Archive for January, 2009

I’m going to go. Leave Hollyoaks. - Michael Barnes.

Fuck off then, son.

Mike Barnes nightmare, yesterday

Barnesey, Barnesey, Barnesey you absolute twat. Too long have you dithered and dallied. Dragging your feet as everyone sneers at you and suspects you of being a terrible parent, a peadophile, and a fucking doormat. You, sir, are the very definition “Cuckold” (a word growing more and more apt for a higher and higher percentage of Hollyoaks fellas.).
Who would be a Barnes, eh? Amy, preggers for the second time before she was eighteen, Sarah, bit of a goer who actually slept with her dad’s girly, which is a bit strong, I don’t care how liberal you are. Mummy Barnes who went shit ape mental and posted boxes of her own faeces to the neighbours and, if memory serves, slept with Rhys. A boy made entirely from oil. So oily is he, that if you went to an oily man competition and saw him stood talking to, say, Michael Portillo, you’d still say, “Who’s that really oily bloke over there? No, not Portillo, the lad chatting him up?”

Poor Amy is caught in a tug of love betwixt Ste, the angriest man in the world (played by Adam Sandler in The Waterboy), and Josh, the absolute cunt and proud holder of the trophy for Worlds Worst Pete Doherty Impersonator (did you hear it when Michaela called him a mingehole? Brilliant.). Josh is the worst kind of self-righteous prick. The kind who has never even experienced the things he is railing against, just gets all his information from the Daily Mail and Jeremy Kyle. And maybe some info from the aforementioned Rhys. Why anyone would model themselves after that greasy, pixel-eyed sister-fucker is anyones guess. Were it not for Amy’s aptitude as a doormat, she would surely be a strong single woman, if only she weren’t so pathetic, eh?

Warren and Calvin,

So what else has been gwarn this past week? Well it has transpired that Sasha is only toying with the affections of the spastic in order to get her hands on the crotch of Warren. That will be nice for Calvin. “Alright, Wozza, mate. Poking my little sister now, are you? Well done. First my fiance, then you’ve got me in yr pocket, now yr up to the makers mark in her. Brilliant! I’ll just give Carmel a shout, whap it in her backdoor if you fancy it, and my humiliation will be complete.” This, tragically is not the end of Calvin’s be-bitchment. He doesn’t even get the promotion he is going for. The writing team do seem to have an intense dislike for “nice blokes” and show this by trying to turn them all into Ricky from Eastenders. Could be an interesting plotline but I don’t remember Sasha having a fucking thing to do with Warren before. I really like her hair, though.

Michaela and Zak, will prolly keep on and on after splitting up every five seconds. I am jealous, obviously, I wish she would have made me a lovely birthday breakfast.

The mass influx of the shitabled continues after Spencer with Zak’s sister, Hayley (the girl in the go-cart), and, arguably Elliot who seems to have developed some form of Temporal lobe epilepsy, or synaesthesia but the Good Witch Of The North is adamant that he now has the made-up super power of being able to read peoples non-existent auras. I have my fingers crossed that he is on his way to a stroke. On his death bed, his heavily depleted brain power will focus solely on the opportunities he has let pass him by while he concentrated on his bloody spaceships. By which I mean the chance to fuck either Sarah Barnes, and/ or Hannah Ashworth, or in an ideal world, both at the same time. Which given Sarah’s track record, would not have been out of the question. But back to Hayley, Archie (for some reason viewed as a cheeky chappie charmer by the people in the village whereas I think he smells like a date rapist) has sex with her within seconds of meeting her (scouser, innit) and Zak boils over with impotent rage before ineffectually lashing out, then having a little cry the big poof.

Sarah and Hannah in happier times, pre-Elliot, yesterday

I have just stumbled across a brilliant website, by accident, and was sidetracked, so I offer you this, free of charge.

Dirty Diegos

Clicky clicky. Fun, fun, fun.
Be seeing you…

Just watch these, one at a time, and enjoy them. Smashing stuff.

Is all.
Be seeing you…

I watched this film on ITV2 (Which should have set alarm bells ringing) last night, in search of some slightly ridiculous easy to watch fluff and I haven’t been more disappointed since I watched Girl Next Door thinking it would be a light-hearted knock about comedy, rather than a horrific vision of porn actresses and abuse. This film, Bottoms Up, is shit. There is no escaping the fact but it does have one redeeming feature, it is so shit, it’s actually quite good. Not in an ironic way, but in the way you would watch someone be slowly impaled on a spike up the anus. Not a pleasurable experience, but one you couldn’t stop watching.

Bottoms Up, yesterday

It’s an appalling film, unsure if it wants to be a comedy, drama, romance or what. The plot, such as it is, runs that Jason Mewes (playing Jason Mewes) goes to LA in order to write an expose on a movie star so he can save his dads steakhouse. Yeah, I know, it’s a tired plot that we’ve seen a thousand times but there’s more. In LA he meets Paris Hilton (playing a retarded Paris Hilton) and blackmails her over some car-park attendant she slept with into introducing him to said film star, her boyfriend.

Strap yrselves in, here comes the twist. After being introduced to the movie star, Mewes finds him to be a nice, personable gent and they get on and bond well. At least Hilton plays to type as a stereotypical, vapid, do-nothing socialite, eh? But hark! What’s all this? It transpires that Hilton has actually set up and runs a hostel for homeless people called Wishing Well which she pays for entirely with her own money that she should be spending on diamond encrusted fanny wipers or whatever.

This is a dreadful exercise in film-making. No one can act, it’s completely unbelievable in it’s own universe and I fear that a lot of it (specifically the plot) ended up on the cutting room floor. Testament to the poor acting is that Mewes, a former drug addict cannot even play stoned. Ridiculous.

What we learn from this (apart from realising that The Simple Life is actually real and unscripted because Paris is infinitely more naturalistic in that than this where here clipped, staccato pronunciation makes me murder children) is that you should never believe anything you read in the papers or on the scurrilous internet about slebs, because they are better than you and jealous journalists make shit up.

This film also contains a secretly-gay, comedy-marine-uncle for some unexplored reason.

So in summary I would recommend this film to everyone. It is a rare treat in that it is so shit, it’s good. This is said of many things, most of which turn out to be so shit, they are shit, but not this. It is worth a look. Don’t buy it, though, I’m sure it’s on the worldwide internet somewhere, but remember, only download it if you own the copyright and if whoever is hosting it owns a distribution license.

Be seeing you…

In case you missed the second episode of Skins, series 3, just watch this:

And this at the same time:

And that is essentially what you missed out on. Bit busy, wasn’t it?

Not sure how scared I’d be by Gareth from the office…

A dead hard drug dealer, yesterday

So series three is attempting to hit it’s stride, slightly clumsily, perhaps. This episode was dominated by Cook, played by the singer from Mirror!Mirror!, or Youves,  or whatever they are calling themselves this week. Cook takes over and monopolises the show completely which at first seems like a poorly scripted and contrived effort to get you to know him. It’s not. It’s seeing the party from the gang’s point of view, it’s getting you right in there, feeling slightly smothered, slightly intimidated and asking yrself, how much would I get on with this lad? Once you realise that this is the view, other things fall into place. Why are Effy and Pandora friends if Effy is so effortlessly cool? Why do the twins dress similarly and fade into the background (where the fuck did Emily [the secret lesbian] go after the row with Naomi?)? How are Cook, JJ, and Freddie (So far, so pointless, but I imagine he will develop later) friends when they all clash so violently? I think it is a little more complicated. I think every character is being viewed as the rest of the clique sees them. In their wee gang, Effy is so cool, but only to them. To others in the college she is just another girl. Pandora is a buffoon because she says simple things, if these filters we view them through weren’t there, they would most probably be more similar. It’s an exciting way of watching people and does it’s job of putting you in there with them.

So yeah. The first episode had an obvious homage to Back To The Future at the beginning and this one is, to my mind, a direct homage to Star Wars Episode 5: The Empire Strikes Back. Don’t believe me? Then you are a dickhead. Look at the structure and the denouement. Father figures letting them down, fragmenting of the group, poorly advised quests that the protagonist is unready for, the curses of being headstrong, and a downbeat ending (speaking of which, on Lowculture some one pointed out that the trailers for the first series were like the best party ever, and for the second, like the worst orgy ever. This time we already have extreme violence and degradation and we are only on episode two. Series four is going to be like a journey through hell and I for one can’t wait.), thusly, I rest my case.

When watching shows like this I always try and find which person I am most like. Initially I thought perhaps Cook or Freddie, but now I have realised that it is probably JJ. I have few people skills and am essentially just along for the ride. Cook reminds me scarily of an old housemate, as it goes…

It’s disappointing to think that as him, I will have my first kiss from a whore and probably never get to fuck Emily.

Be seeing you…