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 offensive...you 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.

SD

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"

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.

SD

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" 

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 there...one 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.
SD

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

Get Lucky

21.6.13.

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"

Song

In a bit.
SD

Broken Stones

20.6.13.

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"

Song

In a bit.
SD

Baba O'Riley

19.6.13.

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"

Song

In a bit.

SD

Stay Young

18.6.13.

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"

Song

In a bit.
SD