Friday, 29 June 2012

Crowd Sourced Story - Part 2: Illicit Desires and Armageddons

For part 1, check yesterday's post.  It won't make any sense if you don't (not that it does anyway).  As promised, here is part 2:


“Uuughhh, where am I?”

Groggy and confused, Luigi’s head lurched around in a circular motion, trying to make sense of the world before him.  His vision was blurrier than a drunken bat staring at a spot light through tracing a sheet of tracing paper.  He thought he could make out several humanoid, anthropomorphic animals nearby.  Through his dulled hearing, he could several loud cries in the background, although he wasn’t sure if they were pleasurable screams or agonised screams.  Either way, they were rather disconcerting.  He could also hear a clacking noise very close by, like someone had set off a Newton’s Cradle just behind him. 

As he lolled in what appeared to be a chair, the clacking noise started to move round to his front.  Something moved into his field of vision, a woman, in black.  Before his eyes had even focussed correctly, Luigi tried to move away from this woman.  If Daniel Radcliffe had taught him anything, it’s that women in black should be avoided at all costs.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you” reassured the woman.  As his eyesight began to return, he noticed she was wearing a leather basque and a pair of knee high boots.  “Not unless you pay me, anyway.”

“What do you want with me?  Where am I?”

“Only the best brothel in town.  We cater for everyone here!” and with a flourish of her hand, she motioned to several people in the background engaging in various acts of lewd behaviour.  People were tied to racks, others were dressed as assorted animals, and one guy was passed out on the floor in a pool of green jelly with a goat.  Luigi put himself in this man’s position for a moment.  Damn!  He wondered how he was ever going to recover from the public humiliation of waking naked, covered in some sort of green slime and animal hair, surrounded by a crowd of shocked onlookers staring at his massive erection.  Thankfully, he reminded himself that he wouldn’t have to deal with the after effects of such depravity.  Realising that he wasn’t in danger (unless he paid someone for the privilege), he attempted to get up.

“Oh yeah, I restrained you because I thought you were one of my slaves trying to escape.  And sorry about the metal pipe to the ol’ noggin back there.  You were creeping around in the dark though!”

The woman began to untie him.  She was very adept with knots.  Perhaps in another life she’d have made a fantastic sailor.  Luigi doubted that she’d appreciate such a compliment though.  Once freed, he rose to his feet.

“As way of an apology, how about an hour’s session?  On the house of course.”

“No, I need to find my friend.  We’re supposed to be on a stag do” declined Luigi.

At the mention of this, the woman approached a desk, pulled out a green bottle and two small glasses.  She poured the liquid into the glasses, handed one to Luigi, and chinked her glass on his.

“What’s this?”

“Green fairy.  It is a stag do after all.  By the way, what’s your name?”

“Luigi.  Yours?”

“Laura, but officially I’m Miss Inferno” and with that, she slipped him a business card.  “Follow me on Facebook” she whispered “I’m ever so needy”.

Five minutes later, Luigi found himself drunkenly putting on a squirrel outfit and trying to join the furry party.  The absinthe coursing through his veins powered him ever-forward, toward his impending doom at the hands of the amorous platypus.

Another hour and a distinct loss of dignity later, Luigi emerged from the brothel wearing a tight, vibrant latex top.  He wondered where on earth he’d find Bill at this time of night.  As he scouted the area, he saw a familiar vehicle at the side of the road.  He recognised that car from somewhere.  The hideously green Seat Ibiza with a dent in side where it had hit a lamppost, and the dent on the other side where it had hit a pony.  Obviously, this was his car.

Wondering what his vehicle was doing out here, Luigi pulled out his keys.  Luckily, he kept his car keys attached to his house keys, so he tended to take them wherever he went.  As he went to put the key in door, there was a loud squawk as a bird swooped down with an intent to rob him.  A quick tussle later and the greedy, shiny-eyed avian assailant had robbed him.  He watched the seagull as it slowly crossed the sky, his car keys hanging from its beak, glinting in the sunlight, wondering how he would explain the pink latex vest to his partner.  Jo was going to kill him when he made it back.

Despairingly, he made his way to the back of the vehicle and sat on the curb.  This was the worst stag do he’d ever been on.  If it wasn’t for the animal magic he’d indulged in earlier, the whole evening would have been a washout. 

Just then, he looked at the rear of his car and noticed that the boot had been left partly open.  He lifted the lid, only to find his friend bundled in there.  He was bound, gagged, and appeared to be in drag.  Perhaps he’d been in the brothel after all.


Bill started to come to.  As soon as he clapped eyes on Luigi, he began to scream through his gag and flail around like a hyperactive earthworm.  Trying to reassure his friend and untie his bonds, Luigi started picking at the knots.  It was useless.  These were done by someone far more versed in rope play than he was.  There was only one person Luigi knew who could undo these restraints.


“Did you do this to him?”

“Of course not.” Said Miss Inferno “As I said, I only do this to people who pay me.”

Laura picked apart the knots like a child ripping open a birthday present.  It was like watching a concert pianist perform, only 76% more kinky.  She’d freed his arms and legs within a matter of seconds, but before she could remove the gag, Bill leaped out of the boot, pushed past them, and ran off down the street.  It was rather a sight to see a gagged man run down the street, clutching an empty bottle of whiskey and wearing a fabulous evening dress.  It was even more of a sight when he went crashing through the doors of a local church.

The parishioners all looked up in surprise when the door at the back of the church slammed open halfway through the vicar's service, and Bill Bishop staggered up the aisle grasping a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and wearing a sparkly, purple evening gown with a slit up the side and a pair of ripped fishnet stockings.

Chasing him down, Luigi and Laura tackled him to the ground near the altar and pulled at his gag.

“Let me go!” shrieked Bill, further frightening the congregation.

“What’s going on?  Who did this to you?” demanded Luigi, shaking his friend for an answer.

“I can’t tell.”

“Tell us!” commanded Laura, producing a bullwhip.  The sight of this only sent Bill into further hysterics.

I like avocados. In a completely non-sexual manner!” screamed Bill, rather randomly.


“Oh, that was the safe word the other dominatrix used”

“Who’s that?  I might know her” said Laura.

“...It was Jo alright!?”

“Jo?” questioned Luigi.

“Jo, Jo, bloody Jo!  Your darling wife to be!”

Stunned, Luigi let go of his friend and stood there despondent for a few seconds.  He felt his heart wrench in his chest.  He was sure he was having a heart attack.  Or maybe his soul was dying inside.  Although now dead, he was able to continue his quest, and as you'll see in five paragraphs, he will be successful when the story concludes.

“That’s right, hubby!”

Everyone turned around to see Jo stood in the church doorway, wearing a bright pink cat suit.  She was surrounded by a bunch of other women who were wearing sashes saying “hen party”.  Luigi realised that this was all part of their hen party fun, but it didn’t heal the pain of finding out that his future bride enjoyed a sexualised role play session with his best friend.  Even though the hypocrisy of his earlier absinthe-fuelled furry sex wasn’t lost on him, it didn’t alter his booze-addled feelings.

“Wait!”  Shouted the vicar “You hen’s can’t come in here!  Hens and stags cannot come together on the same night as the matrimonial forces at work can exponentially increase, causing a tear in reality and leaving a vortex through which Satan can enter this Earthly realm!”

“Too late!” boomed a small Chihuahua just behind the hens.  Luigi recognised the dog.  It was his own.  The one he’d thrown out of his apartment for spraying dog semen all over his cushions. “And now you shall pay for throwing me out in the cold!” the dog proclaimed as its eyes turned red and flames began to engulf it.

And then everyone, the Armageddon actually did come to pass, and everyone died a very painful death.

Thursday, 28 June 2012

Crowd Sourced Story - Part 1: Chihuahuas And Revelations

I said I'd post the results of the crowd sourced story on Friday.  Today is Thursday.  I have failed you!

The thing is, the thing was getting much too big for one post, so I decided to split it into two parts.  Part 1 today, part 2 tomorrow.  Your sentences have been highlighted in yellow just to prove that I have included them.  Just remember, you bought this on yourselves, okay?


It’s difficult to comprehend how the end of the world came around from such humble beginnings.  The event that kicked off the apocalypse began in the lobby of 123 Juniper Street, with the front door being opened, and a diminutive dog being launched onto the pavement at high velocity.

The man behind this casual canine abuse was Dave Davidson, or Luigi to his friends.  He acquired this curious nickname at school by being the tallest kid in the class, and his ability to grow a luscious black moustache by the age of 10.  Also, his attraction to green overalls didn’t help either.  As for the dog, that was Luigi’s brand new pet, which had a penchant for spraying his new furniture with sexual excretions.  At once, Luigi regretted buying the rampant Chihuahua when his apartment that he'd bought for tying up young women became heavily covered in dog juice, but it was great for picking up ladies.

It was through this tiny mongrel that Luigi had met his new flame.  He’d bumped into Jo while walking his overgrown rat in the local park.  There, they sat and chatted the hours away, people watching and sharing their innermost secrets.  Luigi shared his intimate knowledge of the birds and the bees that he’d learned last week from a pamphlet, and finished his overwrought chat up line with “and that’s were babies come from”.

Their whirlwind romance grew stronger and stronger over the next few days.  Jo assisted Luigi in curbing his lady-kidnapping tendencies, and in return, he stopped trying to lock her in the basement.  Through a curious blend of infatuation and Stockholm syndrome, their romance quickly grew until Luigi finally proposed after only 5 days.  Inside the apartment, Jo was already deciding on a colour scheme for the wedding as Luigi re-entered after ejecting his dog.

“What colour flowers should we have?  Pink or purple?”

“Uhhhh, pink” guessed Luigi, as his thoughts quickly turned to other matters.  Approaching her in an amorous fashion, he hugged her from behind, his head next to her ear.

“Hey wifey.  How about giving your future husband an early wedding present?”

She sighed with a grudging reluctance.  Jo detested the thought of having her mans stubbly sack scrape at her chin like glass paper as she swallowed his pride, but duty called.  She turned to him, knelt down and began undoing his zipper.

“No, not that.  I was referring to this.”

Luigi held up a copy of his favourite DVD, shaking the disc around in the case like cold rattlesnake with Parkinsons.  Looking at the title, Jo would have preferred to guzzle a gallon of mangravy rather than watch 10 minutes of that blubbery horseshit.

“My favourite part is when they are crowned kings of the world” proclaimed Luigi as his fiancée placed the DVD in the player.

“No, they don’t actually become kings.  That’s just Leo DiCaprio’s character exclaiming how he feels while standing on the bow of a ship with the love of his life.”

“We’ll see.” Muttered Luigi.  The intelligence gap between the two lovers was glaringly obvious.

Just then, their television viewing was abruptly interrupted by a flying brick.  The brick shattered their front window, scattering glass shards across the room.  Coincidentally, those shards landed on Jo’s wedding planner in such a manner, that it later gave her the inspiration for the diamante pattern she wanted for her dress.  But right now, more pressing matters were afoot.  The pair studied the brick as a Neanderthal would an iPad.  Who was responsible for this abrupt attack?

“Aha!  Stagged ya!”

The answer came in the form of Bill Bishop, Luigi’s oldest friend and party animal extraordinaire.  To their surprise, Bill climbed through the broken window, and then kicked Luigi straight in the balls.

“Stagged you again!”

“Stop it!  What are you doing?!” pleaded Jo.

“What?  I’m here for his stag do.  So I’m ‘stagging’ him”

Despite this physical assault, Bill didn’t exactly cut a menacing figure.  To say he was short was a slight understatement.  There were rollercoasters that he wasn’t technically able to ride.  As such, Jo tried to restrain him as her husband regained his composure and rose to his feet.

“It’s alright” reassured Luigi “me and Bill are going to have a few drinks tonight.  You know, last night of freedom and all that.  We’re just going to nip out for a couple of quiet drinks, and then we’ll be home before you know it.”

“Stag! Stag! Stag!” agreed Bill.  He attempted to throw a bottle of beer to his buddy, but it flew wildly off course and hit the back wall, simultaneously smashing to pieces and lowering the property’s value by £1290.

“Alright, you boys can go.  Just don’t do anything reckless.”

With only a minimal amount of whooping and hollering, the boys departed on their night out leaving Jo alone.  She took Titanic out of DVD player, replaced it with her favourite movie; Fisting Fireman 5, then settled down amongst the broken glass for an evening of light indulgence.


Later, upon discovering a majority of the animal crackers were meager sheep, Bill hesitantly pressed a Colt .45 against his temple.

“This is depressing” exclaimed Luigi.  “What are we doing here?  No one else has turned up to my stag, and we’re sat here drinking knock off beer behind an off license and eating children’s biscuits”

Bill lowered the gun.  Shooting himself now would undoubtedly cause the excitement they desperately needed, but it would be cruel to leave his best friend alone on his stag do.  Who would kick him in the bollocks if he wasn’t there?  Putting the gun away, he turned to Luigi.  “So what do you want to do?”

“You’re my best man!  You’re supposed to organise it!”

Studying his internal A-Z of the area proved slightly difficult when under the influence, but Bill scanned the local area in his brain for points of interest.  He vaguely recalled a contemporary theatre that was supposed to be rather decent.  There was an independent cinema that screened the latest Bulgarian romancic show pieces.  There was also a botanical garden in which they study exotic flora and fauna.

“Dunno.  Strip club?”

Sighing heavily, Luigi reluctantly agreed, allowing Bill to lead on to this fleshy establishment.  They zig zagged through several backstreets that Luigi wasn’t familiar with.  Stepping over several dead cats, and an array of small, bitey mammals, they encountered a tramp who kept eyeballing them.  While he'd never win any awards for his verbal sarcasm, his eyebrow trash-talk was second to none.  The pair decided to leave this homeless gent lest they be sucked into a facial hair battle rap, and continued through the omnipresent alleyways.

A little while later, Bill suddenly came to a halt outside a boarded up back door.  The building looked abandoned.  You could almost hear the rats fornicating in the walls.  Presenting his arm, Bill gestured as though they had reached their destination, like the world’s drunkest TomTom.  Grudgingly, Luigi tried the door.  It didn’t budge an inch.  He turned to Bill and shrugged.

“Oh.  No problem mate.  Wait here, I’ll find a way in” and with that, Bill staggered off into the gloom in search of a solution.

Cold and alone, Luigi started to feel uncomfortable.  He felt like there was someone watching him.  He swivelled around to see the earlier hobo approaching him, with menace in his brow.  As he approached in a threatening manner, hands prone as though he was about to feel some breasts for the first time in fifty years, the tramp spoke.

It was in France that I first painted Betty White in the nude, after hours of passionate lovemaking.  How would you like to be my new Betty?”

After calling for Bill, then his mother, Luigi decided his best solution was to kick the door down and escape.  A swift boot made short work of the rotten wood, splintering apart to fashion a spiky plank, which could be brandished as a weapon.  Luigi picked up the wood and swung it heartily at his foe.

“Ow!  Jesus!  It was just a question!  If you’re not interested, just say so!”  And with that, Hobo Joe fled to the solace of his flea-riddled bed sack.  Feeling a little foolish and cruel, Luigi realised he’d created an entrance to the building.  Since Bill was still nowhere to be seen, he decided to climb inside. 

It was pitch black in there.  As his ears started to become his most highly prioritised sense, he edged further and further into the darkness.  He could hear scuttling noises in every direction.  Listening intently, he thought he could also hear whispers.

Suddenly, this train of thought was interrupted by a searing pain across the top of his head.  The kind of pain you get if you’ve had your brains bashed in with a blunt object.  He collapsed on the floor and passed out in the darkness.

Monday, 25 June 2012

Too Darned Busy

Britain is fast becoming the busiest nation in Europe, experts have warned. After pointless research conducted for a government commission, scientists have come to the conclusion that most people in Britain are busy for quite a lot of the day.

The general public is often busy for up to 93% of their waking life, the comprehensive survey concluded, with the busiest hours being between 9:00AM and 5:00PM. These busy periods often occur during weekdays.

“I find that I am usually busy when I am at work” said Bob Lager, a refuse disposal technician from Dagenham. “But then when I get home I have to take the bins out, and sometimes help a child with maths homework. I mean, shouldn’t they be teaching that kind of thing in school? I’m far too busy for that.”

It is claimed that many Britons are even busy on bank holidays and during days off. Laundry, visiting elderly burdens (or relatives), and mundane sexual duties are amongst the top chores people are subjected to.
Typical British work
Even stay at home parents are finding themselves immersed in an increasingly busy lifestyle. Despite being previously thought of as slovenly babysitters who eat Pringles for breakfast and update their Facebook status all day long about the latest Jeremy Kyle revelations, it turns out that these people are also rather busy. Changing soiled nappies and nipping to the shops are all highly rated activities. 

 “I find that I am just too busy to talk to people” said Lauren Magnum, a mother of two in Kettering. “I’m the busiest busybody in the history of busy” 

9 out of 10 people surveyed said they were “too busy” to complete a simple questionnaire about how busy they are. 

A government spokesperson tried to deny and suppress the scientific findings. “It’s all relative. Sometimes people say they’re busy as an excuse to get out of something. Sometimes they’ll say they’re busy when they don’t have 10 hours a day to snooze and play video games. Sometimes people claim to be busy so as not to appear lazy amongst their peers. This research proves nothing.” 

As a contrast, we found a man who claims to not be very busy at all. Adam Gardner says “to be honest, I can’t recall the last time I was busy. I don’t think I’ve ever been busy at all in my life.” 

I could write more about this, but frankly, I’m just too darned busy. I’ve got to take the dog for a walk, then think about my next toilet trip. I am one busy motherfucker!


Thank you all for your wonderfully polite and civilised suggestions for the 200th post. I am now closing submissions, which will hopefully give me enough time to write the damn thing. In all fairness, you've all come up with fantastic entries and I hope the results will not disappoint.

Friday, 22 June 2012

200th Post Spectacular!

Little did you know, dear readers, as you stirred from the comfort of your warm beds, trying to remove the crusted eye-juice from your sockets, that you were waking up to a spectacular day of glory and wonder.  Yes, today is the day I finally learned to tie my shoes, all by myself!

This monumental achievement also happens to coincide with the 200th Muppets For Justice post.  This seems like a good excuse for a celebration if you ask me.

Since I didn't really have anything planned for this, I'd like to post something really special.  As a result, I've decided to rip off my peers (namely Bumferry Hogart) and do some crowd sourced writing.

I'd like to invite you all to suggest a sentence that I must include in a story.  The sentence can be anything you like so don't be shy about swearing or content.  Once your suggestions are in, I have until next Friday to weave it all into some kind of story.

Ambitious?  Probably, but I'd like to invite you all to watch me fall flat on my arse anyway.  If you'd like to submit a sentence, simply comment below and put your sentence into hash tags, like so:

#Eddie had never ridden the event horizon of a black hole, but he figured he would pick it up as he went along.#

So, feel free to make some suggestions.  There will be a normal post next Monday, followed next Friday by the results of this.

Monday, 18 June 2012

Congratulations On Seducing My Ex

Hey Brad,

Just thought I’d send you a quick email to let you know how pleased I am that you’ve started dating my ex girlfriend. 

I’m so happy that my best friend has moved in with the love of my life, just two weeks after we split up.  She could have met someone much worse, like Crackhead Larry down the street, or that German man across the way who I’m sure loves to eat people's ears.  Instead, she’s found comfort in dear, dependable Brad.  Did you need someone to split the rent with since you lost your job at Poundland?  No, no, I’m sure this is all about love.  Eternal, everlasting love.

To show you how totally and utterly fine I am about the situation, I thought I’d give you some hot tips on how to make your relationship work.  Remember, I was with Michelle for 5 years, so I’ve learned a lot about her, what makes her tick, and what she hates.  I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did and wind up crying into your cereal every day, playing “our song” over and over on the radio, or making an effigy of your love rival and burning it in the back garden while chanting ancient voodoo spells. 

I’m totally over that now, honestly.  To show there are no hard feelings, have a look at this list of ways in which to woo the lovely Michelle.

1)     If there’s one thing Michelle hates, its sex.  Well, not sex as a whole, but she hates conventional sex.  There are only three things guaranteed to get her in the mood.

A)   She doesn’t have normal erogenous zones.  Kissing her neck or touching know, won’t work.  Instead, you have to lick her armpits.  It’s best to do this when she’s asleep, so she wakes up to a nice surprise.  Do this, and she’ll be riding you like an Indian on the roof of a speeding train.
B)   She enjoys being tickled to the point where she pees herself.  Again, it’s best to do this when she’s asleep, but under no circumstances must you stop, even if she threatens to slice your nipples off between bouts of laughter.
C)   She really likes role play.  The best thing to do is buy an Advanced Dungeons & Dragons box set, make her be a Halfling, and slay her in the first five minutes with a dragon.  She’ll be so impressed that she’ll have you any which way.

What women want

2)    Invite her mother over for tea at least every other day.  Michelle gets on great with her mum, and you will too!  You’ll instantly be volunteered for the next 10 years worth of church fetes, and you’ll certainly enjoy the overwrought stories about how Auntie Betty didn’t leave any money in her will to anyone.  You’ll also be scrutinised over every aspect of your personality and how much money you’re spending on the relationship.  Sounds like heaven, huh?

3)    Michelle is a pet person.  There isn’t a single pet in the world that she doesn’t like, so your best bet is to fill her life with as many animals as possible.  Turn her sock drawer into a tarantula breeding ground.  Dig a viper’s nest in the back garden.  Send her a bouquet of lizards at work.

4)    Don’t be a sissy. Michelle likes her men to be manly men, and that includes all the disgusting territory associated with men.  If you pee on the toilet seat (delivering a generous sprinkle to behind the cistern), that’s a good way to make your mark.    Sit around in your pants for most of the day, drinking beer and scratching.  Bathe once a week, allowing your manly aroma to slowly permeate its way through the household.

5)    Michelle is a very down to earth person.  She likes eating out, but doesn’t enjoy all the pomp and circumstance associated with fine dining.  Chablis and lobster puree don’t do anything for her at all, so don’t take her to a dimly lit romantic hotspot.  Take her to Hooters.  The free-flowing beer and ample ladies will make her appreciate how lucky she is to have you, when you could have one of those rollerskating babes instead.  It will, under no circumstances, destroy her self esteem and poison your relationship, I guarantee it.

6)    Hack her email account and check her Facebook messages on a daily basis.  Make hints that you know who she’s been talking to online, and send abusive messages to any rival suitors.  This proves to her that you care, and also makes you look super cool when you threaten to pulverise her old school friends.

7)    If there’s one thing she loves, it’s a guy with a sense of humour.  Show off this light-hearted side of your personality whenever you’re out in public.  As she’s talking to someone, slide over next to her, grab her breasts, and make comedy honking noises.  If you go to a fancy dress party, go as a minstrel.  Proclaim loudly how ironic your costume is, because that’s what someone with no sense of humour and poor taste would go as.

Catnip!  Catnip!

8)    Michelle doesn’t have any hobbies or interests whatsoever.  If she declares a love of art and wants to go to an art class every Wednesday evening, this is a test.  Lock the doors and windows, and hide the car keys.  Art class is code for “I’m going to shag your best friend behind your back” (that’s how you two got together in the first place).

9)    If you want to cook her a meal for her birthday next Tuesday (you knew that already, didn’t you?), then you can’t go far wrong with Pig’s Bladder Pie.  This is Michelle’s favourite dish.  When you make it, you need to make sure the bladder is fresh and full of nutrients.  You can do this by buying a micro pig for her birthday, then slaughtering it brutally in the kitchen later that day.  Take pictures of the event, and make them into a scrapbook for an extra present.

10) To prove your commitment to her, you need to hand over a piece of your soul to her.  Failing that, you can always give her a body part.  Perhaps one of your toes that you don’t need, or your left testicle (the one that does the least work.  The lazy bollock).  This shows dedication.  Women love it when men mutilate themselves for love, especially when they don’t take appropriate medical precautions.

Please keep in touch and let me know how all of this works out for you.  If things go well, perhaps we could do some double dating sometime.  Oh that’s right, I forgot to tell you about my new girlfriend, Sandra.  She’s blonde, 21, and was made in Taiwan, I mean she flew over from Taiwan.  Anyway keep in touch!


--- I have submitted this to the Dude Write Starting Lineup .  Please visit for other cool blogs, and testosterone-

fuelled fun.
I selected this post to be featured on my blog’s page at Humor Blogs.

Friday, 15 June 2012

The Freshest Essay Ever

Now I'm not not one blow my own trumpet (I couldn't afford the operation), but there is one event in my life in which I allow myself to boast a bit..   

Back in the olden days when people danced to the Nokia ringtone, and when Big Brother was still a social experiment, I was studying for my A Levels. My favourite was English Language which taught me about the formation of language, coinage of words, how to use language to its maximum effect, that kind of stuff. One of the modules was a creative writing essay which I especially relished. I scored 86/90 on it, which pretty much shits on an A grade. They almost gave me a super A, until the examiners realised that no such mark exists. 

Anyway, I thought I'd reproduce my masterwork here and let you see for yourselves how great it is:

Now this is a story all about how the events of my life were, as my streetwise peers would say, "flipped, turned upside down".  I would like to take minute of your time, so ensure you're sitting comfortably, as I regale you with the tale of how I transcended to an almost Monarch-esque stature in a town called Bel Air.
I used to reside on the Western side of the city of Philadelphia. You could say that I was born and raised there, since that's what I was. On a playground is where I spent most of days, to the point where I was far too old and it was a little inappropriate. I used to "chill out max and relax all cool", and participate in impromptu games of basketball outside of the school. Then a couple of local scoundrels with dangerous intent, started making trouble in my neighbourhood. This escalated into a minor scuffle in which I was mildly injured, causing my mother to fear for my safety. She was scared so she made arrangements for me move in with my auntie and uncle in Bel Air.
I begged and pleaded with her for days upon days, but she was undeterred as she relentless threw my clothes in a suitcase and sent me on my way.  After giving me a bittersweet peck on the cheek to try and allay my fears that I had fallen out of her favour, she gave me my plane ticket.  As I grew resigned to this rejection, I put on my walkman and thought "I might as well kick it" (the situation that is, not the walkman.  A walkman is an expensive piece of equipment and should never be kicked). 
I sat in the relative luxury of first class, which was so good it was bad, as my peers would describe it.  I ordered a glass of orange juice and sipped it finely from a champaign glass.  At this point I was still under the legal age to drink, and the cabin crew had refused my request for a lager cocktail.  As I reclined in my seat, I pondered to myself if this is what the people of Bel Air live like.  Hmmmm, this might be alright.
When I touched down I whistled for a cab (or taxi, if you struggle to understand my lingo). As it approached, screeching to a halt near the curb, I noticed several peculiar things about the vehicle. Firstly, the license plate said "Fresh", and there were fluffy dice on the mirror. If anything I would say that this cab was rare, but I dismissed it, climbed, and yelled in an obnoxiously excited manner "yo home, to Bel Air!"
I arrived at my uncle's property around 7:00 or 8:00 (frankly, I was too excited by those fluffy dice to correctly recall my exact arrival time), and I yelled to the cabbie "yo holmes, smell you later!". He wasn't phased. He'd had an entire journey to come to terms with my blatant lack of manners. I surveyed what was soon to be my kingdom and realised that I was finally there, I would sit on my throne as the prince of Bel Air.

All events portrayed in this story are 100% true, as much as the material is 100% original.

A copycat who read my essay

Monday, 11 June 2012

My New Phone

Hullo electronic screen people!  I’m Addman Senior, informally nicknamed “Oldman”.  Some young ‘uns once asked me if I was related to Gary Oldman, at which they snickered and ran off.  Well, more fool them because, yes, I am indeed a distant cousin of the renowned actor.  Foolish children.

Anyway, my grandson, Addman, wanted me to pen a review of a modern mobile telephony device.  I was pleased to be asked as he usually asks me for money instead, so it felt like a refreshing change.  I explained that I'd never owned such a piece of equipment before as I'd heard the radio waves can cause cancer.  But then I considered that at my time time of life, those emissions might actually prevent cancer instead like a portable chemotherapy machine.  It was at this point that he bundled me into his car, drove down town, and lead me into a high street telephony outlet.

The store was named O2, which seemed ironic as the inside of the store was decked out in images of an underwater scene.  I assume the store manager didn’t realise that the chemical symbol for water is H2O, not O2.  What kind of amateur alchemist is running the show here?

Our local O2 store.  Yoshi not pictured.

After being handed an endless stream of devices by a cheerfully upbeat Japanese kid named Yoshi (successfully maintaining the Asian technophile stereotype), my grandson suggested that I should buy the “Apple iPhone 4S 3G”.  The cordless telephone promised a dazzling array of features, which I will be covering later in this review, but I was not too pleased with the price.  I had to pay £40 a month, plus insurance for this little gizmo.  I explained out loud that my first telephone was purchased for no more than twelve shillings and a cup of tea for the British Telecom engineer who came to install it.  The Asian chap assured me that times had changed, and no amount of haggling or bribery with the toffees in my pocket could persuade him to lower the cost.  That’s almost half my pension!  Still, my grandson reckons that we can get the money back by selling the device on something called an Eee Bay.  Sometimes, I don’t know what he’s talking about.

My first impressions were rather underwhelming, to be honest.  After unwrapping an endless amount of cardboard (I think the Apple corporation manufactures more cardboard than apples these days), I found the telephone’s screen to be incredibly dark and unresponsive.  After nearly half an hour prodding at it, my grandson informed me that you have to insert the battery first.  I ran to fetch the batteries from the remote control, but by the time I had retrieved them, he had already inserted a different battery and had plugged it into the mains.

This is another annoying feature of the Apple iPhone 4S 3G.  For a cordless telephony device, you have to spend an inordinate amount of time with a wire sticking out of the bottom of it.  Apparently, you need to fill it with electricity before it can be used.  As you use the device, the electricity slowly evaporates into the ether or something.  Soon you’ll find yourself having to plug the telephone back in again.  Not exactly cordless technology if you ask me.

The Apple iPhone 4S 3G, cable not pictured.

Once it was finally fully charged, my grandson left me to it and said he’d call me on it tomorrow to find out how I was getting on.  I ran into my first brick wall shortly after he left.  You see, the Apple company forgot to put any buttons on the Apple iPhone 4S 3G.  There’s an on and off button, and a button with a square on it near the bottom, but I couldn’t find a keyboard or a button to ring people or anything.

I once saw a young chap operating a similar device several years ago.  I remember my false teeth falling out when I watched him snap the device in two to reveal a keyboard in the middle of it.  Perhaps this is what the Apple company wanted me to do with their Apple iPhone 4S 3G.

After trying to prise the thing open in several ways, I eventually threw the mobile device on the floor and stamped on it.  I sifted through the shards of glass and transistor wotsits, I was still unable to find a keyboard inside.  Perhaps I did it too hard and broke the keyboard as well.

Anyway, 24 hours and another trip to the underwater retail emporium later, I found myself with yet another Apple iPhone 4S 3G.  I asked if it could come with a keyboard this time, and Yoshi assured me that there is a keyboard “programmed” into it that’s really easy to use.  This time, my grandson decided to supervise and help me locate the relevant functions in the instruction booklet.

One disturbing feature of this telephony device is that it has a nasty habit of speaking to you.  Whilst watching The Simple Life on the television, I was idly flicking through the Apple screens.  Meanwhile on the television, Miss Hilton said something obnoxious about having to clean a hotel room, to which I shouted “Get on with it!  I don’t care whether you are Paris or not!”  The Apple iPhone 4S 3G suddenly piped up and said “Should be pretty nice this weekend in Paris”, and displayed a temperature reading.  How the telephone knows the current body temperature of Paris Hilton is beyond me, and if I was 50 years younger, I would surely enjoy a lovely weekend inside her.  Though I'm not really sure why the telephone decided to join in the conversation at this point.

This is another thing.  I tried to telephone Blacks, the outdoor equipment store, to complain about a waterproof jacket I purchased a few days ago.  Anyway, the telephone keeps activating something called a “Siri” which says “Here’s your search results for Blacks” and shows me some white supremacist websites.  I’m terrified that my telephone thinks I’m a racist.

An app. The mass slaughter of green swine not pictured.

I’d heard a lot about the “apps” that you can get on an Apple iPhone 4S 3G, so I decided to have a look and see which apps would be apt for a geriatric gentleman such as myself.  I had a look at an app called something like “Furious Avian Creatures” in which you have to fling fat crows into brick walls.  I was sickened by this simulation of animal cruelty, and decided that apps weren't really for me.

Overall, I have not enjoyed my experience with the Apple iPhone 4S 3G.  I have found it to be an exercise in frustration.  Even the simplest functions seem 100 times more difficult with this telephone and I fail to see how this technology is supposed to enhance people’s lives.  It doesn’t even taste like apples!  For that reason, I’d recommend sticking to your good old CB radio.  You’re never alone with one of those.


Friday, 8 June 2012

Movie Blurb

Bought to you by the guy who once fetched a coffee for the producer of Paranormal Activity, Lackluster Pictures proudly presents, a spooky, pants-moistening thriller,  Profit In The Margin! 

Gasp at the terrifying prospect of a film studio on the brink of liquidation. Shriek in horror as ordinary civilians turn to piracy instead of their local cinema.

A horrifying scene from the film

Critics are calling it "almost watchable". "I nearly sat through the whole thing" said one reviewer. Empire magazine said "I demanded my money back", presumably so they could watch it again. Total Film said "It was sh..." ...ockingly amazing.


Bought to you by some person who watched The Devil Wears Prada, Jennifer Aniston and Ryan Reynolds star in this delightful Rom-Com about an ordinary couple trying to get married, despite extraordinary in-laws.  Lackluster Pictures proudly presents, the feel good hit of the summer, Weddings Are Hilarious.

The calling card of a generic movie

Heat magazine says "It's a bit like Bridesmaids".  Grazia says "Remember Bridesmaids?".  Glamour magazine says "Should be called Bridesmaids: Reloaded"


Based on a true story, but contorted so far away from that story that you would barely recognise it, Lackluster Pictures proudly presents a tense, nail-biting, claustrophobic thriller, Man In A Cabinet.

Watch Jason Statham climb into a cabinet in order to play a prank on his girlfriend, only for it to go horribly wrong when he finds that the door gets stuck behind him.  Breathlessly marvel at a black screen, and imagine how terrible it would be to be in such a situation.  Listen to the terrifying sounds of The Stath scratching around for his phone.  Contemplate the themes of survival against all costs as he pisses all over himself.  Breath a sigh of relief as his girlfriend comes home from the supermarket after an hour and a half, and enjoy the teaser trailer at the end which suggests the sequel will follow The Stath's rehabilitation back into society.

See this body, ladies?  Yeah, you won't get to see this body.

My dad called it "A good film for blind people".  My brother said "It saved money on special effects".  My niece said "Why did you burn my dolly?"  For cinema, my dear.  For art!


Lackluster Pictures is now accepting movie suggestions from the general public.  Please leave your movie ideas in the comments section.

Monday, 4 June 2012

Whoop Whoop – All Aboard The Freedom Bus!

I always knew I was destined for greatness, even from an early age.  For some unknown reason, the divines have kept me from fulfilling my potential until much later on in life.  For nigh on 15 years I was forced to debase and humiliate myself into the secret herbs and spices at the command of the Colonel.  Well, those days are finally coming to an end as I have found my true calling, and I’m going to make a name for myself so that momma can be proud.

It all started a few nights ago.  I was in bed minding my own business when, out of the blue (or out of the black, as it was very dark), a disembodied voice burst into my room, booming away with such vigour that it knocked my Thundercats glass right off my nightstand.  It spoke with such command that I immediately stood to attention, then got out of bed.

“Lo, Addman, son of the milkman” spoke the entity in its most speakingest voice “Fear not, my child, for I have chosen you for greatness!”

Artists impression of the voice

I had never been picked first for anything before, except for the first to be sacrificed when my brothers and I were playing Aztecs as kids.  Understandably, I was rather excited about being picked for greatness.

“You will lead my people to the promised land.  I want you to gather up as many followers as you can for this great cause”

The very next morning (well, around 12:30PM.  It was a Tuesday after all) I put up a sign in my front window which read, in bold Wingdings font, “KNOCK HERE FOR SALVATION”.  The fish were ready to be caught, the line had been cast, now all I needed was worms.

Disappointingly, no one came.  I waited nearly two weeks and not a single soul came to me to be saved.  It seemed like a futile task, especially when work started calling and telling me that if I didn’t show up for my shift, they’d easily replace me with a spotty school dropout who would prove to be more efficient anyway.  Dejectedly, I ran to my bedroom and began to cry.  I prayed for the voice to come unto me once again, and bring me sweet relief with his kind lips.  My prayers were answered when he spoke to me for a second time.

“If the people won’t come to us, we need to go to them”

Genius!  It was time to take my mystical message to the road!

One evening, I commandeered a bus from the local bus depot, and began by driving around regular bus routes in the area.  Commanded by the voice, I pulled over for people at bus stops, opened the doors so they could get on, then wrestled them to the floor and secured them to the bus seats with duct tape.  I drove around for the rest of the night and managed to convert several followers to the cause using this tougher sales technique.

Us having a toilet stop

By the time I’d gathered seven or eight to my flock, problems started to set in.  The devil was trying to sabotage my efforts by possessing some of the passengers.  Some screamed obscenities at me and struggled profusely in their seats.  Others began sobbing loudly.  In the end, I couldn’t hear the voice over their incessant yapping, so I was forced to tape their mouths up as well.  Using a pack of plastic biros, I pierced the tape and allowed them to breathe through the hollow tube.  The biro cases converted their annoying screams into soothing whistles, and made for a rather tuneful sing/whistle-a-long as we continued our journey.  Who knew that Cliff Richard’s greatest hits would sound so great with a biro-whistling backing chorus?

For the last few days we’ve been travelling away from the cities, only stopping to pick up the odd hitchhiker and convert them to our cult-I mean cause.  We now have a grand total of 15 followers, which is more than I’d anticipated.  The freedom bus is rolling its way towards the promised land, which I just know we’ll reach when we arrive at our destination.  The only way to reach the promised land is to drive the bus at high speed over a 100ft drop into a quarry.  Or so the voice tells me. 

We've also had an advert on the local radio station.  The announcer said that authorities are looking for my bus, which is nice to know that local government are supporting my cause.  Perhaps this will attract some new followers as well.

Once we’re there, I’ll post something about how nice it is in paradise.  One lady on the bus has already wet herself with excitement, so I’d better go and clear it up.  If you want me to come and pick you up, just say so in the comments section, and I’ll try and swing by before we take the big plunge

Friday, 1 June 2012

Advice From SimCity

Congratulations on becoming the new mayor of SimCity!  Here's some useful tips from your advisors:

Hello, I’m McGuiggan and I’m the advisor for recreation and leisure. You need to give your residents something to do. Leaving them to their own devices is not a great idea. Why, back in '73, I remember the problems that occurred when we closed the local swimming pool.  The residents soon become restless and started playing a citywide game of "name that STD" for fun. It wasn't pretty.

Hi, I'm Johnson and I’m in charge of safety.  Fire in disco! Fire in the disco! Fire in the Taco Bell! No, I’m not singing, this is a serious status report. You see all that orange stuff with smoke coming off it? That’s your downtown going up like a light bulb made from matchsticks.  Might want to dispatch a fire engine or two.

Greetings, I'm Huxley, your financial advisor. You wanna be rich don’t you? Then take it off...slowly now. Yeah, and dance a little...nice. They don’t call you mayor candypants for nothing, huh?

Good afternoon, I’m McClaire, your education advisor. Unlike you, our residents will need a good education to get better jobs. Not everyone wants to follow in the family business of selling glances of our genitals to passing motorists.

Alright, I'm Bob the transport bloke. Just thought I’d update you on those requests. A) Segways are not cost effective public transport and B) we can't expect commuters to get a "backie" on their friend's BMX.

Morning stars shine upon you. I'm Serenity, your environmental advisor. Have you considered investing in green technology? No, that’s grass. Yes, I know it’s green. When I say green technologies I mean wind farms, solar grass isn’t a technology...OKAY STOP CLICKING ON THE GRASS NOW!

Hey, I'm Drips, and I look after your utilities.  I have a few questions for you.  Firstly, why have you built nothing but pipes?  Secondly, why have you filled those pipes with man eating plants?  Thirdly, why have you  named your city "Super Mario Land"?  I don't understand.