Except they’re not. Not really. Granted, I really dislike Cher, but Rebecca is clearly a pretty solid vocalist. And whilst Matt’s particular brand of whiny renditions of female pop covers isn’t exactly my cup of tea, he’s clearly just as worthy of a place in the charts as Willow f**king Smith’s god-awful tripe.

Because that is what this comes down to: if you hate The X Factor, it’s probably not really aimed at your demographic. The trouble arises in that cynical, jaded 16-65 males don’t buy pop songs, but everyone else does. There are near endless 16-year-old girls who love The Black Eye Peas and can’t wait to spend their pocket money on Cher’s single, just as there are mums everywhere that will definitely be listening to Matt’s album whilst making the tea, and loving every pedestrian minute of it.

Constant noise...

Just to retain a bit of credibility, here’s a link to my Last.fm profile. That’s right, I listen, on average, to 27 tracks a day. I’m pretty confident that is more than you, or at least sufficient to convince you that I ‘like’ music. Browse through the library, and you’ll see there’s only about 2% of it that is ever likely to bother the Top 40. So, not only do I listen to more music than most people, but it’s less commercial. Most of it is by no means obscure, but it’s certainly not the sort of albums Tesco are going to be stocking as loss-leaders.

I mention all of this because this year, for the first time ever, I watched X Factor most weeks, and sat on Facebook and Twitter and bitched about it, or discussed what I liked, or sniped about what I could do better. And for the most part, I had a really good time. It’s an excellent social activity. TV is mostly a passive experience, but this allowed communication and participation, without Simon Cowell (remember, he is the devil) profiting from my phone bill. The X Factor, whether we like it or not, is now a cultural touchstone. We can fight it all we like, but even without watching it last year, I know who JLS are. I’ve seen their branded condoms in Superdrug. I would almost certainly never buy a Leona Lewis album, but ‘Bleeding Love’ is a beautiful pop song, and she is a very, very talented singer. So instead of being a pretentious prick and sneering at it and those to enjoy it, just realise it’s not really for you, and it’s not going to hurt you. I prefer Biffy’s original too, but if it introduces a new audience to them or makes them a fortune in royalties, which it is now certain to do, we’re all winners.

So just relax. Calm the online petitions and ‘alternative Xmas number 1′ campaigns, cos SiCo will almost certainly profit from it all regardless.

To play us out:

Instead, some clutter from the last few weeks in an attempt to get the blog back on course!

I went to Brighton on Sunday with friends, and we went on The Super Booster at the end of the Pier.

It was wicked. The first drop is eye-wateringly fast. Tremendous.

I went to watch Harry Potter And The Deathly Slow Setup Part 1 on Tuesday night. It’s OK, but nothing really happens, it’s just 2 and a half hours of character moments and exposition. Suppose that is the structure of the book and a bit unavoidable, but it is a lot of sitting about in forests and tents, getting angsty. The only real progress was when Harry got to zip up Ginny’s dress before the wedding, revealing she wasn’t even wearing a bra! That little Weasley slut! Potter really is experiencing the whole spectrum, from weepy Asians to slutty redheads. Magic.

Yeah, Potter! The Boy Who Lived for the young teen ass of his best mates's sister, am I right?!

At least we know it all kicks off in the next film. Cannot wait for a bit of Hogwarts carnage.

On the TV front, things are looking very promising. Community, Modern Family and Chuck are in great form. HIMYM has had a couple of excellent weeks, and looks to be trying to re-discover its old heart. 30 Rock has suddenly re-found its funny as well. Anyone not watching The Walking Dead should be ashamed of themselves. It is badass Zombie carnage and if you don’t like that, we probably can’t be friends. The only other big recommendation I have is get ‘An Idiot Abroad’ on DVD if you didn’t see it on Sky1 – Amazon. The whole thing is fantastic, but the round-up episode is screaming hilarity. As always, Karl works best when Ricky and Steve are alongside, their incredulity and goading makes the whole endeavour so much more entertaining. Think my next post will probably be about Gervais et al, because I got the ‘Science’ DVD yesterday as well (Amazon), and have a few things on my mind about it.

BRAAAAAINS!! Obviously.

Either way, hopefully I’ll start updating a bit more often. I really am a lazy urchin.

Once, the UGC Cinema chain had a promotional deal with McDonald’s, where each cinema ticket allowed you Buy One Get One Free on Big Macs and Chicken McSandwiches. Being sensible 20-somethings, we saved up a month’s worth of tickets, and used them all at once. I ate 22 Chicken McSandwiches before vomiting uncontrollably in my friend’s outside wheelie bin.

At this stage, I should point out I know how utterly reprehensible these actions are, with millions starving in the world. On the other hand, they don’t have a monthly UGC pass or a McDonald’s near their house, and the attention span of a goldfish.

The ultimate in stupid eating competitions, however, was arrived at during a lovely summer’s day at the seaside town of St Andrews. After a delicious lunch comprising of Subway sandwiches, childish bravado turned to betting on ‘The Subway Challenge’.

The concept of ‘The Subway Challenge’ is straight-forward, and can be best encapsulated in one of my more foolish boasts:

I bet I can eat my own height in Subway sandwiches.

In normal society, this sort of reckless stupidity would be disregarded as the mutterings of a fool. In that day’s particular circle, the reply immediately came back: “Fuck off!”

This quickly led to rules being decided, and stipulations being placed. My ‘friends’ would each throw in cash to purchase Subway sandwiches, which I would then have to eat.

Rules:

Finish to the nearest half-foot Sub over your own height.
- The average height of males is roughly between 5½ and 6 foot, therefore requiring you to finish 6 entire foot-long Subs. If you’re over six foot: unlucky, you just earned yourself another half-foot. It’s very unlikely some freak over 6.5″ would manage 7 foot-long Subs; it would probably make me cry.

Subs must have ‘proper fillings’.
- Finishing the Challenge by scoffing paltry salad Subs just makes you look foolish.

Witnesses should be present and documentary evidence should be collected.
- This is as much for proof of success as it is to capture the almost inevitable failure. Munching enough food to feed a family for two days then throwing up on your own would be like crucifying Christ behind closed doors.

No breaks.
- This is the killer, but it’s necessary to ensure a fair challenge. Sitting holding your Sub is fine, as long as a reasonably steady pace is maintained. More than a couple of minutes between mouthfuls is just pathetic.

The Challenge Begins…

Rules established, we wandered back along to Subway, and proceeded to order another 5 footlong Subs, my initial Meatball Marinara having counted towards my first foot. My second would be a Chicken Teriyaki, my third would be a delicious Subway Club, my fourth a Subway Melt, my fifth Tuna Mayonnaise and I’d finish off with a simple Ham Sub. Magic.

Focus. It's a marathon, not a sprint.

Outside on Market Street, I sat down on a bench and got underway. Sub 2 was pretty yummy, and went down pretty easily. It really was a lovely day. The patrons of St Andrews flit from one antique shop to another, unaware of the great undertaking happening mere metres from them. Sub 3 was the hard yards, just a grind to find my pace, and keep chewing. The jaw begins to ache a bit, saliva becomes an issue, your delicious Sprite strategy comes into play as you try to keep moist but not fill up on fizzy juice. I decided a walk whilst continuing would help with consumption.

Look at me. That is the pose of a champion.

With Sub 3 behind me, the half way mark had been passed, and slowly confidence began to creep back in. This was doable. This would be an heroic achievement. This would rival Hillary’s ascent of Everest. Epic poems would be sung of the day AJ dominated the Subway monster. Sub 4 passed comfortably as we wandered through a small square next to a church. I posed for another photo as I stared off into the distance, confident of my victory. I was winning.

Take me, sweet Poseidon...

This arrogance unravelled quickly as I discovered my greatest foe was lying in wait: tuna mayonnaise. I like tuna mayonnaise. It is a delicious filler. I would like to state I could eat tuna all day. In fact, I had, whilst queueing for my subs. I had literally uttered the words “I could eat tuna all day”. Tuna mayo held no fear for me. This was my crucial mistake. After 4 foot worth of sandwich, eggy, oily fish is the thing of nightmares. It was horrific. My pace slowed to a crawl, each mouthful a wave of fishy pain I struggled to crest. We got back to the car, and drove out the the East Sands whilst I contemplated the error of my ways, constantly masticating on my folly. I sat on the seafront, staring out to the briny horizon, cursing tuna and the sea from whence it came. It was drowning me, slowly dragging me under in a battle I could no longer win. With 4 inches left of my 5th Subway, I threw in the towel, shamed and beaten.

Guardbridge: My Waterloo

With heavy heart and my friends’ gloating ringing in my ears, I trudged back to the car. The final untouched Sub sat there, pristinely wrapped, mocking me and my efforts. We left St Andrews, the slow winding roads putting my loss behind me. But my stomach had tasted defeat, and didn’t care for it one bit. My mouth filled with saliva, like a shot of whiskey that failed to stay down. “I’m going to be sick”, I gasped as we entered Guardbridge, a small village just north of St Andrews, “Pull over”. I paced across the car park, trying to settle my belly, taking deep breaths, focussing on the lovely bushes. Nope, this was happening. I spewed slimy bread and meat into the shubbery as my friends roared with hilarity from the car. I had been vanquished.

Now, It’s Your Turn!

Just because I’m a massive failure, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t reach for glory. The challenge still stands. If you think you’re up for it, a few words of advice:

Avoid Tuna Mayo Subs – I like tuna, but trying to eat an entire sub, heaped with eggy fish when you’re already struggling will wreck you, pick your pockets and leave you shame-faced, hurling into the local flora. Seriously, trying to maintain a steady chewing pace with tuna mayo will make chewing seaweed seem like a dizzy fantasy if you’re fool-hardy enough to attempt it.

Avoid Other Snacks Beforehand – As with any competitive eating, enjoying a Kit-Kat Chunky as a warm-up is folly. A McChicken Sandwich might offset a large Domino’s pizza nicely, but additional snacks, especially extra sandwiches of any type, will leave you feeling donkey-punched.

If you do manage the challenge, please post pics and your story. It’d be brilliant to not feel like the only person who is a complete clownshoe.

Have fun!!

About a year ago, a friend got a new pair of Nike 6.0s, and I became a bit obsessed with them. I’d check various shoe shops in town for them whenever I passed, briefly scanning the shelves, gradually knowing instinctively where they’d be if they were in stock. Could I find them? Could I chuff. I managed to find them on the Nike website, but there was no ‘buy’ option. I gave up.

I bought a new pair of Airwalks the other day, and started thinking about those Nikes. I searched about online trying to find them again. By now, they no longer exist on the website, and I resorted to searching through fashion forums for shoe threads, hoping some trainer-conscious person had also taken a shine to them. Eventually I found a photo of them, when I’d almost convinced myself that they were a figment of my imagination.

No. Seriously. Look at them.

Then it struck me: if they are now out of range, where are they guaranteed to be?! eBay!! Why had I not thought of it sooner?! There were 4(!) pairs on UK eBay! None were ‘Buy It Now’, but one had a day to go… And I won them! I am ridiculously happy and cannot wait for them to arrive.

I’m now searching online for “Shoe Addicts Anonymous”, and bidding on eBay for a new pair of testicles…

First up, my favourite new show of last season: ‘Community’. As my love of ‘HIMYM’ and ‘Chuck’ should have established, I’m a sucker for smart shows with pop-culture references. And boy, does ‘Community’ deliver in spades. Sharp, rapid-fire dialogue, an entire character whose main purpose is meta-commentary and self-referential asides, and entire episodes devoted to genres (last season’s ‘Modern Warfare’ dripped with action film nods and style, and was all the stronger for it). The second season fires out of the blocks by acknowledging the TV trope of dealing with the ramifications of cliffhangers and how series need to return to the status quo as quickly as possible. Jeff Winger, the main protagonist, ended the last season having walked away from his initial love interest, Britta, after she declared she loved him, and instead found himself smooching the young and impressionable Annie (Alison Brie, whom I used to loathe on Mad Men, but now cherish as a character on that show purely through osmosis of being terrific in this one). Yet whilst all this knowing winking is brilliant for the deconstructionist in me, it’s also hilarious, and provides the most laughs per episode of all the programmes I watch regularly. Last night’s highlight from Jeff:

Since you have clearly failed to grasp the central insipid metaphor of those Twilight books you devour, let me explain it to you: Men are monsters who crave young flesh. The end.

Also, Ken Jeong’s character Ben Chang shouts “Gay!” when Jeff starts discussing respect, and the episode ends with Abed and Troy rapping and singing Toto’s Africa with Betty White. That’s as much as I dare to ask from TV…

From a show that I loved, to a show that ‘Community’ parodied and ridiculed before it had even aired, and which I’ll watch maybe one more episode to give it a chance before dumping, ‘Shit My Dad Says’. In case you’re new to the internets, ‘Shit My Dad Says’ was a Twitter feed (here) where a guy in his late 20s catalogued the usually outrageous, offensive and generally hilarious things his 74-year-old father says. This led to a book, and now a TV show with William Shatner playing the eponymous ‘Dad’. The problems with this show are almost countless, unfortunately. Firstly, it’s impossible to have a primetime TV show with the original title, so it’s advertised as ‘$#*! My Dad Says’, just an awful, awful title, and this nods at the major issue: primetime TV is safe, panders to the majority, and can’t be outrageous or profane, which was definitely furtive hunting ground for the Twitter feed. An example from the feed:

“What are you listening to?…I know who Hall & Oates are god dammit. It’s the mustache guy and the gay man.”

Now, on the internet, that is ironic and funny enough to get you 1.7m Twitter followers. On TV, it’s probably just homophobic enough to get you a massive lawsuit. Which brings us to William Shatner. Like Betty White, Twitter, bacon and shocked-looking cats, the internet loves The Shat. He was Captain James T. Kirk! But William Shatner also knows what and who he is, and he long ago embraced his iconic status and oft-imitated mannerisms. The pilot episode even references it; “Can no-one do a good impression of me?!”. When you have William Shatner, you’re not getting an actor delivering lines as a character, you’re getting William Shatner delivering every line like it’s a cheesy punchline, and as if he knows it and is laughing along with how ironically cheesy he’s being. And this show which can’t decide on how profane it should be, or how sympathetic it wants the dad to be, or whether the dad or the son is the focal point, needs the dad saying $#*! to be playing this straight, so he’s either curmudgeon-y and roguishly lovable, or just an awful human being who the son has to tolerate due to circumstance. The Shat is playing this like the dad is playing to the front row, which makes for decent Shatner, but a horrible mess of a show, and one I fear cannot be redeemed. It’s too predictable, too broad and so generic that there doesn’t seem to be a way to fix it. Then again, people love ‘Two And A Half Men’…

Whilst ‘Community’ was the stand-out new comedy of last season for me, ‘Modern Family’ gave it a strong run for its money. The three vaguely separate families of father Jay, his daughter Claire and his son Mitchell allows so many character pairings, it’s difficult to see this show ever struggling for ideas. Whilst it can be a little schmaltzy at times, and on occasion likes to hammer its emotional moments home, rather than let them speak for themselves, it’s very funny. The heartfelt moments also tend to be immaculate before the director of the show loses faith in the audience and has to point them out.

The other sophomore show returning is ‘Cougar Town’. I should declare now that I loved ‘Scrubs’ and so gave Bill Lawrence a lot of slack when this atrociously-named Courtney Cox vehicle turned up, and was initially just a mildly-amusing, tonally-weird oddity. Courtney Cox tends to play shrill and I was never a Monica fan, either personality-wise or looks-wise, but no-one is going to claim she’s unattractive. So a show based around the premise that Courtney Cox is a self-concious 40-something mom and real estate agent who decides to start dating/hunting younger guys for relationships/sex doesn’t really work. Courtney Cox could probably pick up most 20-something guys. That’s just a fact. There’s no narrative friction there, or inherent comedy. Thankfully, Lawrence realised this as the first season progressed, and there’s now none of that. It’s evolved into a show about a bunch of friends who hang out and drink wine, invent silly games, gently mock each other and basically live life. And it is remarkably funny. Courtney Cox isn’t relied on to do much of the heavy comedic lifting, and instead plays off-beat mother hen to her group of friends, including her simple-but-loveable ex, her bitchy-but-loyal best friend and her husband, her young protégé, her studly neighbour and her son. Whereas ‘Modern Family’ feels the need to constantly re-iterate its emotional moments, ‘Cougar Town’ knows where its heart is, and is comfortable enough in its own skin to let it shine through. Very funny, and getting better all the time, after a very shaky start. I still miss ‘Scrubs’ though…

The other returning shows are all long-running series that if you’re not watching, you should be, and unfortunately, you missed them when they were great: ’30 Rock’, the US version of ‘The Office’, and ‘ The Big Bang Theory’. ’30 Rock’ is the smartest show on TV when it gets its act together. It’s the emotional lovechild of ‘Arrested Development’ and its self-referential style, and especially the way it required incredible amounts of attention to get every joke being served up. The best example was a few seasons ago: Liz Lemon, the main character, is having a restaurant meal with her boss Jack, and her family, who are visiting. Her father, Dick, insists on paying, uttering the off-screen line “It wouldn’t be a Lemon party without old Dick” mid-discussion. To even grasp that this is a joke, rather than just random business, requires the viewer to be aware of a reasonably obscure internet meme, Lemonparty.org, a shock site containing an image of three elderly men in a bed kissing and having oral sex, hence “old Dick”. To inject a throwaway line with such obscure and outrageous humour, when the majority of audience are going to a) miss the reference and b) not even notice the line, is an indication of the sort of level ’30 Rock’ is playing at when it’s working on all cylinders. Unfortunately, like ‘The Office’, it has had several weaker seasons recently, with both shows finding themselves in a situation where they’re scared to try too much new, and are beginning to feel a little stale. Yet, as the two new episodes showed, they’re capable of bringing the funny on occasion, so are definitely worth tuning in for. Thirdly, ‘The Big Bang Theory’. I came to ‘TBBT’ really late, devouring the first 2 and a half seasons earlier this year when I caught an new episode and thought it was very amusing. It’s created by Chuck Lorre, the man responsible for ‘Two And A Half Men’, a show I loathe, for its broadness, its relentless misogyny and the fact that it is insanely successful, despite these shortcomings. ‘TBBT’ isn’t anywhere near as unwaveringly undermining of women, but it certainly started off in a similar vein, regularly mining the apparent ditziness and promiscuity of Penny. It also seemed unsure whether or not it hated its characters, with many episodes definitely laughing at Leonard and Sheldon, in a brutal and unsympathetic way. It has mellowed somewhat, and introduced more humanity into its characters, and can be very funny. Yet it still seems to have genuine contempt for Wolowitz, and will definitely forget about the growth of any character if an easy joke can land. The whole show is frustrating, as it shows promise and has episodes that are hilarious and clever from beginning to end, and then will revert to lazy, borderline hateful nonsense the next. The first episode of season 4 highlights both of these issues; the Sheldon and Penny plot amusingly examines Sheldon’s social awkwardness and new relationship, but then constantly insinuates Penny is a slut and should be ashamed of the amount of sexual partners she’s had. The other guys start the episode playing with a NASA robotic arm, serving Chinese takeout, but then the ‘comedy’ goes straight back to easy, predictable Wolowitz hammering, by having him get stuck with the machine gripping his penis, after he uses it to masturbate. Puerile and pathetic. So frustrating.

So watch ‘Community’, ‘Modern Family’ and ‘Cougar Town’, avoid ‘Shit My Dad Says’, and give ’30 Rock’, ‘The Office’ and ‘TBBT’ a shot if you’re looking a distraction, as they are capable of excellence on occasion.

Ten years ago, I lived in the best flat I’ve ever had. It had a massive kitchen, plain pastel walls, high ceilings and an air hockey table. I rated above all these things, though, the fact that the flat received no TV reception. There was an aerial in the kitchen, but no TV. This isn’t to say I didn’t own a TV set, I did, a pretty big one, it just resided in the living room connected to the XBox and Playstation and DVD player, and what may have been a world away from broadcast television.

It wasn’t without complications. I remember having to haul the TV through to the kitchen to watch the news coverage of 9/11, or to placate an ex-girlfriend because she wanted to watch a ‘Big Brother’ eviction. These small inconveniences seemed very much worth it, though, as my flatmate and I revelled in the sanctimonious tone we could take when nonchalantly telling people “We don’t watch television”. We were young, idealogical pricks. We would delight in not knowing who or what was happening in soaps, and our perceived superiority through cultural ignorance.

Cut to 2010, and I am a television whore. I watch at a level that my old self would have genuine contempt for. However, much like every other aspect of my media consumption, it’s “off the teat”. That old arrogance has transformed into a zealotry against scheduled TV. Aside from live sport, there’s no real reason to watch anything when a broadcaster dictates. Sky+, iPlayer, 4OD and Hulu have provided legitimate means to watch what we want, when we want.

This means getting to watch US TV when it’s broadcast, rather than having to wait for it to be picked up and shown here. Which also means this week is a feast of treats after a fairly barren summer television season (the huge exception being Mad Man, but, great as it is, it’s but one hour of television in a week). How I Met Your Mother, House MD and Chuck were all back Monday night, and were all back in excellent form.

How I Met Your Mother had a very uneven last season. When firing on all cylinders, it’s the best sitcom on TV. It has hearts and smarts, and plays with sitcom conventions constantly with time cuts and fantasy sequences. Critically, it’s also very, very funny, and has, in Neil Patrick Harris’s character Barney Stinson, one of the best comedic creations on television. Unfortunately, it’s main character, Ted Mosby, is the least interesting and most frustrating character of its ensemble cast, which means, depending on how heavily the show focusses on Ted, it varies wildly in how engaging it can be from week to week. The premise of the show (Future Ted regaling his children with the meandering story of how he met their mother) has also long ceased to be the main attraction, and is, on occasion, a burden the show struggles beneath. Last season saw Ted at his douchiest, and the show toying with the Mother concept like a cat with a disabled mouse. Last night’s episode had a few moments of concern, but was, in the main, so much better, and, thankfully, very, very funny. Also Rachel Bilson was back, which is always welcome.

Another show with characters and a concept that are a millstone around its neck, but seems to shine whenever it gets out from underneath them is House MD. Gregory House is a genius diagnostician and a self-destructive narcissist addicted to pain medication for a leg infarction. Throughout its seven season run, the show has flirted with breaking House’s cycle of detrimental behaviour and making him less of a damaged nihilist, but because this is a weekly procedural show, all efforts are quickly abandoned and the status quo is maintained. The only genuine change that has occurred over the course of the show has been the addition/subtraction of members from House’s “team”. Unfortunately, this has introduced bisexual, secretive and terminally boring (actually terminally suffering from Huntington’s disease) Remy “Thirteen” Hadley, portrayed by Olivia Wilde. The writers on House clearly find her endlessly interesting, what with her looming tragic illness and sexual ambiguity, but the whole things smacks of trying too hard, so it’s all very tedious. Again, this season kicks off with promise, though, with House seemingly making an effort to open up to his long-held feelings for Cuddy and curtail his more misanthropic moments, and Thirteen disappearing. House often espouses that “people never change”, so I’m expecting to be burned sometime in the near future, but even a few weeks without Thirteen are to be savoured.

Finally, a show that used its last run to figure out what worked and what didn’t, and then attempted to put only the former on screen: Chuck. Geek Chuck becomes spy after spy training is downloaded into his brain, Matrix-style. New geek-spy Chuck gets paired with incredible-looking agent Sarah as his handler, as well as one-man-army, one-liner-machine Casey. Hijinks ensue. It’s as fun and as awesome as it sounds, but has so much more going for it as well; a rich interwoven history of spying in Chuck’s family, a complicated love dynamic between Chuck and Sarah, pop-culture references out the wazoo… It’s brilliant, and has managed to negotiate itself to a place where the silly “will-they-won’t-they” drama between Chuck and Sarah is resolved, and the show is capable of concentrating on pure fun and capers. Cannot recommend it enough.

To come: thoughts on the return of Big Bang Theory, Community and Cougar Town.

In the meantime: BUS RIDER!

As more and more is revealed during this macabre trial, it’s the bizarre turns-of-phrase and curious details that pique my interest:

The court saw CCTV footage showing the pair on a bus heading for Arbroath with a Lidl bag.

Surely “carrier bag” or “plastic shopping bag” is enough detail? Why drag Lidl into this? Lidl struggles enough with being associated with our Eastern-European visitors without it being declared as the supermarket of choice for crazed decapitators!

“Wow, these off-brand foreign meats, biscuits and cheeses are surprisingly delicious!”
“Also surprising, how sturdy these carrier bags are. I dare say they’d comfortably hold a human head!”
“Wait, what?”

Poor Lidl, this really is a PR disaster.

I don’t regard myself as particularly squeamish, but being shown photos of a severed head whilst on jury duty definitely isn’t worth the day off work. Everyone goes in hoping for some intricate fraud case where you don’t really understand the details, or a circumstantial burglary case where there’s little real evidence, but the guy ‘looks shifty’. Justice can be quickly and poorly served. Turning up and being shown images of some poor soul’s lifeless detached cranium, on the other hand, is really going to put a dampener on things. And the graphic details of coercion, smothering and dismemberment make unsettling reading, despite the occasional curious phrasing:

Parts of her face appeared to show marks of injuries.

More troubling, parts of her neck appeared to show lack of shoulders! Come on! Concern over whether she may have received blows to the face are somewhat diluted by the fact that sandy carrier bags are not the natural habitat of human heads! At the stage of finding a severed skull on a beach, wrapped in a plastic bag, noticing and tending to minor wounds and abrasions should drop dramatically down the list of priorities!

Hopefully the perpetrators will be punished appropriately, although what fitting penalty there can be for such a crime is anyone’s guess.

AJ

Aside from the quite frankly terrifying urban weapon of ‘fireworks-in-a-jar’, I was struck by the bizarre accompanying image. An artist’s impression of fireworks-in-a-jar would probably be irresponsible, as would a photo of the scorched house, so a picture of a police car is an understandable reference.

But why does the photo seem to have been taken with the world’s first drugged camera?! Has the photographer never seen a squad car sober and added these effects in edit?! Is this particular Panda from the future, and has the awesome crime-fighting ability to blur your field of vision?! Or is the image merely intended to show the dynamism of the UK police force?

Cos it makes no goddamn sense.

AJ

Whilst this particular case was probably horrifying to wake up to, realising you’ve just slept with a grade-A nutter is always epic. Some chicks write your name on their school books, or doodle their future married name when bored. Taking it to a whole new level is the chick who carves her name into your flesh with a craft knife while you’re sleeping. Magic.

She’s clearly into body art as well; the ‘cute’ little star in the middle of his back, the abstract stripes on the arms. I’m confused as to whether the stripes are supposed to look tribal or more like a tiger. Producing detailed art under those kinds of time restraints and with such an unusual canvas must be difficult. I like to think she was going for ‘tiger arm’, it reminded me of this awesome fellow.

Quote of the article has to be:

“I have a collection of old tiger pelts from the days of hunting. I want these grafted on to me. It will cost another $100,000 but will be worth it.

“When I have the coat of a tiger, I feel I will have reached my goal in life.”

“Worth it”. When I was a cartoon-watching nipper, I loved He-Man and the Masters of The Universe, but ThunderCats was definitely Top 5. The fact that someone in reality has decided to make themselves look more like a cat than Lion-O himself makes me peculiarly happy.

AJ