Stay Tuned

First my crotch, now Jim Carrey. It seem’s ne’er a week passes these days without some seemingly trite observance causing me to reflect and ponder on matters of my life. I just watched the Truman Show (for probably the 100th time, and possibly the 99th time on Channel 4 on a Sunday night). Very good movie, I hope you’ll agree. (those who don’t, click here) I particularly enjoy the ending, where our hero who has spent his life literally trapped in a sheltered world is given the choice to continue in his safe bubble-like existence or finally step out into the “real” world and enjoy freedom. Of course, he chooses the latter. It was at this point that I experienced this week’s moment of navel-gazing because when I thought about it, had that been me I would have turned around and returned, safe in the knowledge that in my bio-dome world I would be protected from drug-addicts, street gangs, exotic diseases, terrorism, the Israeli army, happy-slappers, poor people and rising house prices. No thank you sir. Sad really……but, don’t fret dear readers, I wouldn’t have simply turned round and waddled back to my reality TV hell just like that. Being the star of the most watched TV show on the planet I would have used my position to negotiate a better deal for my second series. Yup. First of all, I’d have ditched the 9-5 desk-monkey job and be made a freelance crime fighter by day (gangsta rapper by night). Secondly, my weekly storylines would involve me fighting off zombie invasions (with no risk of me actually being killed by said zombies), and finally, Jessica Alba would be helicoptered in post-haste to play my wife (who suffers from a sex addiction). Deal breakers would include free license for myself to shoot other cast members, as much air time as I would like to spout my crazy political opinions and ideals and also a promise to make sure all news is filtered to my liking (including changing sports results so that Arsenal become perenial champions of EVERYTHING and the news that Ashley Cole’s mobile phone exploded in his arse killing him reaches me).

Then i’d be happy to stay in my secluded island brain hell.But knowing TV executives these days i’d probably have to agree to some form of crime investigation subplots, polar bears and endless celebrity guest stars. Well, you can’t have it all.

This blog entry was composed of 70% jest, 12% honesty, 10% satire and 8% commas

Wisdom on the fly

You can find wisdom in all kinds of places. Some people have found it in literature, in music, in art, in the words of others, some in religion; others find it in inner reflection. People have spent their lives searching for wisdom, for enlightenment or some kind of direction in this crazy life.

The other day I found it in the crotch of my trousers.

The other evening I relaxed in my seaside villa having spent the day aimlessly staring out the window of the call centre secretly hoping for a hijacked plane to come crashing towards my face and put an end to the mind-rotting monotony that this job entails. I unwound with my usual supper of toast and more toast as I took in a visual feast of reality television and war from the confines of my couch. At one stage I had to tend to my genitalia which had become uncomfortably entangled in my underwear. I reached down and undid my fly to sort out the mess when I spied the most curious thing. There, written down the flap of the fly of my trousers were three words. Three words stitched into the underside of the zipper of my trousers that would ignite in me at least 4 minutes of pondering and reflection.

“Never Stop Exploring”.

I shit you negative readers. What were these words? Where did they come from? My mind raced with so many explanations. Where they a warning to any females who would foolishly stumble upon my crotch, pleading with them to “keep looking” as it were, for better? (Perish the thought!) OR was it an enticement to these females, as if to say, “That’s it you’re nearly there, keep going!”. Hmm… OR Had I been implicated in some massive worldwide conspiracy? Had some man who kept with him a deadly and world-shattering secret (having been hunted to the ends of the earth by men who would want him silenced) with his final dieing moments broken into a clothes factory in the Far East and left this message behind in the vain hope that whom ever would come across it would carry on searching and find the ancient secrets that would expose that evil and dark organisation, the FAI?

I pondered these possibilities for what seemed like an age, but was actually mere seconds. No, I was wrong. These words were not a warning or an order. It didn’t say “Don’t” it said “Never”. This was a message. Was God speaking directly to me, through the medium of trousers? Why? What did he want me to do….? Had Jesus one day whilst taking a leak seen the words “Do On To Others as You Would Have Done onto You” scribbled in his tunic?

I kept repeating the words. Never Stop Exploring. Never STOP Exploring. This puzzled me, cause let’s be honest, I’ve never started exploring. The idea of exploration is alien to me. Even simple journeys through our nation’s capital are nightmarish ordeals for me. My idea of exploring is wandering (briefly) into the non-hip-hop section of Virgin…My lack of exploration is what defines me. But here it was, this divine message of hope, staring at me from my crotch…

What did it mean? Was it urging me to seek out new challenges in this immense world of ours? To join the hordes of my generation who had wandered off into the jungle to find new exotic STD’s and blow up cows with bazookas? Was it an inner exploration, to find out more about my self, to explore the lengths of my soul?

Or was it that my trousers are made by North Face, a company that specialises in out-door and expedition gear and “Never Stop Exploring” is the official corporate slogan and sums up the ethos of the company?

I fear I’ll never know. Until then, ill never stop exploring. My crotch told me so.

Next week, my jacket tells me to never iron. See, I told you it was a waste of time!

Tax Crisis News Flash.

Associated Press – At 08:47 (GMT) on Thursday 20th of July an end was announced to the Ruairi Emergency Tax Crisis, ending nearly 3 weeks of fighting between Ruairi and government forces. Since the end of June the Inland Revenue have been holding large amounts of Ruairi’s pay captive for no apparent reason. When pushed for a reason Revenue spokespeople defended it as being “emergency tax” although could not explain what emergency warrented such action. As such the two sides engaged in tit-for-tat skirmishs throughout July with the Inland Revenue defiantly claiming more and more money whilst Ruairi fired off snide little remarks on his blog.

Thankfully the crisis came to a peaceful end this morning with goverment forces relieving their claim to the money and returning previously captured funds. Both sides claim victory, with the Inland Revenue saying they were “just following out orders” and Ruairi declared victory by obnoxiously hollering “I gots my money!”. He attributes his victory to his “masterful wit and cutting edge satire” that he deployed against the enemy on his blog and also in the workplace and in pubs. Analysts however say that the deciding factor was Ruairi getting off his arse and going to the tax office and sorting it out. Something, they say, if done earlier could have avoided the whole crisis.

Now the government troops have moved on to claim other “emergency taxes” from unwitting citizens. Ruairi says he will take time to reflect on how he will spend his reclaimed fortunes. The war sadly doesn’t end though, as he is still involved in a continuing confrontation with forces from the VISA corporation in a battle that threatens to spiral out of control.

Around my head in 80 seconds

My very important opinion on things:

Sandi Thom wishes she had “flowers in her hair”, well Sandi, I wish you had an ice-pick in your fucking head.

The Root’s new album “Game Theory” could well be one of the best albums of the year. Multiple thumbs up. Of course I havn’t heard this unreleased album, I’m purely guessing so. But trust me.

The Root’s feature heavily on Dave Chappelle’s Block Party, a DVD of which turned up in my house this week. Its pretty good, could do with some more music (i expected the DVD to feature uncut performances. It didn’t) but for the most part its entertaining. Talib Kweli, Kanye, the Roots, Dead Prez, the Fugees and others do the raps and the people wave their hands in the air (like they just don’t care). Dave shouts alot. The Cage “Hell’s Winter Tour” DVD which also came in the post, however, is shit. I turned it off after 17 minutes after i realised its no more than a bunch of stupid home videos of his entourage shooting each other with pellet guns and drinking beer. I’ll stick to youtube thank you.

Steve-O’s manic apperance on Love Island almost had the amazing affect of making me want to watch that horrific pile of piss. But he left after one episode and i have no intention of watching the rest of those nobodies make fools of themselves. As for Big Brother, Spiral remains the only reason to watch it now. (When given out to for using a melon as a football because of “all the starving people in the third world”, Spiral (ye?) shot back “but they can get all the melon’s they want up the tree’s”. Take that Geldof, you swine.).

I’d sooner turn my attention to the Israel v The Middle-East match currently going on. Current score 23-250 to the Israelis. Someone needs to give them a hug. Or a slap.

Having suffered for three weeks sweating the balls off myself in stupid shirts and cheap polyester trousers we were greeted at work tonight with the news that we could wear “casual” clothes for the next few weeks. Hurrah! Then the sky decides to open up and spit fire, rain and thunder at us. Typical. Speaking of work, the government still seem to be under high alert regarding my income and continue to stockpile my money in a secret location for the big EMERGENCY OF DOOM. Now, if they told me they were trying to procure a nuclear warhead with my money i’d be fine with it. Then Paisley wouldn’t be so lippy, would he? Better yet they could use if for an actual emergency like helping out those innocent Lebanese folk that are getting bombs dropped on them.

And finally, Ashley Cole, tread carefully sunshine. Arsenal made you, you should watch your mouth you Beckham wannabe. Shut the fuck up, stay out of Hello magazine and play football you poxy cunt. You say Arsenal fed you to the sharks yet you were the one sneaking off to hotels to talk to Chelsea on the sly trying to snake away. Whos the shark now? To quote the man: “The board ‘rewarded’ me with an insult and threw years of loyalty back in my face”. LOYALTY? Talking to another club behind Arsenal’s back?

There you go; some half-arsed barely thought out semi-sentences on a number of uninteresting topics. That should tide you over til my next set of inane ramblings that I am struggling to finish.

World Wide Text Alert

So, as you are all hopefully painfully aware the middle east conflict is on the verge of spilling wildly out of control and full scale war may only be days away, many civilian lives have been lost and the region is about to descend into chaos threatening oil prices and markets worldwide….. with such an important world-affecting crisis happening it was with head-fucking bewilderment that a national newspaper, the Sunday World decided that the entirety of their front page should be dedicated to the earth-shattering story that Dermot Laide, a man accused of being involved in beating someone to death had…..DUMPED HIS GIRLFRIEND BY TEXT MESSAGE.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

A complete nobody chucks his girl by sending her a text message and the Sunday World think this is worthy of not only being printed in their rag at all, but be given the cover…..? Then to add insult to injury it adds “Full Story Pages 4,5 and 6″. How the fuck do you fill 3 pages with that story??? Maybe they just plastered the word CUNT in giant letters. My rage prevented me from looking inside, lest I take a shit on it in the petrol station, so I dunno what major developments they had on this shocker that they could fill half their fucking paper with it.

Since then i’ve been wrecking my head trying to work out a way into tricking the Israeli Defence Forces into thinking the offices of the Sunday World are actually a Hizbollah training camp so they’ll bomb the building into the fucking ground. Cause nothing would please me more then to see the people responsible for this shit being buried under tonnes of burning rubble.

The Outsider.

The title of this blog is the title of Dj Shadow’s new album, due in September and it is something which I look forward to with great anticipation, so much so it threatens to make wee come out of me. What i really like about it is that he apparently has gone balls to the walls hip-hop on some of the tracks. Now in my eyes he has always been pure hip-hop (despite attempts by chin stroking journo-twats to label him as “trip-hop” or such shit) but on this one he’s enlisted a slew of rappers to grace his beats, and he hasn’t gone just for the regular cameo rappers either, he’s dug out some underground heads from his native San Francisco to yelp all over the tracks. I’m glad he’s making such a change, his first two albums are pure classics which i still listen constantly to to this day but he doesn’t need to give us another one of the same stuff. He’s always said that he likes to challenge himself (and his fans) by not becoming complacent and going the safe route (aka re-making “Endtroducing” time and time again). The other day I stuck on MTV2 and saw the video for his new song “3 Freaks” (featuring Turf Talk and Keek Da Sneak) and it raised a smile, cause here was a fairly grimey rap video (featuring girls shaking their booties, white people getting “crunk” and other Dirty South-type antics) in amongst the Snow Patrols and Razorlights. It made me realise how ground breaking this album could be, for all those poseur types who say DJ Shadow is one of their favourite artists but who probably could’nt name an actual Shadow track will be highly confused when they see his name attached to what is esentially a slightly crazier Lil Jon song. I picture a bunch of uber-trendy muso students smoking hash and stroking their beards putting on the new Dj Shadow album to “chill out” and having some gutter Bay Area emcee’s screaming back at them….that’s why the man is a legend.
Plus i’ll get to see the legend play live at the Electric Picnic, where rumour has it he’s bringing some of the rappers featured to compliment his live show….can’t fucking wait.

The video’s appearance on MTV however also highlighted the semi-racist ignorance of that channel however, like d-12 before, the only reason they are playing such a video is because it is associated with a white “safe” hip-hop artist. But, alas.

Attn: Orlando Bloom

Hey Orlando Bloom!
I justed wanted to congratulate you on having the amazing ability to single-handedly ruin any film you are a part of! Its some trick. You’ve featured in some films which should be highly entertaining capers to be experienced time and time again, yet your appearence on screen during these films fills me with such intense anger and rage that it makes me want to defecate into my hand and fling it at the screen. Bravo!

I mean, the Lord of the Rings aside (where your girly elf-fairy antics have rendered those films un-repeat-watchable to me) you even managed to turn the Pirates of the Carribean films, which should have been delightful Indiana Jones-like romps for the 21st Century, or even Star Wars on the high-seas into unbearable eye-gouging torturous ordeals. Its mainly due to your stupid fucking voice, which has the worst accent of any human being ever you poncy posh twat.

I look forward to your descent into hasbeenery.

State of Emergency!

Emergency Tax!
WHAT!? Emergency?

Communication Intercepted from the Revenue Commissioners at 14:02:43 30/06/06

Sir, this is Tax Base 101…..i’m noticing a disturbance in the matrix…look at his report…over

Roger, over, one second….

ALERT! ALERT!

All points bulletin, this man has not, REPEAT, has not handed in his p45, he is an unknown entity in the tax computer matrix. System overload, we don’t know how to handle this….Awaiting executive decision…..

……OK, this is the plan; Deploy contingency plan 101 – ROB HIM BLIND! We’ll just take as much as we can off him for a temporary period of time and make it a long and arduous process for him to reclaim this. Now, contact the coast guard! The Army Reserves! Helicopter Bertie Ahern to his secret off shore fortress and prepare the crop dusters with sarin gas should civil unrest break out. Until this financial anomaly has passed, we are exacting Marshall Law, take it all boys…..

Bastards.

Coming Attractions.

Hmm…why? WHY!? Why do those Hollywood gits do this? They insist on putting out trailers for films a billion people are going to go see anyway ONE FUCKING YEAR before WE CAN SEE THE GOD-DAMNED THING. Its bad enough the these films are going to be plastered all over buses, Happy Heals, Pringles Cans, mobile phones, and cans of fizzy pop but to tease us with glimpse’s of them when we can do fuck all about seeing the film for 12 fucking months is a bit much. DONT FUCKING WORRY! We know these films are coming out we dont need to be told 7 fucking years early. Im sure i can find one day in 2007 to pop along to see your film.

What brought about this particular rant? Well, the trailer for Spider-man 3 of course…. which suggests all manner of eye-popping and jaw-dropping will be done, NEXT YEAR of course. Then, if that wasn’t enough I discovered another trailer…one which made my inner child leap into my face and do a smiley dance. I had heard rumours, but thought they were a good few years off this one..but yes…low agús behold….you can see a teeny-weeny (admittedly pathetically unrevealing) glimpse of….

THE TRANSFORMERS MOVIE!!!! I hope that made a little bit of wee come out.

Alas, though, I must warn you. As giddy as it may make you (well those of you who are still children at heart) the trailer ends on a horrifically bad note of foreboding doom. Four words appear to put the fear of God in all of us who dared to dream again..

A

Michael

Bay

Film.

If that means nothing to you, i’ll quickly demonstrate why this is so bad. Michael Bay directed ARMAGEDDON and….PEARL HARBOUR. Yes, Pearl Harbour. But, for now i’m going to ignore my inner pesimist and still imagine that Transformers will make my face split down the middle and have my skull roll on to the floor as i will be smiling so much. But part of me knows im going to be sorely dissapointed. Either way, check back with me IN A YEAR to see how it went.

Michael fucking Bay.