Monday, 25 February 2013

Sony Conference 2013

Last week, the world’s most rapidly shrinking company held a press conference to announce their new, next gen console.  The Playstation 4 was unveiled to great fanfare; a two and a half hour lecture about dreams, content, clouds, and other miscellaneous wistful vocabulary.  But what did any of it mean?  I decided to summarise it for you so you don’t have to sit through a lengthy conference that those poor games journos were subjected to.  I mean, they were paid to sit and listen to a man talk about a medium they are interested in.  That’s hell on Earth right there!

Anyway, let’s take a look at the main points raised by this press conference:

Playstation 4 Has A New Controller

Look at this thing!  It has a blue light on it!  That’s awesome.  It also has a “Share” button.  The functions for this are almost endless, but the main use is for your mum to come in and press it, forcing you to let your sister have a go on Spyro The Dragon.

Also:  Nicer triggers and thumbsticks

It Will Play Some Games

Sony showed off a couple of games.  A shooty game, a driving game, and a shitty game.  Specifically Killzone: Shadowfall, Driveclub and Knack respectively.  This confirms that Sony’s machine will in fact play games and not the unfathomably abstract, social applications of your dreams.

Other People Can Watch You Game

Using the “Share” button on the controller, you can send people screenshots and videos of your gaming exploits.  You can invite people to watch your game session, offer advice, or even to take control of your character and make him leap straight into a pit of snakes.  Also, with the Playstation Eye peripheral, people can watch you masturbating in your living room while your dog glances at you quizzically.

The PS4 Has And Hasn’t Got Backwards Compatibility

People have been speculating for weeks and months as to whether the PS4 will be backwards compatible with older games.  Well, Sony shocked the gaming world by confirming that the PS4 simultaneously will and won’t support the full library of old Playstation titles.  You can’t pop a PS1, 2 or 3 disk in and expect it to run.  However, you can stream old games online.  But you probably have to pay for it or rebuy your old games.  But hey, you can stream them!

It Is Good At Rendering Old People

Are you sick and tired of playing young whipper-snappers in games?  Are you bored by controlling lithe, athletic men who are able to leap around and shoot guns?  Well, the Playstation 4 is just the thing you need in your life.  It can simulate the aging process accurately by depicting every winkle and crease with a cellulite-ridden avatar of you.  Age has never looked so good!  In fact, the console is rumoured to have a feature where it will go into “sleep mode” in the middle of a game, giving you chance to nap.

A man shows off a man's face at the Sony Conference

It Has A Typical PC Architecture

Some hardware specifics were revealed which put the PS4 in line with current high spec PCs.  It has an AMD x86 processor, which doesn’t mean a great deal unless you jack off over hardware specs until your gigahertz.  To games developers it does mean a great deal, as the PS3’s Cell processor was rather aptly like a locked door without a key, making it difficult to program for.  Although this doesn’t promise better games, it does offer hope that Playstation ports of games won’t be hideous.


I lost track of the conference at some points, but I’m sure he spoke about dreams at some point.  I suspect that you’ll be able to upload your dreams somehow and have other people comment on them.  “LOL soggy mattress fail”.

As I'm sure you'll agree, the PS4 will usher in a new era of stuff and things.

Friday, 22 February 2013

Harry Styles News Wire

Thank you for signing up to the Harry Styles News Wire, the number 1 resource for all news concerning Harry Styles.  Here is your personalised Harry Styles bulletin:

Harry Styles Donates To Charity

Harry Styles has found a worthwhile cause to get behind.  The One Direction Hunkcake has made the generous donation of £17.55 to the Mirror Fund, a registered charity aiming to supply all teenage girls with mirrors.

“It’s shocking that in this day and age, some young girls have to get up in the morning and get ready without a mirror” said Harry on his life-changing donation. “It’s just awful.  These girls don’t know they’re beautiful”.

What a hunk!  He's like Daniel Craig with a bad perm.

Harry Styles Is Still 19 Years Old

After the excitement over Harry’s birthday on the 1st of Feb, we checked in with other members of his band to confirm that the One Direction Dreamhovercraft had not had a secret birthday without informing the general populace.

“I don’t think he’s had another party, has he?” stated someone else from One Direction named Niall.

“Nope, he’s still 19” revealed another inconsequential band member.

After digging through his bins for evidence of birthday cards or leftover cake, it would appear that Harry is still 19, allaying fears that he might have pushed on to 20 in record time.

This lends evidence to the theory that Harry Styles is ageing at a normal rate, ruling out concerns that he might be rapidly degenerating, or that he has Benjamin Button Syndrome.

Harry Styles Revealed To Drink Liquid

Sales of PG Tips have skyrocketed after an unusual celebrity endorsement.  A cafe owner in Camden claims to have served Harry Styles a cup of tea!  If our source is correct, this suggests that the One Direction Mancrumpet may have a recognisable human digestive tract, and may be sustained by the familiar human principles of eating and drinking.. 

“I asked him if he wanted a biscuit with his tea, but he said no” revealed the brazen cafe owner, although he refused to reveal how many sugars he takes due to “customer confidentiality”.

Leading scientists conclude that evidence of Harry’s digestive tract may also lead to official Harry Styles Pee and Poo merchandise, crafted by the man himself.  The sewer hunt is on to collect some of this momentous memorabilia.

Taylor Swift is an “Uber-Bitch”

At a recent One Direction concert, we asked everyone who attended what they thought of Taylor Swift.  A landslide 97% concluded that Ms. Swift, 23 from Pennsylvania, is an “Uber-Bitch”.  Just 2% thought she was a regular bitch, while 1% abstained from voting.

After breaking the One Direction Jizz-Spinkler's heart, Taylor Swift has come in for stern criticism from former fans.

“An Uber-Bitch is like the queen of an ant’s nest of bitches” said leading wildlife-wrangler Steve Backshall.  “The only way to stop her is to get Sigourney Weaver to set fire to her eggs with a flamethrower”

Since earning the title of Uber-Bitch, we are encouraging all Harry fans to send her hate mail and bomb threats for the way in which she broke his heart.

One Direction and JLS Secret Knife Fight

Have you seen much of JLS lately?  Speculation is rife that the rival bands recently held a midnight knife brawl, with Harry Styles superior blade proficiency leading 1D to an overwhelming victory.  The fight was allegedly over the poor state in which JLS left a tour bus.

“Aston spilled tippex on the floor after a mishap with his Geography homework” claims a source who cannot be named as he is frightened by Harry’s swordsmanship “the boys weren’t having none of it.  It was the only way to settle things.”

“There was only one rule for the fight.  STAB HIM!  STAB HIM! STAB HIM!”

Aston:  Dead?

Harry Styles Spotted By Human Eyes

Two teenage girls are reported to have caught a glimpse of Harry Styles with the naked eye, it was revealed yesterday.  This is the first known report of the One Direction Under-age Fantasy being spotted without the use of specialist vision-enhancing equipment.

“I thought Harry couldn’t be seen under a normal light spectrum” said Rachel Underwood, 14. “At first I thought I was wearing my officially licensed Harry-Spotting infrared goggles, but when I reached for my face, they weren’t there”.

“I wasn’t even sure that Harry had a form in our physical realm” stated Hannah Bisley, 13. “I just assumed that he was a swirling ethereal essence that’s permeating our plane of existence, or an abstract concept, like time itself”

Monday, 18 February 2013

Cat Reviews

It has long since been documented by historians that the ancient Egyptians used to revere cats as sacred animals.  These furry felines were treated like Gods and enjoyed a lifestyle of luxury whilst slaves in rags toiled in the baking sun to build them glorious monuments. 

Were the cats even grateful?  Not in the slightest.  They couldn’t care that thousands of ape creatures sacrificed their lives through spine-snapping labour to build a likeness of them that wouldn’t even be appreciated.  In fact, cats are the most aloof animal out there.  They enjoy the care and warmth that their human cohorts supply, yet give nothing, not even the slightest fleck of affection or gratitude.  That’s why, in the Internet age, there are approximately 10 bajillion YouTube clips of people’s cats.

Since people are so utterly fascinated by cat antics, I thought I could drive up traffic on this Blog by discussing the world’s most thankless and unrewarding pet.  More specifically, I’m going to review some cats and give them a score out of ten.  The reviews are completely unbiased and impartial, although my lawyers would have me declare that I hate cats and I’m highly allergic to them.  With that out of the way, let’s critique some moggies!


Felix is a black and white...thing.  I’m not sure what breed he is other than he looks like the cat off of the Felix adverts, hence his owners have called him Felix.

Seriously, what’s up with that name?  His owners are severely lacking in imagination.  Why can’t you call him “Lance Thunderclap” or “Supreme Space Emperor Flarg XXII:  Domineer of the Parsec Cluster”?  Hell, even the name “John Major” conjures up more style and charisma than “Felix”.

Anyways, there are a few defects with this model.  Firstly, Felix poops in a litter tray, but fails to clean the litter tray afterwards and doesn’t apologise for defecating in the food-preparation zone that is the kitchen.  He is an indoors cat and as such, requires extra sustenance in the form of cat food.  He can’t even be sustained by regular patches or downloadable content, he requires 2 tins of shredded bovine per day!  He eats better than me, and I thought I had it good last Tuesday when I stirred my Pot Noodle with a Cheesestring!

All in all, Felix is more trouble than he’s worth.  Would not recommend.



Again, this is another lacklustre name for a ginger tabby.  Since we’re dealing with a red head, you’re missing a trick if you don’t call it “Fanta Face” or “Tampon McBloodClot”.  It makes it a lot more fun when the cat goes missing and you have walk around the local children’s park shouting it’s name.

Name aside, Amber is not actually a bad cat.  She goes outside and mercilessly slaughters the local wildlife, thus providing less competition for when you want to forage through your neighbour’s bins.

The downside is that she often brings the mauled carcasses of her victims into your house and leaves them in the most awkward places, such as inside shoes, on pillows, and in your underwear drawer.  Sure, you may end up with a mangled robin wrapped around your balls as you get dressed in the morning, but at least you’ve found that special something for tonight’s casserole.


Mrs. Cuddlebum

Okay, at least we have an original name this time.  However, Mrs. Cuddlebum makes me want to blow chunks like cooling down your chicken and mushroom soup with a leaf blower.  It’s so sickly sweet, and who on Earth wants to cuddle a cat’s bum?  No matter how often they point their anus at you, you should never cuddle something that could potentially rain faecal matter in your eyes.

In other aspects, Mrs. Cuddlebum is simply lacklustre.  She has too much hair.  This not only means that you can’t appreciate her aerodynamic proportions (rendering her virtually flightless), it also means that she sheds fur like a motherfucker.  If you get a Mrs.  Cuddlebum of your own, be sure to take out extra insurance on that Dyson.  Oh, and buy a Dyson.

Also, I have it on good authority that she’s smothered three babies by sitting on them.


Well that’s three horrible critters critiqued and rated.  If you would like me to review your cat simply package it up and send it to me.  I can’t guarantee that all review models will be returned due to our strict stress testing procedures.  Also, if anyone can recommend some strong antihistamines, I’d be more than grateful.

Friday, 15 February 2013

The Curse Of Valentine's

Although it may have escaped the attention of you loveless plebs out there, yesterday was Valentine’s Day. 

It didn’t escape my attention.  I always know when it’s Valentine’s Day as I can usually hear the reproductive systems of all the women around me kick into gear (it sounds like a xylophone in a tumble dryer, in case you were wondering).  As such, I tend to find myself fending off the unwanted advances of many ovary-wielding sexual predators.  This is my cross and I alone must bear it.

The day started off innocently enough.  As I went downstairs to make my usual breakfast (Cheesestrings on toast), I heard a knock on the door.  I answered it and I was startled to discover that it was the postman, or rather, he had been replaced by a new postlady.  The old postman was a rugged, testicle-laden, beast of a man named Brad.  He was hairier than a chronically masturbating yak, which enabled him to wear little else than shorts and a t shirt in the winter.  No doubt he used to swig undiluted testosterone and brew the bitterest of ales inside his scrotum.  So, to instead find myself confronted with a hairless, smiling, pointy-boobed waif was something of a shock to the system.

“I have a delivery for you” Said the new postwoman, identified by her name tag as “Jo”

An artist's rendition of "Jo"

No doubt this was a trap.  A strange woman shows up on my doorstep on Valentine’s Day with a so-called “package”?  No doubt she’s hunting for her next sperm donor and has infiltrated the postal service to get closer to me.  The package said “Amazon” on it, so I can only guess at what kind of depraved South American sex toys were contained within.  In my panic I tried to slam the door shut, but only managed to close it on my own foot.  As I moved my hands to clutch my injured appendage, I accidentally let go of my dressing gown, allowing it to gape open and expose my private parts. 

She stood there aghast for a few moments.  Any onlookers would probably have mistaken it for a look of horror, but I knew that she was secretly admiring me and wondering how she could accommodate such an engorged specimen.  I also knew that I had made the situation ten times worse and that she wouldn’t be able to control her utter horniness.  After all, she’s only human.

“Leave this place!”  I screamed, successfully slamming the door shut this time.  I ran to the washing machine and pulled out some old clothes to cover my dignity.  As I pulled on yesterday’s trousers, I noticed through the front window that Jo was still standing there, looking perplexed.  She must have been confused by my manly prowess, the poor thing.  I knew at this point that she wasn’t going to leave as she was completed captivated by me.  It was likely that more hormonally charged women would be summoned like drones to this location and I’d have to barricade myself inside, like Dawn Of The Dead.  Not wanting to become a prisoner in my own home, I sneaked out of the back door before Jo could come to her senses, and vaulted over the neighbour’s fence.

Unluckily for me, I landed directly on the lady next door.  She might have had gardening gloves on and was next to her petunias, but I imagine that this was nothing but a ruse in order to peer through the fence slats and catch a glimpse of me.

“Unhand me woman!” I shrieked as I wrestled myself free from her gardening equipment.   She looked scared, as women often do when confronted by such a hunk, but I didn’t have time to be ogled and enjoyed like an éclair.  I ran through the open back door and into her house.  As I did so, I bundled straight into her teenage daughter who had probably smelled my masculinity from ten metres away and came to investigate.  I pushed past her, tried to explain that the age difference would be insurmountable, ran out of the front door, and out onto the street.


Where could I hide out?  I needed to stay low for the next 24 hours until all this Valentine’s mayhem was over.  I needed to find a place where there would be no women.  It was obvious that I needed to get myself ordained in a catholic monastery for the rest of the day.  I could claim sanctuary there, as so many others on the run had done before me.

The nearest church I knew of was in town.  I couldn’t go back and fetch my car because Jo would undoubtedly be spreading pheromones all over it by now, so I decided to catch a bus.  As fortune would have it, there was a bus stop right next to where I was standing, and a bus was already rolling into view at the top of the street.  At last, a little bit of luck!

Or so I thought.  As I boarded the bus I found myself in the thrall of a female driver.  As I ascended the stairs, the door closed behind me.  I peered down the length of the bus and realised that most of the women on board were female.  There were one or two men on board too, but no doubt they were captives that had been snared, immobilised, and dragged aboard the breeding bus.  The bus driver looked at me expectantly.  She either wanted me to pay my fare, or she was ready to pounce on me and copulate in the most unspeakable fashion.

I didn’t intend to become one of their sex ornaments.  I knew I couldn’t simply ask to get off as I was now a prisoner, so I drop kicked my way through one of the windows.  The women on board screamed in abject terror at this.  They must have realised I was onto them.  Picking myself up from the shattered glass, I noticed a police siren sounding in the distance.  Perhaps Jo or my next door neighbour had called for backup from the FemPolice.  I was now a fugitive.  I’d have to make it to the church on foot.

Ducking through various back alleys to avoid the police, I eventually found my way to what would be my sanctuary for the next 24 hours.  I burst through the doors and begged Father O’Fellatio to provide me with relief from these overbearing females.  He took me into the pulpit, told me to close my eyes, and suckle upon a “Divine Rod”.  Apparently, men who do this are not considered by women as potential partners, so I agreed and allowed the Father to perform this act upon me.  I could feel the divine energy dribbling down my chin by the end.

So that’s how I spent my Valentine’s Day.  How was yours?

Also, for more of this kind of thing, see here.

Monday, 11 February 2013

Poop Benedict

It is my sad duty to report that Pope Benedict XVI has, within the last few hours, announced his retirement as head of the Catholic Church.

Let that sink in for a moment.  That’s right, the Pope has resigned.  He’s the first Pope to not die in office since the 15th Century.  Most Popes keep on truckin’ through illness, alzheimer’s and inherent lunacy until God himself arrives and plucks him off of his jewelled stool.  So what gives?

The official line seems to be ill health.  Here’s the Pope’s statement:

Dear Brothers,

I have convoked you to this Consistory, not only for the three canonisations, but also to communicate to you a decision of great importance for the life of the Church. After having repeatedly examined my conscience before God, I have come to the certainty that my strengths, due to an advanced age, are no longer suited to an adequate exercise of the Petrine ministry.

I am well aware that this ministry, due to its essential spiritual nature, must be carried out not only with words and deeds, but no less with prayer and suffering. However, in today’s world, subject to so many rapid changes and shaken by questions of deep relevance for the life of faith, in order to govern the bark of Saint Peter and proclaim the Gospel, both strength of mind and body are necessary, strength which in the last few months, has deteriorated in me to the extent that I have had to recognise my incapacity to adequately fulfil the ministry entrusted to me.

For this reason, and well aware of the seriousness of this act, with full freedom I declare that I renounce the ministry of Bishop of Rome, Successor of Saint Peter, entrusted to me by the Cardinals on 19 April 2005, in such a way, that as from 28 February 2013, at 20:00 hours, the See of Rome, the See of Saint Peter, will be vacant and a Conclave to elect the new Supreme Pontiff will have to be convoked by those whose competence it is.

Dear Brothers, I thank you most sincerely for all the love and work with which you have supported me in my ministry and I ask pardon for all my defects. And now, let us entrust the Holy Church to the care of Our Supreme Pastor, Our Lord Jesus Christ, and implore his holy Mother Mary, so that she may assist the Cardinal Fathers with her maternal solicitude, in electing a new Supreme Pontiff. With regard to myself, I wish to also devotedly serve the Holy Church of God in the future through a life dedicated to prayer.

From the Vatican, 10 February 2013


Jesus Christ, what a quitter!  Ill health?  Other Popes have worked even when they're unfit to open a tin of beans unaided.  It's no excuse, Mr. Quitty Von Dropout! 

Frankly, I’m not buying it.  Being a Pope is very definition of a job for life, that’s why the Church doesn’t provide a Pontiff pension plan.  At the risk of exposing a conspiracy, I’m going to list several ideas that may have caused this unusual decision.  Let’s blow the lid off of this mother-bitch!

1)     He’s involved in some kind of super scandal.  Considering the guy has survived such scandals as being part of Hitler Youth, and the widespread child abuse which he has helped to cover up, it would have to be the scandal of the century to dislodge this controversial clergyman.  My best guess is that he’s behind the horsemeat scandal that is currently enveloping Europe.

2)    He has become so disenfranchised with his recent foray into Twitter that it has turned him into an atheist.  Let’s face it, any lengthy interaction with your average Twitter user will cause anyone to renounce the existence of a divine creator.  What sane God would allow #YOLO to trend?  Madness.

3)    He was set to announce a radical change to Catholic ideology, so all the Cardinals got together and ousted him.   Perhaps the Pope’s next speech was to be about how condoms had acceptable uses, such as expensive, slimy birthday balloons.  Maybe he was going to announce that dog abortion is okay because animals don’t go to heaven anyway.

4)    His retirement coincides with the release of a new Dan Brown novel.  This could all turn out to be an elaborate ruse by the publishers to promote their newest poorly-constructed thriller.  The Pope will then pen a sequel to it later in the year, thus setting him up for a lucrative book deal when he finally does retire at Christmas.

5)    The Illuminati have grown tired of him clocking in late and doodling in his notebook during meetings.

6)    The Reptillian Space Pope has finally arrived on Earth.  This has rendered our hairy, mammalian meatbag of a pontiff obsolete.  All Popeish duties are to be assimilated by our scaled overlords post haste.

7)    After realising that his word alone can sentence people to the everlasting joys of heaven, or eternal damnation and suffering in hell, the Pope has snapped under the pressure.  It’s too much responsibility for one man to bear.

8)    After 8 years on the job, Benedict XVI has realised that he actually applied for the wrong job in the first place.  He’s spent all this time wondering when his Hair and Beauty apprenticeship would finally start.  Just how many babies do you have to kiss before you get accepted onto the course?

9)    One of the Pope’s friends pointed out that “Pope” sounds a little bit like “Poop”.  Unable to live with the shame, he resigns.

10)   Richard Dawkins made him cry over the phone.

Da roof, da roof, da roof is on fire!

Before you say anything, no, I didn’t run out of steam towards the end of that list.  Every point on there is just as valid as the last one.

Whatever the reason behind the Pope’s departure, I’m sure we can all agree that he’s been the best Pope we can all remember.  Except for the last one.  And the one before that.  Oh, and that crazy guy who lives in a skip down the road who thinks that putting a traffic cone on his head makes him a spiritual leader.  May I be the first to say, Godspeed Mr Benedict.  May your replacement denounce paedophilia in all its forms.


Yes, I'm back.  Thanks for bearing with me, I've had a rough month.  I won't explain myself as it's personal stuff and it's boring for you readers who come here for a laugh.  Rest assured that I'm back and hoping to get into the swing of things again.  I'm going to start by establishing a posting schedule, then I'll be coming to post on your Blogs once again.  Beware!