Misc

I know we all love Christian Bale like a lost son but holy hell in heaven, listen to this! Exciting stuff, huh? Yes, I am sure it is irritating but as they put it on Holy Moly it’s not the set of Citizen Kane, it’s the new Terminator movie. Just wipe yr mouth and re shoot it, dude!
My personal favourite bit is when Bale petitions the director, McG (right up there with Uwe Boll in the pantheon of greats) to get the director of photography (the poor recipient of his wrath) removed from the set. Smashing stuff. Anyway, below is what the Mae Shi made of it all.

Me? Well, I’m moving house soon. February the 16th 2009, to be precise. So if you are reading this after then, then you are reading it in the future. Perhaps you could tell me how the move goes? Good on ya.

Anyways, as I’m moving house, that means that I have a whole mess of crap that I don’t want anymore, and I can’t be arsed to chuck it. And some of it is pretty big, too.
Long story short, it’s up for grabs. Free (ish) to anyone (ish) who is prepared to come and collect it. As soon as you say you want it, it’s yours and you should come and fetch it as soon as possible. After all, I don’t want your furniture cluttering up my flat, do I?
I will take some pictures and stick them in as I work out what is available and what I need.
The first item available to someone is my actual bed (but not the mattress. So as Karl Pilkington says “A bed without a mattress isn’t a bed. It’s a climbing frame”.) upon which many a human being has been pleasured. I imagine. It is a massive great big wooden thing and weighs a fucking tonne but can be flat-packed. This is a genuine offer and is available, FREE to anyone. It is, perhaps, a little on the broken side. Specifically some of the slats are broken and the main supporting beam on the right hand side is snapped clean through, too. Due to all the passionate love making. Apparently. I was away when it bust. This is a unique fixer-upper opportunity, you can make history (technically) by being the first person to take a second-hand bed (but no mattress. and would you want a second-hand mattress? A free one, at that? Nah, a free mattress would have too much history, too many stories. I bought a three piece suite once for forty quid [which included twenty quid van hire] and I still worry about it. Long gone now, though.)  off my hands.
Realistically it needs new slats and a tiny bit of work to repair the fucked beam. It is useable, though. I ‘spose (AND if you want to buy the artists impression of it, it will cost you seventeen euro’s! What!?).

Artists impression of my bed, yesterday.

I also have a big massive bag full of copies of Vogue and that. It should be clear that these are not mine. But you can have them or I will use them as kindling on your house.

And fucking CDs, man! Despite giving loads away I still seem to have a house full of ones I don’t want.

A couple of books, too. What I Know - Andrew Cowan (Shit), The Shadow Of The Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon (Basically a kids book. I didn’t realise until I got to the end and it had reading comprehension exercises. Rubbish.), Eats, Shoots & Leaves - Lynne Truss (Arch-pedant, Truss has far too much time on her hands and does not need to be read twice.), What’s A Girl To Do - Tyne O’Connell (No idea where this came from. Reprehensible chick lit. Possibly came free with a magazine like Chat.), If Nobody Speaks Of Remarkable Things - Jon McGregor (Actually pretty good. But for some reason I have millions of copies of it.), Mr Jones’ Rules - Dylan Jones (Unwanted gift written by utter twat , Dylan Jones, editor of GQ. That gives you an Idea of what it’s like. Mingey.)

I’ll add more stuff as and when I get to it, yeah? Photos too, y’allzzz.
Be seeing you…

We’ve all seen Iggy Pop selling car insurance and John Lydon selling butter, but The Residents selling me Vision Express? Now I’ve seen absolutely fucking everything.

Wolfdisguisedasmonk is proud to be officially the last blog on the internet to feature this video. If you haven’t seen it already then you should cut down on the porn, mate.

Be seeing you…

Let’s all take a long hard look at Prince Harry, shall we.

Prince Harry

Look at him, sitting there, eating swans, being casually racist on our sterling, mind you. Ours!
We all know he’s not Charles’ kid anyway. The piggy eyes, the ginger hair, the fact that he looks like a cross between Princess Diana and Major James Hewitt. Although, to be fair to the lad, his recent actions do seem to prove he is related by blood to Prince Philip. Which leads me to the inevitable conclusion that Hewitt is the son of Philip the Greek. Shocking stuff, I agree, but we must be brave and strong.
The boy is not malicious, just a fucking idiot. If you were to live yr life under the full glare of the media spotlight, you would have figured out by now that there are some things that you can get away with and be seen as a cheeky tyke, like his drinking and smoking weed (which reminds me of a thing about an ecstacy death that I read the other day. My favourite point is the one made by ParttimeCrackhead. The man is a genius and I want to go to his parties. Clicky, clicky to find out more, y’all.), but should probably keep yr Nazi regalia locked away, like Max Moseley.

I want, nay, demand a DNA test to discern the paternity of him and when it is revealed (ideally on The Jeremy Kyle Show) that he is NOT a royal (don’t get me started on them, anyway) we, as a people should be reimbursed every last penny of public money that has been spent on him. Except for regular child benefits, obviously. I am not calling for his execution, just asking for what is fair.
This at least would give Kyle something to get his rat-like teeth into as even Harry seems brighter than Kyle’s usual parade of imbeciles (and brighter also than his dearly departed mother with her collection of zero O-levels. Which she had the temerity to fail twice. The thick bitch.) and may be able to spar with, possibly run rings around the smug self-satisfied cunt. I don’t know if you would get Philip down for it, but I’m sure we could manage if we put our heads together.

Harry and his father, yesterday

Be seeing you…