Rock of Love

Caught this incredible programme completely by accident… it’s a repeat, but there appears to be plans for a further series. I'd advise you to check it out...

It starts Brett Michaels (who is/used to be the lead singer of the ’80s glam metal band “Poison”). Weird within itself, as all I know of this man is that he was was, albeit briefly, a heartthrob in about 1987, or whenever the hell they released “Every Rose Has Its Thorn (and every night has its dorr-horr-horr-horrnnn)”.

As I remember I was an extremely young teenager at the time-as I am now rapidly becoming a proper old bastard this means that Mr. Michaels must also be getting on somewhat. And doesn’t he fucking look it.

He has unsuccessfully attempted to disguise his advancing years with the use of cowboy hats, sunglasses, bandanas and bargain basement cosmetic surgery. The result is a glassy eyed and portly looking cowboy wearing clothes made of dead reptiles-it’s not the best look for a man in middle age.

The series is set within a building we are led to believe is Brett’s Mansion. This I doubt…I think Bret has long since sucked all his money up his fucking nose-the building is filled with rock cliches and numerous pictures of Bret when he was a younger, thinner and far better looking man, as opposed to the shambling monster he has become.

I’d like to think that in reality Bret shares a cockroach infested apartment with Axl Rose and Sebastian Bach from Skid Row, where they attempt unsuccessfully to seduce fat teenage girls by singing acoustic versions of songs they wrote a quarter of a century ago.

I’ve digressed somewhat, however the mansion is filled with a number of extremely odd women who are all competing to become Bret’s love interest-the actual reason why they would want to do this is never fully explained. In order to achieve this end they are assigned a series of meaningless reality TV show type tasks with a contrived “Rock n’ Roll” type twist, such as a “Talent” show carried out in a peep show.

The vast majority of these women are insane, and one of them looks just like Pete Burns and the rest like bland faceless would-be porn starlets. The enjoyment of the show comes from the sheer unpleasantness of everyone involved, from Bret downwards. Each of the women appear to be vacuous, back stabbing harpies who think they are far better looking that they actually are.

Occasionally Bret has to evict certain women, normally on the grounds that they do not appear to be sexually available for him. Sometimes he will reward others with “dates” and VIP passes and such like.

I hope I've managed to get across the sheer retarded awfulness of the programme...it utterly beggars belief. To top it all it's made by a production company who very knowingly have called themselves "Mindless Entertainment".

It’s awful, compelling viewing-I’m planning a remake for the British Market starring Jimmy Nail.

Fairly sure that in a country of 60 Million I’ll be able to find a couple of dozen women who still have fantasies about Jimmy Nail 20 years after he released his last record-no guarantees on what they’ll look like though, and whether they will be let out for the filming of a TV show.

LEADER, LEADER, I’M THE LEADER OF THE GANG I AM!!

In a startling and ironic twist of fate, Gary Glitter does indeed appear to be “up the shitter”… utterly and completely.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/I Love, You Love...

Even countries that traditionally have prided themselves on their underage sex tourism opportunities don’t want him; “Sorry Gary, but you’re money’s no good here anymore. We’re facing international pressure to clean up our acts a bit, and you’re a bit too high profile. If you were just an accountant from Birmingham or something who wanted to quietly fuck a few kids it would be different, as it is we could do without the publicity...”.

He’s not fucking stupid though-if he shaves that insane beard off and gets rid of the bandana and sunglasses no one will recognise him, wherever he ends up. He could be anywhere-EVEN IN YOUR STREET! Quickly, get out there and start bothering newcomers...smash their windows, before they escape...

Anyone fancy a sweepstake on who’ll eventually take him in? I reckon Sierra Leone will-it’s such an awful fucking shithole that the presence of a tone deaf paedophile will actually make it a slightly nicer place to live.

Do you want to be in my gang, my gang?

Erm… No thanks Paul…

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/what's happened to his wig?

Well, it looks like Good old Gary Glitter is returning to Britain. I’ve always been a big fan, and now he’s short of work I bet I could get him to do a gig and the local fete for peanuts…

Not only is he now not just a paedophile, he’s actually a Paedophile AND an immigrant. The Daily Mail must be over the moon about that. I haven’t seen the headline but I bet, true to form, it’s something like “GLITTER PAEDO VIETNAM DISGRACE RETURN NEW LABOUR WHY, WHY, WHY?”.

He’s actually a very lucky pervert though, as the normal sentence for child abuse in Vietnam is apparently “death by firing squad”. Got to admire a country with the balls to do that to nonces, haven’t you?

Is it just me, or doe he now bear a startling resemblance to Professor Yaffle off “Bagpuss”?

He’s now got to sign the sex offenders register (wonder if he will get a certificate-I’ve no idea how these things work…), which will probably be a nice change for him as I bet it’s a long time since anyone asked for his autograph.

COME ON, COME ON! COME ON COME ON COME ON!!!

The case for Regicide rests...

Prince Charles has suffered an enormous amount of ridicule in the media recently for his increasingly addle pated and absurd notions. Quite right too, the divvy jug eared cunt.

Just because you are the result of several hundred years of practically incestuous couplings, which have given you and your cretin offspring the mental capacity of spaniels, does not mean that you are qualified to give the public your opinion on anything. Rather the opposite in fact…

I’m thoroughly sick of the antics of this pack of inbred and horse faced mutants.

When I dress up as a Nazi and sexually molest young girls in night clubs I get arrested (it’s still worth it though!) whereas “Prince” Harry, who clearly has about as much royal blood as me, gets chortled about as “being just like one of the chaps”. In this case “chaps” of course means “braying, smug, public school educated spiky haired twats who wear rugby shirts and who never, ever have to think for themselves”.

His brother (our future King) is clearly about the most slow witted, doltish and charmless young man ever to be shat out by the public school system. I suppose that this, in retrospect, is an achievement of a sort…

He’s so stupid he’s been practically thrown out of every part of the armed forces, despite actually fucking owning them. Do we really want our country to be represented by something like this?

Is there anybody at all in this country who can give me a reason why we still have a monarchy? A proper reason, by the way-not some absurd conjecture about them increasing the levels of tourism to the country or something similar- for a start:

• Tourism from abroad is a very small industry sector in this country-if you argue otherwise you are a fucking idiot. There are innumerable other parts of the economy crying out for reinvestment, and paying the vets bill for some chinless dickhead's polo ponies is not one of them.

• The packs of fat fucking Americans we get over here asking stupid questions have come here to see “History”, not the Queen. Even they are not fucking stupid enough to think they will see her, and are just only too happy to point their cameras at old buildings (even if they don’t know what the fuck they are for), buy union jack hats and get mugged in Soho at knifepoint by vicious homosexuals.

What kind of person really supports the Royal Family? The kind of person who looks back and thinks about how much nicer it was in the “old days”, when we still had “little corner grocers run by affable men in duster coats and postmen who whistled as they strolled around the village”. “When Sunday was still special, we had games of cricket on the village green” “Community spirit-that’s we had in them days. We didn’t have nowt, but we shared it…” “eeehhh that doctor’s as black as the ace of spades, he is…”

Yes, that’s right, the only people who still support the royal family are either hopelessly reactionary, or in the late stages of Alzheimer’s disease (and more probably both).

Why then do we still have them? It’s not like we haven’t had enough chances to have a decent revolution. We even got rid of them 400 odd years ago, but then stupidly brought them back, but that was only because Oliver Cromwell was like an extra dour version of Gordon Brown who hated the Irish and banned Christmas. They pretty much own most of the land in the country, and yet still demand yet more money from the public purse each year for “essential expenses”. Like Valets and stuff no doubt…

Now, I’m not a communist or anything, but I have to work all fucking week to support my family (as do millions of others). At the best of times I heartily resent the siphoning of my money, that I feel would be much better spent on my own offspring, to support the feckless.

When it’s been spunked away by some useless cunt who wants to take a helicopter to a fucking stag night it pretty much makes by blood boil with anger…

I know I’m constantly calling for the violent overthrow of pretty much everyone from the Royal Mail to the cast of “Hollyoaks”, but surely this one must be a worthy cause??

what kind of fucking monkeys read this shit?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/magazine/bored housewives beanflicking

I tried to write a Mills and Boon novel once-it was about two Cornish rapists with severe learning difficulties who live in a damp basement flat with a load of terminally ill Alsatians, and their unhealthy and abusive relationship with a one-legged schizophrenic ex-prostitute-it was called “Fucking Nutters”.

I wrote it during one of my infrequent, but increasingly prolonged bouts of gout and syphilitic madness (brought about due to my past overindulgences with gin and whores) and was rather proud of it.

They said it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing they were looking for but they’d still give it a go (which was nice of them) but unfortunately it didn’t sell as well as we’d hoped.

In the end I took their advice about “exotic eroticism” I rewrote it slightly just by relocating it to a damp basement flat in Greece and calling the two protagonists “Spiros” and “Stavros” then renamed it “Hard Greek Nights of Passion”. Fuck me if they weren’t right-the fucking thing sold like hot cakes-flew off the bookshelves.

It just goes to show, never underestimate the filthiness of women’s libidos…

Preparing for the End Times (Part 1)

As part of my rampant paranoia I am constantly aware of the imminent commencement of “The End Times”. Although the exact nature of the End Times has not been ascertained by the Bible/Scientists/People who get messages from Elvis though their teeth, there are a number of all round precautions you can make to lessen its impact.

I am writing these notes as a step by step guide to ensure that you are prepared for survival. You might think that this is unusual and surprisingly altruistic of me, as there will obviously be a great deal of fierce competition for food and resources and to a certain extent the less people around the better. However I am aware that I will need people to help me rebuild a new clean society and I will also require subjects for when I choose live in a tent up a tree like Tina Tuner did in Mad Max 3.

Some thoughts regarding your basic requirements:

Shelter-make sure you have a reasonable place to hide out during the End Times. Ideally something underground, or in the hills (although a tent or caravan is probably entirely unsuitable) where you can lie low whilst the worst of it passes. Most urban areas are unlikely to become extremely unpleasant and will quickly become overrun with Alien war machines or giant spiders. I already have my shelter sorted out, and if you come near it, I will regrettably be forced to shoot you.

Food-tinned food is good but heavy, so dehydrated stuff is better. Try to get a variety to meet all your nutritional requirements-attempting to fight off legions malevolent robot overlords after eating only Curry flavoured pot noodles for the last five years is not an ideal situation. You could try growing your own vegetables, but it might be easier (and more fun) to plunder isolated homesteads as part of a large bike gang army. Cannibalism may regrettably be necessary in some areas.

Weapons-As we don’t know the exact nature of what we might face during the End Times I suggest a broad range of weapons to cover as many eventualities as possible. Shotguns are of course a popular choice ideal for repelling hideous mutants but they are not particularly effective against werewolves or demons from other dimensions-try to get something reusable like a crossbow as well, just in case. Long weapons, such as lances can be used against Triffids without fears of getting stung and if you are good with technical projects you might want to try making a big fucking flamethrower as well. For closer range work machetes and chainsaws are the best and most reliable solution.

Transport-Something reliable is a must, as it is unlikely that Kwik Fit or the AA will still be in operation after the apocalypse. Old Land Rovers are very good-unlikely to break down and also heavy enough to be effective for running over zombies if required. You may also be able to escape the plague if you are fast enough and don’t mind a bit of off road driving. Depending on the nature of the radioactive materials present in the food chain chariots drawn by giant mutant goats may also be a possibility.

These are just a few initial points to get you going (and hopefully thinking). Remember-with a bit of forethought and planning the impending apocalypse can be fun!

Fat Edgar’s guide to an unhealthy mind in a healthy body

Contrary to popular belief I am not fat, however people at work often ask me “what’s the best way to get fit/put on muscle/stop being a great big flab beast?”

The simple answer (for me at least) is unfortunately “exercise like a dervish several times a week, learn to fight and stop eating fucking cakes”, however as most people (probably quite sensibly) don’t want to put themselves through this they continue on their merry way giving themselves little treats and getting rounder and rounder. Because the benefits outweigh the penalties people just think “Ah, fuck it-I’ll have another pie..”. Human Nature… As long you think you look OK you aren’t really going to change (and why should you?). And fucking forget “Gentle Exercise” as that wont work-Pilates won’t get you any thinner or more toned on it’s own, in fact the only thing Plilates on it’s own will make you is a lot fucking poorer...

The simple truth of the matter is (I have decided) that the only sure fire way to do something about your physical condition is to ensure that you get your body into a state where you have to do something.

Because of various medical problems I might have mentioned in previous posts I have been unable to exercise as fully as I would normally like to for several months, and as a consequence I am rapidly becoming a disgusting fat mess that deserves to be worked like a rented mule until it sweats blood from every pore.

So, somewhat controversially, and to help increase the health of humanity, I have decided to share with you the secrets of the “I Hate My Body” Fitness Plan.

It is imperative for this plan to work that you do truly hate your body. It’s no good being in the middle ground and thinking “well, it’s not ideal, but I suppose it will do”. That simply won’t work. You have to be disgusted by the state of your body and be repelled by its stinking, fly blown corpulence for this plan to work (or conversely that you are a rake thin pencil necked freak).

In order to get to this stage you may first have to perform a few of Fate Edgar’s cognitive therapy exercises to ensure you attain the correct mind set. One of the most effective is to slump naked in front of a mirror and repeat to yourself over and over again: “I am a disgusting fat mess not fit to engage with society. No one can possibly love this steaming pile of lard and rotting organs”.

Try to repeat this exercise 10 times on 3 separate occasions each day, as you are aiming to get an unhealthily obsessive thought pattern and body dysmorphia. It might help if you begin the exercise by focusing on a part of your body you don’t like-concentrate on this perceived imperfection and try to blow its significance out of all proportion until it stands out (at least to you) like a great big steaming dog shit on a flower bed.

Don’t worry if the stress has caused you to actually increase the amount of junk you stuff down you gullet-this will only help to reinforce the negative body image I’m trying to work towards

If you manage to do this every day for a few months, regardless of the actual, real state of body, you will hopefully have reached the state required-you should now have convinced yourself that you are at least as unattractive and foul as Christopher Biggins.

The real trick is to pick the correct moment to start the exercise plan-ideally this should be before you develop an eating disorder (there’s no point trying to exercise if your throwing up all your energy) or attempt suicide (don’t be a quitter kids!).

At this point join a gym (or just buy some weights and a pair of running shoes) and disregard all the warnings you might get about consulting medical advice before embarking on an vigorous exercise program, or stopping if you get sudden, sharp chest pains. If the gym has attendants ignore what they say about starting on low weights, just double what they suggest and fucking go for it. Turn the running machine up the highest setting and tie yourself to it with a towel so you can’t escape. Or, you could just join a decent martial arts club and try to fight every fucker there-you’ll end up with a body like teak. Throughout all this, regardless of the progress you are making, keep repeating the cognitive exercises “I am a Troll, I am Troll..”. If you haven’t got a body like an Olympian within 4 months I’ll eat my fucking hat.

A sad end for a once great actor…

A sad end to a once great actor…

I was watching this with my child the other day, and it’s appalling (the child thinks it’s shit too, btw)…

In the night garden

It’s the kind of thing that Students might claim to like, but they’ll tell you (if you give them half a chance to open their irritating fucking foghorn mouths) that they like it in a “detached, ironic and fundamentally postmodern way”, the pretentious little cunts. That’s opposed to a “sat on their flabby arse eating beans on toast and not going to lectures kind of way”, the lazy smug little fuckers. Makes me so angry I want to hit them all with great big fucking frying pans. Pan ‘em all I say! Pan ‘em all, and let working in call centres sort them out…

It’s got Sir Derek Jacobi doing the narration for fucks sake. How cruel is that? The man must be about 104 or something. At his age he should be cropping up in period dramas performing character roles, not doing this garbage.

To be honest, the poor fucker is probably half senile by now, and they have got him drugged to the eyeballs, on a sound stage somewhere and then dressed him in a toga and told him that’s he’s doing a sequel to “I, Claudius”. Either that, or someone has some real dirt on him.

DJ: “Oh is this my script then my dear? How super! I say, there are rather a lot of references to “ninky nonks” again, and very few to the emperor. Are you sure that’s right my dear?”

Stage Hand: “Just say the lines, or we’ll send you back to that home right now. And we’ll tell the press what happened to that poor rent boy in the caravan in Eastbourne in 1972…”

DJ: “Oh yes, yes, of course dear boy, let’s not be hasty… A terrible accident, terrible…the blood…the faeces…It still haunts me to this very day”