Podcast

After a good few months of pricking around I have decided to knock out another spodcast. And here it jolly well is. Hope you enjoy at least some of it, I’m sick of it by now, truth be told. I’ve listened to it millions of times whilst desperately wondering why my iTunes and GarageBand seem to be at odds with the internets’s instructions. Oh well, feedback would be nice, but you know how it is.

A polar bear, yesterday

The covergirl, as it were, is Ms Bobbi Star, adult actress extraordinaire. She like Polar Bears and Oboes. I think I will work my way through my most bestest actresses as covers from here on in. xx

PS: From one thing to another, has anyone else heard that Gene Hunt dies at the end of the next series of Ashes To Ashes? TRUFAX

I’ll tell you what I did the other day, I went to the fucking wrestling, y’all. TNA, which apparently stands for Total Non-stop Action (not Tits ‘N’ Ass, as I had assumed [well, hoped]). Why the “S” in “Stop” doesn’t warrant it’s own letter is never fully explained to my mind. Perhaps someone decided, like Sam “Include me out” Goldwyn when he looked at Ars Artis Gratia (Art For Art’s Sake) above the roaring lions head on Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer films that TNSA just didn’t look right (Samuel Goldwyn famously said “Shuffle it about a bit”, leading to much ummming and ahhhhing and shuffling from foot to foot from his underlings before someone just said “Yeah, alright.”, which is why it now reads “Ars Gratia Artis”, trivia fanzzz). “Featuring Kurt Angle, Jeff Jarrett, Samoa Joe and AJ Styles!” the ticket excitedly proclaims. I don’t know who any of these people are.

TNA, yesterday

So what the hell do I know about wrestling? The square root of fuck all, that’s what. As my companion and I wended our merry way there I was mistakenly under the impression that it was them Mexican wrestlers with the masks which are meant to be dead good that we were on our way to see. It wasn’t, and he filled me in on the language and a brief history of the art. Apparently it started with the circus strongman and “Survive ten minutes to earn ten bucks” style competitions and has since developed in to this monster that one sees before you. There may be some holes in that potted history, but in essence, that’s it.

Rammed. It was absolutely packed in there. Full of virgin boys, the scent of Lynx and sexual inadequacy heavy in the air. But the atmosphere was good. The least pretentious crowd I have ever come across in the sense that everyone was there to enjoy themselves, not to be seen or to simply say they had been (unlike say, to pluck an entirely random example out of the air, ATP Release The Bats at Space 2) and it was enjoyable.

Is wrestling fixed? Of course it is but when I watched Jurassic Park I didn’t think the dinosaurs were real and I still think that is ace. It doesn’t matter that the events are staged, these people are still extraordinary athletes. I couldn’t get up there and do the stuff they do in a six sided (?) ring for ten minutes without coughing up a lung. And nor could you (except, off the top of my head, maybe two of you. I’m talking to you Tom and you Kevin. Hmm, I wonder if I could arrange an MMA contest between them pair? I could tell them it’s for charity, I ‘spose.).

Kurt Angle and Mick Foley, yesterday

There were some politically interesting moments, such as where an “Iranian” wrestler (To much booing), Sheik Yerbouti or something, bowed down and prayed to Allah before his fight then kept cowering out and tried to run away. And some interesting perversions of language - A female tag team called “The Beautiful People” which proves that England and America truly are two countries separated by a common language. Beautiful is a relative term. Also appearing in that fight was a professional horse frightener called ODB who I found myself strangely drawn towards. I wonder if she has had any surgery?

My favourite part of the night was a tag team brawl featuring some fat lads (Hey, fat blokes are people, too! - My companion) who declared the match to be “A good old fashioned Birming-Ham street fight”. Hmm. A Hurst Street fight, maybe. There were no stabbings and nary a knife was pulled. They did bonk someone on the nut with a “Wet Floor” sign (There was also a broom or two in use which reminded me of a time many years ago when I saw the singer from a successful Birmingham band chase someone down the street with a broom outside the Sanctuary late one night cos they had nicked his wallet.*) and they dropped someone through a table. Which was fun.

Magnus Brutus from the new Gladiators was there and had a fight and won, and another English wrestler was there too, but he lost. We missed Kurt Angle and the main event cos my companion had a train to catch. But it was a good night, a bit too much music by James Alan Hetfield and his merry band of pranksters for my liking, but you can’t have everything.

Some gladiators, yesterday

Be seeing you…

*If you think you know who it was, please leave yr answer in the comments.

Well it’s been a long time coming and there have been many, many requests for it, and here it bastard well is.

Sasha Grey, yesterday

My own idiosyncratic rules apply so, yes, one or two aren’t strictly speaking from this year, and one is an awful quality bootleg (Well, it’s not anymore, I got a better version but I left this in to show you my dedication.), but fuck you, yeah? Problem? Complain about it on yr own fucking blog, you cunt. This right here is my little universe. And fuck you too, if you want a tracklist. Anyway, who doesn’t like the mystery and adventure of simply not knowing what might be up next? If it makes you stroke yr chin, I have failed. Also, copyright is a cunt, so cease and desist my ass! Fell free to comment on this, not that it will make one jot of fucking difference. What I say goes, round here.
Get yr rarty arse here, here or here to download or listen to the fucker.
That picture up there is the cover for it, if you will. Copy and paste, copy and paste.
Be seeing you…

Right then, viewers. I have just spent all fucking evening yesterday trying desperately to work out how to do a podcast. Do you know what, by George I think I’ve got it!

An actual wolf, yesterday

But maybe not. so here it is anyway, clicky, clicky, clicky and have a listen to my poorly structured, hastily thrown together podcast, or WolfCast (actually, there seem to be tons of podcasts called WolfCast so it is going to the snappier title of Wcfwdamadoti [Wuh-cuff-wuh-dam-ah-dotty] someone have a listen, it’s taken me fucking ages, I hope it bastard works.

P.S. on listening back to it I recon the first and last tracks should be switched. Better luck next time, eh.

xx