're Osama Bin Smugglin'. After some belittling, I got back to the departure lounge (after teaming up with a black man who also thought he'd lost his case) and played my 3DS. In this game you can even rub their bellies! Imagine, in a few years we'll be able know what, never mind.

On this flight I was sat next to an Asian woman who didn't look Asian - the workload she was taking care of was the giveaway. Ok, so that's two races insulted, onto a passage from my book I think Don and Bunny Bongo will appreciate:
"He pulled his legs up against his stomach, staring at the closed closet doors. He didn't want to. His stomach hurt. A shooting pain in his lower belly.
Had to pee."

So that's a thing. Arrived in Arizona, greeted by Mama Sheba and Irie Nancy. We got my case and hit the road to Sheba Manor. I was given an agenda and a blunt. It hit hard. But I didn't lose my feet or try to French myself this time! We got home and I can't get a word out, so tired. I collapse in my bed. Bliss.

"The town has always turned these lies and made them all burn"

In a bit.

Sunday, 15 December 2013

Are You With Me Now?

"Letting my boredom reduce me to comparing Henry Hoovers on Amazon"


Yes, Comrades

If a man walks into a restaurant, and asks for a pie, but instead receives a lobster hammer from the waiter, who is actually a creature composed entirely of tears and sneezes, a rift shall open up in the universe and show the man that the lobster hammer is, in fact, not a lobster hammer at all, but the eternal bleakness of eternity. You shall then see the harsh reality that you are in fact a solitary emu skating through the galaxy of toffee ice cream, and that the correct answer to this question is as follows:

"No thank you sir, for I wield the true lobster hammer! Bane to all pine cones for I am the world's first and only retrolentual pine cone slayer!"


Yes. Yes indeed. But you shall soon find out that the galaxy is, in fact, not really a galaxy but a facade. You see the galaxy soon becomes a universe of doubtful cherry drops mixed with the taxes of a small nation. This nation produces the most delightful soup that you shall ever taste. But then you find out that it is not really soup, but a giant pool of honey. As you swim through this pool you gain the knowledge of the ages, but you forget why.

And the true answer to the question is as follows:

"No thank you sir, for I am the world's first and only retroactive typewriter machine! Good nooboo!"

Between writing stellar philosophy such as what you see above, letting my boredom reduce me to comparing Henry Hoovers on Amazon, waking up with texts that say "Vip cigs go to google and click vip cigs and order photon tank costs 40£ all together all the best mate stevie" and having no idea where they came from and rubbing shoulders with the stars like so...

...I've not been doing a whole lot. But that's all changing, droogs. I return to the land of the free in about 24 hours from you reading this. It'll be the exact same system as before, with one tiny tweak: I'm sticking that there song link at the top of the entry, as it was pointed out by people that people kept forgetting to listen to the song as they read the entry (or as I predicted, didn't bother listening at all. You bastard people). Makes sense. I've started with this entry, by the way. Anyway, I need to be getting on, that xbox isn't going to waste human life on its own! Hope you enjoy the journey to some extent.

Never forget.
Oh, one more thing.

I...I love you...

In a bit.

"I have no reason to run - I see no reason"

Sunday, 15 September 2013

Succession Of Witches

"Can only say his own name and thinks his dad is Princess Leia"

Yes, Comrades

So political correctness is a thing. It annoys me so much it makes my teeth hurt. You know, like Radio 1 makes my teeth hurt. You know those songs that are so bad they make your teeth hurt? Right then. It's all fine and good to not disclude little Tommy from his spelunking class strictly because he's in a wheelchair, can only say his own name and thinks his dad is Princess Leia (based (loosely) on a true story), but I take umbrage with people who throw the term around like a hot bag of herpes. You only have to say a word that could be, if you do lots of verbal acrobatics, even vaguely related to a racist or derogatory term before some shithead who thinks liberalism will get him his hole starts on you. I believe the majority of these people start on you purely to look like the fantastic neo-hippies they think they are and don't actually understand what they're having a go at you for. I believe PC has evolved to such an extent that people now just use it solely to get what they want and aren't actually offended in the least, and if they are they don't even fucking know why - they just think they should be, and I can prove it. This is a true story, this is. You must understand that in the context of the shit I talk, this story is 100% true and not fabricated in the least.

Ok. Many moons ago, say...8 years ago, I knew a boy by the name of Blair. He liked Japanese cartoons, ate like Jammie Dodgers were going out of fashion and we once caught him sitting in his dad's car, shades on, with the window rolled down and his arm hanging out the window as he listened to Final Fantasy rock music, bopping his head and most likely thinking "I can't wait to be the first person to die by drowning in vagina". So, we had plenty of things to ridicule this boy for, is my point. But being the kind-hearted souls we were, we didn't. One day though, I called him the Blair Witch. This was his response: "No! Don't call me that, because that is very offensive to people called Blair. How dare you!" So...apparently the Blair tribe, in some time of yore, had been cast out as witches, stoned with ducks (if you're of the Monty Python persuasion) and from then on anyone with the name was still referred to as a witch, and they're still sensitive about the whole issue, every time one of the Blair tribe during one of their conference calls says the word 'witch' there's a lull in the conversation and they have to take a few minutes to compose themselves. Very see what I'm saying? How could it possibly be 'offensive'? This guy had been watching too much Judge Judy or something, I don't know, but he'd adopted the PC card and wasn't even using it right. He's since grown up to become quite a successful player in his basketball team of choice (he used to call it 'B-ball' which he outright admitted he stole from Grand Theft Auto) so I guess the Blairs have finally overcome their oppression and public casting out as witches. I hope I've made my point. Just in case, here it is in plain language: People are fucking soft-as-shite cowards and idiots.

So you lot have been telling me your reviews about me as a person lately, I'm so grateful. I'm just going to share some with you. Here's the first: "I love your blog, but so typical of you to ridicule Jammie Dodgers and fat people without insulting people from the Middle East. You're happy to have a go at Jammie Dodgers, but I doubt we shall be seeing you having a go at any Muslim-related snacks in the near future, like those little mini poppadom things you can get from Tesco's. Yours, Norris McWhirter."
And let's have another: "Yeah he likes catgirls dressed in hoodies and that, doesn't he?"
Annnd another: "I hope fucking Chrohn's Disease kills him."
Oh, go on then, one more. "A shit-haired cunt who resides at the very apex of all that is absolute patience-testing wank. Seriously, when there is the blogger equivalent of the Nuremberg Trials, this bastard is going to be hung from the highest fucking lamp post, pelted with wasps' nests and dog turds and eventually blasted with a flamethrower. Fucking Hell, I can't put into words (???) how much I detest this utter fucking cunt. Yours, Norris McWhirter"

Interesting reviews, those. What's more interesting about those reviews, is that of those four reviews, only three of them were made up by me.

In a bit.


The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. It's the last one too so you can just take the Super Soaker away from your head now, you have so much to live for after all.

Wednesday 7th January 2009
It's sea spray night, and I'm certainly getting emotional vibes. I've had my last swim, my last dinner, my last game of Soul Calibur with Mark and my last pointless argument. My bag took ages to pack and it weighs more than Paul Weller's paycheck. We got our family shots on disc too - and they definitely turned out great. I listened to Get Away all the way through at 2am (30 mins ago) as I took my last look at the Mendez garden. It's all very dramatic and all, but I look forward to coming back here equipped with my 'materials' for life. All is said and done; it's time to go home and get drunk again.
"Carry me home, you old sea spray"

Saturday, 7 September 2013

The Black Angel's Death Song

"Teenage emotional girls who aspire to one day be old enough to give One Direction a blowjob each"

Yes, Comrades

A trip to Comicon happened today. I'm completely joking, it didn't happen for reasons I'm too polite to bore you with. But I had promised myself I'd write about it here as that was a sufficient time gap from my last post. So, I seem to have done myself a bit of a disservice by not dragging my sorry arse to the convention filled with teenage emotional girls who aspire to one day be old enough to give One Direction a blowjob each; fat, spot-popping, workshy louts who masturbate over animated ponies and those strange men who watch too many Harold Lloyd films according to their fashion sense, sound like they're impersonating Snagglepuss when they talk and think "It's time I went a-wooing!" and go to Comicon (I'm sure I'm supposed to be saying Comic Con, but hey, fuck the police). Regardless, here's some drivel from yours truly to bridge the gap until the next one.

How many of you, dear droogs, tried to write a song when you were about 14, 15? If so, may I hazard a guess that it went along the lines of this: "There's a man, he's a lonely man. Take a look at him. He looks a bit like me!"? I bet it fucking did, didn't it? You just wanted to play it and for some well-informed peer of the opposite gender to go "My God, you're deep. My God, you are brilliant, aren't you? And that's about you, is it?" "Yeah, it is, yeah" I love all that. Then as you got older, you maybe had a go at it again, didn't you? You'd heard some Ramones and thought you were the fucking bollocks, so your song evolved into something like this: "The world's trying to take a piece of me! Ey, you think I’m going down and I’m coming back! I’m against the ropes! They tried to drag me down, they put me in this emotional prison! The man's on my back! They tried to take a piece of me!" Am I right? Of course the best part is you'd just love to go back in time and meet your little gobshite self and say "Who? Who's bringing you down? Who's trying to take a piece of you?" "Well, you know, parents and that, don't they, sometimes? The teachers"

On that subject, I have to share something fucking brilliant with you. I still remember a poem from my very early big school days. We all had to write a poem for English and to be fair, they were all pretty shite. But we mercilessly took the piss out of this lad, I won't say his name (no it wasn't fucking me!) because his was just...oh God, I still remember it after all these years. I'm convinced he just went to a thesaurus and stuck in some words he'd found that were synonymous with "brood". Anyway, here's how it went:

'The reason why,
The reason why,
The reason why
I had to die
Did I bleed
The blood of greed?
What was my destiny?'

We read this and we. Were. Laughing. And I swear, for about a year all we'd do around this lad was stroke our chin, looking skyward, scratching our head and saying "What was my destiny?" Fucking brilliant.

Hey, talking that shite actually took up more space than I thought it would. Nice one. Let me share this with you as well. It's a comment from a YouTube video which bloody floored me when I saw it. I can't censor one of the pics because it's a bit, you know, imperative to the humour. In this entry's Nameless But Never Shameless...

Thought I'd share some tunes with you too, found some interesting ones of late that you might not have heard. I've no plans to make a habit of this.

If you like My Bloody Valentine or any other shoegaze, Asobi Seksu (they're American - it's Japanese for 'playful sex') are masters of their craft.

The best album cover ever, is it not? Quickspace make repetitive stoner rock not unlike Pavement or Mogwai. They're not as brave as Pavement or as inventive as Mogwai (who I hate actually) but they're pretty fucking good. I'm sure that's a theremin I hear in there too, what more do you want?

Bubble Puppy were a 1969 one-kinda-hit-wonder, and this is that kinda-hit. It's very bluesy and catchy, that main riff is total tits as Eric Cartman might say.

In a bit.

The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Even if I'd written that poem above, which I most definitely did not, it couldn't equate to this level of shit.

Tuesday 6th January 2009

It is 3:25am. I'm hardly tired. There's a very realistic fake spider by my hand which cost me $5. A photo of me with a Koala chum also came into my possession. I met snakes, echidnas, kangaroos, emus, and other dodgy critters today also. Then straight home to whack away at Mark's curiously quiet drumkit for his Wii. More fun than it sounds. Dad wants Judy so much but of course won't admit it. Last night at Mark's, ever. That hits home I have to say. He's burning a copy of Spore for himself tomorrow. I imagine for the first time he'll be up before me, that's a bit strange too. My thongs have cut up my tootsie wootsies. I wasn't tired today.
"I won't forget a single day, believe me" 

Monday, 2 September 2013

Let Forever Be

"My life is equatable to a fucking bit of bad weather?"

Yes, Comrades

Well, er, now, where does one begin? From stepping off that jetway up until the present moment, my greatest contribution to society has been an Imdb list titled "Ladies I'd Get Jiggy With Whilst Listening To Will Smith - Gettin' Jiggy With It" which seemed to find its audience whilst I was galavanting overseas. People even liked it through Facebook - people publically admitted to liking something I have come up with. When my ego finally sat its fat arse down and shut its fat hole, I realised I might need to resume the asinine, banal, fatuous, other words for soulless and empty, blog of mine. It would give me some time away from writing my medical paper on why autistic people get so wet for Sonic the Hedgehog and from babysitting a braindead Aussie who Yabby Bassey so kindly landed me with whom I now can't get fucking rid of.

One part of my brain is saying "You got nothing, you got nothing" over and over whilst another is playing Joe Esposito to me right now. So I think I'll start with a very basic rant. What's the deal, with charcoal?! I mean, why is it black?!?! Oh no wait that's from my unfinished stand-up comedy routine. Right, why is it, gaylords all over the internet, whenever they're quoting Lady Gaga, Demi Lovato, Britney Spears or another of those awful people, they see some advantage to quoting the entire line. Let me show you what I mean, I'll just nip onto a website that's notorious for these idiots..."Because I played the fool for you" Right, why did they include the word 'because'? I don't see what that adds to the fucking lyric. Well, if I ever return to that Facebook thing, I'm going to go the whole hog and say things like "Tell me, tell me, tell me lies. Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies, tell me lies, tell me, tell me lies" or "Hm, my lord (hallelujah), my, my, my lord (hare krishna), my sweet lord (hare krishna), my sweet lord (krishna krishna)" I mean, really, why the fuck not? These arsetards seem to think the word "Because" or the word "And" really adds something to it, man!

I did some evaluation on my life today. I thought, "What do I really mean to this world?" So I thought naturally the first thing I would do is see if anything ever happened on the day I was born in history. So let's see...Dolly Parton's 9 To 5 tops the charts; Robert Frost dies...oh, that...famous...person and last but certainly not fucking least: "Dense fog brings road, rail and air transport in many parts of England and Wales to a virtual standstill." Seriously? THIS is what qualified for news the same date I was born? My life is equatable to a fucking bit of bad weather? That's as ridiculous as comparing Clint Eastwood to anal sex. Although, if I had to draw a comparison will make your day, one will make your whole year.

Ok, let's try something else, who shares my birthday? "Endi E. Poskovic - Artist and printmaker whose influences come from a variety of sources, including Japanese woodblock carvings." I'm convinced that's someone who's just shoved himself onto this website. It's like my Papa used to say, "Dread! Get over here with those matches, this cross isn't going to burn itself!" Wait, what? I didn't say anything. "Bob Holly - Became known by his ring name, Bob "Hardcore" Holly; fearless wrestler who won the WWF Hardcore Championship six times." Oh, hey, I share a birthday with Big Hardy Holly! Aw well that settles it, I'm a privileged man after all! I'm lying who the fuck are you? Who decides a wrestler is fearless anyway, where's that committee?

Must go, there's a noose in my room just screaming for a loser.

In a bit.

I'll resume and finish the Australia journal starting next entry.

Sunday, 23 June 2013

Get Lucky


Yes, Comrades

You currently find me at Philadelphia, got a three hour wait as of now until I board the blimmin' plane. I slept the entire four hour flight, have just bought 200 Mayfair and once this is done, I'll have other pursuits to indulge. However, let's rewind...

I woke up at 9am, there was no one else there. That's never happened before. I decided the need for a slash outweighed the want to stay in bed. Right when I decided this, I saw Irie Nancy's shadow drift past the pinned-up towel that was keeping sunlight out of my room in the front. Like Sheba and Tree say, "Oh well". I got up.

After some time doing morning things like fixing my Jack Nicholson from The Shining look, we headed to the Zias at Camelback. Still no Dawn, but we did spy something Nancy recommended: Reefer Madness. Also spied the perfect gift for someone. I got that along with the 'Madness Trilogy'. The films are unintentionally hilarious and misinformed 30s propaganda films. I didn't realise it until we were en route to Mama Sheba's, but the gift I bought already had the Madness Trilogy on it, along with 17 other films. I swear, sometimes I can be really stupid, buying two of the same thing...

At Sheba's, I saw her, Eddie, Debbie, Tree, Anjelica, other Eddie and yet another relative I hadn't met before. I gave them their gifts of an Abbey Road LP and a Jo Koy DVD. Don't think I've mentioned him yet, but Sheba loves that comedian - throughout the trip she was repeating the "I'm sorry Joseph" sleep apnia routine, presumably to drive me to insanity. It's like he was on the trip with us, should've bought him a present (sorry again Nancy)!

We took a drive to see Tempe Beach Park again. It was completely empty this time, not a soul to be seen in the super scorching sun. We strolled alongside the lake and didn't take long to get back in the car to see Buffalo Exchange, a thrift shop. One mention of that Macklemore bastard will land tha in hot water.

I saw a snazzy white jacket, but left it. We popped back home to get my smokes. There, plenty of hugs and handshakes were exchanged, culminating in Mr Nancy presenting me with a watch. Wow, innit? Back to Sheba's to pick her up and make haste to Lolo's Chicken And Waffles. I mean, for fuck's sake. Chicken and waffles? Pleased to report the very left field combination somehow worked. Only in America.

Irie Nancy, Mama Sheba, Tree, Debbie and I sat out back and had our final, or my final, blunts. Enjoyed them, but I've definitely built a tolerance born of keeping up with those crazies. My self-control has soared, even though I say so myself. We left, dropped Sheba off and headed to the drive-in again.

Even without popcorn or beer, the experience is still better. World War Z, which I believe we were watching on its release day. I actually really liked it, they've somehow reinvented the zombie all over again. Four stars, would recommend. Straight home after this, no music. It couldn't top the moment where we drove to Sheba's and felt the raw, emotional sucker punch that Elbow's Newborn brings anyway.

I showed Nancy me old Bebo (mind that shite?) photos, I saw a few minutes of her years-old home video and we watched a bit of Reefer Madness. It was every bit as brilliant as I expected. The moment came too quick: 3:30am. We quietly got in the car and made the melancholy journey back to Sky Harbor. I had to sacrifice my shoes gift to meet the suitcase weight limit and at around 5am, we said bye. In the words of the immortal Del Boy, "This isn't goodbye, it's just...bonjour"

Well droogs, this is essentially the end of our little story, for now. I've met a lot of good, funny, interesting people, I've had some times that will be hard to top, I've enjoyed the lot. I will return to Phoenix, sooner than you might think. My heart fell heavy as I saw the city, the mountains and the lakes become smaller and more distant from the sky. Yeah I'm going to go back, of course I'm going to go back. I'd be doing America a disservice by not doing so! I've apparently touched a lot of people here, and I know they've touched me. Now if you'll excuse me, I need a beer. See you somewhere down the road.

 "Like the legend of the Phoenix, ha...
  All ends with beginnings
  What keeps the planets spinning
  The force from the beginning

  The present has no ribbon
  Your gift keeps on giving
  What is this I'm feeling?
  If you want to leave, I'm with it

  We've come too far
  To give up who we are
  So let's raise the bar
  And our cups to the stars

  She's up all night to the sun
  I'm up all night to get some
  She's up all night for good fun
  I'm up all night to get lucky

  We're up all night to the sun
  We're up all night to get some
  We're up all night for good fun
  We're up all night to get lucky

  We're up all night to get lucky
  We're up all night to get lucky
  We're up all night to get lucky
  We're up all night to get lucky"

In a bit.

Broken Stones


Yes, Comrades

Aw, that rise was painful. Half six, honestly. We got ourselves loaded back into the car and before any of us knew it, we were all unconscious. I was first up at around 9, I wrote in this bleedin' thing and soon the others were up too.

I bought a scorpion lollipop at Arizona Mills. Would've taken me a minute to look back and see if I'd mentioned it, couldn't be bothered. Anyway, I ate it. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd eat scorpion again. It was crunchy and even creamy, the lolly itself was worse - no flavour, just pure sugar.

We had a bite (literally, in my case) at Jack In The Box, next thing we knew, we were back in Phoenix. We didn't see that amazing shop on the way back that sold Mexican trains and backgammon (seriously, their sign said that) sadly, but the journey was just as enjoyable.

Some time at Nancy's recuperating and eating snot flavoured jelly beans - bloody Beanboozled - and we dropped Nico off after me trying hookah for the first time at Mama Sheba's. I had gave in by now, but it didn't matter - neither Zias, FYE or Fry's Electronics had my Really Fucking Souped Up version of Dawn Of The Dead. I got something else, but still, they had it before! The fuck?

We ate our OK's at Sheba's, which was lovely, I met Miranda, then we blitzed up again, maybe for the last time, we'll see. A nice drive downtown and we went home to watch Beyond Scared Straight, finish week-old Malibu and have an early night.

Just tying up loose ends here. I have missed a shitload of details throughout this journal which likely deserve preservation. I fell in love with Paranoid Android whilst here, I will be looking more into the works of The Gin Blossoms, Clara Rockmore, Giorgio Moroder and many other things identified at the museum. Random Access Memories, that one song in particular, has soundtracked this entire trip - the song Touch is my favourite, it soundtracked one special hour in Las Vegas that brought tears of both sorrow and elation. Not from me I hasten to add, but that's irrelevant. The billboard had a computer crash on the drive home this day, but I was too slow to snap it. I haven't met one person here I've disliked and I'm certainly coming back. "If love is the answer, you're home"

"So lost and alone, trying to get home"

In a bit.

Baba O'Riley


Yes, Comrades

It would be a bit silly for me to try to narrate this day's events at Disneyland in order, simply because so much happened. But in Adventureland, we took a river tour through a jungle with a corny but likeable guide and let Mr Nancy's glowing shirt guide us through the temple of doom in Indie's jeep.

In New Orleans Square, the Pirates ride wound up being closed. We got on it at night, munching popcorn and mocking each other. Haunted Mansion too - I don't know how they do half the shit they do on that ride. Mindblowing.

I felt up some goats in the Critter Country petting zoo, then we used old faithful Single Rider on Splash Mountain, which we rode a total of four times. My personal favourite.

We ate at Carrow's again. Most of us got the Surf and Turf Feast - lobster tail, steak, shrimp, a baked potato and garlic cheese bread. So yes, Bunny Bongo, I am indeed eating all the things.

Nancy and I took a time-killing stroll before the parade, which was very impressive, I must say. In Toontown, we met that egomaniac Mickey Mouse. He's a character, isn't he? We also got to gawk at Jessica Rabbit on the Car Toon Spin, all the while arguing about the correct pronunciation of Maleficent.

Mr Toad's Wild Ride in Fantasyland broke down. So, we rode the carousel, the very disappointing, whiplash-inducing Matterhorn Bobsleds and had a cuppa with the Mad Hatter in Alice In Wonderland's spinning teacups.

In Tomorrowland, we soared through Alderaan, Tatooine et al in Star Tours, in which Irie Nancy was identified as a rebel spy. Great fun. Space Mountain was closed, surprise fooking surprise, so was Thunder Mountain in Frontierland, by the way. We then raced in the on-tail bumper cars in Autopia before riding the Monorail and seeing next to nothing.

During the fireworks display and the light show, the park turned into a free-for-all, people fighting and sprinting down lines they already jumped. We joined in. We left at 11pm, having spent 13 hours there (and at Carrow's), me with ice cream in hand from Nico. The one part I missed was a one-titted woman at a bus stop asking Mama Sheba for money.

"I came here to get my picture taken with Rex from Toy Story, and I'm going to get my fucking picture taken with Rex from Toy Story!"
"Let's get together before we get much older"

In a bit.

Stay Young


Yes, Comrades

Ok, straight to the point: we parked at 'T as in E.T.' parking at Universal Studios. The walk through the plaza gave us a giant Popcornopolis, a huge neon guitar by Hard Rock, shrimp taters, shrimp stew, shrimp sandwich...

We saw that famous globe thing then walked the red carpet into the park. Straight away we met Beetlejuice, The Mummy, Frankenstein and Scooby Doo. That would be my one tiny disappointment: no my beloved Creature From The Black Lagoon. I got over that quickly though, no skin off my tit.

Our first stop as at Krustyland, where the motion simulator pretty wack. Then to Doc Brown's Best Chicken Of All Time. I have to say, it was pretty bitching. We then walked the House of Horrors, which I admit got me best when a regular worker walked past.

Oh! I totally skipped the Studio Tour! We got priority boarding for filling out a survey. We went through a 360 3D King Kong thing, a flood thing, a Mummy thing, a Psycho thing and lots of other things. Neither photos nor my journal can do it justice, it was great.

We went to the rides next, starting with Jurassic Park. It had stegosauruses so I was made up. Got a thrill out that. Then we exploited the single rider trick and got onto Transformers. Again, top drawer. Megatron and I sized each other up (seriously) then we did The Mummy. Proper freaky, proper fun. One more pop on Jurassic Park, I got to snap the stegos this time, braw.

Mama Sheba had a dance with the street sweeping boogie meisters, then we revisited the House of Horrors. Less performers this time, but these rascals in front were dilly-dallying all over the joint, so I gathered me breath and unleashed my biggest scream to date (but who's keeping score? I am) Their reaction was possibly the greatest thing I've ever seen in my life. Poor girls.

On the way back, we continued playing twenty bleeding questions, stopped at Wienerschnitzl, got pastrami dogs to go, ate them in the room, finished our poof juice, I taught them Consequences (thank you Don and Bunny Bongo) and just had a good old time.

"Come what may, we're unstoppable"

In a bit.

Friday, 21 June 2013

Castles Made Of Sand


Yes, Comrades

After my dream wherein my father was chasing me with a wet cucumber (not sure what that means), we were loaded into the rented people carrier. Cool car - automatic doors, back cam, individual air vents to mess with. We fell asleep instantly, for a measly two hours. Quick stop at Burger King, then we're back on the road.

I think the feature we passed that was most noticeable was a giant wind farm which looked like something from Metropolis, proper freaky. The journey itself was very enjoyable for the sights, for which reason it was over in no time.

We arrived at the Ramada Inn, California. Two spacious rooms back to back with a little pool out front. Back in the tank, straight to Newport Beach. Into the shorts. The sand didn't singe our feet this time, the sea was freezing at first and the waves were for those playing with the big boys. The others were happy to lay in the sun, but I was straight in 'avin it. The current was bloody strong, so often I proper struggled to get back to shore. The waves absolutely towered over everyone else too, when they struck you, your entire body was completely disabled for a few seconds.

Forgot to mention: on the way, I met my old nemesis once again...Riverside. The sights looked vaguely familiar, but no real vitriol was stirred up. We even passed the same Motel 6.

Nico lost his phone. I was split here - phones do no one any real good, but the phone was expensive and he's a decent bloke. In the end I would up helping to look for it, but it had been turned off. Even Californians can be right bastards. Oh wait, we all knew that.

For tea, we ate at Carrow's. I'm not going to lie, my corned beef hash was the bollocks. Those three got Mile High sandwiches, so I felt left out but mine was better so screw them anyway. We enjoyed and upon exit we were treated to a fireworks display nearby. Note to self: Mr Nancy is a lot like Denzel Washington.

Quick stop at a liquor store for Malibu and Black And Milds. In the room, we began our toast and plugged into our respective electronic devices (I stole Irie Nancy's Kindle Fire). The buzz began, but we settled for an early night.

"Many moons passed and more the dream grew strong" 

In a bit.

Don't Fight It, Feel It


Yes, Comrades

Early rise on a Sunday. Like sober bitches, ain't nobody got time for that. But it was Father's Day, and that calls for some sort of celebration. Myself and the ladies headed to the other side of town to pick up Auntie Fran. Despite a fair amount of bad luck, she still had it in her to crack joke after joke. Good going, missus. With our paper ties on, strawberry cupcakes in tow, we arrived at the rehab centre.

Think hospital environments smelling like piss is an international institution. It's also mandatory for all parties to sit around for a good while with nothing at all to say. The four of us huddled around Tata (Desi) Nancy as he continually jumped from English to Spanish and back again. I was sure he called Irie the La Chupacabra at one point. Turns out he actually called her a cockroach. Oh, my mistake.

We're home again, showering, just generally chilling. I'm noticing the lingo rubbing off on me like that - I said "my bad" without realising it the night before, God help us all. Anyway, the father of the house opened his presents and seemed very pleased. We picked up dinner for them, then went to revisit Arizona Mills.

The gift shop girl remembered me from the rattlesnake eggs prank (second best reaction) but she wasn't much use in helping me find things with the Phoenix logo. Fuck you people and your oddly specific requests! We got the remainder of the presents. Next stop, In N Out.

They make damn good burgers. You can even watch the potatoes make their metamorphoses into fries. Don't sound like much, but it's a nice touch. We got off the floor, walked out the door and left the store. When you go to Walmart, be smart, don't put a Hurts album in your shopping cart. Apologies, I seem to have broken into black person poetry.

As I said to Nancy herself, so many entries seem to end with 'popped into Sheba's then went home' but that's what we did. I could genuinely listen to Debbie talk all day, she absolutely cripples me with laughter, even when sober. It's the way she's rarely meaning to be funny, just...talking. But my God, hilarious. We watched The Uninvited, and anyone who knows me can imagine how that made me feel. Then, home. We hung with Nico, watched Columbiana, packed our stuff, then slept. On, California.

Possibly completely unrelated, I can't remember

 "Gonna live the life I love, I'm gonna love the life I live"


In a bit.