I’m retiring from blogging. This place was a good experiment for a while, but it died out too fast. I thought i could get some collaborators working on it on a weekly basis, but if my heart isn’t on it, i guess it just won’t work out.

Heck, even my good pal, B-dog, is retiring from blogging. With all the celebrity deaths, pandemics and general shit going around, is blogging what i really wanna do?

I guess not. I’ll dedicate myself to other ventures. In the meantime, Sergeant Politeness will be the new editor.

See you all real soon.

Your pal

FrillyShirtCyberman.

There now follows a brief interlude. Hope everything works now. This blog is now defunct and no updates will be made.

Edited Highlights:

I don’t have a flippin’ idea what’s going in this one. Moffat overdosed on chalk (see what i did there?)

Rant:

Oh, it’s a simulated reality/alternate world/Being John Malkovich sorta stuff? With a tubby archaeologist? Phew.

So, we start with Creepy Girl again and her Dopey Dad. We are just recovering from an OBVIOUS CLIFFHANGER RESOLUTION DEVICE alert that kinda ruins the cool cliffhanger from last time. She might be in an asylum, Chocky-style or maybe the editor is asleep at the job and mixed it up with another program. I dunno, your bet is as good as mine. In fact, it probably was.

So anyhoo, more red shirts get topped, Morpheus continues to babble along the plot and Catherine Tate gets hitched… uh? She’s married now? Poor fella, hope he has a good stomach for what’s coming and… what? Kids already?!?!?! Time flies, uh? It’s like a bad Owen Wilson comedy.

Now, let’s be a little like Mr. Moffat and write the next paragraph like this story is written:

Hey, thegreedy bastidd turns out to be a nice dude . The effects are better than any sh1t from ILM, really.Look for me in the books. Under “ARSE KICKER!” Ah, c’mon Feepo, stop it with the harry lloyd impersonations! Whoa… killer shadows? like the x-files? Tony Shalhoub lives!!! It’s a scare-a-thon! What a twist!

Eventually, everything works out perfectly. Everybody lives. Indeed.

And that’s it.

Random Thoughts (timecoded so you can check ‘em out if you have the patience…)

01:55 argh! OBVIOUS CLIFFHANGER RESOLUTION DEVICE ALERT!!!
02:10 I bet that girl is Sadako/Samara from The Ring!
02:52 An Asylum, like in Chocky’s Children!
03:01 Morpheus?
03:45 Okay, either the editor is asleep at the job or this is a mindfekk!
04:35 She’s the catch of the day, uh?
07:29 Is it wrong to think she’s pretty?
09:08 “Some hair dryers…” hahaha
10:58 Crapping my pants!
11:52 I need a hug…srly
12:38 it’s a motherflippin’ Ringwraith!
14:39 It’s Bespin!
16:16 Aw, it’s an environmental thing?!
16:54 Officially I’m scared
22:00 Geek time!
25:00 I tells ya, it’s a homage to Adam Sandler’s Click!
29:05 Kubrick will sue……….FROOOOOOOOM BEYOND THE GRAVE!
32:10 Expected but…FUCKOLA!
33:29 GLASSJAW FEEPO!
42:20 Is it heaven?

Uh?! Moments

FUCKOLA! moments!

Duh!-nna

Moff-cary Moments

….tubby?

Feepo!!!!!

“What? All the other episodes are written by Russell T. Davies?”

“Moffat is the next producer? Sah-weeeeet!!”

FrillyRating

RTD, producer MAGNIFIQUE and on his fookin’ way out says:

“Bah, my stories are much better and appeal to you beans on toast eatin’ proletariat!”

MOFFAT retorts:

“And I got the keys to the Whisky cabinet in the canteen. Bitch”.

Silly Captions:

“Harold Lloyd – he ain’t”.

“Feepo says: TALK TO THE HAND!”

Abril likes Dave Gahan

I’m damaged…….ooooooh so damaged!!! That’s the video screaming.

God how I love every second of this kind of videos; though, what’s with the flying hair? Also, I´m not sure I get the idea of the lightning jacket, Gahan looks like a bell in it, or a paranoid Christmas gnome walking through a cemetery on Halloween at three a.m., anyway, who cares!!! you will never make me spell a word against the dark phase of Depeche Mode… who needs you Clarke!!! Eat up your poppy ringtones!! I’ll keep watching the video, just love the nonsense dark atmosphere and…. wait…. is he eating a fly corpse??

Homo Rodans has a Degree

Depeche Mode.

Or should I say “Surrealismo-de”??

Rodans siempre lo ha dicho: “mis maricotas bien locas y los videos musicales igual” Con este ejemplar extraído de la cavernas más inimaginables del subconsciente, los DM me han dejado boquiabierto, absorto, meditabundo y con cara de WHATTTTT?? No se que aprecio más, si la escena de “bajando la escalera al estilo M.C. Escher”, o la de “saboreamiento de la cabellera ajena”.  El abrigo de focos es una idea digna de robarse para los conciertos de Lumiere (Goool!)

¿¿Que habrán querido decir?? Pues…mejor dejémoslo en la interpretación individual. Tal vez simplemente quisieron decir que no querían decir nada más que lo que querían decir (quiúbole….)

H. Rodans (y los enemigos de los triglicéridos)

imightbeelvis likes Gahan too!

Weeeeeeeeell, well, well, what do we have here? Another pessimistic/pretentious video from the 90′s (oh how little of them were mildly interesting). I thought that he was done with rehab by the time this was shot. Did he relapse? Or is it just a “tribute” to that problem, just like David Crosby did with Phil Collins for that piece of sentimental woe is me shit “Hero” video? This ain’t being a pro. If you have a problem, deal with it. And if you have a piss poor idea for a video because you have worked way to many times with delusional dutch director like Anton Corbijn, who although is a genius, he goes into weird-o-rama territory way too many times. Cracking song, though.

(editor’s note: Warning, pretentious diatribe warning!!)

Noisy was very sick when this was on the radio

This video means so much to me, it hurts so much to see it again. How many times have i felt like that, living in a colorful illusion that torments my soul? How many times have I felt going through the motions, the colours, all that shit, just to see that the sweet meal i was getting was just a dead fly? Reality, grayscaled, hits, and hits hard. You walk away from what’s hurting you, peeking from time to time over your shoulder, trembling for your life. You are sad, alone and lost in a mysterious place. Your friends want to help you and stand by yourside, but deep down, you know that no matter how much they help you, you are still troubled and pretend to have your eyes open, but they are closed. Paint eyes over your eyelids, fake to be alive and continue living in that grayscale.

(end of pretentious diatribe warning!!)

Frilly needs some chillax and a girlfriend

WTF is this?!?!? Some artsy fartsy student film about the vicissitudes of a trio of englishmen in Morocco? And hey, we get some sa-weeeeeet stop-motion. Yo, Depeche Mode, Peter Gabriel and Talking Heads called, d’you know what a subpoena is??

By the warts of my aunt Petunia’s persian three legged kitten!!!! This thing is more pretentious than that Quentin Fucktardtino’s ham-fisted Kill Bill Vol. 2 or The Royal Tenenbaums. At least this has better music than those two excrementally excuses for a paycheque.

Speaking of paychecks, what is Depeche Mode up to these days? I pretty much heard their three albums from the 90′s and called it a day after the coma-inducing Exciter.

Hey, maybe that’s the barrel of a gun, listening to Exciter?

BTW, what’s with the Vocoder. Did this inspire Cher to sing like a fookin’ robot? SHAME ON YOU, DAVE GAHAN!! Do you belieeeeeve in barrels of a gun? C’mon, dudes, you can do better than this. Enjoy the silence was pretentious but understandable. Personal Jesus was pretentious but understandable. I feel loved is run of the mill and fookin’ classic. But this piece of postgrungial residual bad karma angst? No cigar. Go shag a few groupies, dude, and call me in the morning, ’cause my fence needs some paint.

And tremble for next month’s cut choice, just in time for Saint Valentin’s….. FOBIA!

So there were we, surrounded by Urdrunkgraduates claiming for stolen Stellas, packs of menthol Kools and my self-regenerating chicken kebab from the Broomhill Friery.

“Wow, for such a life-or-death situation, it feels like we’ve been standing here for a big while” remarked Katja.

“Now it’s not the time for metahumour, my dear friend in distress!”

They kept surrounding us, with bad intentions and even worse breath. Funny, moments like this I see my life flash before me and all I see are drunken idiots like this, bad breaths and a strange rash in my elbow. Figures, life never lets you forget that once you land in the gutter, you’ll stay there like a pale-coloured leave in the autumn.

And stuff.

“I think you are getting a ‘T for trying’, mister”.

“Shouldn’t I get an ‘E for effort’, Katja?”

“Be thankful I won’t live to post this as ‘Total Fail!’, you indie-rock lover”.

The word indie rock made the Urdunknsmellygraduates become even more agitated. Some of them brandished Tesco-quality pitchforks, Williamson’s overpriced hoes (for your student lynching necessities!) and “buy two for 3.50″ Somerfield’s torches.

We are done for. And I never had a polish beer with a white cap. Oh well, if we are going to die, I might as well confess something: Coldplay’s Clocks makes me happy.

“What did you just say?”

“I just confessed to like a Coldplay song” I said a little louder and the Ucanhasbeergraduates stopped for a moment.

“Say it, man!”

“But, Katja, my honour!”

“Do you wanna get facebooked in a group called ‘We pwned dis looosers, lolz!!!11!1!1′? SAY IT!”

Shit. There goes my rep.

“I LOVE CHRIS MARTIN!”

As I yelled such profane words that shall haunt me ’til my self-inflicted death, the Urukgraduates stopped dead in their tracks

Antidote to stop people dead on their tracks. For best results, use in well ventilated areas.

They looked at each other. I now yelled:

“‘Clocks’ is the shizzznits and ‘Viva la Vida’ is an uplifting anthem to the beauty of life!”

“Oh, sure, it’s a nice song!” said some dude with a traffic cone in his head.

“Quite uplifting!”

“Rather nice!”

“Oh, the bird I’m shagging loves it!”

“Yes, I loves it!”

“And they promote fairtrade, they are nice people!”

We took the moments of distraction provided by that horribly written yet rather amusing deus ex machina and tried to make our way out of St. Stefan’s. We were halfway down the staircase when Katja said:

“Wait, we need my butter!”

“Why?”

“It’s a rather nice brand!”

“How? Does it make bread less creaky?”

“No, it’s just really nice!”

“It’s just butter, let’s leave this mindless sons of a hooligan and a lovelorn hamster behind!”

“But, it’s utterly butterly!”

Then she pulled that face girls pull when they want something. Y’know, eyelashes batting fast, eyes big as an Amsterdam café customer, hands in an old fashioned emotional blackmail pose. The whole bap, and I fell for it like I fall for a Bellybuster roasted pork/stuffing/apple sauce bap.

“OK, hang about, try to not go ‘damsel in distress on me’ and I’ll recover your semi-fermented lactose based thingie!”

So I made my way to her room, and there, over the sink and far away on the hills, laid the yellow tub of Utterly Butterly. Don’t believe me? See it for yourselves, you goddamned commies!

A spread worth getting your arse kicked.

I took the tub out and made my way back to the stairs when I noticed that the Urdrunkgraduates where making their way to their various dens. I thought for a moment that we were going to get outta here scotch free… but no! They were only going into their rooms to get more drinks and a tenner for chips with vinegar.

A few of them started throwing little chip shop forks at me, Indiana Jones-style. I dodged most of them, getting a few pricks on my arm, but nothing to write the NHS about. When I arrived at the stairs… dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!

Well, actually, nothing, it was just Katja, twiddling her thumbs.

“What took ya so long?”

“Well…”

“And why do you have chip shop forks stuck in your back, acupunture-like?”

“I’m cleaning my chakras, girl!”

We decided to leave but another wave of screaming, hormone driven idiots was climbing up the stairs. I nodded Katja towards the roof, as I heard that our friendly fire shootin’ helicopter was nearby. I took out my fave conker (a 29ner) and started to clear my way while Katja sang the charlie song from the Mighty Boosh.

That show fuckin’ rocks.

Anyhoo, I swathed my way through the unwashed and alcoholic masses. Then I stopped, changed the tape on the stereo and noticed that no one misses tape. Yeah, everyone says vinyl is warm and shit like that, but where’s the love for TAPE?!!?

Jimi Hendrix started to rock out the place with “All along the watchtower” (the only version, if you ask me) as we made our way to the roofs, clearing a path through the flotsam and jetsam of underachieving students.

Then, as we were nearly inside the helicopter, the Queen of Urukgraduates roared at a distance to us, from her throne of disposable despair. With eyes that screamed “muuuuuurder” and a air-powered rifle, she started to shoot in our general direction. One shot grazed the Utterly Butterly tub and Katja nearly fell to her death to catch it up. The heli couldn’t wait for us any longer, so I went David on Queen Goliath, throwing my 29er on her direction and knocking her out of her senses.

I’ll probably get sued.

There most be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief.

The helicopter ride was calm, cool and tranquil. Too much, for my liking, so I made a few warning shots at the distance to some houses watching the Chelsea vs Liverpool match. How I hate football!!!! I loathe that major suckitude “sport” with such a passion that if I had the same passion for a person, I would marry said person, divorce and go on a drinking binge.

Or summat.

So I dropped her at Noisy’s safehouse near some poorly lit street. It’s a nice house where the kitchen is kinda falling apart and the front garden looks like Dresden (joke stolen from Black Books), but I’m sure she’ll manage to survive, I just hope her lactose addiction won’t get the best outta her.

It’s an easy joke, so I’ll skip it

“So, thanks for heeding for my help, mister!”

“No probs, girl, you’ll fit fine with the people here”.

“Ehrm, do I need to pay something?”

“I can’t accept any payment. THERE IS NO PAYMENT FOR AWESOMENESS!”

Noisy Bishop came out of the house (and someday out of the closet, hopefully) and helped her out with her stuff. I took the chopper ride back to The Den, for a nice cuppa fairtrade coffee with cadbury conflict chocolate. Hey, I only do it because I’m ironic.

Yes, it’s a personalised mug

A month or so after, I went and visited Katja, just to see how she was adapting to life in the House O’Scary Basements (see pics after the end). She was doing fine and she was down to only six quarts of milk per day.

Her daily consumption of milk

We had a small chat over milk and stroopwafels, talking about adventures past. I said my goodbyes to everyone in the house and went back to The Den. When I went inside, I noticed something in my table.

Strange payment or link to a next adventure? YOU DECIDE!

A pair of conkers and a piece of white tack. I walked to the window and sighed while the rain kept pounding the lonely streets near me.

PS: I know that Phnom Penh and Saigon are a little apart from each other (i.e. different countries) but if you are reading this blog to learn geography, then you might as well be walking to the sun:

And now… pictures of Noisy’s House O’Bad Electricity (TM)

“It looks like Dresden back there!”

Dish washing fail

Their own dungeon!

Rosemary’s baby…

Victorian Kennels

Could it be….salvation?

Oh noes!!!!

So there I was, lazy as cranberry fudge in a sunday afternoon sipping some cranapple and sour mash whisky cocktails I made to myself as a celebratory drink for kicking ass in a game of Bejeweled when my Hunter S. Thompson Gonzophone (TM) went off. I carefully picked up:

“This is an emergency! A call for help! I really need you to send some help!” said a distressed girl on the other side of the cold copper cables.

“Chillax, girl” I said between spoonfuls of Müller corner I “acquired” from the shop… “What’s the skinny?”

“I’m trapped in my horrible hall, there’s a bunch of mad undergraduates yelling ‘i’m drunk and nekkid, wwwwwheeeeee!!!’ and drunk brit girls half nekkid”.

“Whoa, girl, sounds like my last vacation in Cancun!”

“Even worse, they’ve been rolling heavy metallic stuff, like bins, in the middle of the night, every night, there’s chicken bones in buckets in the mornings at the hall, there’s bottles of alcohol and tins of Vaseline, is terrible!”

“Fret not, help is on the way!!”

“Do I look for your SUV, then?”

“What? No SUV, babe, I drive a red cadillac. I’m all style on The Shark!”

“Didn’t I call Torchwood?”

“Ehrm…yes, actually you did, but the SUV is in the shop… Ianto had too many alcopops!”

“Ah, that rascal, anyway…HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALP!!!!”

“I’m dashing off to help!”

“Thanks!”

“…Where are you?”

“Saint Stefan’s Hall. Search for Katja!”

Saint Stefan’s! A name that teetotallers and vegans all over campus fear! I hung up and dashed from my comfy beanbag in front of the computer and kinda stepped on some pieces of lego that still hurt on cold humid days.

Anyways, I made my way through the seldom cleaned streets, in my fave Hawaiian shirt and jeans… when alluva sudden I saw it: The Rapture. The Final Conflict between sobriety and total alcoholic perdition. The Cultural Clash between the Brits and the Rest of The World.

No way could I sneak inside without getting merc’d, so I had to be a little ingenious, heck, a little 80′s to get them outta the way. What follows is a careful recreation of how we approached Saint Stefan’s student hall. If you are faint of heart or are disgusted… WHY THE HELL ARE YOU READING THIS BLOG!?!?

So, finally having made my way inside, I proceeded to search for this poor Katja girl. So I nicked a few Stella’s (the serum of depravity!) from some dude smashed to bits (not literally) in a beer soaked carpet (literally) and made my way through the stairs.

Oh, the stairs! The Smell! THE DARKNESS!! The drums, the drums…the never ending drums! I opened a beer and everything went away, so maybe some VooDoo alcohol spirits lived haunting those stairs. I kept opening beers as I made my way up every time I heard drums (or drum n’ bass, which probably is the vilest thing in the universe).

When I arrived at a troubled-looking floor (which was kinda difficult since ALL looked like a spring-break ravished Cancun), I carefully opened the door and saw the following, quite explicit pictures you might find offending, nay, SHOCKING!

Live feed from the Hall o’Messy Death (TM)

So, with my cunning sneaky powers, I moseyed down, without any noise, peeking into doors. Besides a lot of dead bottles and people doing the Nasty Mambo, I just could barely take the gagging smell in the place. Something was rotten in Saint Stefan’s, and it wasn’t Hamlet’s uncle.

Oh, the humanity!!!!

This is when my plan kinda fell to pieces… what should I do? Just shout “Katja” and wait for her to come out? I mean, I seriously doubt anyone else would come out. So “Katjaaaa!” I yelled… then again… then again… Not a fourth time, mind you, I had a bit of a step throat and need to heal, y’know.

Anyways, wouldn’t you know it? At least 8 girls came out of each door. They all looked distressed and asked at the same time:

“Yes?”

See? They said that.

“Say, I’m looking for a distressed Katja that needs rescuing!”

“Oh…”

I approached the “most-to-the-center” Katja and tried to see if she had any signs of someone expecting “Rescue by Torchwood”.

She kinda looked high, which probably is the state you need to be if you call a pansexual Captain, a funny coffee boy and a gap-toothed Welsh girl.

“Are you distressed?”

“No, luv, I’m just high!”

“I came to rescue Katja”

“Oh, you might be on the wrong hall, there’s another hall with Katjas. Just keep walking to your right and you should see it!”

“Thanks!”

I walked to the left, because british people always get confused with left and right (ever seen ‘em drive? MADNESS!!!!). I opened the double doors and then I saw this:

Either I was in an “iterative” maze or the producers ran out of money for scenery.

Holy Frijoles!!! A hall in a state of decay!! I tried peeking again into doors, seeing massive acts of madness, degeneration and probably a wii tournament of Mario Kart. God, I love Mario Kart! I played maybe ten minutes with Yoshii and kicked their asses to pixelated heaven. Then a girl knocked on the door:

“Excuse me, shouldn’t you be rescuing me?”

“Ehrm, how do you know I’m the one?”

“You have a sign in your jacket that says ‘I’m not with Bloody Torchwood!’ so I thought that’s the kind of ‘undercover work’ an agency with their name in bright leds in their SUV would do!”

“Ah, true, true, let’s get outta here!”

So we went to her room to get some stuff, while chaos started to engulf the building again: the Undergrads were coming back from a social!!!!

Unretouched pic of the moment the Urunkgraduates arrived and found I nicked some Stella.

“We must leave! This is bat country!” I said to Katja.

“Uh?”

“Sorry, for a moment there I lost myself, I lost myself, I lost myself!”

“Uh?!”

“We gotta escape!”

So we ran towards the exit, but they surrounded us. We were trapped.

“Beer! WE MUST DRINK!!!” yelled in their slurred speech.

“Look at me! OMFG I’m drunk! LOLZ!!” l33t speaked some idiot in the back while chugging some extra strength Persil capsules.

“Wicked! I’m uploading them to facebook, mate! You’ll girl be so pissed!”

“Beer!” yelled the rest at the same time they started to come near us. “Beer!”

I thought I saw some of them with gas masks saying “are you my mummy?” and maybe one very pale dude in the back asking “hey, who turned out the lights?!?!?!”

Were we doomed?

—Next Friday, the thrilling conclusion!

Emma Ai wonders where's everyone

Aaaaall right¡¡¡¡ that reminds me of my cousin’s parrot saying happily “I’m a bitch”, so…   Where is he from and what did they tell him he was saying??? ’cause he looks really excited about the peaches so he’s obviously not aware of what he’s saying, is he?…. IS HE??

The sound is actually not quite bad I must say, that technique I did not know and it sounds good, but what’s with the lyrics and the happy-punk-rock-pop direction??? still it’s not so bad…I would recommend to get a writer, if they do not look up to Blink 182 of course… or explain the metaphor or something please. And then it gets romantic (dreamed about you, woman) out of nowhere and then the yellow musketeers (plus the blue one) protect the holy peaches (a fight of dubious success ’cause I give better punches than the frontman)… you need a new video director too.

Sorry Frilly, I don’t really think there’s need for any rant besides the song…would be too much for one session.

Imightbeelvis loves chicken kebabs!

Hey, it’s the guy from Helmet! Wow, who could’ve thought he was going to do this kinda quirky rock after being in one of the hardest rockin’ bands in the world? I mean, I never thought he would take out all
strings from the guitar and restring it with 2 bass strings…well at least he kept the funky alternate tuning and… oooooh, sorry, it’s not Page Hamilton…it’s the freaky bald dude from Live, you know, the one that dreams that he is Michael Stipe, except more Buddhist and less sexually ambiguous. Now instead of doing sad metaphors for corporeal fluids, he’s just singing about peaches, meaning, he’s singing about asses. He really lost his Samadhi, innit?

Oh noes!!! NOW I SEE WHO HE IS! It’s Dave Matthews! By all things fruity loopy with soy milk… he really lost it after Before this Crowded Streets, innit? I wouldn’t be surprised if he sings about, I dunno, american babies or summink after this John Woo tribute.

Ahome’s right, Frill-o-meister, the video is so deranged that any of our petty rants couldn’t touch a flower of it.

Emilio loves to waste money on cds

Declino en opinar.

Noisy wants to live in Cardiff

EN LA PROGENITORA!!!

Tenia siglos de no oir esta cancion y creo que es mas nostalgia que otra cosa, pero admito que me entretiene. Makes sense, right? It’s unpretentious rock with a quirky video. It has everything: visual
jokes (love the peach tins in the tree branches), karate chop socky action, a small jaunty dance (around the 1:00 – 1:05 mark) , a “scratching the ground after the blunt of the attack” anime bit at 2:24 and 2:41 and some nifty old school kung fu movie reverse camera at 2:31 and 2:54… what else do you want on a funny video? And I mean funny “ha ha”, not funny “ooooh man, they are so drugged out their skulls!”.

I mean, yeah, we all like complex songs about depression and raining in Manchester and the numbness of the loaves of bread at Sainsbury’s after they were left at the cruel Beeston sun, but this group, like
Lit and Wheatus, are just having a good time, and that’s what this video is: some dumb old fun.

Can’t say anything bad about them. Oh, and the peaches? It’s a song the singer made when he was a kid. Look it up.

Homo Rodans wants pies on Earth

¿Que haría Homo Rodans con millones de duraznos, duraznos de’a-gratis, millones de duraznos, duraznos para él? Pues para empezar tendría que asegurarme de que fueran enlatados y en almibar si los quisiera comer, porque de otra forma la cascara me causa una reacción alérgica con la cual se me inflama el paladar encias y nervio trigémino. Secondly, un millon de duraznos = un millon de botellas de rompope de acuerdo al álgebra homorodiana. Finally, me aseguraria que los productores de dichos melocotones no fueran parte de la mafia japonesa ninja ninjitsu que azota los bosques de coníferas en el hemisferio norte.

Está profunda reflexión nace después de ver el video de los Presidents of the USA para su rola “Peaches” la cual estaba enterrada en el baúl de mis recuerdos más remotos de la extinta Rock 101(R.I.P) Nunca me había imaginado siquiera que tuviera video, y mucho menos que el final fuera un despliegue vulgar de artes marciales. Grata sorpresa la del Sr Editor al encomendarnos esta discusión tan jugosa!!(duraznos= rompope/fructosa multiplied by jugo en el algebra homorodiana…..diviertase usted con el despeje!)

Ogo would like some of whatever we smoked

Ogo no pudo enviar nada porque esta juegando en el play/Ogo couldn’t send anything this month because he’s too busy mercing zombies on playstation.

Which is too bad, because he would’ve loved all the action on the video. I mean, with him being a gorramn fan of japanese soap operas where everyone gives “the evil eye” so everyone and fight for 4 or 5 hours (real time), he’d certainly appreciate all the kicking and licking that go on here. It’s like Naruto, but without the bloody awful dialogue, dig??

Go watch Naruto.

Frilly likes to google himself

By the power of Gayskull’s Dance Remix!! It’s the ugly 90s back in action!

This video is soooo freaked out that I neeeeeed to do a play by play highlight out of it:

0:01 Oooh, clever, tins on the branches… it’s about consumerism!!
0:07 That sitar-lite sound warns me this is SOME HIPPIE BULLSH1T ABOUT
THE RAINFOREST!
0:34 “This video was brought to you by the National Fruit Association of America… because it makes you fruity!”
0:37 HOLY SH1T!! A FLYING STOOL!!!!! This is like Doctor Who in the 80s!
0:52 He has “peaches” written on his skull…what is he? The white version of Prince?
1:00 “Look at me dance while a stool lies dead in the floor” OH THE HUMANITY!
1:16 Why is he moving his head like a deranged Alanis Morissette? Oh, wait, that’s redundant…
1:35 WHAT THE FUKK IS THAT?!??!?!
1:45 They know something is in the woods….something BEYOND THE GRAVE!!!
2:10 FUKKOLA!!! NINJAS!!!
2:18 Ah, not only we are silly rockers… we have MAD FIGHTIN’ SKILLS!!
2:30 Kapow! BANG! BLAMMOS! POW!!!
2:44 EAT YOUR HEART OUT, GOKU!!!
2:50 Hey, the drummer has Vans…before they were en vogue again!! HE ROCKS!
3:02 If that bit had a “Six Million Dollar Man” bionic-jump sound effect, this’d be heaven, folks..

So, yeah, they kick ass, anime style, without big eyes or emo-dirge blabbermouth sappy stories.

Damas y caballeros, los abuelos de Bowling for soup y cualquier grupo punketito que haga letras chistosas  ( y videos simpaticos).

And noisy, it’s about asses, son… but you wouldn’t know about that.. VIRGIN!!!

RTD - Writer extraordinaire yeah!!

THIS SONG DELIVERS!!! You just want the ninjas to eat beans on toast, right??

Buncha mosquitoes, you wouldn’t understand something like this.

Go buy my book.

Go buy my book.

Seriously, you straights, go buy my book.

Or I’ll do a fifth season of Doctor Who.

Imightbeelvis loves chicken kebabs!

I think Emilio should say something about this… or is this song too low in the evolutionary step for him?

Is he chicken?

bo-coooookkk!

Emilio loves to waste money on cds

Presidents of the United States of America = One of the shittiest bands on the planet.

.

Imightbeelvis loves chicken kebabs!

Would sir care to point out a better band?

Really.

Just.

One.

Band.

I dares you.

Frilly likes to google himself

Wait, guys, can’t you see what’s happening??? THE NINJAS ARE MAKING US FIGHT!! They even messed up the layout of the page!!!! Let us not fall into temptation and deliver us into a few cocktails Noisy made for us… while we stare directly into the Barrel of a Gun, because next month (hopefully) we’ll go for Depeche Mode’s weirdest video EVAH!

Anyhoo, while Frilly and Noisy elope into a dark place in Europe, yours truly has to keep up the place for a bit, give some maintenance and get some linkies ready for the rest of the people around… While this is a great job and gets me some action on the weekends, it makes me read stuff that really makes my blood boil.

But fret not, my dear readers, because I lowers me blood pressures with the simplestest, easiestest wayest to do it: MASSIVE QUANTITIES OF COFFEE!!

Yes, lovely ladies and grooming gents, I have been drinking coffee since I was a baby. Heck, they even say I was conceived under a coffee tree (or under the influence of a coffee rush, your choice), so I have a weak spot for the Brew o’Beans that has that great smell.

Sadly, we gotta accept that all good things get over hyped, packed and ready to be consumed. Since I didn’t have any lovely java in my house, I popped around the local Starbucks and gots meself an artery clogging mocha with a shot of raspberry. There I was, reading the newspaper, sipping on my coffee and throwing darts at nearby cats, when allovasuddan BICKETY BAM!

“Starbucks wastes 23 million litres of water per day“

So yeah, I spritzed the coffee all over some old ladies, mentos and diet coke style and ran towards my computer, googled and there it was. Supposedly they keep a cold tap running so bacteria won’t accumulate on the faucets.

OK, how about buying a dishwasher? Sure, they use a lot of water (15 litres according to The Guardian , 4 to 6 gallons according to Energy Star), but it’s better than leaving the motherflippin’ tap running all day while some folksy music destroys the background.

Seriously, Starbucks, wasting water and Elliot Smith don’t mix. Oh, and if I ever see that fukkin’ Paul McCartney album in any of your stores, I’m accusing you to the UN for audio pollution.

So yeah, you get a Chris Tucker yell from me:

Yup, that’s us in the middle of the street. Ahome is not there cause she was filming, duh!

While we are at it trying to bring you cool stuff, why dontcha check this funny fella?

http://www.thatguywiththeglasses.com/

Incidentally, never mix pinto beans, lemon curry and raspberry kool aid. You might end up doing the 70s FrillySwagger (TM) and get stopped by the Old Bill. Or summat. I’m ranting, sorry. bye.

You ask yourself…where’s the rest of the commie bastards that work here?

Well, Frilly and Noisy are in France right now…y’see, this crazy chick stole some of Frilly’s special copy of Faith No More‘s Angel Dust, so they both went into a smashing rampage of wanton destruction:

Y’see why you shouldn’t steal cds?? YOU GET MERC’ED!!!

Me? I’m more of a man of peace. I go to the park, look at the hot chicks with scarfs and read some Walpole …. until I get a bit peckish, y’see, so I go to my local purveyor of fermented curd and get some nice nice nice piece of Wensleydale.

Until today:

Crap on a stick!! YOU’LL NEVER GET ME ALIVEEEEE!!!