http://youtu.be/GxhaRgJUMl8
Amen.
Friday 17 June 2011
Monday 13 June 2011
Subconscious Stuttering Spasms. Night terrors? Not quite. I hope.
I'm not one to often indulge myself in that well-practiced verbal art form; "Talking About Your Dreams" (quickest way to get your friends and housemates to stop listening to you at breakfast) but I feel there's a couple I need to get off my chest before they kill me, or my bedpartner. No, seriously.
It's just two, and they've been particularly vicious and graphic.
Benedict Cumberbatch and the Vampire Stand-off
I'm in an underground club, though it feels like a warren, going deep underground. Neon green and yellow lights illuminate the walls and ceilings, and I'm running further underground, trying to avoid something, or someone. I realise at this point, I'm a vampire, and me and my fellow undead companions are fleeing from something, we're trying to get further underground in our labyrinthine warren to escape it.
"It" happens to be a bunch of armed and armoured soldiers breaking into the warren-club, the neon reflecting on their face masks, gas cannisters and automatic rifles. They open fire (I can see this front on now even though "I'm" still running the other way) and I can feel the drumming of gunfire rattling through the walls, and can feel the vibrations turning my bones to jelly.
I'm now outside the warren/club, in the entrance room, which looks like a bar, lit up for evening. There's a bunch more soldiers in here, and also, their captain, who happens to be a distressed-looking Benedict Cumberbatch ('im off of BBC's Sherlock series and recently performed as Frankenstein in London). I'm suddenly one of the soldiers talking to him, only I'm a vampire in disguise. I realise HE also is, and there's a strange mexican stand-off feeling of impending doom for everyone involved.
A daddy long legs, presumably attracted by the lights in the vampire warren-club, brushes past my ear and I can feel it's gangly legs palpably stroking my face.
I wake up hollering and slapping myself comically and repeatedly, scaring the crap out of my previously sleeping girlfriend.
The Hitman Cake Carnival, starring Robert Dinero
There's a huge carnival in town, and its theme is definately cakes. Pink icing literally layers the streets, covers the buildings, and drenches most people's clothes. It's been going on for a long time, only now, hitmen with previously assigned tasks are coming to the fore.
Blood suddenly starts to mingle with the pinky residue on the streets as killings happen almost mechanically and at regular intervals. I can see two suited men, one very large and Irish, hacking at each other with kitchen knives (one of the knives I recognise as being one that I own in my kitchen draw), with varying success. The two pull off a few artful and desperate dodges, but not enough to save them completely, and wrist tendons are being severed through, along with chunks of skin being completely sliced off. The two, whilst in pain, look fairly chuffed about the fight nontheless.
Moving on, I realise there's been a chase going on for a long time. One man is being pursued, along with a hail of projectiles, down a pink icing-covered street, the cake-themed dancers long gone, the sugary-coated floats long since abadoned. He's wearing a suit also, only its barely noticeable under the caking of icing and blood. He's gleeful about it, turning back every now and then to fire off a shot from his pistol at his pursuers, throwing a knife back, something, until his feet slip on the layers of slick icing and he skids hilariously into an abandoned float.
Taking a harpoon to the chest, the steel bolt bursts through his front, and I'm now looking at Robert Deniro, having finally been caught, grinning down into a huge jelly trifle as blood bubbles up from his lips and the harpoon-head protruding from his chest drips his own life-juice.
He topples into the trifle, hilariously.
I wake up, shouting and looking down at my again-petrified girlfriend who was just getting up for work.
Hmmm.
Too many violent movies, or not enough excersise? Something deeper, mayhaps? OR JUST AN EXTREME AVERSION TO CAKE
It's just two, and they've been particularly vicious and graphic.
Benedict Cumberbatch and the Vampire Stand-off
I'm in an underground club, though it feels like a warren, going deep underground. Neon green and yellow lights illuminate the walls and ceilings, and I'm running further underground, trying to avoid something, or someone. I realise at this point, I'm a vampire, and me and my fellow undead companions are fleeing from something, we're trying to get further underground in our labyrinthine warren to escape it.
"It" happens to be a bunch of armed and armoured soldiers breaking into the warren-club, the neon reflecting on their face masks, gas cannisters and automatic rifles. They open fire (I can see this front on now even though "I'm" still running the other way) and I can feel the drumming of gunfire rattling through the walls, and can feel the vibrations turning my bones to jelly.
I'm now outside the warren/club, in the entrance room, which looks like a bar, lit up for evening. There's a bunch more soldiers in here, and also, their captain, who happens to be a distressed-looking Benedict Cumberbatch ('im off of BBC's Sherlock series and recently performed as Frankenstein in London). I'm suddenly one of the soldiers talking to him, only I'm a vampire in disguise. I realise HE also is, and there's a strange mexican stand-off feeling of impending doom for everyone involved.
A daddy long legs, presumably attracted by the lights in the vampire warren-club, brushes past my ear and I can feel it's gangly legs palpably stroking my face.
I wake up hollering and slapping myself comically and repeatedly, scaring the crap out of my previously sleeping girlfriend.
The Hitman Cake Carnival, starring Robert Dinero
There's a huge carnival in town, and its theme is definately cakes. Pink icing literally layers the streets, covers the buildings, and drenches most people's clothes. It's been going on for a long time, only now, hitmen with previously assigned tasks are coming to the fore.
Blood suddenly starts to mingle with the pinky residue on the streets as killings happen almost mechanically and at regular intervals. I can see two suited men, one very large and Irish, hacking at each other with kitchen knives (one of the knives I recognise as being one that I own in my kitchen draw), with varying success. The two pull off a few artful and desperate dodges, but not enough to save them completely, and wrist tendons are being severed through, along with chunks of skin being completely sliced off. The two, whilst in pain, look fairly chuffed about the fight nontheless.
Moving on, I realise there's been a chase going on for a long time. One man is being pursued, along with a hail of projectiles, down a pink icing-covered street, the cake-themed dancers long gone, the sugary-coated floats long since abadoned. He's wearing a suit also, only its barely noticeable under the caking of icing and blood. He's gleeful about it, turning back every now and then to fire off a shot from his pistol at his pursuers, throwing a knife back, something, until his feet slip on the layers of slick icing and he skids hilariously into an abandoned float.
Taking a harpoon to the chest, the steel bolt bursts through his front, and I'm now looking at Robert Deniro, having finally been caught, grinning down into a huge jelly trifle as blood bubbles up from his lips and the harpoon-head protruding from his chest drips his own life-juice.
He topples into the trifle, hilariously.
I wake up, shouting and looking down at my again-petrified girlfriend who was just getting up for work.
Hmmm.
Too many violent movies, or not enough excersise? Something deeper, mayhaps? OR JUST AN EXTREME AVERSION TO CAKE
Wednesday 8 June 2011
SlutWalk=good, Fatalistic Feminist Furies=bad?
And not even all of them are actually female.
http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-23957826-march-of-the-new-feminists.do
Check out the comments at the bottom, Pete from London's is hilarious.
I get SlutWalk. I think the people marching and trying to "reclaim" the word "slut" is a great piece of subversion, in the same way that the black community took an offensive term used against them and made it offensive for anyone BUT them to use it (I'm talking about the N-word, people).
What I don't get, is four of the five "activists" featured in this article. Angry at women being sexualised by the media? Really? You mean the same women who not only make shitloads of money off it, become the idol of thousands of men across the world, but they actually like it (I know a couple, trust me, they love it).
So what are you really angry at, feminists? The evil man-dominated media machine or the empowered women who CHOOSE (key word here, folks) to do what the fuck they want with their lives?
And about aforementioned man-dominated media machine. Those trashy magazines and TV shows that are about women, are aimed at women, created by women, purchased and bought into by women...
Hmm. Well, I guess I'm still to blame because I'm a hetrosexual male. Damn me and my biological instincts. I guess there's no hope for me, huh?
Quote the writer "I wanted full-on, fighting feminism". To what end, you nutcase?! To vent a load of steam at phantom men who supposedly have done you wrong? No, wait, you're middle class and successful, you've never actually suffered any injustice in your life, you're hijacking a dead horse and trying to ride it for your own personal gratification.
There is nothing in this article, indeed, nothing about "modern feminism" at all, that highlights what feminism or feminists are actually doing for people, what need they have to fulfill, or to what purpose they are protesting against the new Playboy club opening in London soon.
Let sad old men pay for the company of glamorously dressed girls. Watch those girls walk away after a nights shift with a fuckload of cash in their pockets and a big grin on their face.
I don't have a clue what feminism is actually doing for todays modern woman. It seems they're creating more problems than solving any.
http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/standard/article-23957826-march-of-the-new-feminists.do
Check out the comments at the bottom, Pete from London's is hilarious.
I get SlutWalk. I think the people marching and trying to "reclaim" the word "slut" is a great piece of subversion, in the same way that the black community took an offensive term used against them and made it offensive for anyone BUT them to use it (I'm talking about the N-word, people).
What I don't get, is four of the five "activists" featured in this article. Angry at women being sexualised by the media? Really? You mean the same women who not only make shitloads of money off it, become the idol of thousands of men across the world, but they actually like it (I know a couple, trust me, they love it).
So what are you really angry at, feminists? The evil man-dominated media machine or the empowered women who CHOOSE (key word here, folks) to do what the fuck they want with their lives?
And about aforementioned man-dominated media machine. Those trashy magazines and TV shows that are about women, are aimed at women, created by women, purchased and bought into by women...
Hmm. Well, I guess I'm still to blame because I'm a hetrosexual male. Damn me and my biological instincts. I guess there's no hope for me, huh?
Quote the writer "I wanted full-on, fighting feminism". To what end, you nutcase?! To vent a load of steam at phantom men who supposedly have done you wrong? No, wait, you're middle class and successful, you've never actually suffered any injustice in your life, you're hijacking a dead horse and trying to ride it for your own personal gratification.
There is nothing in this article, indeed, nothing about "modern feminism" at all, that highlights what feminism or feminists are actually doing for people, what need they have to fulfill, or to what purpose they are protesting against the new Playboy club opening in London soon.
Let sad old men pay for the company of glamorously dressed girls. Watch those girls walk away after a nights shift with a fuckload of cash in their pockets and a big grin on their face.
I don't have a clue what feminism is actually doing for todays modern woman. It seems they're creating more problems than solving any.
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