Friday, 31 January 2014

AKA... Broken Arrow


Yes, Comrades

To compensate for yesterday, today was National Take The Michael Out Of Me Day, I hereby decree. Really, the claws were out and sharpened, fuckers were being proper vicious. But more importantly, we were all off to Sedona today.

The trip was short and relatively uneventful. Kept seeing signs for Broken Arrow and tours of it, all throughout and up to Sedona. Alternate name? We arrived in a very short time, got the hotel sorted and took a stroll down the main area. The environment was very much like the surface of Mars, but with a buncha dem cowpokes struttin' 'round.

Everyone smiled and said hello to you here, it was really quite disconcerting - I had to restrain myself from giving them the old one, two, poke in the eyes. We perused the shops one by one, looking at the weird and wonderful goods. I bought meself a sheriff badge, because I am sheriff Rick. Or Woody, either will do. There's a snake in my pants!

We got bianco, napoli and pepperoni pizzas from a newly-opened pizzeria. I would seriously say they were the best pizzas I've so far been lucky enough to sample. Our waitress was just the sweetest thing. So, I liked the town, and "That man is the nicest gentleman in town" was my feedback. We drove to Oak Creek. The route was stunning, all the trees, mountains, rivers etc. But Oak Creek itself was closed.

Apparently the Nancy family have the worst luck in the world. Well, I mean, yes, here I am, after all. On the way back, we spotted a weird terrace thing. We had a gander and I swear to fuck, you lot, it was exactly like the start of Dead Money, it was horrorshow just how similar the places were! There were toy shops, clay/bronze galleries, music box stores, all so...different.

Back at the hotel, Nancy, Sheba and I strayed from X and the others to get $6 burritos (yep) and some booze from C-Market. The town transformed into a ghost town in the dark - the streets were completely bare, caked in darkness and silence. We had a drink apiece and went to the hotel clubhouse. Here, those two sat in the game room while I paddled around in the pool with kids and Taiwanese folks in my boxers. Yes. Had no choice! Quick wind down in the sauna.

I've probably missed a shitload, but it was a crammed day. On Sedona: it's lovely, a real different place from Phoenix, but it really is a tourist trap. Shit, forgot when I gargled ghost pepper sauce. That wasn't good. Poor Sheba got a bit ill before bed, but we got her through it, somehow. Clock's winding down now.

Seriously Don Bongo, just look at this shit.

"Leave me in peace, I'm on the side of the angels"

In a bit.



Yes, Comrades

You always feel a bit awkward on your birthday, like the guy that everyone knows has weak bowels and can't help it, it's not his fault, but he's just shat in the community pool. All attention is on him, but he'd prefer to just paddle out unnoticed.

But my wee steel ladders were removed, like one of those fucked up days on The Sims. You've done it, don't lie. I was greeted with handshakes, hugs and kisses and in what seemed like no time at all, we were at Red Lobster. X had very kindly came along too. First thing we were asked, "You guys celebrating anything?" Dammit. After very much enjoying Robert the lobster, or the Robster, the staff sang.

After cleaning up the blood, we went home. Every time I left the room, some more paraphernalia would appear, a card, a cupcake, a present, something. Just as I'm settling into the afternoon, the candles are lit and I'm making my wish to be slightly less brilliant, because life's complicated enough. The cake was delicious. Again, only a right twat would list all of their presents, but again, I was one spoiled little fucker. Except, they sang to me again.

We arrived at Mama Sheba's with no real goal in mind, just to hang, as Irie Nancy put it. I was sang to again. Even little Audrina gave me a pretty heartwarming rendition, then got back to what she was doing, impersonating Sylvester the cat. We sat around watching Looney Tunes for a bit, then Debbie made a proposal. At this, Nancy and I popped out. Before we did though, I bumped into Tree, who dropped the happy birthday bombshell. At this, Eddie, little Eddie, Christie, Isabelle, Christine and Tree all launched into song. Argh!

My present from the Sheba family was bomb, or should I say, Even Jamaicans Say 'Don't Smoke This Mon' Super Bomb. I hadn't felt so away with it since the first time I ever smoked the ganja, or 'space chocolate' as my mate Fly Boy called it. They sang to me again.

You get a free Grand Slam from Denny's on your birthday, so we went there. We got wired into it - I got scrambled eggs, sausages, hash browns, bacon and a jumbo pancake drenched in syrup, all for free. I mean, wow, fuck me. Best day of my life. I felt better now, so we stopped at Sheba's for one more. This turned out to be a good idea. They didn't sing.

It's a small mercy that on the day you're one step closer to death, everyone's so nice to you, as if to take your mind off it. Maybe that's why. Cake, ice cream, cartoons, K.O.

I DID get an action figure of this glorious bastard, though.

"Time makes you bolder, even children get older. I'm getting older too"

In a bit.

Wednesday, 29 January 2014

We Used To Wait


Yes, Comrades

So, as you may have ascertained after uncovering the pattern, Nancy had the day off again. But Tuesday is Tuesday, movie day is movie day, and that, as they say, is fucking well that. We had to wait until we had a car available though, so it was over to the Kindle to kill some time. Guess The 90s. I was at a cultural disadvantage, being from overseas, but we made a pretty decent team. Has anyone heard of Hit Clips, Dragon Flyz, Muzzy, Sky Dancers or Orbitz? I mean, anywhere.

What? Oh right, the cliffhanger. Ok, so where did I leave off? Kendal, on crack, was sat in the front room with Debbie, Christie and her husband when Nancy and I came in. He said he didn't know how to text, so that was done for him. Turned out someone had shot at his cousin and he needed out of there tout suite. When things had settled, we went back to our usual room, I couldn't neglect Bubble Game With No Real Name any longer. When we left for the night, two copper cabs were blocking the road out. Soon enough we got through, and there Kendal was, sat in the back.

Satisfied? So, we arrived at this very same house and before we've even set foot in the door, I drop an N bomb in jest, only to be heard by a B man. We rushed in and got To Wong Foo stuck on. Patrick Swayze in drag, God help us all. I saw his lookalike in a pub once, I should like it to be known. He looked a bit like Stewart Lee if he let himself go too. Yes, the movie. It was pretty good, let's not lie. John Leguizamo stole it for me though, ok?

We were proper peckish, me ode, so we went home. We ate sopa, salad and some beef, after we'd gone to get it from a barbecue hut. Is that a thing? I think that's a thing. We played some more Guess The 90s and I must say, my greatest contribution was when I fucked off for ten, came back to find them stuck and stylishly solved it instantly: VESPA. Stand aside, Bond.

At Sheba's, it was the whole gang playing the game this time. On TV was something that was simply bound to become a favourite of mine: Bad Girls All Star Battle. This was a whole programme dedicated to self-obsessed bitches screwing each other over for money. "That strap really hurt my vagina. #Ouch." That's a direct quote. I sat there, simply fuming at what the world has become, watching ten ladies vomiting all over each other. So nice to see people doing their performance while still maintaining their dignity. We completed Guess The 90s then the Kindle died. That's how it's done.

Serious fucking business.
"Now our lives are changing fast, hope that something pure can last"

In a bit.

Repeated Offender


Yes, Comrades

So, I'm not scared to go out in the sun anymore. The moon though? Still not a fan. Yeah, I watched that recently. As I stood in the steamy restroom, I heard an Australian accent coming from another room, and it weren't the Pepsi bottle kid. It was Kangaroo Dundee talking about winching wee kangaroos. His license plate is ROORESQ, which cracks me up. Anyway, Nancy had another day off. Is that trouble I can smell brewing? I think so.

Oh! The Grammys! Macca managed to keep his dignity - first time for everything I guess. Daft Punk, Nile Rodgers, Stevie Wonder and Pharrell did good with Get Lucky, but I can't help but feel the performance was a bit...patchy? Under rehearsed maybe? Still, good stuff. I'd make some joke about rescuing the worthy ones then bombing the Staples Center, it would catch so many cunts, but I'm scared Tom Daley will throw another hissy fit and I'll get arrested. And that's all I have to say, about that.

I wrote this, Nancy picked Sheba up from work, we went to get my not-so-secret birthday surprise, then off to Tempe beach park for a change. It's not quite the same without the hustle and bustle of mad Arizonians with ice boxes getting soaked, but that was to be expected. There were more wasps than you could shake a stick at, if you so desired.

A final stop at Fry's was in order, I guess. I got myself lost in the car park for a short while, but somehow we made it home in the end. Some yardbird, as I've been poisoned into calling it, then we had ourselves our fun by winding up poor little Tatumn. Poor little nothing, whatever the female equivalent of Damien, spawn of the fucking devil is, that's her. Bless her.

We had to actually come up with something to do this day, so we wound up at another park. The football pitch looked white under the floodlights, I didn't realise people played on sand when off the beach, was quite a thing to see. Basketball courts filled with players, a haunted-looking American football field, a still lit baseball field, there was a real sense of...I dunno, ambition in the air, would never see anything like it back home. Ever.

We were in a certain house without a certain Sheba. As we sat peacefully, learning about crazy women who stalk and murder Burger King workers and battling it out on Brain Games, there was a knock on the side door. "Who is it?" No answer. A gunshot. Debbie answers the front door. We soon follow through. Not like that. It's Kendal. He's out of prison twenty days. He has a gun. His lips are white. He's clearly on something. He wants a taxi. Now. To be continued.

"Not one of my kind of people, though that's part of our lives"

In a bit.

Monday, 27 January 2014

Free My Name


Yes, Comrades

Once again, there was a little surprise on the couch for me. It was cheap, low quality and I suspect it was found roadside. That's right, Nancy got the day off again. I don't know what the shit's going on with her work, but what can you do? With a mild pain in my head thanks to being a rock star the night before, we settled down to watch Too Cute, a showcase of pug puppies and other things that make you go "Oh, look at that".

By about 3pm, we were all kittened out and headed in our usual direction. Right before this though, I was reintroduced to Brotha Lynch Hung. He spits bars about loving to cut pussies up with razorblades then fuck them since he was six. Cunt should be locked up. Now, apparently I've been to Metro Center before, but I don't remember. After picking Sheba up, that's the route we took, being forced to endure Toto's Hold The Line for about the fiftieth fucking time.

Wasn't a lot worth reporting at the place itself, even me companions would attest to that. I sampled a blue raspberry Airhead, which blew me away. When we realised just how little there was to enjoy, we stood outside, staring at the cinema, none of us willing to make a concrete decision on what to go see, if anything. Women, I'll tell you.

On the way out, we also debated what we were going to eat. Lolo's was closed, so no chicken and waffles with an ice cream scoop-sized of butter on top for us. Instead it was to the Hibachi grill nearby, which turned out to be more or less just a Chinese buffet. I decided tonight was the night - I would eat octopus and oyster. Octopus I didn't like so much, too chewy, but the oyster/mollusk thing was enjoyable. These marshmallows we had too, even our waitress had no idea what it was, even going so far as to guess it was a marshmallow and sour cream dessert. I mean, come on, look at your game, girl. Amazing food.

The rest of our night was generally uneventful. We weren't at home #3 for very long, we had an early bed ahead. The car ride home was just a blast - it consisted of me repeating "Pepsi bottle. A Coca Cola glass. I don't give a damn" and "No no the Canadian government has apologised for Bryan Adams on several occasions" over and over again. That was uneventful.

We watched our usual nonsense at home and it was an early bed indeed. Just to finish up, I don't think I've been called by my real name in weeks. It can be Allan, Leo, Scotty, Mona Lisa, it depends on the day. Just 'Guy' would do me fine.

I guess this is what a warm plate of shut the Hell up would look like.

"Tie my laces and chain me sound below"

In a bit.

Bohemian Rhapsody


Yes, Comrades

You know what I'm sick of? Everyone being my boyfriend and girlfriend. If it's not The Governor from The Walking Dead (though admittedly I just capitalised his name) it's Pan from Dragonball fucking GT, and if it's not her I'm shagging Anthony Hopkins, of course, when he's not available, Emily Browning's getting it. Christ, I wish. But aye, I'm not allowed to like anyone or they're my new partner, apparently. Poor Emily.

Irie Nancy was at work for all of thirty minutes today, business must be quiet. Wait. I already knew that when she told me they fly a remote control shark balloon around the office. We made the most of this golden opportunity by sitting around not really doing a bunch. Then became time to visit Snappy's, which sounded like a right giggle.

Snappy's, as it turned out, is a car wash, doo doo, doo doo. If I had a manager, this is where I'd say "I can't work with this". Oh, that reminds me. I made a joke before about doing stand up...I'm considering doing it for real, based on advice. Yes, that was a joke in itself. Or was it? Even I'm not sure this time, comrades.

Why do people visit libraries to sit on YouTube, what's the fucking point? Pisses me off. So we were there, that happened. At home, we spent a fair whack of time getting dolled up like we were going to meet Emily Browning or somet -- fuck!

Sooner than we knew, we'd been to Sheba's, then to Tree's cousin's, back to Sheba's and we were on our way to Westdale, a very, very American bar. It was Vern, Tree's mum's birthday and we were having a spiffing karaoke night to celebrate. All the old faces were there including California Guy, Tiffany, Sue, Jack Daniels, Santa Claus, the accent-loving couple. Sheba's dad Ed even came along, which is always good.

It was a slow start, but there was always someone singing and soon enough, it was my turn. They really didn't know what I got with my little Deuce Coupe. The beer flowed and Sue gave me a go on her Jack and honey, which is a beautiful thing. You can imagine where this lead, I'm sure. If anyone from there is reading this, I'm so sorry for what I did to Don't Dream It's Over, I should be on the sex offenders register for that. Turns out Ed, Sheba and Tree are all fantastic singers and entertainers. I dueted/ruined Hey Jude with Ed and we left.

And I'm amazed I even made it to bed last night.

"Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me"

In a bit.

Saturday, 25 January 2014

Time Of The Season


Yes, Comrades

Having had one too many lager and shandies, it was a bit of a late rise on this day. We had no Alka Seltzer, so this poor soldier was forced to man it out. A bacon roll, a bottle of Lucozade and a spot of Soccer FM wouldn't have went unwelcomed either. That's a lie, my balls have still to drop innit.

With no real agenda or plan, we figured the best idea was to pick a mall at random and see if any shops had just materialised since last time. We ended up at Chandler Mall. The first thing that struck me as off with Barnes & Noble that I hadn't noticed before was that the kid's books had a gardening section bang smack in the middle of them. Slave labour is a hobby of mine, B & N, but keep it on the down low eh?

You could arse about with the dogs in the adoption centre, which also had a particularly diva-esque cat. Trouble was, there was an outing for the special needs group going on, which we felt we were kind of gatecrashing, so we left. We went to the classiest chocolate shop I've ever fucking seen, got a couple, visited Spencer's, Disney, other places, left.

With some time to kill, we were already in Chandler so we stopped by Zias, our old friend. I got Licensed To Ill for Mama Sheba (the reggae names seem to be finally catching on by the way) and since I'd mentioned to Nancy (that one, not so much) in passing that The Zombies' Odessey And Oracle might just be the best album ever, that became an early birthday present. She gave her sister Truck (if you've been paying attention, you can work her name out) a call, who said we should definitely chillax together. Halfway to her house and she bails. Bloody Truck.

After popping home, we were chauffeured to Denny's. This was very similar to Carrow's, except no surf and turf and it had a resident nutter sat near us, sipping his coffee and chatting away to himself, probably about how Uncle Dave stole his Cindys as a kid, and for that he must meet the great red dragon. I had me some Alaskan salmon soaked in garlic and herbs and just about decked it, it was that good.

To top off our night, as ever I'm not sure what we watched at #3, but I'm pretty sure it was Night At The Roxbury, which had a rather sensational ending. At home, it was Saving Silverman that got watched. I mean, it was ok, not my favourite so far. If you get a rainy day and there's nout but Jeremy Kyle on, go for it.

"Where'd you get this, the charity shop? Bleurgh!"


Still my all-time favourite.

"In this time, give it to me easy and let me try with pleasured hands"

In a bit.

Above The Clouds


Yes, Comrades

I smelled the company in the air, I'm like that witch from Hocus Pocus, except with company instead of children. X was in and he had brought a magical little box with him. Within minutes, Pandora's box was opened and all the evils of smart TV were unleashed upon us. Netflix, HBO Go, Amazon Instant and even one actually called Pandora, where does one begin? By searching up old cartoons you can't see anymore and Goosebumps, of course.

Today was the day we would tackle that bleedin' hole in the rock the right way. We got 'lost as fuck' according to Google Maps, then a simple little road off the zoo route got us there. Rabbits, squirrels and chipmunks were all over the joint and in about five minutes we were up in the hole. The view was pretty stunning, you could see what seemed like all of Phoenix, all of Camelback, all of the smog, there in all its glory. The cool thing, though, was when other weary hikers came up and told us they could see us, then told us where from. Was fucking miles away.

After dropping Sheba off and having disappointingly few tales of battle royales with rattlesnakes and scorpions, I decided to do Lady Saw and myself the service of spreading the Sherlock virus. I'm pleased to report that the Nancy household can now be counted in the fanbase. That Netflix thing, I think it's time to stop being so luddite and get it. Note to self: get Akira watched.

We popped to Wal Mart with all its cheap as chimps alcohol and stupidly expensive Sherlock box sets, left with two cases of water and a case of Budweiser and headed to good old #3. The entertainment wasn't the uge (is it catching on yet?) basketball, it was this odd show featuring a lot of cheat sheets and words beginning with B called Step By Step. I retreated and hid in the world of the bubble game on my phone. The pressure is always on with that motherfucker, as Debbie clearly knew - "Leave him alone, he's trying to play his bubble game!" and that I was.

When we got back, ready to get Malibu'd and beered up, we stuck on The Expendables. I nearly had a testosterone overdose just watching that pantomime of manliness. Ol' Sylvester is alright in my book, la. Stone Cold too! You can't kill him, that just can't be done. Yabby Bassey, when I get home, we are watching Summerslam 2000 and you will like it, bitch. And that's the bottom line, cause, well, you know.

We finished up by making Nancy cry over John Lewis adverts. Seriously. I also got introduced to the pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-power of Terry Crews ads. That man is my new hero.

"It must be me that's rushing by, time just lingers on the wind"

In a bit.

Son Of A Gun


Yes, Comrades

Let's do things a bit differently today. It is a new year, after all, let's get rid of all this negativity. Away with the nasty cheap shots of yesterday, out with the anecdotes laced with vitriol, let's just think positive. Happy.

So I woke from the best sleep I ever had, which was exactly what I needed and just what I always wanted. It was a relatively quiet afternoon, as uge. That's my new word which I created and is mine, which I'm very proud of. Nancy got out thirty minutes early, nothing short of fabulous, that is.

We got back from pick-up to a warm plate of spaghetti and meatballs with French bread. I love the French, especially the way the girls look like they have Donkey Kong in a headlock, that's very on-turning. I think they should put wee white flags on their army knives. What? What'd I say? Smile, you cunt!

Arizona Mills, because one of you cleverly waited until now before telling me you'd like a crystal cactus, that's pretty gnarly. Through Gameworks, then to the gift store to get that cactus, then into the pet centre to look at the cuddly, delicious puppies. Kelly Clarkson was on the radio, which is so great because she's just so talented. She can do it all from smiling to singing to looking beautiful to...well, I'm sure she has a myriad of skills. The poor ickle puppies, we just wanted to take them all home! Hehehehe!

Seriously though. We checked out the blade shop. That Halo energy sword thing is still there, how about that? The guy on duty came up and guessed my nationality and got it more or less right. We chatted for a while, we saw some of the weaponry including the stunning Scorpion Hunter. This thing was nice, and I mean nice. They had lots of Batman masks and Zelda shields, if that's yer thing. I was surprised they didn't sell cans of actual pussy repellant. The guy was very polite and cool - he was even reading a book about the history of my glorious nation by Robert Lacey.

#3. Basketball was on, which is never a quiet affair. My penchant for pointing out catchphrases made for entertainment. "Son! Of a motherfucking gun, son". When we went home, Limitless got stuck on. Bradley Cooper's alright, but the film itself was phenomenal, the idea. I'd learn every language, seduce every attractive celebrity with an internet connection, become the best at every video game ever, invent light speed travel, name a planet after myself...

Please. Pretty please? Oh please! FUCKING PLEASE!

"If you want I'll sell you a life story"

In a bit.

Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Bonzo Goes To Bitburg


Yes, Comrades

Ten hours simply isn't long enough to be lying in bed dreaming about how great you are, and that's a fact. Do you ever read someone's tweet and literally say "Shut up" out loud? I once figuratively said "Shut up" out loud - I didn't actually say that, I said "Shuttle U" and I didn't say it out loud. But some people on Twitter do it literally, I'm told, and get lots of attention for saying so, or that the year 9 banter page is their favourite.

I sure do love it when people use words correctly by saying things like that. So Nancy was finishing off Blade Runner whilst I finished myself off, courtesy of Prisoner: Cell Block H. That's a fucking joke, I'd like to make that clear. I perused me phone's notepad and tried desperately to make sense of the little reminders I'd written for myself - I still haven't figured out what 'King Ragnar' is all about.

With apple in hand, I planked myself on Sheba's couch and the usual filmfest began with Friday. I honestly really liked this one, it was so refreshing compared to watching Feminem moping and bitching for two hours, trying so hard, bless him, to show how rough and tough his teenage years were with those big nasty black men drinking and burping around him. Ugh. Friday was great.

During the intermission, Family Matters was on. I hoped the title wouldn't be as literal as Family Ties' was. Out he came, Steve Urkel. Up til that point I thought Steve was his real name - I insult people from time to time by saying 'Even Steve Urkel would look at you and say "Wow that guy is a dork"' but I never really understood it. My heart was warmed by finding out what TGIF meant in the 80s.

Bad Boys. What you gonna do? Well, I watched it. Fuck it, I watched the second one right after. I honestly preferred the first one, it wasn't too long and it had a slightly better story. Jesus though, the pair of them are overrated as fuck. Why does Michael Bay get to keep on making movies? People who think his movies are the baddest arse things ever probably also think Cheap Trick Live In Budokan is the very definition of rock and roll.

All this talk of Michael Bay has put me in mind of Team America. Did you see Matt Damon in that? His acting skills were better than ever. We went home quite early to watch Dirty Work, which has as many cameos as I have notches in my bedpost. I counted at least one cameo which I'm not sure counted. I'd like to clear up some confusion here also: when I say 'We went to Mama Sheba's,' it isn't code for 'We smoked pot,' it may surprise you to find out it actually means 'We went to Mama Sheba's.' Get off your high horses.

"My brain is hanging upside down, I need something to slow me down"

In a bit.

She Loves You


Yes, Comrades

People say to me, "Sarge!" I go "Mr Dread to you, arsehole," they say "Oh sorry, Mr Dread. Mr Dread, how did you get so fab and groovy and witty and interesting?" I say "Well...I didn't get it watching the fucking Mighty Boosh, I'll tell you that." How does that man manage to be so unfunny, Noel Fielding? His radio show, it's just two hours of him and the second unfunniest man in comedy nervously laughing at each others' bollocks humour.

Thought you ought to know. Onwards! No lockouts and just a touch of illness this day, but completely out the blue I found myself in a car en route to pick Nancy up two hours early. As we approached her work, there stood a petit brunette with a vacant expression next to our soon-to-be passenger. After going home, getting into another car and heading in an unknown direction, it came out that this was Gabi, a fellow manflu sufferer Nancy was giving a left home...and was very much in love with. I'm exaggerating, but she did wish Gabi'd asked if she were a lesbian. Thelma, Louise and T.A.T.U. were the insults of the day, naturally.

After getting home and once again being trumped by the concept of having to do something, we charged blindly into the city. We wound up stuck between a comic store and a music store. Going to laugh at people who have wasted their lives on Pokémon cards, Runescape and Kleenex never doesn't amuse me, so that's what we did. It was empty. Listen, freaks: My Little Pony is stored with the children's stuff - you're failures, face it. I saw a mask of one of Godzilla's biggest, baddest baddies going for $100, vomited and we left.

The music shop was classier. Sheet music was the wall and ceiling paper, which was pretty impressive for such a small establishment, a cool idea. Overpriced bagpipes, $40 ukeleles and sheet music for Yani albums, God help us all, this shop had everything covered. I nearly bought a plectrum but come on, I can't buy much else, a bassoon on the plane would be a nuisance.

Zias, Mama's. Sabrina The Teenage Witch was on - I remember getting accused of stealing a phrase from that show, but this was bogus, I'd actually stolen it from Blinky Bill. That cat sure is a handful, isn't he? Then we watched a nice, family friendly American sitcom called Family Ties, in which an uncle who was definitely a trustworthy, honest man kept patting the arse of and full on French kissing his 14 year old niece. Marty McFly starred. And I can't think of a better way to end this entry.

"Nothing by Racist Redneck Rebels?"
"It's you she's thinking of, and she told me what to say"
Alt: "Suck life in til you die"

In a bit.

The Trickster


Yes, Comrades

I solved the riddle of the sphinx - I've worked out why America won't be embracing football the real game any time soon. Have you got it yet? Football has how many halves per game? Think carefully now. Nope, not five. It's two, two halves. So if there's one break between the two halves, and no time outs, how many breaks would Americans get to phone in a hamburger or twelve and for advertisers to flaunt their shit? That's it! One. It'll never happen.

The day was off to its usual start, which doesn't tell much. The TV was on, which I tried so hard to understand, but nope. Think some pop music show was on, and you know how they have R & B charts, jazz charts, rock charts and that? Mark my words: there will be a 'Feat. Rihanna' chart of its own soon, the bitch is everywhere, she's like a fucking disease.

Irie Nancy and I were on our way to Dave and Buster's (or Sam and Dave's. Poor Mr Nancy) which is, I'm told, a bar and arcade. We go through Tempe, to the marketplace and park outside the place. So weird not to see a man with a limp in American car parks, you know those little bastards with NCP as well as I do. The place itself was fooking huge, a bar that could fit over a thousand people - the max occupancy said so.

So began my evening of being conned and tricked. Frogger played itself, you could only control his first jump. Temple Run was timed, so it made exactly zero difference how well you played. Spongebob bowling was unrealistic. Infinity Blade decides to kill you in one hit if you win too long. Seriously, fuck this shit.

Whoever was behind this trickery, be it Dave Dastardly or Buster Bustinmaballs, I was one unhappy bunny. Then people too young for me to physically remove kept hogging the Dark Escape 4D machine, which really did look the best. Fuckers. Didn't matter how much I strutted or flounced, the greedy little bastards weren't for budging. And the ticket redemption shop, which just rolls off the tongue, that annoyed me 'n' all. About 2000 tickets for a cushion? Go fuck yourself, San Diego.

Ok ok, I'm sorry, I'm calm. We finished our day eating salsa with unholy amounts of hotness then watched Street Kings. I don't love Keanu much, certainly not as much as Don Corlemoley (ok sorry, uncalled for) but it was a fairly decent movie. Hugh Truck was good in it too.

More like, Gay and Fisters.
Really, though.

Artist representation of Dave and Buster.
 Me after meeting someone in D & Bs and not heeding their warning.

"The perfect child facsimile is talking out the world"

In a bit.

Sunday, 19 January 2014

Darlin' Be Home Soon


Yes, Comrades

So, I woke up, got into yesterday's clothes, which are the equivalent of PJs when you're a guest, and went outside for the first Marlboro of the day. This involved unlatching then pulling back a sliding door, unlocking a security door then finishing with a graceful step outside. I enjoyed it.

I was going to title this entry 'Locked Out Of Heaven' but then I remembered I'm not a colossal homo. I moved to open the sliding door...and the latch had fallen from the inside. No keys. No shoes. No sense. Uh oh. I used my phone for all it's worth, emailing for rescue, finding out how to make myself magnetic so I could try to lift the latch through the glass door, everything. I was out there for three hours, by which time I was getting into Bear Grylls mode. "Right, I'll drink from the hose, dig meself a burrow and when the sun comes down, drink my own piss". As I prepared for the worst, the Nancys returned.

I had just enough time to piss and moan about the fact I was ill and shit when I was whisked away to Wal Mart. How does one make this sound exciting, really? We wandered, and the only item of note purchased was a ginger root. We got back, I drank ginger tea and loaded myself with anything that might, however slim the chance, revive me from the brink of demise.

Soon enough we were all united, as if one big burrito, with mayo. Pizza, sprouts, broccoli and chicken tits, standard American dish. This show that's always on, TMZ - to work for that show is my vision of Hell. So, anyway, we discussed what the plans are for the coming week - no spoilers here folks.

When we arrived at Mama's, Irie and I, there were Shebas all over the place, getting their hair cut by the lady herself. It's odd, but if they look in their 20s, they're probably teenagers and vice versa. Can you imagine how much paedo faux pas goes on here? No, me neither. Tree had just gotten up, so we went to her cousin's.

We got back and settled down to discuss everything from Denmark to things cockroaches hate whilst all sat on our phones, like the inside of a fucking Starbucks. It's quite incredible how many people who are flying solo go to Starbucks on a Saturday - they're all flying solo for good reason, I hasten to add. At home, we watched cartoons and every time we had to go outside, I had a full survival kit in hand.

"I couldn't bear to wait an extra minute if you dawdled"

In a bit.

Pop Art Poem


Yes, Comrades

It's on my bucket list to be the first awake in a house. Some day. I woke up still in dream mode, exclaimed "I lost mein dog to the gaddamn nammies. They bee dumb negros" and got on with my day.

Nancy had to cash her work cheque and I had all sorts of self-indulgence to partake in, like I'm doing right this second. I was also to find some mischief for us to commit, but I kept getting sidetracked by trying to find out what the whole "Fighting the frizzies at eleven" thing is or was all about. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was to find, buried in the past.

When we were reunited, I had picked what was clearly the most exciting thing for us to do: visit the 'hole in the rock'. We packed up, got the Google navigation on the phone, and rode into the sun. We got lost aplenty, much like you would if I was to write the name Spiro Agnew for no discernible reason right now. Turned out when we got there that that's just what it is - a hole in a rock. Ok fine, a big hole in a big rock on a mountain. We didn't make it up there though, we didn't have the time, so we strolled along a beaten path, all ready to meet our maker via a particularly grumpy scorpion or rattlesnake. Nope.

Next, we headed to the Film Bar. It's an art cinema which you can take your beer you have never heard of into the film with you. We sat through 90 mins of Michel Gondry talking to some not famous old man about trees and gravity and God only knows what whilst proper trippy cartoon imagery flashed in front of us. This is art, supposedly, because it's got quite good reviews, Is The Man Who Is Tall Happy? That's the name of the movie. I mean really, for fuck's sake. If that's art, you can have it, hipsters.

Decided to treat me amigos to an album each, so CD shopping it was. Nancy got the best of The Clash; I got confused and forgot Sheba but she'll get the best of Beastie Boys; Tree got Mezzanine; Mrs Nancy got A Love Supreme and Mr Nancy got the best of Small Faces. Hey, if that poser Jesus got to spread the word, why not me?

I won't lie, we had us some bomb whilst Sheba and Tree enjoyed a seat at a Suns game. I implore you - next time you're stoned, stick Massive Attack's Mezzanine on. The song Group Four...the fact that humans could've made that trips me out in itself.

"Kid walks down the street, bumps into emptiness"

In a bit.

Friday, 17 January 2014



Yes, Comrades

Just got to elaborate on two little things. First, my standards, they've dropped to low Hell, if that's a thing. These are songs I have learned to tolerate due to the lack of better choice: Avicii - Wake Me Up; Dash Berlin - The Night Time; Capital Cities - Safe And Sound; Ian Van Dahl - Castles In The Sky and worst of all, MGMT - Electric Feel. Send supplies.

Today was a gift shopping day. I'd seen X earlier and had been presented with an early present of a very nifty jacket which is as good as bulletproof. Anyway, we started our little voyage at Arizona Mills mall. After swiftly evading some pesky bleeding hearts, we got a case of cinnamon gum at Sweets From Heaven, served by a fellow who was very much a double-barreled arse bandit, stood like a teapot. This is my second elaboration: at Tree's for New Year, two gay guys were there. This is serious, by the way. Anyway, I got along with them as I would anyone else, but people kept apologising to me for them. For what, you ask. Exactly. For them being gay, apparently. I don't know what the situation is with homophobia here, but I do know it's still very much around. That's me only bitter pill.

After doing the rounds at the Arizona gift shop, we headed to Barnes & Noble. We had a look at the DVDs, of course, then tried to pick out a good gift book from the music section. "Oh fuck it, I'm almost confident she likes Clapton, this'll do her."

Next came the worst part. We went to the smoke shop we went to last time, only to find a notice of bankruptcy pasted to the door, the selfish bastards. So after narrowly escaping death in the car, we tried Trails smoke shop, where a giant, living tattoo of a lady told us to try this place in Mesa, which wasn't close, in fact it was the opposite of close, it was far. Regardless, it was worth a shot. After about an hour in traffic worse than Wales' outgoing, we arrived and got lucky.

Next was the Gameworks arcade and a Bejeweled-off. I won. We played a couple of games then ate at Johnny Rockets. Our waitress Missy was a gutsy sort, giving us our faces in ketchup squirts in a paper bowl - mine had a beard. "But Missy, I don't have a beard" "Shut up and eat your food". The food was good, the atmosphere was good, Missy was was good. Then we went home to enjoy some booze and Dawn Of The Dead in a cut-to-ribbons special edition. Cuntycunts.

"When I come home, you won't be there anymore"

In a bit.