I bring you love...
23/01/2003

"It's bringing us love - don't let it get away!"
"Break its legs!"

Yea, my children, I do bring you love. I bring you the warmth and radiance that bursts forth from my warm and glowing heart; I bathe you in the effulgence of my very being; I shower upon you the golden blessings I possess in abundance for all. And not in a rude, sort of sexy, fluid-related kind of way.

What brings this outpouring of affection for my fellow man, you ask? Why the sudden change from slinging imprecations to sowing the seeds of love (again, not in a naughty way)? Are you actually sitting at your computer dressed up like Jesus? Again?

The reason, my children, for all of these things is that I've got a hit counter up and running again. And people are still reading. But more importantly, people are still searching - and finding me! Oh the joys to be discovered in my search keyword statistics:

• gina hardface bitch (mentioned here) - other people remember her!
• kim catrall naked - several people came to the Good Shit Guide searching for this (or its variant, kim catrall topless). I was going to find some pictures myself and post a link here, just as a public service, but it took me, like, three minutes to find some, and if these people are crap enough to be coming to my site expecting to cop an eyeful of Samantha's goodies, they clearly need to be encouraged to learn how to use search engines better.
• Speaking of people who can't use search engines properly, the person who typed in porn addict women girlfriend female porn addict seems to think that if you type the same words in twice, Google will look twice as hard for them. Hmm...
• lump pus fatty squeeze - Why? I mean, I know why it brought them here, I just don't know WHY.
• satan vs. archangel gabriel - the epic struggle of good and evil, played out in my humble website? Or just discussion of The Prophecy here.
• Ponder the tale of sadness and woe and a life turned sour hinted by the guy searching MSN for a real fuckin job.
• giraffe porn - fabulous.
• giraffe pimp - I weep with joy.

I stop reading now, for I fear my tiny heart may burst.

And I said "can you believe this motherfucking shit?"
23/01/2003

First of all, let me say a big warm "fuck you" to the person whose car alarm woke me up at 4:50AM the other day. Further proof that car alarms are a waste of money - if I'd heard the sound of, say, breaking glass, I might have been moved to investigate (well, not at 4:50AM obviously, but another time maybe), but all a car alarm made me want to do was lean out the window and yell "Keep up the good work, young fellow, and do you think you could see your way to ramming your new acquisition through the side of its former owner's house while you're about it? Pip pip!" Or something similar.

That was a couple of days ago, but my sleeping patterns are still a bit fucked. I couldn't sleep last night, so I turned on the TV in time to catch the end of Eyes Wide Shut. Missed all the nudey bits, but I did get to see NOTHING HAPPEN FOR HALF A FUCKING HOUR. And then Nicole Kidman says "fuck". We need to find where in the Big Book of Drama it says that pauses = dramatic = good, and rip out the page, burn it and feed the ashes to hungry bison. Sticking a five second pause in between every line of dialog doesn't make a film better, it makes it sound like a daytime soap opera. Having music that appears to have been composed by John Carpenter doesn't help, either (if you've seen any of his films, you know what I mean).

But anyway, I'm not here to tell you how shit Eyes Wide Shut is. Oh no, hang on, I am. I mean, shit, no human being behaves like that - it's like asking us to buy that Janeane Garofalo is ugly in The Truth About Cats and Dogs or that Helen Hunt was actually attracted to a crusty old Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets. (Or Catherine Zeta Jones and crusty old Sean Connery in Entrapment. Or Catherine Zeta Jones and crusty old Michael Douglas in real life.) Now, I have heard opinions to the effect that de-humanization may have been the point, but if want dehumanization I'll watch a zombie movie, or something by David Cronenberg. Same way if I want "dream logic" I'll go to sleep and have a fucking dream instead of watching a David Lynch film.

Oh yeah, and I finally found a decent hit counter, so make with the dubious search engine phrases! In fact, now that I once again have evidence that people are actually reading this (or not, as the case may be), I may even be motivated to write more...

Yes, that is distant laughter you can hear.

Doomed! Dooooomed!!
14/01/2003

And that's twenty-six over and done with. On to twenty-seven. The "god-awful movie and photo machines" fest wasn't quite the success it could have been, as Spy Kids 2 turned out to be quite an enjoyable film (well, it had Steve Buscemi in it - always a good sign). Certainly better than previous years. Let's reflect...

And when I say "reflect", I mean "whine like a bitch". See, the other thing about an early January birthday is that all the good films come out three weeks beforehand, in time for the Christmas holidays. So by the time the 12th rolls around it's the B-grade shite leftovers making up the bulk of our viewing possibilities. Past year's birthday hijinks have included Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigilo and Battlefield: Earth (which we all had a good laugh about afterwards, until someone pointed out that between us we just paid $80 for the privilege of being subjected to that monumental pile of arse). The only actually good film I can recall seeing on my birthday was Sleepy Hollow, which must have been eclipsed by some blockbuster or other and bumped back.

But anyway, the film seemed to have been enjoyed by all, drinks were drunk, a modest amount of Japanese Photo Machine Birthday Madness occurred, and I was given by one flatmate a giraffe stuffed with monkeys (use your imagination) so I guess we can call this birthday a success.

There was another photo, but it's not there, because I look like a dick.

2K3
04/01/2003

"2K3" -- you geeks realize this is all your fault, don't you? Win2K, Y2K, and now we're going to be stuck (for at least the next decade) referring to each year as though we're in a fucking Mountain Dew ad: "It's 2K3 -- 2003, to the EXTREEEEME!" Warg.

In a shocking reversal of the Natural Order of Things, I end this holiday period with less facial hair then I started with, having just shaved off the goatee. I feel less geeky already. I say "shaved", but of course you don't shave a beard, you shave stubble. You cut a beard, very slowly with nail scissors because that's all that's available in the bathroom (apart from the clippers that your flatmate recently used to give himself a red and green mohawk with). And they're half fucking blunt. And when you're done, then you get to shave. Still, no deep cuts, so that's OK.

Now, where are we? We've had the Christmas post, the "can't go shopping 'til my birthday" whinge, the New Year's post -- next up must be the "it's my birthday post", more than likely accompanied by pictures of a bunch of people arseing around in Japanese photo machines. See you Sunday...

Fa-la-la la-la la-la la luck.
26/12/2002

Righto, that's Christmas out of the way. Happy Birthday, J.C. -- you don't look a day over 2001.

Scored the usual wodge of fun stuff -- I currently have enough DVD hours to keep me occupied until well into the next quarter (bloody Lord of the Rings bloody Extended Edition). And thanks to the Story of Ricki DVD, I can now rest at ease in the knowledge that the confusingly androgynous boss was in fact a woman. Or at least was played by one -- possibly she was meant to be playing an effeminate man, though. Ballacks.

So anyway, Xmas out the door, we're now into the run-up for my birthday in a couple of weeks. Which means I get to do the usual whinge about having to sit on my hands (or rather, my wallet) while all around me Christmas sales are in full swing, and I have Christmas money for the spending, and I can't buy anything because someone might have already go it for me for my birthday. Life is hard¹.

Luckily, as I've said at other times in other places, I'm quite good at not wanting things. I'd make a good Buddhist, I would -- asceticism and what. Mmm... asceticism.

¹ Just out of interest, anyone wanting to shower me with gifts could do worse than looking through the Hong Kong Legends website...

Bullets failed to stop him and he fled to Canada.
17/12/2002

Moving flats, eh? They say moving house is one of the most stressful activities a person can engage in. They are evidently a bit soft - that was a piece of piss. Except for the stuff that was incredibly hard work.

My talent for avoiding responsibility served me well this time, as the big things ended up getting taken care of by other flatmates, leaving me to look after myself. Even the heavy lifting of large furniture seemed to pass me by for the most part. (Thanks largely to the boyfriends of flatmates wallowing in their respective manlinesses. That doesn't sound right.)

Nevertheless, the carrying backwards and forwards all Saturday was enough to leave me fairly comprehensively buggered, and the minor niggles of a new sleeping environment (different noises, more light now that my room isn't two thirds underground) have left me just a couple of steps from "walking dead". I mean, I'll often complain about being tired, but I'm not usually at the level where being awake is actually physically painful. Which it is. Sweet Jesus, it is.

This resulted in fun on Monday, where I got to shamble around Newmarket in a semi-stupor, looking for people to give me forms that I could fill in and give back to them so that stuff that used to go to the old flat now goes to the new flat and not the old flat because I don't live there anymore. And so on. I don't know if I've mentioned, but sleep deprivation seems to have similar effects on me that alcohol has on others - among other things, filling in forms becomes a test of skill and endurance. I handed in things that appeared to have been filled in by multiple personalities, at least one of which had Parkinson's disease and another Tourette's.

Still not as bad as the time I put "Help Author" for my occupation on the census form and misspelled "author", though.

So I says to Alice, I says:
6/12/2002

Jesus Fucking Kerrrr-IST -- do they not play music on the radio anymore?!!

So my car stereo's on the fritz (Fritz? Fritz, get up for God's sake, get up!), which means until I get it fixed, I'm forced to listen to the radio when I drive around these days. Which means as soon as I get in the car, I start flicking through the various stations, searching for something, anything remotely worth listening to. What do I get?

Click. Ad.

Click. DJ rambling on about something.

Click. Ad.

Click. DJ thinking he's a lot funnier than he actually is.

Click. Ad.

Click. DJ.

Click. DJ doing an ad.

Click. Some song that I don't like.

I kid you not -- on the fifteen minute drive into work, I'm lucky if I get to hear one full song in between ads for shit I don't want and people I don't want to listen to, and the chances of it being one I like are so small they're beyond the capabilities of modern mathematics to calculate. Given that I find most modern music to be merely shite, as opposed to an insult to every sense and sensibility I posses, I generally end up listening to the first piece of crap I eventually find. Fortunately for me, I'm fairly good at seeing the positive aspects of otherwise dire aural assaults. Take, for instance, the last few popular ditties I've been subjected to while automotively engaged:

J Lo's "Jenny From the Block":
Pros: It was there; also reminds me of "instant trash classic" Anaconda.
Cons: Also reminds me of her big-chinned, pie-eating dick weasel fiancée.

That new one from Justin Timberlake:
Pros: Reminds me of Thriller-era Michael Jackson, back when he was a cool and not yet a noseless messianic freak.
Cons: Is Justion Timberlake actually the world's biggest pussy? Kind of ironic, really, since Michael Jackson seems to be going out of his way to prove himself the world's biggest cock at the moment.

Christina Aguillera's "Dirrty":
Pros: Lots of fun to be had pointing out just how much of a filthy, skanky whore Christina Aguillera is.
Cons: Christina Aguillera is a filthy, skanky whore. Who can't sing too well.

The Motherfucking Ketchup Song:
Pros: Interesting to a former Linguistics minor for the way they switch from Spanish to English in mid-sentence.
Cons: Guarantees an instant tirade on how monumentally tasteless the bulk of the music-buying public is, given the way it goes apeshit every single time one of these gimmicky one hit wonders comes along -- think The Motherfucking Macarena, That Motherfucking Mambo No. 5, Zoot Suit Motherfucking Riot, and of course, The Motherfucking Rednex with Motherfucking Cotton-Eye Motherfucking Joe. Not to mention the second hit that each of these people invariably came out with that sounded exactly like the first one, but which was ignored on account of the world at large having been distracted by some other shiny object, causing the "artists" to realize that they were just a brief fad and, I dunno, weep inconsolably for a bit and then go off to live on The Island of Gimick Song Writers or something. Perhaps this is better than past decades when all songs were complete gobbledegook -- "ooh eeh ooh ah ah, ching chang walla walla bing bang", anyone? (For that matter -- "a wop bop-a-loo-bop, a lop bam boom"?) But probably not.

Sorry, what was I saying?

"Tell those pigs to fuck off!" "Fuck off, pigs!"
24/11/2002

But seriously, let's talk about pus.

Now, I've never been too much of a spotty wee urchin, although it hasn't been until I hit my mid-twenties that I've regularly had a clear face. So it came as a bit of an annoyance when I developed a great big bastard of a zit on the right side of my nose. An annoyance, but not that much of a surprise -- I'm sure it could be put down to my fondness for the cocoa bean, and overindulgence in the greasy delights of the BK Double Bacon BBQ Cheeseburger (with it's artery-hardening combination of meat, cheese, meat, bread and meat). What was a real pain, in several senses of the word, was the fact that it was one of those ones that was right under the skin, so popping the fucker wasn't an option -- I just had to wait for it to go away. Which it did, eventually.

And then, a couple of weeks later, another one just as big cropped up on the other side of my nose. Arse. The difference this time was this one had definite bursting potential. The scenario played out like this:

<gets out of bed in the morning>

<looks in mirror>

Says out loud: "Fuck me sideways!" (Exact words.)

Thinks: "Right -- one I can do something about -- c'mere you..."

<squeezey squeeze>

Thinks: "Gosh, that's a lot of blood."

Thinks: "Oooooh -- not really an improvement, is it..."

Where formerly I was the proud owner of an unsightly lump, I am now encumbered with a freaking hideous blood-encrusted mother of all pustules that's currently beyond the ability of medical science to adequately describe. I went to work with a cut-down band aid on my nose, more for cosmetic purposes than as an actual dressing.

Currently, my cover story when asked "hey Josh, whadja do to your nose?" has been: "Weasels." This seems to shut people up (although it has prompted two people to ask, quite independently of each other, whether or not it was actually due to over-enthusiasm on the part my girlfriend). If this doesn't work, I'll have to think of something else. Current favourites: "Met Russell Crowe and got this kicking his girly-boy arse" and "Two words: third nipple." I'll let you know how I get on.

You're the one for me, fatty.
04/11/2002

Sorry -- listening to Morrissey. Anyway.

Not sure if it was a good idea to eat chicken that close to its expiry date. From the wrong direction. (What does salmonella taste like again?) Gets a feller to thinking -- no hang on, it was South Park that got me to thinking -- Special Edition technology-updating remakes of movies: good or bad? (It was "Free Hat" last week.)

On the one hand, we have the effects shots that Lucas always wanted to do, but couldn't because of the technology of the time; a Hoth snow beast that doesn't look like a muppet; and Dewbacks -- Dewbacks are kewl. On the other hand, we have the limp-wristed moralising of guns replaced by walkie-talkies and Greedo shooting first¹. Maybe the cons outweigh the pros.

Or not -- yesterday I rented Ladyhawke, and I dunno about the effects, but fuck me that film is in dire need of a new score. Mediaeval fight scenes and horse riding set to 80s synth pop? Re-release it with appropriate music and slap Alan Parsons around the face as bit, and the world will be a much better place, I guarantee.

In conclusion: I am the last of the famous international playboys. You heard me.

¹ Not even going to try and explain all the geek references. If you don't know what I'm talking about in this paragraph, you should probably count yourself lucky.

Gardening with a hammer.
30/10/2002

Thanks to the joys of Pepsi Blue, I finally know what drinking Pepsi-flavoured brake fluid would be like. This motivates me to share with you now the three main aphorisms¹ I live my life by:

1. The early bird catches the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.
2. You can't fall off the floor.
3. When all you have is a hammer, all your problems become nails.

While the truth of the first two is fairly self-evident, I'd never had the third conclusively proved to me until Saturday. Our driveway has gardeny stuff down one side, walled in by little posts about a foot long. Unfortunately a of combination poor driving skills and overly large vehicles going down to our neighbours' place has resulted in a few of these posts being knocked out and sitting at funny angles. Once the one that got knocked right out into the middle of the driveway sat there for a couple of days, I realised that the chances of someone else doing anything about it were looking fairly slim, so I went to see if I could fix things up a bit.

What I needed was a tool to prise the posts out of the positions they'd got themselves into, a tool to scrape out the earth around them, a tool to rip out inconvenient weeds, a tool to bang the posts back into the earth with, and a tool to pack the earth in around them. What I had was a claw hammer and a comprehensive set of screwdrivers. Obviously I didn't use the screwdrivers. That would have been silly.

Gardening with a hammer. Life is good.

¹ In looking up "aphorism" in the dictionary, just to make sure I was spelling/using it correctly, I discovered that there is such a word as "antipope", which means pretty much what it sounds like. Live 'n' learn.

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