PooterGeek is under massive and sustained blog spam assault so I am temporarily disabling comments and trackbacks while I look for a solution. Sorry, folks.
UPDATE: We’re back in action, people. Bad Behaviour solved the problem.
18May06 — 4
18May06 — 0
Monsieur Henry’s Holiday
An outer London suburb. THIERRY HENRY is behind the wheel of a tricked-out hatchback on his way back from his last training session. Early bebop is playing on the stereo. Despite his obvious tristesse, he is tapping a complex counter-rhythm on the steering wheel.
THIERRY pulls up at traffic lights and glances across at a woman in a convertible VW Beetle already waiting in the next lane.
She looks back over at him in shocked recognition, smiles, and adjusts her hair.
He manages a boyish grin in return.
She passes out in a dead faint.
The gerbera in the holder attached to her dashboard is scorched by the UV light reflected from his teeth and ignites.
The lights change and THIERRY pulls away, shaking his head wryly.
THIERRY [thinks]: Hmm. Zhat last flighted cross to Francesc: perhaps I could ‘ave applied a fraction more sidespin?
THIERRY continues driving to a supermarket.
There are no free parking spaces near the entrance, but he notices in his peripheral vision a young couple preparing to leave one and begins another lap of the car park, identifies a perfectly positioned puddle, stabs the accelerator and brake to skid through it, and then neatly fishtails into the slot.
A small boy approaches him as he leaves the car. THIERRY signs the back of boy’s dad’s chequebook, ruffles the lad’s hair and lopes into the shop, where he picks up a basket without breaking stride.
THIERRY approaches the fresh vegetables, looking for a cabbage. There is a selection of identically bloated factory-farmed Savoys.
THIERRY [turning to the middle-aged woman next to him] You deuhn’t get many of zhese to zhe kilo, eh?
The middle-aged woman looks down at her barely cardiganned embonpoint and flushes fiercely.
THIERRY proceeds to the checkout.
CHECKOUT MAN: The Savoy cabbages are Buy One Get One Free, sir.
THIERRY: D’ac. Ah’ll be back in a second.
He accelerates back down the aisle he arrived by, darts between two trollies steered shakily by old dears, slinks around a beautiful language student, guiding her out of the way with a touch to her buttocks so light that an industrial tribunal equipped with CCTV footage would be hard-pressed to confirm it had ever taken place, scoops another cabbage up into the air with his hand, tosses it over the shelves, races around the aisle, just in time to head it down to his left foot and volley it towards his place at the front of a queue.
GARY LINEKER has been lurking near the checkout for half-an-hour with a trolley full of Walkers™ Crisps™ six-packs. As the cabbage makes its final journey along a perfect arc towards THIERRY’s basket, LINEKER raises one leg and taps it in with the inside of his right foot, then carefully marks down his goal on a Fantasy Football™ scoresheet.
THIERRY [arriving back at the counter to frown at the smirking LINEKER]: Merci, “Golden Boots”.
THIERRY pays and leaves.
Just as he is about to pull away, a big silver Mercedes crunches into the side of his Renault.
THIERRY: Zut alors! Quelle tête du cul!
The driver of the Mercedes emerges. It is ARSÈNE WENGER.
THIERRY [leaning out of the window and pointing]: Jesus, boss! Leurk at what you have done to mah Clio!
ARSÈNE: Sorry, Titi. Ah deedn’t see it.
16May06 — 5
The Last Stand?
A blasted heath on the edge of a backlit forest. Low clouds of mist lap around a natural arena. A figure strides over a hillock into view. It is IAN MCKELLEN. He is wearing a very silly helmet and matching cape. He is in possession of a KNIGHTHOOD and an enormous cheque.
IAN MCKELLEN: Patrick! I know you’re in there. This isn’t a soliloquy, you know. I’ve come to kick some luvvie arse and it’s your surprisingly-toned-for-their-age buttocks I intend to apply my built-up supervillain boots to.
A motorized wheelchair lumbers into view. Its pilot has a shiny head. He is VERY SERIOUS INDEED. It is PATRICK STEWART. As he begins to declaim sonorously, the knicker elastic of every woman of a certain age within five miles resonates in sympathy with his vocal chords. He is in possession of an OBE and his cheque is so vast he is having to tow it behind him on an eighteen-wheel flatbed.
PATRICK STEWART: The time is upon us. The moment is arrived. The very meaning of what it is to be human will be decided on this day. At this hour.
IAN MCKELLEN: And where, pray tell, is your wolfie little companion?
A tall figure plunges out of a tree. He has hair so bad he should be a member of Supergrass. He is chewing on a cigar and snarling at the same time. He stiffens his shoulders and long metallic claws shoot out of his knuckles. The corks hanging from his broadbrimmed hat rattle gently in the night breeze. It is HUGH JACKMAN.
HUGH JACKMAN: What’s your beef, nancy boy?
IAN MCKELLEN: A-ha! The conspicuous homophobia of the closeted homosexual.
HUGH JACKMAN: I’m a straight as a border with South Australia, yer Pommie pooftah!
IAN MCKELLEN: You’re a male Sydney-sider with an over-developed upper body who wears make-up, sings show tunes, and dances on theatre stages. You’ve got a Tony Award™ for heaven’s sake. Trust your feelings, Hugh. Of course you’re gay!
HUGH JACKMAN: I’m as red-blooded as a dog dingo in heat, yer limp-wristed Limey! I’m married with kids.
IAN MCKELLEN: And your son’s called “Oscar”. And you’re wearing leather trousers over the age of 35. How much gayer could one possibly be? Join in with me, Hugh! [He begins to sing.]:
“There’s a bright golden haze on the meadow,
There’s a bright golden haze on the meadow,
The corn is as high as an elephant’s eye,
An’ it looks like it’s climbin’ clear up to the sky…”
HUGH JACKMAN: [resisting with every fibre of his being]
“…Oh… …what… a… beautiful mornin’,
Oh, what a… beautiful …day.
I got a beautiful feelin’…”
PATRICK STEWART: No, Hugh! Don’t slap your thigh! D-O-N-‘-T S-L-A-P Y-O-U-R T-H-I-G-H!
HUGH JACKMAN:
“…EV—“
[He slaps his thigh.]
“—‘ry…thing’s…”
AAAAARGH!
One set of HUGH JACKMAN’s prosthetic claws is sunk into the flesh of his own right leg.
IAN MCKELLEN: Come! Join our happy band, Hugh. We can patch up your leg—and those gay trousers—in a twinkling and show you the ways of thespian love.
PATRICK STEWART: Don’t listen to him, Hugh! It’s a trap. He doesn’t just want you to bat for the other side. He wants you to join his renegade mutants in their terrorist war on the rest of humanity.
IAN MCKELLEN turns on his platformed heels and marches away into the mist. HUGH JACKMAN pulls his claws out of his leg and hobbles slowly behind him. As they depart PATRICK STEWART buries his face in his hands.
PATRICK STEWART [VOICEOVER]: As I watched him leave, I knew that Hugh was driven by a force deeper and more powerful even than my voice.
Not love. Not destiny. Not instinct. Not even the search for a tourniquet. No. Hugh was under a spell cast upon all of us: Ian, Halle, Famke. This turn in his path was driven by the need for… a sequel.
15May06 — 12
More Advertising
Sorry for the thinness of posting and for the “online poker” comment spam at PooterGeek lately. I have been busy with wedding photography and other photography, attending my nephew’s (godson’s) christening, and catching up with friends—as well as this thing of course.
Thank you to PooterGeek readers who have been helping me get business (and helping me with the business) and sorry to everyone who’s waiting for a reply to an email or phone call.
Here are some snaps from my recent harvest to give you something to look at while I catch up with my correspondence. (No digital cameras, no Photoshop, no darkroom dodging or burning, and no experimental animals have been used in any of the following; what you see is what was cropped straight from the scanned negatives.) You can click on each image to view a bigger version, but remember if you are using Internet Explorer that it will try to scale the big images to fit your browser window. The results will be horribly blocky.
To get round this, once you’ve clicked through to the larger version, hover your mouse pointer over the photo and wait until a palette and a button appear. The button should be low down and far right on your screen and, when you click on it, the reduced scan will be restored to the resolution I uploaded (never larger than 1000 pixels per side).
This is a shot of a guest at my first Brighton wedding. Would you believe he’s a physics teacher? Would you further believe that the bride and groom were so pleased with my work for them that they spontaneously doubled my fee when they saw the prints I made?! This business is certainly different from science. I had indeed undercut the competition to get the job, but I was just grateful for their giving me a fingernail grip on the local market. Should I fear action from the EU competition authorities?
Buildings have been as interesting to me as a photographer as plants were to me when I was a biologist—that is, not very—but, if you offer to pay me to photograph your premises, like the manager of this fine Brighton restaurant did, then I can fake a Pevsnerian passion for architecture, a passion that will scale directly with the size of the invoice I send you afterwards.
This is Jo, inventor of Shouty Woman, getting ready for her wedding last week. She scrubs up nicely, doesn’t she?—she also has a PhD in molecular genetics and is editor of The Journal of Gene Medicine. There was a small crowd of single male Cambridge science nerds holding a tearful vigil outside the ceremony.
Here’s Jo’s lucky husband Mark with his arm around Jo’s brother Paul, host of the famous random product swaps, and Paul’s son Jun. Camera geeks, check that groovy Minolta bokeh giving the little angel a halo.
“Over there, Andrew Phillips, mandolin.” Andrew is a composer and producer currently working with my musical collaborator Richard on the soundtrack for a Channel 4 documentary and he is also musical director of…
…the Mike Rosenberg Band (Richard is the band’s new keyboard player.) The first photo shows Andrew playing with them at Brighton’s Joogleberry Playhouse; the one above shows the young singer-songwriter Mike Rosenberg himself at the same performance. You can catch the MRB at The Enterprise (Barfly Camden) on Tues 23May06 and at The Borderline on Mon 05Jun06.
So if you want to hire me to stalk you with a film camera…
…at your wedding…
…or other event—or you just want a stylish photo of your face, family, friends, gig, venue, or business then you know where to go to get in touch.
More proper PooterGeeking soon.
12May06 — 0
“THE END IS FAR”
Further to the ongoing debate in the comments here about street evangelism, Fark links to the anti-preachers.
11May06 — 9
Hotline
NIGELLA: But it’s my favourite dress!
POOTERGEEK: Never mind, it’s only mayonnaise. Look, let me help you with that zip.
NIGELLA: Goodness, your fingers are cold. Here, I’ll warm them for you.
POOTERGEEK: That’s very kind, but your hands are full. Hey, don’t turn round. I’d almost got that thing… Oh. I see. Gosh. It looks like my hands are full as well, now…
MOBILE PHONE: Did-ddeeee didi-didi! Did-ddeeee didi-didi!
POOTERGEEK: Wha?! Whurrgh. [waking up] Ahhh shit.
[PG flaps around in the dark looking for his Nokia, finds it, and looks at the clock.]
POOTERGEEK: Christ what kind of time is this to… [slapping forehead and taking call] Hello?
TRANSATLANTIC VOICE: Hi. Is that the Euston Manifesto?
POOTERGEEK: Yes, it is. How can I help you?
TRANSATLANTIC VOICE: Hi, I’m Ephraim Niedorf. I read about your manifesto on the BBC Website and I’m really excited about it.
POOTERGEEK: That’s great. Have you signed?
TRANSATLANTIC VOICE: Well, I agree with you on many issues, but I represent the Alliance for the Rescue of the Saskatchewan Elk and, as a lifelong elk conservationist, I couldn’t help noticing that your document takes no position on mankind’s decimation of wild deer populations.
POOTERGEEK: Well, ours is more of a general statement of principles than a comprehensive policy document.
TRANSATLANTIC VOICE: Do you know anyone suffering from heart disease?
POOTERGEEK: Er, yes, I suppose I do.
TRANSATLANTIC VOICE: And do you realise that it is very likely that they are being treated with clot-busting drugs first isolated from the pancreas of the Alashan wapiti?
POOTERGEEK: Well, no, but. Er. Oh God…
10May06 — 14
“Please Don’t Let Your Loved Ones Go To Hell”
No, not about the Euston Manifesto again, this is just some bog-standard fundamentalist religious craziness. You’ll need to have broadband and Macromedia Flash installed and you’ll probably have to lie—click in turn on “HIGH SPEED” and on “YES [I am a Christian]”—to enjoy the full glory of “The Way Of The Master“. It’s truly creepy, but least they aren’t blowing themselves up in restaurants full of poor people.
09May06 — 4
“The US Actions In Iraq Are The Same As In Vietnam”
“I will not sign it, because I strongly believe that an “overthrow of Baathist government” cannot be applauded on any level at all if it was not begun and wholly supported by the Iraqi people themselves. The US actions in Iraq are the same as in Vietnam, just on a smaller scale: racism; mass killing of innocent bystanders and feeding terrorism. This time, the US has sold off Iraq through massive contracts for oil and reconstruction to American businesses. In no way was this a revolt against imperialism: quite the opposite. If we tolerate this, why not Iran, Syria, Zimbabwe, North Korea, China, Russia, Cuba, the Ukraine, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Mongolia, the United States or any other corrupted government in the world, at the cost of hundreds of thousands of civilian lives?”
09May06 — 16
“As Disastrous For Humanity As Stalinism, Maoism, And Nazism”
“I am convinced that climate change will be just as disatrous for humanity as Stalinism, Maoism, and Nazism.I am also convinced that in a generation, the shame of our inaction on this issue will be comparable to the Left’s shame over communist ‘apologetics’, and European soul-searching over our inaction during the Holocaust.
Global warming is a ‘meta’ issue. It is likely to be a catalyst for many future conflicts, as different countries, groups and ideologies fight for control over scarce resources. Climate Change will emphasise the political divides we see delineated by the Euston Manifesto group. The group makes statements on particular issues (such as Iraq, and Israel/Palestine) so one on global warming, or rather, “a shared responsibility for the earth’s resources”, needs to be in there too. It is the elephant in the room, one that must be ejected before I will sign the manifesto.“
09May06 — 2
“A Dangerous Pro-Capitalist Tract”
“I have a long and tedious post in the works about The Euston Manifesto and just why it’s a dangerous pro-capitalist tract dressed up as a harmless load of wet western wank (to borrow a phrase from my erstwhile lecturer in political philosophy).”
09May06 — 5
“Adolf Hitler”
“The Euston Manifesto calls for nothing short of what happened in 1938 Germany. Placed back in that time, this piece of work would have called for support of the actions of Adolf Hitler.”
09May06 — 8
“Are We Right To Deny Other Societies This Learning Process?”
“Actually, on second thoughts, I can’t be arsed criticising any more of this “thing”… it’s simply too easy. There is, however, one aspect of the “manifesto” that ties in with another line of thinking that’s been troubling me… the intolerance of tyranny abroad. I’m the first to agree that there are many, many, dreadful things happening in the world at the moment. The natural reaction of most people is to want to end this suffering… but are we right to? There are two problems with this – first off, we’re assuming that our way of living and our moral standards are “correct”. How do we know this? Well, because we’ve suffered these things as a society. That is, each of the “advanced” societies have come through the most dreadful atrocities. Civil wars, international wars, genocide. Within living memory us Europeans were butchering each other by the million. After centuries of this conflict, we’ve, hopefully, realised that it’s futile and we live in peace with protected human rights. Are we right to deny other societies this learning process?
Just a few thoughts. I’m not convinced that, as a species, we’re really that far from the hunters that we were for thousands of years. Our grip on peace is, at best, tenuous – I’m not sure it’s something we’re yet capable of teaching to others. Unlike these fucking Euston Manifesto people – smug, self-important… I could go on. Actually, I have a pressing urge to use the word “cunt”.
Just for the record, I’m not saying that I want to see suffering and I’m not denying that it’s dreadful, I’m just questioning whether it’s avoidable.“
09May06 — 1
Striking Coincidence
Yesterday, as I waited for my new upstairs neighbour’s double-parked mother to move her car so that I could drive away from my flat, I noticed that her shiny Smart had a deep, long scratch in its paintwork, a deep, long scratch the height of which corresponded exactly with that of the stump of my recently broken wing-mirror. Given this correspondence and the frequency of her visits to her daughter, there’s a chance that both of our vehicles have been damaged by the same careless driver.
I thought I might have a chat with her about it, but when we met on the stairs she couldn’t stop to talk, complaining of a bad cold and disappearing before I could even comment on the weather. I hope she gets better soon.
08May06 — 6
Great Moments In English Legal History
Apple Computer has won a major legal battle today when a High Court judge in London ruled that the company had not breached a trademark agreement made 15 years ago with the Beatles’ Apple Corps.
…
The 1991 Trade Mark Agreement gave Apple Corps – owned by Sir Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and the widows of John Lennon and George Harrison – exclusive rights to use “apple” marks for the record business, argued Apple Corps.
But Lord Grabiner, QC, for Apple Computer, countered that “only a moron in a hurry” could confuse his client’s download system – which, he said, was basically transmitting data – with a record label.
…
During the hearing, counsel for Apple Corps demonstrated to Mr Justice Mann, himself an iPod owner, how to download from iTunes.
He chose the 1978 disco hit Le Freak by Chic which reverberated around the courtroom as he pointed out to the judge how many times the “apple” logo appeared on the website screen as he went through the procedure on the equipment set up in the courtroom.
04May06 — 0
Commercial Break
I’ve got a couple of photography engagements to do so I am going to be too busy to blog over the next couple of days. Normally I would post a joke here and leave you to talk amongst yourselves, but, sadly, as a result of the attention the Euston Manifesto has brought to this site, I’d return to find it covered in pages of witless graffiti written in bad English, so I’m going to shut down commenting temporarily. It’s a drag, I know, but if anyone out there also has no life and would like to apply for the job of PooterGeek’s Beautiful Assistant to save me from having to do this kind of thing in future then there’s an email a link just over on the right there where you can volunteer. Ciao, peeps!
04May06 — 1
Licensed Killer Fact
Given that there are a number of famous urban myths about UK TV teen quiz host Bob Holness in circulation, it’s surprising to discover that he really did play James Bond in 1956.
Here’s the trailer for the upcoming Casino Royale. Eric the Unread has a link to the French version, Royal Casino.
03May06 — 3
Gratuitous Nigella
03May06 — 8
The Wit And Wisdom Of Maisie B.
My niece Maisie is cute, but she’s only three-and-a-bit years old so she still has plenty to learn about the World. This week, presented with a beach ball, she declared:
“I saw India on a ball like that. It’s where elephants and peacocks live and it’s a triangle.”
On seeing a black woman at the swimming baths she asked her mum, my sister:
“Why is that woman covered in chocolate?”
This is Maisie with her grandmother, whom she sees a lot of
—though perhaps not in the same way as she saw a lot of the woman at the swimming baths. When grandma’s colour was subsequently drawn to her attention Maisie countered that my mum is “only a bit chocolate”. Extending her theory, Maisie decided that this meant that she was herself made of “white chocolate”. The girl’s future career as a chartered diversity consultant is already in jeopardy.
[Standard disclaimer: the chintzy decor in the background of the photograph above is nothing to do with my sister or brother-in-law’s taste in interiors at all; it came with the house and they haven’t got round to replacing it yet.]
02May06 — 2
Who?!
In an ad in Sound On Sound, Pete Townshend is quoted as saying:
“I’m a huge fan of Ivory. It amazes me every time I use it.”
Ivory is, according to the reviews I’ve read, superb software for obtaining grand piano sounds that are indistinguishable from the real thing (they are the real thing), but is it wise to promote it by featuring an endorsement from a deaf guitarist?
[If anyone from Synthogy has noticed the hits coming their way from PooterGeek and is reading this, I’d love a copy of the VST version.]
02May06 — 1
Yah!
A while back I linked to Saturday Night Live‘s excellent “Narnia Rap”, Lazy Sunday. Via An Englishman In New York, I have now experienced Britain’s response to this online hit: Lazy Sunday UK: We Drink Tea. [Requires Macromedia Flash Player.]
Unlike the US original, the rapping is painfully inept, but I think that’s the point. It also features gratuituous swearing, a reference to Snakes On A Plane, and was filmed on a dull wet day in Cambridge. How could I resist?
02May06 — 8
Censorship Watch
Checking the PooterGeek comments that I have blocked in the moderation queue this morning, I note that, for the first time, the number expressing hatred of blacks is exactly matched by the number expressing hatred of Jews. Which is nice.
01May06 — 0
A Favour For A Friend
This is a very odd post, an experimental post even. Paulie of Never Trust A Hippy wants to help Barnet Football Club with an online tactical voting campaign. Here’s the science part.
30Apr06 — 6
“I Slept With John Prescott And All I Got Was This Lousy £100K.”
Plastered across the front of the Observer this morning I read:
Woman starts affair with prominent married politician and gets screwed over. As a story it’s up there with “DOG BITES CHEWY PLASTIC BONE!” but the punters never tire of it.
There’s a reason why men like John Prescott behave badly: women like Tracey Temple reward their bad behaviour. Incentives matter—as I am sure Max Clifford has been explaining on Tracey’s behalf to a number of newspaper editors these past few days.
29Apr06 — 3
Keith Richards “Out Of Tree” Shocker!
But how did he get up there in the first place?
[Bonus school-of-journalism marks go to the BBC staffer writing the article for referring to the Rolling Stones as “the famous British band”.]
29Apr06 — 9
A Day In The Life
I’m in a bookshop on the Charing Cross Road. I’ve just come from lunch with an editor at The Economist(, dahling). My mobile rings. it’s the other person from the newspaper I was supposed to meet earlier. She’d been stuck in the City, talking to men-in-suits. I move to the back of the shop and chat with her about the Euston Manifesto, but in my excitement I am unable to keep my voice down. I turn into A Complete Wanker With A BlackBerry On The Train.
I finish the call and, as I walk past the counter, the woman behind the desk says, “I’m sorry I overheard your conversation, but I was wondering if you could tell me more about your manifesto.”
I do.
She asks my why the American and British media are so interested. Winging it, I suggest, “Maybe it’s because, over there, the Democrats are still looking for some kind of coherence and, here, because people have a perception that the Blair era is coming to an end.”
A man behind me joins in: “Hah! Just a perception?!”
The discussion continues. I scribble the manifesto URL on the back of a business card and hand it to her. [Note to self: get Euston Manifesto business cards made.]
Then she rings my books through the till: Julian Fellowes’ Snobs, Ronald Bergan’s biography of The Coen Brothers, and, er, Melissa P.’s One Hundred Strokes Of The Brush Before Bed.
I do some shopping, meet up with a friend, drink lots, and take the train home.
The next day, as I sit at my computer re-reading a piece supporting the manifesto in the American Spectator, my dad phones. He’s seen the article about the manifesto in the Guardian, the one with the photo of the pub where we met. We agree that things have become just a little bit strange. I put the phone down and soon my mobile bleeps. It’s a txt from my friend from yesterday evening telling me there’s a discussion about the manifesto going on on Radio 4. I turn on the radio and listen.
After the phone conversation, I am summoned by a red glow to my secret communications screen. As I kneel before it, the shining reptilian eyes and green lizardoid features of the Emperor Norm appear, half-shrouded under his cowl of office. I address this eerie holographic presence, “Master?”
“Darth Pooter. You have served me well: Clarke, Prescott, Hewitt, and now the drugs have been found in Dr Reid’s house—not enough to cause him damage, but enough to let Them know that we can insinuate ourselves into their innermost sanctuaries. We move a step closer towards overthrowing the regime of the Old Republic. Muah-ha ha-ha-ha ha-ha ha!”
“Muah-ha ha ha ha-ha-ha ha-ha!”
“Muah-ha ha ha ha-ha-ha ha-ha ha-ha-ha ha-ha ha!”
“MUAH-HA HA-HA-HA HA-HA HA-HA HA-HA-HA!”
27Apr06 — 12
We Remain, However, Firmly Opposed To Incest
“Looking very relaxed, Adolf Hitler on vibes.”
They said we were in trouble when Bill Kristol and Michelle Malkin gave their support for the Euston Manifesto. But now we have a morris dancer on the books.
27Apr06 — 7
Live-In Doll
The growing demand for shock-horror “true-life” stories has, apparently, now raised the going rate for a non-celebrity, sub-tabloid confessional to £10K. [Sorry I’ve lost the link for this factoid, but it’s more plausible than most of the headlines I’ve circled in the photograph above.]
I suspect that the following from Marie Claire is about as true as those “I Found My Dead Husband’s Testicles In His Ex-Mistress’s Freezer” tales, but this is too juicy to ignore:
THE MEN WHO HAVE SEX WITH DOLLS
She’s ‘perfect’ and agrees to whatever her man desires. The only thing is, she’s plastic. We expose the disturbing phenomenon of men who reject real women in favour of silicone.
Sidore is as real to me as a human woman,’ explains Davecat, right, 28, a lab technician from Detroit in the US, as he gazes lovingly at the slim, raven-haired creature beside him. ‘I imagine most people think anyone who loves dolls is a pervert, but I feel normal,’ he says. ‘And with my silicone girlfriend, I’m part of a couple who are infinitely healthier and happier than most couples.’
Davecat paid over £4,000 for his perfect woman, Sidore, an eerily lifelike silicone doll with silky hair, manicured nails and breasts that jiggle realistically. Rather than rely on fate to lead him to his life partner, Davecat had his spouse custom-made by American manufacturer RealDolls, set up by Matt McMullen ten years ago to meet the growing demand for realistic sex dolls.
Of course, just like the other man in the article who spent his redundancy money on his “companion”, I’ve ordered one for myself, but I keep getting messages from the RealDolls company telling me they can’t make the delivery dates we’ve arranged.
25Apr06 — 1
The Curse Of Worstall
Tim Worstall is not Charles Clarke’s best friend, so it is a chilling reminder of the growing power of the blog that at exactly the same time as the normally relentless ex-pat blogger decides to “take a trip to Blighty“, the Home Secretary finds himself in a little bit of bother:
Clarke insists: ‘I will not quit’
Home Secretary Charles Clarke says he will not resign after 1,023 foreign prisoners were freed without being considered for deportation.
He said he does not know where most of the offenders, who include three murderers and nine rapists, are.
He admits that a growth in foreign prisoners had led to the Home Office taking its “eye off the ball”.
The Lib Dems accused ministers of incompetence. The Tories are demanding Mr Clarke answer to Parliament.
25Apr06 — 23
I Read Baudrillard, So I Must Be, Like, Rilly Rilly Clever!
Like a teenager in Starbucks with a Penguin Kafka sticking out of her carefully distressed jacket pocket, someone calling herself “thapunkprincess” flashes her reading list and then attempts to strike a subversive blow against the Eustonian hegemony by inventing a fake signature for the manifesto:
One more thing before I go. Various internet ‘commentators’ have mentioned recently the Euston Manifesto as the latest po-faced weapon in the hapless Left’s arsenal, nestling alongside Decent Values, Muscular Liberalism, and of course the delightful Nicholas Cohen. Anybody can sign it, and I advise that you all do so in order to counter idiotic signatories like the one below (which I wrote, obv).
‘I have signed the Euston manifesto because it appears a solid restatement of the Enlightenment values that should continue to inform the Left, yet have been lost in a world of cultural relativism and apologists for terror. Rationalism, universal human rights, and social progress are our bedrock and must be defended at all costs even if these “unfashionable” ideas are not easily exported to the wider world and indeed to our fellow “postmodern” citizens – Piers Grady-Harford’
We’re slightly less “hapless” than you are, love. Did you seriously believe any dissent against our prevailing world view would escape our vast network of Jew lizardoid spies?
I love the “serious” comment her post has attracted; it’s certainly funnier than the princess’s weak parody:
“[T]he full-scale imposition of ‘Enlightenment values’ is a form of cultural fascism”
You won’t be surprised to read, browsing the rest of her site, that thapunkprincess is doing a Masters in Critical Theory but has “fallen a long way behind with all her work”, that “freedom of speech is a myth”, and that she’s so wild and crazy that she smokes Marlboros and uses the word “cunt” a lot—for example when discussing Nick Cohen.
Students, eh? If I weren’t so po-faced I’d write mocking a blogpost.
24Apr06 — 4
Normal Service Resumed
UPDATE: Now we’re really, really back.
UPDATE: Nah, we’re off the Net again.
We apologise for the recent interruption on our journey to World Domination. The online conspiracy of the Jewish-American Neo-Con Revolutionary Communist Cardigan-Wearing People’s Army That Really Really Isn’t Worth A Moment Of Anyone’s Time At All But Here’s My Fifth Blogpost Railing Against Them Since I Returned To Mummy’s House From My Class On Derrida is back and in full effect.
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