Monday, 23 December 2013

Heston's Christmas Recipes

Hi mothercookers!  It’s Heston Blumenthal here.  You’ll probably know me as that loveable scientific TV chef.  Others may know me as the world’s foremost Harry Hill impersonator.  Regardless, I’m here to teach you some wonderful Christmas recipes that I just made up straight from the top of my dome.

Now, we’re all sick to the back teeth of traditional Christmas food.  Turkey is the least popular bird since Rod Hull’s Emu ended up on Operation Yewtree.  And the less said about yucky sprouts the better (or as I call them, the Devil’s Haemorrhoids).  So, I’m here to teach you how to make some alternative, interesting, and sciencey foodstuffs to dazzle your friends and family with this festive season.

Edible Christmas Presents

Ingredidents: 2 x rolls of sugar paper
1 x block of black marzipan
Food Colourings (red and green)
1 x PS4
1 X Phial Of Liquid Nitrogen

Recipe:  Take your sugar paper and draw cute, Christmas designs all over using your food colourings and a paint brush.  Draw some Christmas trees, mistletoe, or a shopping centre Santa getting kicked in the bollocks by a petulant child.  Once done, deep fry your child’s Christmas present (in my case, a PS4), then wrap it up with the sugar paper and use flattened marzipan as a ribbon.  Present the gift with some liquid nitrogen for extra gravitas.

23 Bird Roast

Ingredients:  Turkey, Chicken, Duck, Pigeon, Pheasant, Grouse, The Famous Grouse, Goose, Swan, Moorhen, Sparrow, Chaffinch, Robin, Blue Tit, Wren, Crow, Magpie, Hawk, Falcon, Kez, Ostrich, Dodo, Kiwi
1 x Phial Of Liquid Nitrogen

Recipe:  Take your first bird by the head, and shove it up the arse of the next bird.  Complete the chain until you have a fully joined circle, creating an ouroboros of cruelty.  An avian centipede.  A duck-dynasty daisy-chain.  Cook in the oven for three to six days, then serve on a bed of liquid nitrogen for a cool, funky effect.

Pourable Gammon

Imagine this, but as a liquid

Ingredients:  1 x Gammon Joint
1 x Blowtorch
1 x Phial Of Liquid Nitrogen
1 x Curly Drinking Straw per person

Recipe:  Take your raw gammon joint and slam it down on the table in front of your startled diners.  Take your blow torch out and heat the gammon to around 2000-2500C, until it becomes runny and pliant.  As the resulting mess begins to drip off of the table, throw in some liquid nitrogen to give it texture, then allow your diners to drink the meat through their curly straws.

A Giant Fucking Dinner

Ingredients:  1 x Giant Turkey, Giant Carrots, Giant Peas, Giant Brussells Sprouts, Giant Pigs In Blankets, Giant Gravy
1 x Phial Of Liquid Nitrogen

Recipe:  For those Christmas traditionalists who want to put a little spin on the usual Christmas dinner, why not just do a giant version.  That’s basically what I do on my TV show, just make gigantic versions of normal food, then prance around like I’m an unholy cross between Willy Wonka and Moby.  Throw in some liquid nitrogen because it is an essential ingredient in any recipe, and Bob’s your new, creepy step-uncle who tries to watch you change.

And there you have it, four sumptuous Christmas feasts fit for any deranged, inbred King.  I wish you all a glorious holiday season, and I pray to God that you don’t watch Gordon Ramsey’s cookalong on Christmas morning, you heathen bastards!  Tally bye!


For those of you looking for a little more, I encourage you to read Bumferry Hogarts latest Blog post, in which he interviews a very handsome character about his upcoming book. You can view it here.  I hope you'll find it to be as amusing as we found it to be, and follow his Blog while you're at it because he's a talented, funny guy.

Other than that, that's it for 2013 as Muppets For Justice will be closed during the Christmas season.  This is partly because I have the long-awaited eBook coming out on the 3rd of Jan which I have to prepare for, and also because I will have family commitments that will keep me away from Blogging.  Until then, I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year.  Normal service shall resume on the 3rd.

Friday, 20 December 2013

The Best Stuff Of 2013

Hello and welcome to the Muppets For Justice Best Of The Year post, which I have never done before.  Now, 2013 was filled with all sorts of miscellaneous stuff and things, far too many to list.  Some of those things were good, some were bad, and some fell somewhere in between.  But to scrutinise and identify all of these things and stuffs, we’d be here all day and my fingers would be worn down to the skeleton just from typing about it.  To save us all time and copious amounts of blood, I’m just going to talk about the very best things that have existed within the year of 2013.

Best Movie For Excluding Midgets

The Hobbit quite simply has to snag this award.  In a film which should be chock full of parts for the vertically challenged, not a single midget or dwarf was cast, even when most of the cast are supposed to be dwarves.  As an example of how to exclude minorities (some of which could possibly be classed as disabled), The Desolation Of Smaug is a unparalleled, shining beacon of intolerance.  They didn’t cast a real dragon either.

Best Television Moment

In a year which has seen the finale of Breaking Bad, it seems strange to award this to Confessions Of An Alien Abductee, where a woman named Chantelle genuinely believed that she was being abducted by aliens everytime she ate KFC.  As it turned out, she was the most abducted person in Britain, claiming that aliens were moving her cigarettes.

To put that into the context of her beliefs, basically, an alien race evolved over millions upon millions of years, gained sentience, mastered space travel to a point that is deemed physically impossible by human understanding, travelled out in the cosmos to search for intelligent life, found a lone woman in Manchester, then proceeded to move her cigarettes around to annoy her.  That is their entire galactic strategy, to steal fags from people.  Utterly hilarious.

We have travelled the galaxy, for the smooth flavour of Malboro.

Best Awful Celebrity

The winner of the Best Awful Celebrity award for 2013 (and every year) is of course, Piers Morgan.  That’s not just because he’s the smuggest git to ever get his gittish face on TV (although his television shows are horrible exercises in elitist bonhomie), but mainly for his historical actions.  Basically, Piers was a major player in the phone hacking scandal, even admitting to Paxman that he knew how to hack people’s private voicemails and offered to demonstrate.  He also doctored photos of soldiers abusing prisoners in Iraq, just to sell a few papers.

Best Blogger

This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the coveted Best Blogger award.  This goes to the Blogger who has made an outstanding contribution in the field of Blogging.  Bloggers are scored on quality, persistence, and having an obnoxious orange banner at the top of their page.

The results are in…normal, no evidence of autism.  Take that trolls!

Oh, and the award for being the Best Blogger goes to….ADDMAN!

I was so shocked by the outcome that I demanded a recount.  But as it turns out, it came out as me again!

I am so proud to accept this award from myself.  I’d like to thank all of my fellow Bloggers for not being quite as great as me during 2013, and here’s to 2014.  Merry Christmas everyone!

Monday, 16 December 2013

One Sentence Movie Reviews

As someone who has viewed screens that have movies on them for, sometimes up to two hours in one sitting, it's quite surprising that more people haven't asked me for my opinions on films. Well, since I am an opinionated person with a Blog, I will inflict those opinions upon my readers.

However, we are all very busy people with far too little time on our hands. That's why I am going to keep my reviews short and limit them to one sentence maximum.

So anyway, here's a rundown of films I have seen this year, in one sentence or less:

Do they even use projectors anymore?

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa

Quite simply the funniest thing put to celluloid for years, and that's not a joke because I can't think of anything funnier than what's in this film.

The World's End

Not quite the funniest thing put to celluloid, but it has robots filled with blue stuff in it.

The Hobbit: The Desolation Of Smaug

Fucking Legolas wasn't in the book, so the fact that he keeps fucking swanning around and saving every fucking fucker, is just a shrivelled rabbit turd on top of a delicious sundae.

Thor: The Dark World

Chris Hemsworth battles generic aliens again in the background while everyone pays attention to Tom Hiddleston.

Man Of Steel

They must have paid Russell Crowe a substantial amount, because the amount of times he comes back despite being dead suggests that the producers wanted their money's worth.

The Lone Ranger

Jack Sparrow vs Cowboys

Star Trek: Into Darkness

Benedict Cumberbatch cries, then rips people in two with his bare hands.

The Great Gatsby

Tobey Macguire earns his keep as a man who looks at everything with amazement and wonder.

Tobey, what wonder do your elf eyes see?

Captain Philips

Tom Hanks turns skinny in this fascinating hostage situation, but a Stockholme Syndrome-styled romantic plot wouldn't have gone amiss.

Saving Mr Banks

Tom Hanks looks a lot fatter in this.


For anyone who wants a bit more Muppets For Justice action, or anyone who wants to learn a little bit more about my upcoming book, please go and check out Rob Z Tobor's blog, specifically this post.  It's an interview about my upcoming ebook, which should hopefully prove humorous and insightful in equal measure.

Friday, 13 December 2013

Unlucky For Some

The late and great Rebecca Black (RIP) once sang those immortal words that resonate with all school kids and bored office workers alike; "Friday, Friday, can't wait 'til Friday".  Whilst that is normally a universal truth, this particular Friday is one that you shouldn't be looking forward to. For this Friday is the unluckiest of days, the dreaded 13th.

But why is the 13th considered so unlucky?  Well, it all dates back to the Viking invasion, when Throngar The Mighty, after delivering a rousing battle speech, accidentally put on a novelty helmet that had the horns on the inside.  As such, the battle was lost that day.  And what was that fateful day?  Why Friday the 13th of course.

But surely the myth hasn't sprung up around some foolish event that happened hundreds of years ago.  As it happens, there are tons of historic mishaps that have occurred on this date.  Here are a few examples:

51 BC: Caesar's thumb fell off after an unexpected bout of gangreen. This meant that many enemies of the state were unable to be killed after returning triumphant from the gladiator pit.

Ever wonder why statues of Caesar never show his hands?

1536:  Anne Boleyn had a traumatic day when one of her servants unwittingly put dog's milk in her tea.  Due to a shortage of cows, dogs were conscripted to provide dairy produce to the masses, but this putrid brand of lactation was not drunk by the upper classes, who still enjoyed the luxury of cow's milk.  Anne was said to be livid about the whole affair.  Oh, and that awful behedding business was pretty unlucky too.

1775: Marie Antoinette wet herself in public while laughing at a beggar with a withered hand.

1784:  Pitt The Younger celebrated becoming Prime Minister with a plateful of his favourite jelly.  Unfortunately, there was a bone in it, which caused him to choke violently and totally ruined his vocal chords, giving him a prepubescent speaking voice for the rest of his life.

1797:  Napoleon was found stranded on his toilet after a mixup with the builders left his toilet roll holder on the wrong side.  As his hand as tucked into his shirt, Napoleon spent the whole of his Italian campaign stuck on the bog (although the history books don't mention it).


Given this evidence, it's no wonder that Friday the 13th is considered the worst day of the year, even worse than my annual bath.  If I were you, I'd stay indoors, don't eat anything, and for the love of God, don't go to the toilet.  Most accidents in the home happen on the toilet, or as I call it, the shitting death trap.  I hope that none of you die on this day, and I hope to see you all on the other side.

Monday, 9 December 2013

Deadline Day

It’s deadline day.  Your boss is riding you hard like a bush baby over some hot coals.  He wants that important, business critical report and he wants it by yesterday; last year in fact.  Even if you had a 25 hour day, there’s no chance that you’ll finish it because you’ve been too busy playing Angry Birds for the last 3 weeks.  What are you going to do?

Basically, you need a shit-hot excuse and you need it fast.  Well, you’re in the right place my friends because I am the king of last minute excuses.  Here is a list of excuses you can use to placate your boss and save yourself from a certain firing.

The most important tome in the universe

1.  A singularity spontaneously opened in the office, meaning that space-time has been disrupted and that you actually completed the report a week last Tuesday.  Due to this, time has skipped to a point before the report was due, meaning that your work was destroyed in the process, along with everyone’s memories of the event.  If you manage to weave this tale well, you can confuse your boss into thinking it has been done, and he’ll just go along with it anyway.

2.  Your secretary is an incompetent ass.  When your boss points out that you don’t have a secretary, point to the hamster you’ve bought in.  Bonus points if you can get it to fire off tiny raisin poos on demand, just to illustrate the point further.

3.  Your computer has been cursed by a gypsy.  You’ve been working on your laptop at home all week on this report, because you’re such a wonderful employee and you devote all of your free time to the company.  However, yesterday there was a strange ringing noise coming from the door, which was eerie since you don’t have a front door bell.  You opened the door to reveal a gypsy, who tried to sell you a whole range of shrunken heads, bat tears, and other black magic goods.  When you refused, the gypsy twirled her withered staff, putting a curse on you.  The curse means that you are physically unable to interact with the one thing you hold dearest to your heart (the report).  Whenever you open up the document, Windows crashes and a demon face appears on screen.  If you leave this demon face on screen, there’s a good chance that the demon will escape and bring about the end of days.  So the boss will need to ask himself; what’s more important?  His report, or billions of lives?

4.  Today is Groundhog Day.  If you complete the report, it will be incomplete tomorrow.  You might as well wait until Groundhog Day has passed before finishing it off.

Bill Murray never had to do some stupid report

5.  The Potato King has decreed that you don’t have to do the report anymore.  He has taken you on as a loyal subject, and your new duties include mashing all of The Potato King’s enemies.  When your boss asks you what you’re talking about, point to an exceptionally large King Edward potato with a crown on (this plan only works with a large King Edward.  People will think you’re crazy if you try and use salad potatoes).  Hold a potato masher menacingly to complete the illusion.

And there you have it, five top tips to get you out of trouble at work.  Or get you into more trouble, I forget what the original purpose of this post was.  Either way, I wish you all the success in the world with your report.

Friday, 6 December 2013

The Science Of The Parody Song

From Weird Al to…well…Weird Al, song parodies are a popular pastime for anyone weird who happens to also be called Al.  The man has created a staggering body of work and has made fun of some of the finest pop songs, from Beat It (Eat It), to Pretty Fly For White Guy (Pretty Fly For A Rabbi).

While these songs may seem like silly nonsense upon first listen, there is a very distinct science behind the creation of a parody song.  The rhymes have to conform to predetermined set of parameters in order to ensure cohesion.  In other words, there are staple words in every song that can be inserted.  As a man of science, with a demented psyche that always tries to think of alternative lyrics to any song I listen to, I have come up with a standard blueprint for any parody song.  These are easy rhyming words along with substitutions, and a few examples on how to use them.  You are welcome to add your own, or create entire songs using my parameters.


“You” is a common word that has no end of rhymes, but my favourite for parody purposes is to substitute it with the word “poo”.  This makes Phil Collins songs sound like a German sex den:

“When I’m feeling blue, all I have to do, is take a look at poo, then I’m not so blue”

Or we can go for a power ballad:

“And IIIIIIIIIIIII will always love poooooo!”

The possibilities for this substitution are endless, and always hilarious.  You can make your favourite pop singers sound like scat enthusiasts with minimum effort.


To grasp the scope of this one, just think of how many songs there are out there that include the word “baby”.  This is the word of choice for any loved-up pop song.  With this simple switcharoo, you can turn any lovey-dovey ballad into a gastronomic groove.  We all know that food-based parody songs are the best.  Just take this popular Justin Beiber track:

“Gravy, gravy, gravy, ooh!”

Or perhaps a bit of Ace Of Base with their smash hit:

“All that she wants is a little gravy”

Or even a little bit of The Supremes:

“My gravy love, my gravy love”

There are more permutations here than a superhero ensemble.


A lot of musicians are so passionate that they often threaten to die over trivial matters.  While we sometimes wish they would, it can actually provide some amusing song parodies.  Simply switch out “die” for “pie” and watch the whole meaning of the song change shape.  For example take this Bryan Adams song.  Combining this with the earlier YOU->POO switch, we can come up with something quite special:

“Yeah, I would fight for you, I'd lie for poo,
Walk the wire for you, yeah, I'd eat pie for poo.

You know it's true:
Everything I do, oh, I do it for poo.”

Don’t tell me that song parodies aren’t worth fighting for.  Anyway, I’ll hand the reigns over to you, my wonderful readers.  Can you suggest any?

Friday, 29 November 2013

The Criminal


I'm sorry to send this email out to the entire office, but it appears that we have a criminal in our midst.  A poo criminal. 

Some twisted individual has evacuated their bowels on the bathroom floor.  They have made virtually no attempt to aim this at the bowl.  As a result, I am treating this as a malicious act.  Dirty protests like this will not be tolerated.  If anything like this happens again, a full and frank investigation will be conducted and the culprit will be bought to justice.  Let this be a warning to you.


Obviously, the poo criminal took my comments yesterday as an act of war.  When I opened the stall door today, I was greeted by a neatly placed turd on top of the cistern, adorned with a photograph of me on top.

Someone clearly thinks that unhygenic tomfoolery like this is acceptable.  As a result, I am launching an inquisition to find out whose behind is behind is.  Whoever you are, you will be bought before an employment tribunal for this.  If I had my way I'd rub your nose in it too.

Don't you open that bathroom door!  Because there's something in there!


This seriously needs to stop.  The poopritrator must have thought it was highly amusing to drop bladder potatoes all over my car.  My open sunroof and cream upholstry didn't find it so hilarious.

I have taken a sample for DNA testing purposes.  I ask that all employees submit to a saliva swab this lunchtime.


I am typing this email from a brand new PC.  I'm not informing you all in order to show off, but as the latest part of the ongoing shit saga that has engulfed this office.  My cubicle was coated in a thick layer of poonut butter, rendering my PC useless.  The IT department refused to touch it, and they now think I'm some sort of psychopath.  I mean, seriously, who sneaks into work early to crap on a colleague's PC.  You have severe mental issues.


The herculean effort that this individual is going to is beyond a joke.  Last night I got home only to find a trail of ploplets leading up my garden path.  My front door handle was smeared in the foulest bum gravy I've ever seen.  I had to enter the house by the back door to avoid touching it.

However, the poofender had left another nasty little surprise.  They had managed to poo at a 180 degree angle straight through my letterbox.  This shard didn't even touch the sides, but exploded on my welcome mat like a dirty bomb.  My hallway had been repainted an angry brown, flecked with red and full of undigested chunks.  We're not just talking sweetcorn.  There were whole peas and carrots lining my walls like disgusting border patterns.

The DNA results will be back soon.  This is now a matter for the police and I will be escalating it appropriately.


I don't know how you got into my house last night.  I awoke this morning to find that someone had left a tidy, curled up poo on every surface in my house.  My dining room table, my marble work surfaces, even my Microsoft Surface which has actually increased my desirability to touch it.  This is getting out of control.  I will not tolerate these kind of personal attacks on my house and family!

A surface to poo on


It is with a heavy heart that I am handing in my notice.  Whoever is responsible for this digestive assault has gone too far this time.  My whole house has now been coated in the stuff, rendering it uninhabitable.  My pebbledashed driveway is now double pebbledashed.  The stench is unbearable.  I am leaving town in order to avoid this poodetta against me.  I'd like to thank all of my nice colleagues who haven't assaulted me with their fecal matter over the past few years, and I'll miss you all equally.  Goodbye.

Monday, 25 November 2013

Extreme Survival

Hello, I’m Feral Bob.  For years I have been surviving in the wilderness using only my wits, and copious amounts of my own urine.  Today, I’m here to teach you how to survive some the harshest environments that that bitch mother nature can throw at you.

For example, if you ever end up as the sole survivor of a plane crash, the first thing you need to do is find food.  You need to start cannibalising the other passengers immediately to make sure you have enough sustenance.  Break off a shin bone, fashion it into a blade, and use it to skin their corpses until you have collected all available meat.  Use their skin as meat pouches to carry around your food, their fleshy folds make useful little snack pockets.

It must be hell getting stranded here

Hygiene and fashion is a huge problem when out in the wilderness.  If you crash land on a desert island, you can fashion yourself a pair of awesome trousers out of bamboo, or by using tree bark.  Castaway chique is a great look if you can pull it off.  If you need hair gel, there are various types of moss and bracken that you can squeeze for a rather suitable substitute.  If you can capture a flying squirrel and persuade it to lick your armpits, you have yourself a nice anti-perspirant.  Oh and make sure to snare yourself a large supply of rabbits for use as toilet paper. That’s essential.

Animal attacks are a huge problem in the wild.  See this wound on my arm?  Gouged by a boar, had to close the wound using only toothpicks.  This zipper scar on my chest?  Had to give myself open-heart surgery after eating a whole gaggle’s worth of goose fat.  Replaced it with a pig’s heart, no anaesthetic.  My missing arse cheek?  Shrimp bite that got infected.  I had to amputate it to prevent my legs going septic.  It didn’t matter though because I used my amputated leg to snack on.

You’re also going to need to make yourself a shelter.  If you end up stranded with a fat person, skin them immediately.  Their hide will probably be stretchy enough to make a canvas.  Failing that, you’ll need to acquaint yourself with the art of pit-digging.  Digging a massive pit is not only useful for trapping indigenous animals and children to eat, but it can also provide a great source of shelter.  If you build an underground labyrinth, you’ll be safe from any potential attackers, and might be able to attract your own pet Minotaur.

Up for grabs!

Eventually you’re going to want to think about escaping the island and getting back to civilisation.  Usually, because I have a camera crew and production team following my every move, filming me being all heroic in the wild and stuff.  So I can usually ask them to call in a plane to get me out of trouble.  If you’re planning to be stranded in the wilderness, I’d suggest getting yourself a major network TV show beforehand.  Otherwise, you’re on your own buddy!  Happy hunting.

Friday, 22 November 2013

The Muppets For Justice Blog Tour 2014

Those of you who read my passionate plea last week will know that I am thinking of releasing an ebook.  If you missed the post, basically, I'm going to release a compilation of Muppets For Justice posts together with some previously unreleased articles and brand new content.  Think of it as a greatest hits anthology, but with an extra CD full of bonus tracks and B sides.

So anyway, due to the amazingly positive response I got, I've decided to press ahead and actually release this.  I'm very excited to publish my own ebook.  It's something that I've never done before, so I hope you'll all bear with me while I get to grips with the whole process.

The release date I'm looking at is the 27th of January 2014.  I know people are going to be busy with Christmas over the next month, and there's some publicity I want to do first.

I know I've been asking a lot from you lovely, lovely folks lately, but I wondered if some of you would be able to do me a favour.  In the vein of other Blog authors, I would like to do a Blog tour to try and promote the book.  Basically, I'm looking for kind Bloggers who will host me for the day to promote my book.  This can take the form of anything really, from an interview, guest post or a podcast.  I really don't mind and I'm open to pretty much anything.  It doesn't have to be completely about the book either, just as long as it gets mentioned at some point, I'm happy.  For ideas, check out some previous Blog Tours I've hosted such as these ones here and here.

If you're interested and would like to do me a solid (a favour, not a poo), then please let me know either in the comments section below, or by emailling me at  I'm looking to do them after Christmas, so throughout January, but I am more than willing to start working on posts beforehand with you.

Looking forward to hearing from you!

Monday, 18 November 2013

Bonne Annee

Continuing on from my series of life events, I thought I would write about my experiences in Paris.  To give some background information to this story, this took place about 4 years ago when me and Mrs Addman had moved in together earlier that year.  We'd had some hardships (mainly financial), but we were just starting to get back on our feet, so we decided to ring out the year in style.  We booked a New Year's getaway to the wonderful city of Paris.

I blame Hollywood for all the events that transposed.  On the silver screen, Paris always looks like the most romantic destination on Earth.  With all that wine, delicous cakes, and lack of graffiti saying that "Connor is gay IDST", it comes across as such a seductive metropolis, where everything is designed to enflame the senses.  It always seems like an entire metropolis dedicated to decadent pleasure.  Naturally, this isn't what we experienced.

How beautiful.

The trip down was a surefire indicator that we weren't in for a straightforward trip.  We had booked to travel by coach down to London, then board the Eurostar straight into Paris.  As we reached Watford Gap services, we were only then informed that we would be travelling by Ferry instead, which adds a good 5-6 hours to the journey.  A lot of people on the coach were rightly annoyed, especially since many booked this trip to avoid ferry travel.  But, being British, we decided to grin and bear it.  That was until, several hours later when we'd reached the outskirts of Paris, the driver told us that we wouldn't staying in the hotel we'd originally booked, and would instead be on the miles away from the centre.

Upon arrival it was clear that the hotel were not ready for guests.  The staff were running around like headless chickens trying to allocate us rooms.  There were no other guests in the hotel apart from our trip.  The staff were clearly annoyed at us, the heating wasn't on that first night, and there were only thin sheets on the bed.  They eventually found us some more blankets, but it appeared as though the hotel had shut down for the season.

So anyway, we awoke in the freezing cold and set off into Paris.  We caught the Metro in and decided to try and catch some of the sights.  We went to Notre Dame, followed by the Eiffel Tower, by which time it was very late afternoon due to how busy it was.  We wanted to get to the Louvre, but it shut early being New Years Eve, and wasn't open the day after, meaning that we missed one of the main attractions.

Since it was getting late and most places were starting to close, we decided to stay out until midnight to see the New Year celebrations.  Most of the shops started shutting early (understandable), so we tried to find something to eat.  We expected a major city to be fairly expensive, but didn't anticipate how much prices are raised around New Year.  For example, we found a small bar several streets away from the Champs Elysses, one tiny plate of food was 75 Euros (that's a one course meal in a bar.  Not a restaurant.  A bar), so we stocked up on complimentary nuts and headed out.

Our search was pretty fruitless.  Most places were completely out of our price range, so we ended up in McDonalds, which was utterly swarming.  When we finally emerged back into the cold night air, we realised something wasn't quite right when shops on the Champs Elysees began boarding up their windows.

Royale with cheese?

I didn't realise how hard Parisians like to party.  Many of them bought their own fireworks into the City centre, and started letting them off before New Year had started.  The Eiffel Tower was lit up with a spotlight, but we knew from images on TV that the whole thing lights up spectacularly and they have a huge fireworks display, so we waited in anticipation in a spot with a good view.

Of course, this happened to be the one year where they didn't do anything.  No lights, no fireworks, nothing.  The crowd started to get a bit restless when it became obvious that nothing was about to happen, so they started setting off their own fireworks.  Someone decided to throw some firecrackers at us, then disappear into the crowd, which was nice.  So, once we'd avoiding being killed by a firework, we headed off to try and find something to do.

We wandered past some drunken locals who were drinking what appeared to be some expensive champagne out of the bottle.  In between swigs, they took to swinging on the nearby railings and screaming "BONNE ANNEE!" at everyone who walked past.  Word of warning, never say "Bonne annee" to a drunk Frenchman, especially if it's clear that you aren't French.  While they were very friendly and excited that a foreigner took the time to wish them a happy new year, their method of inviting me to drink with them was rather rough.  One of them grabbed my arm while another took me by the head, and dragged me away from the crowd.  I felt like a sick deer being picked off of the herd.  I was then found myself with a bottle in my hand, while the words "BONNE ANNEE" rang around my cranium.  I didn't want to be a party pooper, but I tried to deny their generous booze and return to Mrs Addman, who was getting swept away by the moving crowd.  They weren't happy about that.  They were offering me their best liquor, who was I to deny it?  The chants became more urgent and angry, and the bottle was thrust at me harder until I had to grasp it to save it from smashing on the floor.  Not knowing what else to do, I placed the bottle gently on the floor, like I was a humble worshipper offering tribute, then barged my way back into the crowd. The human conveyor belt saved me that day.

The next day was much nicer.  We visited the Pompdiou Centre since we couldn't visit the Louvre and managed to see a few shops that weren't closed.  But of course, that's not entertaining enough.  We did however, stumble across several homeless people laying face down on open grates.  We thought they might have been dead, but instead figured that they were just trying to stay warm through the rising air currents.

So, even though we were in the city of love, just about everything ended up being the opposite of what we expected.  We ended up waiting around in the cold for fireworks to be thrown at us, and then had a lovely romantic meal at McDonalds.  Bonne annee everybody!  Bonne annee...

Friday, 15 November 2013

Stupid Shit In My Brain

Some of you may have noticed that I often write about childhood. I also often write from a childish perspective, but that is more purile humour than a stylistic choice.

I do this because I have a strange memory. I remember certain segments of my childhood very vividly, and yet, can barely remember what happened yesterday. As such, there's a whole.swathe of stupid shit that sometimes bubbles to the surface of my mind. Most of it has been lost to the sands of time, and people look at me weird if I bring them up. Some folks think I'm making this stuff up, even if we were the same age when it was happening, or even saw it together. It makes me feel a bit perculiar when I remember something so well, and yet someone else cannot. Let's run through a few examples:

Parappa The Rapper

I never even owned this game, yet I can recite many of the words from the opening song. Parappa learns to do karate from a guy called Chop-Chop Master Onion, and here's the opening words from the rap, from memory:

Kick, punch it's all in the mind,
If you want to test me I'm sure you'll find,
That the things I'll teach ya are sure to beat ya,
But nevertheless you'll get a lesson from teacher,

I sing this to myself whenever I chop onions. As I said, I never owned the game and don't know anyone who did own it. However, I remember a friend had a demo for it and I played it once. I must have learned it in that one sitting, then my brain conjures it up when I'm faced with onions.  Bizarre.

Banana Bubbles

Banana bubbles, banana bubbles, the cereal that thinks it's a milkshake.

This is a breakfast cereal that had a very limited run in the early to mid-ninties. Why I remember it or it's jingle is a mystery since I never ate it or even wanted to. I didn't even like banana milkshake, so why is this in my head?  Probably because, even at the tender age of eight I could see this was an abomination.

Big Bad Beetleborgs/VR Troopers

Everyone remembers Power Rangers, especially since they're still going strong today. However, no one seems to remember these poor rip off shows.  I'm pretty sure these were shown during prime time kids TV slots, probably between series of Power Rangers.

Coco Pops

I'd rather have a bowl of Coco Pops than what?

The Coco Pops jingle is one of those brain bugs that pops to mind whenever I don't have anything else going on in my head.  I must be a slave to Kelloggs or something, since their jingles take residence in my head.  Even that little twinkley thing they do at the end of their adverts makes me want to shout "I'D RATHER HAVE A BOWL OF COCO POPS!"  Also, why do their adverts feature a camp ostrich?

That's all I have time to mention right now, although I'm sure there are loads more I could probably think of.  What about you lot?  Is there anything you distinctly remember that everyone else has forgotten?

Wednesday, 13 November 2013

An Odd Question For Wednesday

Hello everyone, and welcome to a rather unusual Wednesday post.  Does this feel peculiar?  It certainly does to me. 

Anyway, I wanted to ask you all a very important question, and I'm asking it today so as not to interfere with the usual posting schedule.

Basically, I am thinking of releasing a Muppets For Justice ebook, and I'm wanting to find out if there is any interest out there.  The idea is that it will be 50% old stuff from this Blog, and 50% brand new, never before seen by human eyes, content.  I intend to handpick some of my favourite posts from the past two years, throw in a whole bunch of new stuff, and present it all in a nice readable format for your Kindle/iPad/Other e-reading paraphenalia.

Soon enough, you could be reading dick jokes on a glorious paper-white display

So the question is, would you buy it?

Obviously, since some of it will be recycled posts from this Blog, the cost will be very low.  I hoping to sell it for 99p (so roughly $1.50), but I'll let you know more once I've looked into releasing this properly.  For now, all I want to know is, are you interested and would you buy?  Better yet, would you recommend to a friend?  If you could let me know in the comments section below, or you can email me at on Facebook via the link to your right, or on Twitter @OllieThePigeon.  All feedback will be welcomed with open arms.

Peace out y'all!

Monday, 11 November 2013

Badder Than The Bard

One figure stands alone at the pinnacle of all artistic endeavour. You all know his name, but what is it that makes him such an enduring institution amongst artists, writers and thespians alike? Is it the fact that he invented over 1000 of the commonly used words we take for granted today? Is it the way in which he summed up the ultimate question so succinctly with the phrase "to be or not to be?" Is it that you can shorten his name to Willy Shakes, which also describes the act of dislodging those last remaining urine drops from a chap's chappie? No, it's the fact that every actor has to master this bloody Shakespere git in order to earn a crust.

In the world of tights and stage fights, one needs to pay ol' Shakey some lip service before one can achieve anything. This ritualistic worship is widely regarded as the most challenging phrase of any aspiring actor's life. Like learning to make love, one must learn to harness the Bard's prose to maximum effect.

Tha man that all schoolkids hate

While I achieved this status many moons ago when I allowed a gawping audience to view my meaty Hamlet, many actors have been driven insane by this frightful task. A university chum of mine, Christopher Umbridge-Niles-Tomkinson, now likes to be called Mercutio, and wastes away the hours by biting his thumb at the postman. Such a shame.

However, all of this is naught when compared with a much stronger work that I am currently embroiled in. I am studying something much more absorbing than Shakespere. It's badder than The Bard in every possible sense, and as an actor, I am giving my soul to the role.

The scriptwriter is unheard of, even amongst acting circles. He is a fringe writer who I sincerely believe, is taking character development to whole other circle of hell. I've spent three years in character so far, which is tough since my character is that of a drunken wife-beater who sodomises tree trunks along popular rambling routes. But my dedication to my craft is absolute, despite the many curfews and suspended sentences that have been placed upon me. Once we have seen this through, the writer and myself shall be seen as visionaries. That, you can be sure of.

What exactly is it about this piece that is so challenging? It's tough to describe to people who aren't actors, or lesser actors, or even good ones like Benedict Cumberbatch. It takes acting to a far darker place than ever before, and that's why we always rehearse in the dark. If your facial expressions cannot ring through the pitch blackness of night, then you will not do this work justice. I have taken up a secret acting dojo in the woods, an abandoned shack where the windows are boarded up. The used needles scattered across the ground certainly keep you on your toes, and trying to remember your lines while being tested for a variety of blood diseases is the strongest test that my acting chops have ever faced.

I know you're wondering what could possibly be more challenging than a delightful bit of "Now is the winter of our discontent". On that you will have to trust me until you've seen my performance. When I tread those boards, my acting methods will absolve me of all crimes. I will be thesping it up for my own freedom.

The drama masks represent happiness and sadness, just two of the three emotions that actors must master (the other being hunger).

Soon enough you will be able to witness this for yourselves. The last 1095 days of blood, sweat and more blood (because real actors don't cry) will finally be available to the discerning public.  I'm telling you in advance so that you may clear your social calendar and witness history being written before your eyes. You know the moon landing? It will be as significant as that, only with better sets.

That's why I invite you to watch Hollyoaks next Thursday. There, you will see me as playing Bystander 3, whose horrendous gasp as a main character is knocked down by a speeding car, will undoubtedly steal the show and redefine gasping in one fell swoop. Episode #20135 will go down in the history books as the one which changed everything.  Make sure you tune in!

Friday, 8 November 2013

My Bonfire Night

In lieu of anything funny to write about at the moment (seriously, I'm hitting a massive creative slump at the moment.  If anyone can help me or let me steal their jokes, I'd appreciate it), I thought I'd actually talk to you about my real, actual life, or events within.  Namely, the bonfire night display I attended a couple of days ago.

Now, since I wasn't informed about the Million Mask March that happened across the globe, I ended up at a local fireworks display instead.  The event wasn't put on by the local council or anything.  It was organised and run by the community.  As such, even thought the intentions were there, it was a bit shit.

The advert for the event said that the bonfire would be lit at 5:30, which seemed a little bit early, but nevertheless we endeavoured to arrive on time.  None of that fashionably late business for us.  We usually arrive at things early so that we get first pick of the best food and drink.  So we were at the gate queuing for roughly 5:24 and 32.5 seconds.

The first sign that the evening would go awry should have been plain from the entrance fee.  It was a mere £1.50 for an adult, which seemed like an actual bargain until we gained entry to the grounds.

The field was darker than Ed Gein's little black book.  I always contacted professor Hawking because I thought that light was being sucked out of the universe.  There was 1 children's ride, 1 van selling burgers and hot drinks, and a beer tent which also doubled as a medical pavillion.  You couldn't even get in there because there were a thousand people trying to suck the only Foster's tap dry.  Se we were left to wander around aimlessly in the dark while the DJ pumped out his collection of 3 whole songs on repeat through tinny speakers.

Fireworks: The campest way to blow stuff up

Seriously though, the DJ only had a handful of songs, all of which contained the word "fire".  We had the god of hell fire, your sex is on fire, and some Eminem song where he mentions a fire.  I couldn't believe he missed some of the classic fire-related songs, such as Goodness Gracious Great Balls of Fire, Danger High Voltage (Fire In The Disco), or Ring Of Fire.  Such classics cannot be ignored.

Regardless, we listened to crappy music in the cold rainy rain until 6:30, when they finally decided to light the bonfire.  Or at least, they lit half the bonfire.  Perhaps it was too soggy by this point, but half the pile refused to burn, or even catch fire.  So we stood and watched the lopsided flames lap at our faces since the wind was blowing it towards the crowd.  Shortly after we got bored of this, an announcement was made to say the fireworks display would be starting in 2 minutes.

At 7:30, the fireworks were on the verge of beginning.  Since there were no lights, the guys running the show just used the headlights from their vans.  A professional outfit this most certainly wasn't.  One of the guys accidentally managed to light a firework while holding it, so had to throw it away where it exploded near some bushes.

Shortly after, the fireworks officially began.  While they meant well, the people putting on the show had clearly overreached themselves.  The display lasted for nearly half an hour on it's own, and some of the fireworks were huge.  They were, however, very cheap, with many of them exploding less than twenty foot in the air.  Some didn't even take off and exploded on the floor.  One particular firework went completely off course and actually hit a member of the crowd.  A spectator was badly injured and had to be lifted to the beer tent for treatment.  A paramedic and an ambulance arrived on the scene shortly.  It turned out to be quite a disaster.  Oh, I also scoulded my mouth on hot chocolate and haven't been able to taste anything for two days.

So it was truly a bonfire night to remember in terms of it's utter shitness.  Remember remember the 5th of November, crap music, injury and hot chocolate.

Monday, 4 November 2013

Song Dissection - Meatloaf Edition

Sup y'all!  Welcome to the latest Song Dissection, a series in which I conduct musical autopsies.  Now, when I say Meatloaf, what's the first song that comes to mind?  No, not I'd Do Anything For Love, the other one.  We'll be covering Bat Out Of Hell, as suggested by the delightful pebble-pushing Poke The Rock.  So strap on your crucifix, let your puffy sleeves hang loose, and let's do this!

The sirens are screaming and the fires are howling
Way down in the valley tonight
It would seem that’s there a big emergency happening in Wales. 

There's a man in the shadows with a gun in his eye
And a blade shining oh so bright
This man sounds like a cyborg.  He’s had a firearm grafted into his eye socket.  I’ve heard the phrase “looking daggers”, but this man quite literally looks bullets.

There's evil in the air and there's thunder in the sky
And a killer's on the bloodshot streets
This isn’t just a thunderstorm, it’s an EVIL thunderstorm.  The type of thunderstorms that murders like to go out in to commit certain deeds.

Oh and down in the tunnel where the deadly are rising
Oh I swear I saw a young boy
Down in the gutter
He was starting to foam in the heat
This is basically describing a zombie-infested sewer.  A lone child has been bitten and is starting to turn.  This is turning out to be the worst storm in human history.  I bet they didn’t predict this on the Weather Channel.

Oh Baby, you're the only thing in this whole world
That's pure and good and right
And wherever you are and wherever you go
There's always gonna be some light
So Meatloaf is going to marry a torch.  I always knew this day would come, m’boy’s all grown up!

But I gotta get out
I gotta break it out now
Before the final crack of dawn
Dawn’s crack should not be used as a timekeeping device.  It is Dawn’s crack and, as a liberated woman, she can choose when and how to use it.

So we gotta make the most of our one night together
When it's over you know
We'll both be so alone
Is he still talking to his torch?  If so, I thought he was going to marry her and make an honest device out of her.  So why on Earth would they still be living apart?  Perhaps they have one of those arrangements like Tim Burton and Helena Bonham-Carter where they live in separate houses.

Like a bat out of hell
I'll be gone when the morning comes
When the night is over
Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone gone gone
What?!  It was all a ruse to get Dawn, our beloved torch lady, into bed!  There’s no marriage!  It’s all a sham!

Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone when the morning comes
But when the day is done
And the sun goes down
And moonlight's shining through
Then like a sinner before the gates of heaven
I'll come crawling on back to you
Hit the road Meatloaf!  We don’t need your cheatin’ ass round here!

I'm gonna hit the highway like a battering ram
On a silver black phantom bike
Well I hope you at least wear a crash helmet.

When the metal is hot and the engine is hungry
And we're all about to see the light
It doesn’t matter how recklessly you ride your motorcycle, Dawn is not impressed anymore.  She used to think you were cool but now, she just wants you to pick up your stuff and get out!  Don’t even ask for the ring back, Dawn’s sold it for more AA batteries (because she’s a torch, not for vibrators you mucky pups!)

Nothing ever grows in this rotting old hole
Everything is stunted and lost
Are we back onto Dawn’s crack again?

And nothing really rocks
And nothing really rolls
And nothing's ever worth the cost
Freeway cola for 19p is quite a bargain if you ask me.  I’d say that’s worth the cost.

And I know that I'm damned if I never get out
And maybe I'm damned if I do
But with every other beat I got left in my heart
You know I'd rather be damned with you
Don’t drag anyone else into this.  If you’re going to hell, it’s not very fair to sabotage someone else’s attempt at happiness.

Well, If I gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned
Dancing through the night with you
If I gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned
Gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned
Gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned
Dancing through the night
Dancing through the night
Dancing through the night with you
This is pretty self-explanatory.  Meatloaf is taking part on Strictly Come Dancing.  The four horsemen are obviously the judges, and Brucie is the devil himself.  Just like in real life.

Oh Baby, you're the only thing in this whole world
That's pure and good and right
And wherever you are and wherever you go
There's always gonna be some light
But I gotta get out
I gotta break it out now
Before the final crack of dawn
So we gotta make the most of our one night together
When it's over you know
We'll both be so alone
Meatloaf repeats himself here, which caused havoc with my déjà vu.  What an inconsiderate prick.

Like a bat out of hell
I'll be gone when the morning comes
When the night is over
Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone gone gone
Like a bat out of hell I'll be gone when the morning comes
But when the day is done
And the sun goes down
And moonlight's shining through
Then like a sinner before the gates of heaven
I'll come crawling on back to you
Then like a sinner before the gates of heaven
I'll come crawling on back to you
I can see myself tearing up the road
Faster than any other boy has ever gone
It’s impressive that Meatloaf takes time out during his song to break a land speed record.

And my skin is raw but my soul is ripe
Like fruit?

And no one's gonna stop me now
I gotta make my escape
But I can't stop thinking of you
And I never see the sudden curve until it's way too late
And I never see the sudden curve till it's way too late
That’s the danger when trying to break a land speed record.  You need to stay focussed on the task, and try to do it in a place far away from curves.  Curves are a large detriment to high speed record attempts.

Then I'm down at the bottom of a pit in the blazing sun
Torn and twisted at the foot of a burning' bike
Wow.  Meatloaf must have gone so fast that he flew off into space, straight into the centre of the sun.  I don’t think his insurance company will cover that.

And I think somebody somewhere must be tolling a bell
On the sun?  I doubt it.  Perhaps you’re suffering from severe heatstroke.

And the last thing I see is my heart
Still beating
Oh breaking out of my body
And flying away
Like a bat out of hell
I hate it when that happens.  It can be tricky keeping your organs internal when you’re melting on the surface of the sun.

Then I'm dying at the bottom of a pit in the blazing sun
Torn and twisted at the foot of a burning bike
And I think somebody somewhere must be tolling a bell
And the last thing I see is my heart
Still beating
Still beating
Oh breaking out of my body and flying away
Like a bat out of hell
Like a bat out of hell
Like a bat out of hell
Like a bat out of hell
Like a bat out of hell

To sum up the story here, Meatloaf cheated on a girl named Dawn (who was also a torch) and then started begging for forgiveness.  When she turned him down, he recklessly flung himself into the sun, apparently as an act of suicide.  It’s a tragic love story that we’ve seen a million times before.  Boy meets torch, boy then meets normal girl, boy prefers torch so comes crawling back, torch has moved on, boy leaps into a flaming inferno.  It’s just that old devil called love.

Friday, 1 November 2013

Laws Of The Supermarket

Myself and Mrs Addman do the food shopping together.  We do this because I’m the one who has to pay for it and I don’t have the forethought to draw out money in advance, so I always pay by card.

I like to think that, after 5 years of cohabiting, we’re reasonably professional when we visit the supermarket.  We hardly ever make a list, but we always have a good idea of what we want and how much we expect to pay for it.  This makes the woeful ineptitude of other shoppers highly irritating.  Since we need food in order to survive, we spend roughly an hour a week navigating mazes of lost shoppers and getting angrier at human civilisation.

In order to vent some of this frustration, I have devised a list of supermarket that everyone should adhere to.  Think of this as a sort of constitution that only applies in Morrisons (or Wal Mart for those of you overseas).

1.  Thou Shalt Not Block Aisles

This is a fundamental, basic courtesy that all shoppers should already know.  If you want to stop and look at the shiny products on display, don’t park your trolley at a 90 degree angle.  Don’t stand in the middle of an aisle, two abreast, scratching your head over which tin of cat food is likely to postpone Mr. Tiddle’s death by 3 seconds.  I’m 3 seconds closer to the grave myself, just waiting for you to move to the side.  It is my right to glide around the supermarket like it’s Swan fucking Lake, and anyone who gets in my way deserves a swift smack round the head.

2.  Thou Shalt Not Attend At Busy Times If Thou Art Geriatric

Old people have an insistence on visiting the supermarket during peak periods (mainly evenings after work and Saturdays).  Even though they have the entire day to do their shopping, they always choose the two hour slot when families and working people flock to their nearest store.
I’m trying to stave off starvation in my household for another week.  Every day is a constant battle.  I don’t need some pensioner slowing me down as he shuffles around like a depressed Roomba.  The elderly and infirm are invited to attend the supermarket on any weekday morning or afternoon, and all day Sunday if they wish.  I have no problem with them buying a single Fray Bentos pie every day as long as they stick to their allotted times.

This tin of beans is the most interesting thing I have ever seen!

3.  Thy Kids Are Idiots

Don’t let your child push the trolley.  Don’t let them fight with plastic swords in the aisles.  Don’t start feeding them sweets at the checkout to shut them up.  Find someone to babysit for an hour instead and don’t subject them to the boredom of the fluorescent hellscape that is Tesco.

However, if you must bring your brat with you for whatever reason, don’t indulge them and let them run amok and terrorise everyone.  Kids have the spatial awareness of a drunk Cyclops, and will constantly crash into everyone and carefully stacked displays.

4.  Know What Thy Want Before Thy Enter

Seriously, no one needs you to stand around and debate the calorie counts of two products to yourself.  We don’t have time for you to deliberate which evening you’re going to eat that microwavable horsemeat curry.  You’re just taking up valuable room on the shop floor, or as I call it, the killing field.

5.  Thou Shalt Pull Thy Trolley Forward At The Checkout

Again, this is a matter of courtesy.  Until that blissfully unaware cocknocker in front moves his trolley forward, I can’t unload my shopping onto the conveyor belt.  This slows the whole process down and means that I can’t pack while my stuff is being scanned.  This then affects the person behind, and the person behind them, and will go on until the end of time where the human race will be trapped in supermarket queues with no hope of escape.

6.  Thou Shalt Put The Next Customer Divider Behind Your Shopping

This one is a small thing but, unless you want to pay for my shopping as well, put the divider down when you’ve finished.  I can’t reach them as you’re blocking them with your worthless mass.

If you have any other matters of shopping rage you wish to address, let me know in the comments below.  Together, we can make the supermarket a place where glorious things can happen.  And yes, these problems are very important and just as valid as third world hunger.

Monday, 28 October 2013

Real Halloween Horrors 2013

Do you have your costume sorted for Halloween yet?  No doubt you’ve thought about it but, being the disorganised moron that you are, you’ve left it until the last possible moment.  Now, you’re about to rush off and buy the only remaining, overly expensive costume you can lay your procrastinating paws on.  You better get a move on, go on, hurry!

Wait!  Before you go, I need to show you something.  Your pathetic, panicking brain is overflowing with information right now, and you run the risk of making a bad decision through sheer confusion.  Below are several examples of terrible Halloween costumes.  I want you to study these disgusting specimens, learn from their mistakes, and make sure that you never turn out like this.

Union Jack

This is the result of combining Geri Halliwell and Austin Powers in a genetic splicer.  A show of patriotism this strong, whether ironic or not, is quite simply appalling. 

As a resident of the offending landmass, I sincerely apologise to the global community for this costume.  It’s terrible enough to bring to mind all the atrocities that the British Isles have ever committed, and now I feel guilty.

I will now take a moment to start apologising for everything that the UK has ever done.  I’m sorry for hundreds of years’ worth of colonial rule.  I’m sorry for our implicit compliance with international surveillance.  I’m especially sorry for the steep decline of Paul McCartney and the fact that he is still allowed to perform.  In short, I am just sorry.

Big Foot

What’s that?  It’s a foot.  It’s big.  It’s a big foot.  Get it?  Get it?!  GET IT?!

Would it be ironic if I kicked this guy in the face?

Human Toilet

This is possibly delightful.  Your kids have just been waiting for the opportunity to dress up as a shitter, and now they can, sponsored by Armitage Shanks.

The main problem with this costume is that, when worn at a family Halloween party where certain alcoholic uncles might be drunk, those inebriates might mistake this for a real toilet.  Can you imagine little Jimmy’s face when Uncle Dave curls out a gigantic turd on his head?  That is definitely not worth the risk in my opinion.

Baby/Sexy Baby

People in baby costumes always seem creepy to me since I discovered this is a fetish.  Yes, there are people who like to dress as babies, wear nappies, and shit themselves with alarming regularity in the pursuit of sexual fulfilment.  While I’m not saying these two are into the baby fetish scene, I just can’t take them seriously.

Besides, the female costume is especially disconcerting.  Why are they trying to make a sexy baby costume?  I’m sure Operation Yewtree are tracking down anyone who purchased this costume as we speak.

Coors Gladiator

I am Maximus Tastius, and I’m here to refresh your tastebuds!  Oh wait, its Coors.  I take that back.

Sexy Oscar The Grouch

Everyone loves Oscar The Grouch.  He’s like a world-weary Womble and there is nothing at all sexy about him.  The lack of sexiness that Oscar The Grouch has is one of the most important factors of his Sesame Street stardom.  However, evil costume designers have tried to undo this with a sexy version of everyone’s favourite bin-dweller.  Now, thanks to this horrifyingly horny image, I can’t watch The Street without sporting swollen sweatpants.

Honey Badger

So, this costume consists of a black hoodie and a deformed snake, and nothing else.  For reference, the slogan “Honey badger don’t care” is a poor meme from a Youtube video, and that derpy serpent is a reference to the badger’s taste for snakes.  In other words, this is the living embodiment of a meme, which makes it the equivalent of someone screaming “CAN I HAZ CHEEZBURGER?!” into your ear canal.

Also, I have to award even lower marks to the female version, which is just a black dress.

Sexy Walter White

Last but by no means least, we have the wonder of a sexy Walter White costume.  All the time I was watching Breaking Bad I kept thinking “I wish Brian Cranston had a hot daughter”, and now my dreams have come true.

This costume is actually quite liberating.  Not for women; no, women should only be sexual counterparts to male characters, if the costume industry is to be believed.  However, this costume does open the doors for all those other sexy male character costumes that just haven’t found a market.  How about a sexy Tony Soprano?  I, for one, am salivating over the possibilities.  With that prospect, I’ll leave you with my final thought:
I like my women like I like my meth; coloured blue and sought after by drug barons.  Have a great Halloween everybody!

Friday, 25 October 2013

My Most Ridiculous Adult Failures

The childish obsession with growing up is one of the greatest deceptions in the universe.  As kids, we are conditioned to believe that all the ills of our lives will all be fixed and resolved by the time we reach adulthood.  Every year closer is an inch towards independence, wisdom, and an all-encompassing constitution.  Adults know everything and always know best.

So, when you reach 18 and you are still reaching all-time lows on a five-a-day basis, you start to realize that even adults can make mistakes.  I was recently inspired by a post over at the wonderful Scarlett Wonderland (seriously, visit her Blog for further fun and shenanigans) which detailed her 3 biggest blunders of her mature life.  Naturally, this got me thinking about the stupid crap I’ve done since I turned 18 and, coming up with far more than 3 and being unable to choose between them, I decided to list them.  This list is not in chronological order, nor is it in chronological disorder.  It just is.

1.  Used an old pizza box as a bathmat for 6 months.  In my defense, I simply couldn’t be arsed to buy one.

2.  Made a double-decker sofa by fixing a bed frame onto some struts and putting a bean bag on top.  It was all going well until someone decided to sit on the top storey, at which point I realized that Blu-Tak wouldn’t support the weight of a human.

3.  Called the local cryptozoologist to examine genuine chupacabra scat in my back garden.  The black droppings turned out to be roasted bees from the “Barbeque Under the Beehive” event that I hosted the day before.  Well, that and a bit of my own scat that I used to claim my territory.

Tasty when grilled

4.  I once bought a pineapple under the sea to be more like my hero, Mickey Mouse.  The estate agent who sold it to me was a shady character; absorbent and yellow and porous was he.  He also didn’t explain that I’d have to have gills to fully utilize this piece of real estate, meaning that I lost most of my savings in the process.

5.  Tried to plumb in my own bathtub, only to inadvertently create a sentient robot made entirely from brass pipes and powered by steam.  The robot couldn’t speak or move since I didn’t give him limbs or a mouth; all he could do was whistle in pain as piping hot steam scalded his body.  A local steampunk convention travelled across the country to set up in my front room, which was annoying when I was trying to watch Take Me Out.

6.  Broke gravity by gluing some buttered toast onto a cat’s back and throwing it in the air.  The cat couldn’t land for days until, eventually, the realm of physics was destroyed and had to be restarted.

7.  Offered to make balloon animals at a kid’s birthday party, but didn’t have any balloons.  Luckily, I had a fresh supply of condoms that had only been partially used (managed to avoid a massive fail with that one).

8.  Went on a voyage to the bottom of my goldfish tank to find ancient treasure.  It turned out the treasure was cursed by Aztecs, which gave me numerous medical conditions such as impotence and an irrational fear of Philip Schofield.

9.  Accidentally, yet purposefully, ran over the cat next door, simply because it was prettier than me.

10.  Went around irritated for three weeks because I could feel something in my eye.  Turned out it was my eyeball.

That’s all the embarrassing things I dare to list right now.  You guys better not take the piss out of me.  I’m sharing my inner soul here.  My cat-killing, cursed soul that is, but my soul nonetheless!