Disordered Thoughts and Curmudgeonly Ramblings
For crying out loud!
That bastion of high quality journalism Today Tonight is running a story about “Gypsies and the suburbs where they’ve set up to STEAL!“.
What is this? The 1920’s?
(next week they’ll probably be telling us about the yellow peril)
Nyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyannyan
Nyan Cat + Slipknot = Win!
Seriously, not safe for work. Seriously.
I’m having some computer problems at the moment, so may be offline while my box goes into the shop. In the meantime this may prove amusing.
Back in the 70’s a teenager named John Trubee was going nuts working a low paid job in a convenience store. To alleviate the boredom he started reading National Enquirer style tabloids, and one day noticed an ad in the back of one of them that promised he could earn big bucks and fame as a songwriter – all he had to do was write some lyrics and send them to the provided address in Nashville. If his song was judged good enough it would be recorded by their professional studio and he’d be on his way!
Not being an idiot, John recognised this as a scam. Any lyrics submitted would be accepted as long as the writer was willing to provide a wad of cash to cover recording fees. Nonetheless he decided to funnel some of his rage and frustration at his brain-dead job into a set of nonsensical (and rather obscene) lyrics which he sent off with the expectation of getting a letter back saying something like “What the hell is wrong with you!?”
He didn’t get this letter. No – he got a letter saying they thought his lyrics had real merit and for only $79.99 they’d record them!
Now $80 was a lot for the 70’s but John couldn’t control his morbid curiosity and scraped together the cash and sent it off. A few weeks later he received a vinyl of his song. His nonsensical (and rather obscene) lyrics drawled over a lacklustre country backing by someone sounding a little like Johnny Cash. And happily for lovers of bizarre and gonzo music it survives to this day.
Now, before I link in the song (if that’s indeed what you can call it), I’d like to repeat that is seriously not safe for work or scrupulous personalities. To get this point across, I shall repeat the lyrics – edited to remove the parts unsuitable for children, ladies, or those of sensitive dispositions…
……….. last night …..,
My mind was beautiful, and I was free,
………………………………………………,
…………………,
Yeah yeah yeah,
CHORUS:
……………………………………………………..,
……………………………………………………..,
………….. under the stars ……………………….,
……………………………………………………….,
…………………,
Yeah yeah yeah,
The zebra …………………………….,
And the gelatin ……………………………,
………………………..,
……………………………………………..,
CHORUS:
……………………………………………………..,
……………………………………………………..,
So, forewarned and forearmed, here it is….
Enjoy!
Oh those Russians!
Disco songs about notorious historical figures? Say no more!
End of Chapter One
Well, they got him.
I don’t know that it’ll solve anything, but I suppose it’s justice – of a sort.
I won’t celebrate anyone’s death. I’ll just acknowledge the end of one chapter and worry about the start of the next.
I heard that was you…
Saw two movies yesterday. Well, one and maybe a third of another.
After about a month’s break due to Fabes’s commitments regarding the Dockers and his son we got back to work on the infamous 40k boards again. They are now all sealed, and one has had the magnets installed (they’re actually looking really good now). As is usually the case whenever we get together to work on a project however we realised halfway through that we’d shot ourselves in the feet – installing the magnets on the boards has to be done sequentially and it takes about 24 hours for the araldite we’re using to fix them to cure. Result – an entire afternoon with nothing to do but watch glue dry.
So we put on the TV instead and mercilessly mocked whatever we came across as we channel surfed. We eventually stumbled onto 1972’s What’s Up Doc? and ended up seeing some quite large chunks of it.
The bits we saw weren’t bad. I mean, they weren’t fantastically amusing, but they were OK for a slow Saturday afternoon. And it’s downright startling to realise that back in the day Barbara Streisand was pretty damn cute.
Anyway, eventually I got home, watched the new episode of Dr Who (my opinion on it is in a holding pattern until part two airs next week), then settled down to watch Juno – a film that I thought I’d like back when it came out, but never got around to seeing.
As it turns out I was right, it was a lot of fun (for some reason Ellen Page pretending to be a Kraken is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen). And it didn’t feel at all preachy – any movie about teen pregnancy runs the risk of turning into some kind of after school special but to me Juno managed just to be a bunch of stuff that happens without any kind of big moral or message. Good, fun, quirky entertainment with characters that you can care about. And krakens.
In my own life my kitchen is now startlingly clean and organised. This is good because I’ve been fighting a bit of a war with cockroaches for a while and it looks like I’ve broken the back of their offensive. Either that or the roach bombs I’ve put up on the window-sill in preparation for fumigating the entire apartment have scared them off. Today I’m starting on the bathroom, which will be a whole world of fun, but at least won’t take as long as the kitchen did.
(Note to cold climate dwelling foreigners who may be reeling in disgust at my arthropod related revelations. In a sub-tropical climate cockroaches are always present. In cold and temperate zones having roaches may be a sign of complete hygienic depravity, but in these warmer parts of the world it’s not a matter of having no cockroaches, it’s a matter of knowing they’re around but keeping numbers down so you only see them when the weather goes all pre-Cambrian and they think they’re running the planet again and can go roaming with impunity. So having a roach problem doesn’t mean I’ve turned into a ragged-haired, garbage-hoarding, slum dweller, it just means I haven’t done the washing up as often as I should :))
Well, back to it.
HOW DO I GET OFF THE BUS!?!?
I haven’t done one of these in a while…
The other day I was searching for the lyrics to bizzaro masterpiece Buffalo by Stump. Unable to locate them anywhere online I decided I should have a go at transcribing them myself.
Such a task is not exactly easy. The words make little sense, and the last third of the song is a mishmash of sped up, slowed down, distorted and overlayed speech of which only some phrases are actually comprehensible. Nonetheless, I persevered and present the results below.
(It helps to understand the song if one is aware that it’s a critique of idiotic American tourists wandering around London)
BUFFALO – by Stump
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
It’s blubbery, Burberry baby!
It’s blubbery, Burberry!
Big! Bop! Be-bop! Be-bop-be!
Boppa-loola!
Big! Bop! Be-bop! Be-bop-be!
Boppa-loola!
In terrylene tartan lady!
In terrylene tartan lady!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
How much is the fish? How much is the fish?
How much is the chips? Does the fish have chips?
HOW MUCH IS THE FISH!? HOW MUCH IS THE CHIPS!?
HOW MUCH IS THE FISH!? DOES THE FISH HAVE CHIPS!?
I don’t want a drink but I’ll go to the bar,
I’d go for a walk but I ain’t got a car,
Exclamation mark kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick kick,
Exclamation mark ex-exclamation mark kick kick kick kick kick kick kick,
I like when it’s different but it’s just not the same,
(I like when it’s different but it’s just not the same)
The weather is perfect except for the rain,
(The weather is perfect except for the rain)
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Immaculate molars baby!
Immaculate molars baby!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
Big! Bottom swing! Big bottom! Swinga-linga!
How much is the fish?
How much is the fish?
Don’t mention hamburgers Harry!
And for god’s sake don’t (phase?)
I forgot the toothpaste!
Waiter! Waiter!
(Incomprehensible)
I forgot the toothpaste!
I forgot the toothpaste!
Waiter!
(Incomprehensible)
What’dya mean I have to queue?
I packed your suitcase Marilyn!
Look! There’s a Libyan!
(Incomprehensible)
How much is the fish?
How much is the fish?
How much is the fish?
How do I get off the bus?
How do I get off the bus?
Don’t mention hamburgers Harry!
Is that the Queen’s house?
I’ll have some bitters please!
(Incomprehensible)
Don’t mention hamburgers Harry!
I’ve forgotten the toothpaste!
Waiter! Waiter! Waiter!
HOW DO I GET OFF THE BUS!?!?
I’d have called it a Chuzwozza!
I am, by default, a Monarchist.
What I mean by this is that I’m not a Republican. I’ve never really seen the point in Australia going through all the hassle and expense of dumping the monarchy when they don’t cost us that much, and don’t really do anything to us. I mean, sure, the Queen could mess with our laws and such, but she’s far too smart, and hence doesn’t. I can vaguely appreciate the points made about our head of state being a foreigner, but then issues of nationality and patriotism and such have always seemed slightly suspicious to me – I’ve always instinctively felt that patriotism is but one step from nationalism, and nationalism one step from fascism. Put me down with H.G.Wells – my true nationality is mankind.
So I’m a de-facto Monarchist.
Which is not to say I have any great affection for the Windsors. If the majority of Australians want to kick them to the curb and have a Republic, I have no objections whatsoever. That’s democracy. And it’s going to happen, probably within the next 20 years when all the die hard Monarchists (ie: the Elderly) die off and the die hard Republicans (ie: the Young) take over. It’s inevitable, and is known as progress. On the day the papers are signed and the Australian Monarchy abolished – well I won’t be out there in the crowd cheering, but neither will I be in the crowd booing and hissing. I’ll just be watching the whole hoo-haa on TV, thinking “what a waste of time”, and probably eating a sandwich.
So, my reaction to the Royal Wedding has mostly been one of wishing they’d just get it over with so the TV schedule can get back to normal. Or at least that was the case until the Chaser scandal.
The story in a nutshell. The Australian national broadcaster – the ABC – has purchased two live feeds of the wedding from the BBC. One with commentary by some BBC bigwig, the other without commentary. The commentated feed will be shown on ABC 1, while the uncommentated feed was going to be shown on ABC 2 with local commentary by comedy troupe the Chaser. Was is the operative word as as soon as Clarence House heard about it they whipped off a communiqué to the ABC saying that if the Chaser broadcast wasn’t cancelled, then both feeds would be cut, and the ABC wouldn’t get to show the wedding at all.
This violates what I consider to be one of the most important functions of the Australian Monarchy – leaving us alone to do our own thing. If the monarchy is suddenly going to start interfering in Australian domestic affairs and – even worse – inflicting censorship, then as far as I’m concerned they can go do physically implausible things to themselves. Mocking our (supposed) social superiors is part of the Australian identity, and if the monarchy isn’t willing to go along with that then they no longer represent who we are as a people, and are as redundant as the most rabid Republican claims they are.
So, basically, what I want to say is Queen Elizabeth, if this kind of thing continues you’ve lost my vote!
For Tanith! For Verghast! For cold and flu relief!
In the next Gaunt’s Ghosts novel Dan Abnett should have the Ghosts face a Chaos cult called the Histi.
That way they could fight them with anti-Histi-mines!
(Yes, yes, I’ll go drive over my head with a chimera now…)
I could leave my room, my cocoon, find the door and walk out to the sun
Well, after a couple of months of extreme stress at work, egg-induced illness over the weekend, the general hurly-burly of Easter and the circadian disruption of getting up insanely early for the ANZAC dawn service yesterday, I’m actually starting to feel human again. By this time tomorrow I might actually be up to doing useful things, rather than creeping around muttering “things, things, yes, we must do things, so many things to do” like Gollum ;D
In the meantime here are a couple of fantastic mini documentaries I’ve been meaning to promote for ages. They’re both about the urban development of London and – no! Wait! Don’t leave! They’re very entertaining! Honest!
If you doubt my recomendation (and if so, what the hell is your problem? ;)) just watch the second one, which is more polished and contains a good deal more surrealism. But honestly, you should watch them both, ideally in order.
Enjoy!
