Friday, 30 October 2009

Pointers On Last Night's Orgy

Hi everyone, just thought I'd send you a quick note about yesterday's orgy.

First of all, I'm pleased to say that the orgy was mostly a success. Thanks to John and Sarah for offering up their venue for us and providing such excellent facilities. The jacuzzi was a brilliant addition to the evening's proceedings. Also, thanks go out to Joan for the wonderful spread she put on, on the table AND off, hahaha! But seriously, the chicken goujons were to die for.

Despite a mostly enjoyable evening on most accounts, there are always one or two bad apples who manage to put a downer on the orgy. I don't know if you guys knew you were being rude or obnoxious, or if you're just not used to orgy etiquette. I have put together a few points to help us have a more constructive orgy next time.

  • Always wash your hands while at the orgy. We all eat from the same buffet you know! It made me feel queasy just thinking about the amount on unwashed palms that were padding down the bread tray. I saw one guy plunge straight into the pistachios, and after seeing where his hands had just been, it simply turned my stomach. People, if you don't want to wash your hands for whatever reason, you should bring your own packed lunch. It's only polite to make sure that you don't contaminate the food.
  • Make sure to bring your own bottled water to the orgy. I turned up with a couple of bottles of Evian, and I must have been asked by five different people during the course of the evening if they could have a sip. I understand that you're feeling dehydrated, after all, you are expelling a lot of fluid and there is often a large amount of cardiovascular exercise to be had at an orgy, and that's why I always come prepared. Please bear this in mind for next time.
  • Do not bring pets to the orgy. I don't know who the dog belonged to, but it's really off putting when a german shepherd refuses to break eye contact with you whilst you're fumbling around trying to support a lady in the wheelbarrow position. Also, some people such as myself have terrible allergies and the dog's presence caused me to sneeze all over Molly's back.
  • In a similar vein, do not bring toddlers to the orgy. I simply cannot stress this point enough. An orgy is not place for a child, so if you cannot find a babysitter, I suggest that you miss out on the orgy.
  • Whoever thought it was a great idea to flick the lights on and off seriously needs to grow up. You may enjoy watching an orgy like some kind of flickering movie reel, but for us professionals who have attended many orgies in the past, it's embarrassing when the lights go off and you accidentally slip into the wrong hole. Luckily I managed to move away quickly enough for her not to know it was me, but this kind of behaviour means that you shouldn't be allowed to attend the orgy in future. Orgies are not the kind of places to screw around at.
  • I noticed a lot of onlookers at the orgy last night. If you're a beginner then welcome to the orgy, but it is rather rude not to join in when such wonderful facilities have been provided for you. In fact, I think we need to have a rule in future that if it's your first night at the orgy, you should join in at least once.
  • Can girls at the orgy not pair up with each other exclusively? Ladies are in short supply at most of the orgies I've been to, so if you're going to attend, please make sure that you give something back to the community, otherwise we just get a whole bunch of guys stood around looking bored and making small talk.
  • Speaking of small talk, it is ok to have a casual conversation while performing at an orgy. A few people I came across almost blanked me when I tried to talk to them about the X Factor finals. Hello! It's not like you can ignore me when I've got my doohickey right in your wotsit!
  • If you don't like the soundtrack I've chosen for the orgy, you should bring your own iPod or something rather than complaining. I supplied the music for the whole night and all I heard were people talking about how "lame" it was. Well I'm sorry if you don't enjoy timeless classics such as The Monster Mash and Tiger Feet. I thought that at some of you would have laughed when the music changed to James Brown's Sex Machine, but most people just rolled their eyes like humourless nitwits. Get yourselves a sense of humour.
Anyway, I've gone on for much too long now. I didn't mean to come across like a grumpy old man but I just feel very strongly about my orgies and believe that we can make them much more enjoyable with a little consideration for each other. Hope to see you all again soon, except for the guy who bought that fucking dog.

Monday, 26 October 2009

A Review Of Doctor Parnassus

I went to see The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus last night, the film that is famous for being the final project that the late Heath Ledger worked on before he died. Doctor Parnassus has been in post production limbo for over a year now since the film makers were left in the lurch by the untimely death of their leading man, but luckily, good old Hollywood were there to pick up the finances and throw a whole menagerie of stars into the mix to fill in the missing pieces.

As you can imagine, Doctor Parnassus is a film that, after spending such a long time on the cutting room floor, still feels a little bit chopped up and hacked together. The film seems to give up on it's own plot at some points in favour of it's visuals, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but leaves many story elements up in the air or unexplained. It smacks of something that doesn't know whether to take it's plot line seriously, or whether to throw it all to the wind in favour of marvellous imagery. Anyway, I'll take a short stab at the story, without spoilers if I can help it.

Doctor Parnassus (Christopher Plummer) is an aging monk who travels around with his stage show telling a religious story that you never hear or understand yourself throughout the film. One day the devil appears to him and grants him immortality at the cost of his first born child becoming part of the devil's property at the age of 16. Dr Parnassus has a daughter (Lily Cole), and the film surrounds Parnassus and the devil's struggle in an endless series of bets over his daughter, including the harvesting of souls in a mystery land inside Parnassus' mirror. They happen across a mysterious stranger (Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp, Jude Law, Colin Farrel) who cannot remember his past, but who brings radical ideas to Parnassus' show to lure in new, unsuspecting folks. As you can tell, the plot is rather confusing up until two thirds of the way through the movie, leaving many people with confused facial expressions that resemble a Pug being forced to eat bonfire toffee.

You've no doubt gathered that the main reason to watch this film is for the trippy special effects (unless you're a grief tourist and are still upset by Ledger's death. But hey, you can take comfort in the fact that he died doing what he loved; having a stranglewank in a cupboard). The stark contrast between the grim, urban environments of the real world and the whimsical, vibrant worlds inside the Doctor's mirror is like watching a Beatles cartoon whilst a hairy German does a dirty protest directly onto your eyes; it's a marvellous experience. It's the kind of vivid visuals that only modern technology can keep up with Gilliam's ambitions.

When it comes to the cast, the part of Tony is finished off by the likes of Johnny Depp, Jude Law, and Colin Farrell, who are all made to look quite similar to Heath Ledger and told to act a lot like him. None of them are on screen for more than 10 minutes, yet are used as the star attractions, so commenting on their performances would be like discussing a tribute band's musical integrity. Startlingly enough, the female lead is played by Lily Cole, a woman who usually resembles an extraterrestrial when doing model shoots. The strangest thing about her appointment is that she's actually not bad as an actress, and doesn't look like an extra from Close Encounters when on moving film.

So, is this film any good or not? Yes, as a moving wonder of imaginative effects, no as a story telling device. Overall, I guess that would make it merely OK. Doctor Parnassus probably wouldn't have been finished at all if the film industry didn't see it as a final tribute to one of it's own actors, and as a send off, it's not all that spectacular.

Tuesday, 20 October 2009

Granny Marge Takes Charge

Hello dearies. My name is Margerie and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I have taken over this web place after observing my grandson spending time on it frequently, and since internets are not on The Daily Mail's list of approved pastimes, I thought I'd take a goosey gander. After guessing his password (I told him his love of sausages would come back to haunt him), I have found myself in control of Puppets For Juice! However, all is not well.

A quick browse of this internets bookmark suggests that it is a terrible place filled with hateful remarks and jokes about genitalia. I am appalled that my grandson could be allowed to electronically print these words onto your screens, but I am even more outraged that you sit there and read them. I sincerely hope that you do not get any sick pleasure from reading horrible words on your computer boxes, otherwise you're scum, and second-rate scum at that!

I want everyone to stop reading this immediately and go outside. Outdoor activities are much more wholesome and teach you wonderful lessons on how to tackle bullies, paedophiles, and dangerous animals. These kind of life lessons cannot be learned at a computer (to my knowledge) and are essential if you want to live until the age at which you can get married before having sex. It never did me any harm growing up in Slough with a piece of dishrag for a father and my mother spending all of our savings on putting a step ladder into our septic tank so we could swim in it. Me and my twelve siblings always had adventures with nothing but a rock, a used condom, and our imaginations. Back then of course, condoms were known as Population Blockers and we only had normal flavours like strawberry, cherry, banana, and coronation chicken, and they didn't come out of machines either. No sir, you had to fish them up out of streams or discover them under swingsets at the park; it was a much simpler time.

These days there are so many dangers in the home. From mind bending soda pops to so called television comedians who make fun of our proud monarchy and our British morals, our children are under an onslaught at all times from lazy commercialism. There's no wonder they grow up to be knuckle-dragging drudgens who only look forward to their next can of fizzy drink or the act of clumsily spilling their hormones into each other like a dribbling garden hose. This is why outdoor activities would benefit them more.

To give you an example of the types of kids we're raising these days, let me tell you about a recent experience I've had with young 'uns. Little over two weeks ago, I was zipping along on my mobility scooter when I came up behind some young hoodlum who was wearing those blasted, white E-Pod ear speakers. He was no doubt listening to some kind of hippety hop that was probably a recipe for killing babies, and failed to hear me shout at him to move out of the way, and failed to hear my horn. I was left with no choice but to politely nudge him into the wall so I could get past him, and he had the bare faced cheek to call ME rude! Wait until you're in juvenile hall young man, then you'll realise who's rude. Us elders are never the rude ones!

This type of behaviour is rife. Before I had my scooter, the amount of times I had to hit young men with my umbrella because they didn't immediately give up their seat on a bus is uncountable. Then they took my bus pass away because I managed to blind one of them with the umbrella point. I am disgusted that the government allows these yobs to dominate areas of buses that are not rightfully theirs.

I'd say our nation had gone to the dogs if dogs weren't so fat and lazy these days. This country has gone to the squirrels.

Tuesday, 13 October 2009

Parfume Pour Homme et Pour Femme

Why are perfume adverts so needlessly confusing? I'm all for adverts trying to be unique and, dare I say it, artsy, but most perfume ads just seem disengaging.

Take the recent one where Nicole Kidman spins around on a rooftop shouting "I LOVE TO DANCE!". What has that got to do with anything? Most of the time perfumes seem to be advertising gondolas and stripy jumpers, or red carpets and missing women. I understand the atmosphere of romanticism created is meant to relate to the glamorous philandering sensations that you would supposedly encounter upon application of a vial of scented water that has probably been scraped from the retinas of a pig in a lab somewhere, but tacking on a picture of the bottle at the end seems as though it's barely associated.

Perfume comes across as being ambiguous and aloof, which isn't very empowering for the consumers who would probably rather know what the product is and what it does/smells like. Take the CK IN2U campaign for example. On first look, the letters seem to be text speak for Cock Into You (fun for the whole family), but it turns out that it's simply a misguided attempt to market the fragrance to young technological minds rather than being a rapist's scent of choice.

Anyway, in true Forrest Gump style, that's all I have to say about that.

Monday, 12 October 2009

Ewan McGregor Is A Big Bag Of Wank

I hate Ewan McGregor.

I was startled when I came to this conclusion. Considering how many other dire actors exist such as Keanu Reeves and Clive Owen , you'd think that Ewan McGregor's continued existence would pale in comparison to those two tragedies of the silver screen. You'd think the likes of Nicholas Cage would be more deserving of my ire considering that he is stiffer than a group of lumberjacks watching beaver porn, yet Ewan has a special something that sets him apart from his contemporaries of wankery.

This ill feeling may be triggered by Ewan's woeful back history. Take Trainspotting for example, the film that arguably launched his career quicker than Usain Bolt on laxatives. His stratospheric rise to glory after starring in this film was only marred by the fact that Trainspotting is crap. Unless you're inexplicably intrigued by sweaty people coming down off of drugs and shooting dogs up the arse, I wouldn't recommend Trainspotting as that pretty much sums up the highlights. Oh, and a baby dies, but I guess that's symbolic or some rubbish.

Big Fish is actually his finest moment. Not because of his performance or anything, but because he had the good fortune to end up in the cast of a decent movie. The film would have been equally as good if a slide whistle noise was played over the top of his dialogue, and they had photoshopped Busta Rhymes' face over the top of his for no apparent reason.

Then of course there's Miss Potter in which Ewan, a broad Scot, bounces a poor English accent off of an even worse English accent produced by Rent-A-Brit Reneé Zellweger. Never before has such a detestable duo appeared on our screens, and they will probably never be beaten unless Edwina Currie and Joan Collins perform a lesbian romp on Babestation whilst Christine Hamilton shouts encouragement from the sidelines. If the script could have overcome it's many problems (being centred around a character that writes a book with little contention or problems except the odd raising of an eyebrow from a disapproving mother), it would still have been utterly unwatchable due to it's hammy performances. It's a given that Miss Potter is bad beyond belief.

If this wasn't enough, he turned up in the film adaptation of Angels and Demons in which they decided to change the nationality of one of the main characters so that Ewan could practise his Irish accent. Yes, the Camerlengo was changed from Italian to Irish just so they could shoehorn McGregor in for some reason. Not that the source material was all that exceptional, but Ewan manages to lower the bar yet again.

Other lows include The Island, a film so bad that lobotomy rates rose 25% on its opening weekend, and Black Hawk Down which...had a helicopter in it I think. Of course, his absolute worst moment is his portrayal of Obi Wan Kenobi in the Star Wars prequels, but most actors would fall at this stage trying to follow in the footsteps of Alec Guinness. However, an actor who is more decorated than Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen's Christmas tree such as Ewan should have been up to the challenge.

Although his film career contains more low points than a submarine captained entirely by hedgehogs, his worst traits are those displayed outside of his movies. A distinct inability to take himself less than super-seriously is infuriating. I've heard people say that he's a nice guy, but the interviews I've seen him in seem to suggest otherwise. The only aspect of him that's larger than his ego is his disfiguring mole.

All in all, I guess Ewan simply provides an adequate anger outlet for me. He's the physical embodiment of everything I dislike about the film industry (which is the one industry I don't usually have a problem with). He's the Kasabian of Hollywood. The only time I'd enjoy a film with him in it would be a movie called "Let's flick McGregor in the face with a rubber glove", which consisted of 90 minutes of just that.

P.S. It's come to my attention that Stephen Gately is dead. R.I.P Stephen, our thoughts go out to your family. Also, Louis Walsh is said to be "Flaccid" over the incident, for the first time since Westlife stood up off of a stool during a key change.

Friday, 2 October 2009

Your Whims And Desires #2

Since the last one was fairly successful (it got some responses), I thought I'd cast out my angling line once again and try and snare a few ideas from the minds of the creative readers out there. As before, people have been nice and forthcoming with subjects for me to talk about, so allow me to address them all:

Jane Nattrass


Jane has suggested this to me several times before, so I felt that it was about time that I gave her what she wanted.

Dating In The Dark is exactly what it says on the tin, making it similar to Blind Date through the eyes of Ray Charles. Three boys and three girls enter a house, but the sexes can only meet in a pitch black room. The idea is that they pair off on the strengths of their personalities alone, even though the contestants are allowed to feel each other up if they are amorous enough to do so (and let's face it, who on a reality show isn't?). As you'd expect, the attractive ones attract the other attractive ones based on verbal attraction, and maybe some blind fumbling, which just goes to show that uglies don't have a chance without the standard-leveller known as alcohol.

The best bit of the show comes when the people are asked to describe their mystery romances to a sketch artist. Interestingly enough, the women managed to depict something that resembled real life, whilst the men might have well just drawn a katamari style ball of breasts and humped it. It just goes to show the intrinsic differences between men and women, and also what 90's TV could have been if Cilla Black wore a particularly powerful pair of aviators.

Alan Ganesvoort

Sick comedy. Do it justice :)

I assume this is meant to mean boundary-pushing performances, and not laughing as your mate hopelessly expunges his stomach contents all over the kebab he was about to tuck into. Regardless, sick comedy comes in two categories: Great and Shit.

Great examples are the types of programmes that manage to break a social taboo in a thought provoking way. The most obvious and often quoted example being Brass Eye, especially the paedophile special which, whilst being utterly genius managed to present us with something that was rather outrageous at the time. Before that, we had the likes of The Young Ones pushing the envelope with casual violence, political commentary, and the odd swear word. These days we have Sascha Baron Cohen challenging people's preconceptions with his overly offensive stereotypical characters.

Then you have the Shit types, the ones that simply present something repugnant and expect it to invoke hysterics. These are increasingly common with stand out examples being Little Britain, and the detestable Bo Selecta. The former has characters which simply vomit and piss themselves for laugh, and the latter prefers to vomit and piss whilst saying "fuck" 200 times a sketch. These tactics are usually bought in to deflect the fact that the jokes or catchphrases have little to no substance behind them, yer complete set o' basterds yer.

Vinny Gerstrokes

Should Iran blow Israel to fuck and just initiate the fucking inevitable?

As a pacifist and self styled wanky crybaby, I cannot support a war even if it is for the greater good. The problem with Israel is that everybody wants a piece of the hallowed pie that is the Holy Land. What was set up as a tourist trap is now a hotly contested battle ground over a piece of land that is famous for having a street magician being born there. Scientists have suggested that in 2000 years time, apocalyptic discourse will surround Croydon as factions scramble to own the rights to Derren Brown's flat.

Jane Mason

Ok, so I'm actually thinking about what I'd do to the scrotes who caused a mother to set fire to a car with her disabled daughter in it.

Disable them, then put them in a car and set it on fire? You know what they say; and eye for an eye makes sales of glass eyes soar astronomically.

Today I read a copy of the Metro, and on the front cover was a mother's description of what she'd like to do to Vanessa George. It read "SKIN HER ALIVE AND ROLL HER IN SALT". Whilst I can understand the repulsion behind what she did (worked at nursery and took suggestive photos of children for a paedophile ring), why do people insist on indulging in these depraved torture fantasies, and why do people agree with them? The average British citizen spends at least 28% of their day telling others what they'd like to do to paedophiles. Here's a quick top three ways to torture paedophiles:

  • Lock them in a room with a bunch of ravenous mothers who have been starved for three days before that, then watch them eat the paedophile alive.

  • Cut off their balls and force the paedo to play Hungry Hungry Hippos with them, followed by a swift round of Kerplunk. Make sure that a board games champion is present so that the paedo will feel utterly useless when he loses.

  • Cut off their ears and put speakers next to the holes, then play a basshunter mixtape interspersed with more sick torture fantasies to them.

Angie Landon

Roman Polanski (or weiner dogs).

Roman Polanski? Why do we keep coming back to the topic of paedophiles? Seriously though, The Pianist was a good film, but was it good enough to absolve him of his crimes? Only a judge can decide that matter. Have weiner dogs made any films of that calibur? No, although yours could probably star in The Pianist after seeing this adorable photograph:

Peace out everyone.