Oh dear god my head. Photographic imprints to follow.
If you read one thing this weekend make it Charlie Brooker. He’s the bloke who writes the brutally, creatively, consistently excellent TV Go Home and Unnovations, and he’s got himself in some mildly hot water with a recent article in the Guardian. Read the original here, as the Graun have pulled it due to complaints about Mr Brooker jokingly calling for Bush to be shot.
The once-readable-now-right-wing blog LGF covers it here. Note how constantly and bafflingly Americans employ references to dental hygiene as a withering attack on us Brits.
This has kept me entertained for the past half hour.
Have you seen the archaelogical ‘hobbit’ stories today? Briefly, on some remote island in Indonesia they have found preserved skeletons of a completely new species of human: Homo floresiensis.
It only just hit me how significant the story really is.
National Geographic is misreporting the hobbits as a new ‘ancestor’. This misses the point completely. These lads weren’t ancestors but peers, living at the same time as modern humans. They may have been physically isolated on their wee island, but they co-existed in exactly the same way that Men and Hobbits co-exist in LotR.
The idea (pictured, being wrong) that humans developed in a progressive series – with chimps evolving in steps into a bloke – just isn’t how it happened. We lived alongside several different branches of the Homo tree.
These wee lads were scampering around in 16,000 BCE, i.e. yesterday in relative terms. For reference, our species were drawing up basic calendars in 15,000 BCE and seriously getting our shit together around 4,000 BCE. We only just missed them.
Oddly reminiscent of a few weeks ago…
gambling to sustain a tragic addiction
The bad influence of m’colleagues led me to blue square, an online betting service. I wouldn’t say I’m quite hooked yet, but some flutters (wretched word) are now in place.
The odds for Bush winning actually slipped slightly today to 1.61 (the amount you’d get back on a 1 pound bet). I’ll give it a day or two in case it’s a trend then whack on the tenners.
The best fun for me comes from the music-related events. For example, would you be confident Outkast’s Hey Ya is MTV’s favourite single of 2004?
Double your money if you’re correct.
Franz Ferdinand for Best New Act? Triple it.
Shock news in that Steve’s party falls on this Friday, just squeezing in ahead of Saturday’s Arbroath trip.
The theme is period costume, which is kind of tough with three days to go. Current plan is the classic fallback of piracy.
The Washington Post are documenting each and every US death in Iraq with a nice flash interface and wee portraits. It’s totally compelling reading.
The means by which each soldier was killed is condensed into one brief line. A few evoke the tragedy of it all in their briefness. Several are intriguing in what they don’t tell you. Many incidents are hilariously bathetic.
[actually I only just realised the word pathetic is derived from pathos in the same way as bathetic/bathos. This post was brought to you by the letter W]
Start at the earliest 2003 period and browse forward for these and other gems.
Staff Sgt. James W. Cawley was knocked for six by a not-so-friendly Humvee while engaged in a firefight with Iraqi forces.
Lance Cpl. Joseph B. Maglione was found shot dead in his tent on his first day in Kuwait.
Sgt Linda C. Jimenez died of a brain aneurysm after falling into a bomb crater [courtesy of the USAF] and breaking her nose.
Lance Cpl. Brian E. Anderson did the dance of death when his .50-calibre rifle mounted on top of the 7-ton truck snagged on low-hanging power lines in Nasiriyah.
Couple of quick ouchy things today since I’m as busy as a street entertainer juggling burning chainsaws while a small dedicated band of toddlers punch him repeatedly in the testes.
We all get curious about other people. Their strange customs; their rancid faces; their unappealing odours. As children we can easily point and ask, “Uncle Roger, why does that man get to ride around in a lazy chair?” without fear of being reviled.
As adults, how can we exercise this simple curiousity without causing offence? Why… at the Y? Forums. Frightening, funny and (occasionally) informative, all at the same time. Example: Why do my Indian co-workers smell?
If that’s not physical enough for you, I suggest you learn a new niche sexual practice – ball busting. SFW, but amazingly not a joke. Simply reading Method 3 can induce paroxysms of imagined agony.
Still not enough? Time for the scissors in the crotch.
If you’re interested in the amusement generated at the Sci-fi effort we attended a few weeks ago you’ll probably want to check the latest album in the pixelcase [direct album link].
Air = John Constantine
Rosy = Death
Steve = Space:1999 Maya-a-like
A couple of oddly familiar things appeared in the Metro this morning.
First, the whole third page is dedicated to Rob Manuel, godlike creator of all things b3ta – including I Like Bukkake (SFW, amazingly) and the classic X or Y quizzes (really NSFW).
He gets a loving reprint of his briefly amusing blog feature ‘classic paintings that feature celebs‘ feature.
Then on page 13 comes the bombshell. The star letter printed in MailMetro is from my old bright grey colleague “mighty” Michael Calwell. Predicting the topic of the letter is a no-brainer as MC is a tireless campaigner against, wait for it, heightism.
Sample, controversial quote from letter: “height is a greater influence on salary then gender is.” His rise to fame began with his 2001 essay A Man’s Guide to Being Short, subtitled Wee Lads Cannae Get Burds*. An ITV documentary and two radio shows with John Peel were to follow.
* not really
This is a happy boithday announcement for my noble cousin Fraser.
Fraser! Merciless scourge of the Koopa! Inspired caresser of the keyboard! Bearer of the blue suede shoes! We salute you.
Have a good weekend old son : )
At Sky in Livingston there is a large and well-appointed canteen for meeting the needs of the 1,000+ CSR workforce and over 400 engineers and consultants that work on-site.
To their credit they supply not only the basics (breakfasts, chips, pies, sausage rolls), but every day dream up three different main meals: Healthy, Main and Vegetarian options.
With hundreds of morbidly, eye-poppingly fat employees dropping dead of cake overdose every week, Sky have taken to reducing the price of their healthier options further and further, to the point where we’re essentially being paid to consume it.
So tasty, creatively prepared food is served up daily at heavily subsidised prices. What good does this do?
Dear Reader, these efforts are to no avail whatso-fucking-ever. All this effort is made so that 99% of the gold-pierced call-centre scum can hunch over the canteen bar and whine through their fat ignorant mink-faces
kin ah geht pie chups an beans
without please or thank you at every single lunchtime without fail, and without hesitation to spare even a cursory glance at what – to us – is fairly decent scran but what is – to them – exotic cuisine so stratospherically haute that you’d need an oxygen mask and a PhD in poshness to even consider eating it.
Essentially these are ‘people’ whose mindless avoidance of vitamins has robbed them of the basic curiosity or initiative to consider eating anything other than what their inbred fuckwit tracksuit parents crammed down their malnourished cake-pipes as hateful mewling children.
I hope they all fucking die.