A Dual-Core Processed Banana (A Voice from the Pillow story)

It all started late one night when I was sitting in the Korova with Benny and Roman, drinking a tall glass of one percent milk and getting myself in the mood for a bit of the old ultra-blunt smoking.

“You know, they’re not gonna ID you at the bar” said Benny over his pint of Bitter “if you wanted, I’m sure you could order something a bit more, you know, manly...”

“I’m fine” I replied, taking a refreshing sip of the ice cold milk seated in my rooka “but I am up for a bit of the old ultra-blunt smoking, if you two gentlemen are similarly inclined?”

My Droogs nodded their approval, and began to see their drinks off. I raised my glass and skulled every last drop of the delicious milk into my golova, and down to my stomach.

“Well then, gentlemen” I said, reveling in the refreshing taste of my beverage “shall we?”

And with that, we headed off to meet Roman’s prestoopnick friends, in the hopes that we could exchange some of our government-sponged cutter for some of the finest ultra-blunt the night had to offer.

When we arrived at the house of the fabled prestoopnicks to find Roman’s droog Billyboy attempting a bit of the old up- down in front of a DVD of ‘Lazy Town’, a look of delight spread across the bizarre chelloveck’s chiseled litso as he imagined his rooker belonging to the pink haired teenager on the screen.


This is a Childrens show?


“My, my” I smiled, looking at the veck in amusement “that’s a bit of a malenki chelloveck you’ve got there, isn’t it?”

Billyboy jumped to his feet, clearly outraged that we would dare walk in on him whilst he was watching the pink-haired girl show off her tight, underage arse to her viewers.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He bellowed, pulling up his trousers to conceal his smooka and it’s malenki friend.

“Billyboy!” shouted Roman as he entered the room “We wanna buy some weed!”

“I’m not selling any you Spic fuck!” Billyboy roared back at him, the anger showing in his eyes “not get the fuck out of here!”

“Not so fast” I responded, offended that we were being spurned because of his own foolishness “We’ve got some perfectly good cutter here to offer you, and I expect you to honour the code of the ultra-blunt sellers, and exchange this cutter for a quart of your very finest, lest we become displeased by your services”.

I saw his eyes dart to the cricket bat beside his sofa, as he gauged whether or not he could reach it before your humble narrator had the chance to engage him in a spot of Ultra-violence.

“A quarter?” He asked, clearly residing himself to the fact that he would not be able to reach his bat in time “that’s it?”

“That’s it.” I replied, and matched his gaze. He broke eye contact quickly, and moved over to a nearby drawer.

“Well, if it’ll get you arseholes out of here” he said, as he tossed me a bag of his finest ultra-skunk. I opened the soomka and took a whiff of the fine cheese smell the potent ultra-skunk was emitting, before giving Benny the nod to hand over our collective cutter. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you Gentlemen.”

“Likewise” I responded “Enjoy Lazy Town”.

My Droogs and I left the building, and let Billyboy carry on with his Khorosho up-down antics.



Back in the Korova, my Droogs and I lit up a spliff each, and toasted over the finest milk the east-end has to offer.

“To my Droogs” I said “may we never run out of ultra-skunk!” and we knocked back our drinks, and chased them with a long drag each. As I did so, I noticed an attractive woman walk into the Korova, and sit on the table across from us. I flashed her a smile.

“What’s caught your attention?” asked Benny, who was busy blowing his second hand weed smoke up his Poodle’s nose.


I'm only gonna die from eating this chocolate... if I... accept it as inevitable... You know what I mean?


“Why, the Brunette with the perfect litso across the room, my Droog” I stated calmly, taking another drag off my ultra-blunt. My Droogs turned their attention to the girl.

“You don’t stand a chance with her, man” said Benny, inhaling yet another lungful of skunk, and preparing himself to exhale it into his Dog’s face once more.

“Sure I do” I said, standing “I’ll speak to you later, my Droogs, once I’m through with giving this khorosho specimen a taste of the old in-out.”

I could hear the two of them laughing behind my back as I approached her table, smoothing the creases out of my risp as I did so.

“Is this seat taken?” I asked, indicating the seat at her table directly opposite her.

“It is if you’ve only come over her to hit on me” she said, looking somehow unimpressed, despite the masculine figure standing before her. I sat down.

“My name’s Voice” I said, trying to sound as friendly as possible, and extending my hand to her “Voice DeLarge”.

“Emma.” She said, refusing to shake my hand.

“Well, Emma” I said, not deterred by her apparent frigidity “Would you like me to buy you a drink? The Korova’s milk here is quite excellent.”

“You want to buy me a drink of milk?” she enquired, apparently curious by my exquisite sense of taste.

“certainly” I said “nothing prepares ones body better for a bit of the old in-out than the vitamins one gets from a glass of milk”

I saw her smile fade before she even opened her mouth “I knew it” she said “that’s all you men are ever interested in. Sex. You know what, call me when you decide you’re gay. Until that day, leave me alone.” And she got up, and left the Korova. I took a deep breath to catch the last of her perfume still hanging in the air, then went to rejoin my droogs over at the other table.

“Told you she wouldn’t be interested” laughed Benny, smashed off his face on ultra-skunk and whiskey.

“How could you have let her get away, man? What are you, some kind of maracon?” asked Roman. Benny looked at him.

“What did you just call him?” he enquired.

“Maracon.” Replied Roman, still smoking on his ultra-blunt “It means Faggot.”

The two of them burst out laughing, and I felt something inside of me rise. A thirst; for ultra-violence.

“Well, my Droogs, you certainly have my number” I laughed with them, placing my hand on Roman’s shoulder “perhaps we should vacate the Korova for the time being, and see if we can find ourselves a little more ultra-skunk elsewhere?”

The two of them voiced their agreements, and fairly soon we were outside, walking along Southsea pier. As we walked along the rustic pier, I was calm on the outside, but thinking all the time. So now it was to be “voice the faggot”, not listening when told what to do; and my Droogs laughing at me like mindless grinning bulldogs. And suddenly I bidded, that thinking was for the Gloopy ones, and that the omni ones used like, inspiration and what bogs ends. For now it was lovely music that came to my aid; there was a window open with the stereo on, and the uber-cool rap stylings of Will Smith’s ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’ filled the area; and I viddied right at once what to do.

“Roman?” I enquired “I was wondering if you could tell me what the capital of Thailand is?”

“That’s easy” he laughed, still thinking me Gloopy. “Bangkok.”

And with that, I smashed the fist of my rooka into his soomka, and watched him reel in pain as the shock went all the way up his body to his golova. He leaped backward from me, screaming in agony, and as he did so went over the railings of the pier, and into the water. I rounded on Benny, who was staring slack-jawed at the scene, and pump-kicked him to the chest, sending him over the barriers as well. I watched as my droogs thrashed, and writhed in the water, and vowed that were they to ever get out of line again, there could be no greater form of punishment than this.


I stand corrected.




About an hour later, we were sitting in the Korova again. I handed Roman my ultra-blunt after just two puffs, and told him he could finish it. An omni leader knows not only when to punish a dog, but also when to compromise, so it will not bite him out of spite in years to come. I poured Benny a shot of Gold-top milk from the two gallon container I had bought for the table.

“So, all is squared away now, and we need never speak of this again, right?” I asked. The two of them simply nodded. “excellent” I said, and rolled my remaining ultra-skunk into a spliff, and began to smoke it. Suddenly, the manager of the Korova appeared behind me.

“Are you smoking weed in my establishment?” he bellowed, snatching the dope out of my hand. “Where did you get this from?” he screamed.

“He grows it himself” said Roman from across the table “perhaps you should call the police?”

“You bastard!” I shouted as I dodged the manager’s grabbing hands and made for the door “betrayed by my own Droogs! How could you?”

And with that, I ran out into the street, and off into the night.



By the time I got home, I was tired, and decided that a bit of good old fashioned up-down was in order, so I switched on my computer, and began watching a video of two chellovecks doing the old in-out to a rather attractive woman from each end. I began to tug on my malenky droog as I watched, and felt the excitement surge throughout my body. As I was about to spit some korova juice onto my rooka, however, one of the vecks on the video let his juice spray over the face of the girl, as the man behind was still going at it. I watched this happen, and noticed that some of his veck-juice had missed her face, and flown over her shoulder onto the other chelloveck’s leg. As I saw this, I couldn’t help but think of the Russell Brand live skit in which he describes doing the exact same thing to a friend in a 3some, and having his friend chase him around the room trying to spunk on his leg out of revenge. And that’s when it happened, I let my Veck-juice spray; whilst thinking of Russell Brand being jazzed on by another man.

At first this did not bother me too much. Yes, it was weird, but no-one needed to know. However, over the next few nights, every time I tried to do the old up-down, I would find myself thinking of Russell Brand just at the moment I let my veck-juice spray, and this began to concern me. After 2 weeks of this, I started to become ill when thinking of doing the old in-out to a woman, and could only get my malenki droog excited when thinking of Russell Brand. I decided to see a counselor.

“Oh dear” he said, as I explained the situation. “My dear boy, it seems you have performed a sort of masturbatory reconditioning on yourself, a branch of aversion therapy which revolves around the individual masturbating for prolonged periods whilst thinking about an inappropriate stimulus without coming, to associate the pain and boredom of masturbation without climax with the subject they are imagining, whilst picturing appropriate stimulus as they come, to associate pleasure with that stimulus. Unfortunately, you seem to have gotten them mixed up, and now associate heterosexual sex with pain and boredom, and Russell Brand with the feeling of climax”.

“Is there any way you can fix it?” I enquired, and he shook his head.

“No, I’m afraid not. Recidivism of sex offenders is so greatly reduced post-masturbatory reconditioning because it is such an effective treatment. I’m afraid your only option is to live out the rest of your life as a homosexual with a strong preference to guys who look like Russell Brand.”

“Could I not get aversion therapy to put me off homosexual sex?” I asked, hopefully.

“Of course” he responded “but it would not prevent you from being sick at the thought of heterosexual sex, but would merely make your body react violently to both, and to be honest, it's probably better to enjoy gay sex than none at all. At least, that's what your dad tells me.”

I stared at him in a state of shock. My world had just come crashing down around me. My Droogs were right all along.




I left the hospital soon after, and walked along Southsea common to the pier. My days of doing the in-out on women were over. From here on out, it looked like the only way I could ever stand to do in-out without making myself hurt so badly I screamed for the sweet release of death would be if I had sex with Russell Brand. I stared into the sea, wondering whether or not to jump, when a hand grabbed me from behind.

“Voice!” said a voice, and I turned to see my old Droogs standing behind me, holding porn magazines.

“We just stole these from that Atar newsagent” said benny, holding one up to me “What do you think?”

As I stared at 19 year-old Kelly from Essex, standing on the cover with her perfect 36C breasts on display, my first instinct was to grab a hold of her titties and motorboat them, but just as I thought this, I felt the sickness begin to rise in my stomach to my throat, and the pain began to burn. I screamed out in agony, and collapsed, writhing on the floor as Roman had done when I kicked him into the ocean those 2 weeks ago. Roman and Benny looked down at me.

“Should we take him to a hospital?” asked Benny, sounding genuinely concerned.

“HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN HE PUNCHED ME IN THE FUCKING COCK?” Replied Roman, scathingly. Come on, let’s just dump his head in that water trough over there and go bowling, or something.


And they did.



Fucking Spanish people and their bowling...




I awoke hours later as a feminine hand touched my golova, and I rose out of unconsciousness to see the girl Emma from the bar standing over me, in what appeared to be a bedroom in a country house.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“You’re safe” she said. I found you passed out in a water trough, and brought you home. I heard all about you in the news.”

“I was in the news?” I enquired.

“Oh yes” she responded sweetly “you’re the boy who gave himself aversion therapy by thinking about Russell Brand whilst masturbating. It’s a massive story, I’ve been following it quite intently.” I made a mental note to scratch that therapist off my Christmas card list, and look into the exact rules regarding patient-doctor confidentiality.

“What makes me so interesting now?” I asked her, and she smiled again.

“You’re living proof that Russell Brand is an evil man, who needs to be stopped. He has taken the pleasure out of sex for you with anyone but himself, just like George Clooney did to his ex-girlfriend, and we can use this as evidence that he should be scrubbed from the face of our world once and for all!”

I lay back, thinking about this for a while. She could clearly see I was tired.

“Is there anything I can get you?” she asked, her perfect lips looking so enticing. I felt the sickness begin to rise again as I thought this. “Yes, a glass of milk, please” I thought, wanting to wash the bile down. I didn’t, however, realize what effect this would have on her.

“Milk?” she asked, shocked.

“Yes” I answered “Milk. Korova Moloko. Do you have any?”

“My God!” she whispered “You’re the creepy guy from the bar who was hitting on me!”

“Yes” I said “I wanted to know if you were up for a bit of the old in-out. Why?”

“Oh, no reason.” She said, standing upright and averting her gaze slightly. “May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead” I answered, figuring she was making such an effort to keep me well, it couldn’t hurt to answer any questions she may have.

“Well, I was wondering, what does it feel like when you think about heterosexual sex?”

“Oh, it’s horrible” I replied “I get this terrible sickness in my stomach, that boils up into my throat, and chokes the air out of me. And my head feels like it’s splitting with the pain. If I’m honest with you, it makes me feel… like I want to die.”

“I see” she said, clearly pondering something “here, let me get your milk”.

She left the room, and I heard the door lock behind her. Moments later, I heard a sound being pumped into the room through a speaker-system. It was the sounds of two women having sex.

“STOP IT!” I screamed as I felt the sickness rise once more. “PLEASE STOP” I shouted out to her “I’M BEGGING YOU! STOP IT, PLEASE!” the sounds continued to play, and I felt as though my intestines were about to burst through the wall of my abdomen, and spill all over the floor. My head felt like it was burning at a thousand degrees and my limbs felt like they had been crushed with sledgehammers. The sounds didn’t stop. I knew what had to be done. I climbed over to the window, and rolled out. I fell 30 feet, and everything went black.



NOT like that...




I awoke in hospital to see David Cameron sitting at my bedside.

“My Cameron I said, surprised “what are you doing here?”

“Well, Voice” he answered “I heard about your case in the new, and decided we couldn’t just sit by and let something like this happen to a member of the public who is registered to vote, so I pulled some strings at the NHS and, well, you’re cured.”

I looked up at him in awe. “I’m cured?” I asked “I’m really cured?”

“Certainly” he replied “good as new. In fact, thanks to you we’ve managed to ban Russell Brand from ever entering our country again. The nation owes you a terrific amunt, Voice. Especially Andrew Sachs.”

“Well, thank you sir” I said “Thank you very much.”

“No problem kid” he responded. “By the way, do you mind if I take this opportunity for a photo-op?”

“Not at all” I said “carry on.”

He smiled. “Great” he said, turning to face the cameramen in the corner “Come on over and get a picture of us, then.”

A hundred camera flashes went off as the Prime minister shook my hand in an attempt to get publicity for his next election. But I didn’t mind that he was whoring me out. In fact, I smiled, a broad cheesy grin. The kind of grin you get when you imagine yourself riding Ellen Page as the entire cast of The Trailer Park Boys looks on; because that’s what I was doing. I was back. I was cured…




Oh yes, I was very definitely cured ;)





Voice



This post is dedicated to Stanley Kubrick, one of the greatest film-makers of our time. R.I.P



The other 2 stories involving Benny and Roman can be found here and here.

A Little Extra Silliness... (Comic)

Since nobody visits this site, and that whole Memebase scene is somewhat popular (I think the comic I made on here which someone stuck on there actually got more hits than this site has in total), I'm gonna whore myself out - So I just thought I'd make a "Challenge Accepted Guy" comic for you to all enjoy:





That surprised you, didn't it? After all, you thought I was going to be commenting on Miley Cyrus turning 18, and how much I'd like to bang her. But in case you haven't noticed, I was doing it before she was 18, so her age really makes no difference to me (I mean, 16's legal in the UK and half the States in the US). Still, even I was surprised when she did that naked photoshoot to celebrate being legal. Yikes!




I never would have thought it. Stand-up girl like her.



Vice


Get it? Like Voice, but without the 'o' because we're talking about porn? Ah, frget it.

(that one was a typo).

Why Prisoners Shouldn't be Allowed the Vote (Video)

This week it was announced that David Cameron has decided to give in to a ruling from the European Court of Human Rights to allow prisoners in the UK the right to vote. This has caused outrage online, with a lot of people attacking John Hirst, the lawyer and ex-con who brought the case against the UK Government, over the issue. I decided that, as a man deeply involved in politics, it was my duty to tell people my opinion on the matter, so here it is, my explanation why prisoners should NOT be allowed the vote:







Voice





p.s. first person to mention the yellow wall dies... unless, you know, it's complimentary.

The Other Guys Review (Text)

At first, I wasn’t so sure The Other Guys sounded all that good. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a Wahlberg fan and everything, and I loved Will Ferrell in Zoolander, but it just didn’t seem like it would be my kind of thing – which is odd considering my favourite comedy movie of all time is about a detective and his incompetent sidekick trying to solve a massive case no-one believes is solvable and constantly ripping on each other (guessed what it is yet?) - but, I dunno. The Other Guys? Just didn’t sound right.

But then I watched the trailer for it online, and pissed myself all the way through it. This movie looked like it had everything – cool action, great comedy. I was in! No doubt about it. So, we headed to the cinema, and bought our tickets to The Other Guys. God I wish I’d been to see the new Saw instead…

To be fair, this movie started really promisingly. It opens with The Rock and Samuel L. Jackson as the super cool hero cops everyone wants to be like apprehending a group of armed criminals in a spectacular car chase and gun battle, which really got everyone in the cinema into the film. We are then introduced to the other Guys, Mark Wahlberg and Will Ferrell, who are the cops working behind the scenes, filling in the paperwork for Jackson and Johnson’s characters. The initial exchanges between the two of them are hilarious, and the timing is all perfect. Whilst some of the jokes were predictable early on, I still found myself laughing at quite a few of them, and generally enjoying the tone of the movie. However, things went downhill pretty soon after.

In the next scene they appear in, we see the Rock and Samuel L. Jackson chase a group of jewellery store robbers onto the roof of a building, and watch them escape on zip lines, which they then cut to prevent the two cops from following them. The pair look at each other, before awesomeness happens. There is a brief exchange of some manly fucking dialogue, and then the two of them jump:




“Whoa!” I thought when this happened. “I did not see that coming!”

I had been under the impression that the whole movie revolved around Ferrell and Wahlberg being in The Rock and Jackson’s shadows, as the ‘other guys’, and yet the two guys I had thought were taking 3rd and 4th to main characters had just died only about 10 minutes in. Ballsy strategy. And you know what? It worked – for a short while.

You see, at first, I was very impressed that they had killed off the guys who were set up as the main support characters, because it was so different, and I kind of thought “wow, if they can afford to kill those guys off like that, this film is gonna rock!”. Unfortunately, however, I was sadly mistaken. You see, whilst Wahlberg and Ferrell do manage to keep pace for a good while after this scene, the movie still dies before the halfway point.

As it progressed, I noticed there were less and less laughs to be had, but wasn’t that concerned, because I was certain the pace would pick right back up again, and things would be back to how they were at the beginning. Then came the scene that really got me bothered.

In one scene, Mark Wahlberg’s character goes to see his ex-girlfriend, who is a ballet dancer. When he sees her, he confronts her with “what are you doing, living like this? Coming in here, and shaking it for dollar bills?” and I was laughing, thinking “man, what an awesome way to piss off your ex – act like a twat and make out that her ballet studio is a strip club – that would be so embarrassing for her!”, but then realised, to my horror, that the character was actually supposed to think it was a strip club. And this pissed me off so much.

I’m all for having idiot characters – I loved the way Wahlberg was saying lots of non-sensical phrases earlier in the film, confusing metaphors and so on, but this just went way too far. I think one of the problems was that Will Ferrell is already set up as being the moron, and it would be nice to have a character who wasn’t a complete idiot for him to play off of. Another issue was that it was just so unbelievable. Right after this as Wahlberg shows off his ballet moves and when asked where he learned to dance like that replies “I learnt it when I was in school to make fun of the queer kids who did that shit”, that would have been a golden idiot moment for him, had it not been absolutely ruined by making the character look too moronic just a minute before.

After that point, the film really started crashing – the good jokes were poorly executed and fell flat, whilst the rest of the running time was filled with what nowadays passes as being a joke, but is really stretching the fucking definition. In short, it was a combination of the kind of scenes that appear in films like “Epic Movie” and “Date Movie” where they probably looked good on paper, but weren’t funny because they were executed poorly, and he kind of jokes they sometimes put in Family Guy which aren’t funny, but go on and on and on, because the idiots watching will have to start laughing eventually, right?




To an extent, I think it is partly my fault that I didn’t enjoy this film, because I didn’t particularly like Anchorman, and hadn’t realised that it was by the same guy, and in the same style. That said, however, the trailers were pretty fucking misleading, and clearly designed to get people who like real comedy to go and see the film, rather than just the Anchorman crowd. On top of this – at least Anchorman I sat through without thinking “this is just boring – I hope it ends soon”, because a few of the jokes were actually half decent – it’s just that whilst in Anchorman they spread a few decent jokes over the course all the movie, interrupting the crap occasionally, here they put all the good stuff at the very start, and the rest of the film was absolute wank. No joke – I literally went from that Ballet scene all the way to the end narration without cracking a smile, the film was that dull. Even in the scene where Steve Coogan bribes the guys with theatre tickets, I knew that the joke itself was actually quite a funny one, but it was done so poorly that I didn’t laugh in spite of the voice in my head saying “that’s a funny joke. How is this not funny? How the fuck do you take a joke that would make me laugh if I read it, and ruin it on screen? How is that even possible? I even know this should be funny, but it’s not! Fuck this director!”

In fact, it got so bad that even when the plot resolved itself in the big climactic scene, and we finally found out the truth behind the big case, I didn't care. It was a decent twist and everything, but the mindless non-jokes had just killed my enjoyment of the film by that point, so all I could think was "meh". When Mark Wahlberg then proceeded to take out two handguns and shoot a ridiculous number of people in ultra-slow motion whilst making his way across a room, all I could think was "man, Max Payne was actually pretty good..." - that was it, the action in their big finale was just stolen from another film. Not to mention the chase outside, which had such a lousy resolution I can't believe it actually made the final cut.


Unfortunately, we seem to have reached a point in film where absurd with no explanation is deemed to be the new definition of funny. If something is ‘random’, people will laugh at it. You know what I say? FUCK. THAT. SHIT.





Seriously, bring us back some half-decent comedy, guys! You want idiotic characters in absurd situations, what was wrong with Wayne’s World? It seem like the Director of this film has taken the style of Wayne’s World’s joke telling, but not actually realised what made Wayne’s World funny in the first place. Kind of like if you saw that Coca Cola is a billion dollar selling business and so brought out your own beverage which has only one thing in common with coke; a red can. Some idiots would still buy it, thinking it must be like coke, but those who actually have brain cells would judge the drink on it’s own merits, and see you had really just pissed in a bunch of red cans, you bastards! That’s kind of how this feels – people who think ‘random’ is cool will laugh at this, whereas people who actually know what comedy is will say “fuck this shit”, and walk out (or like me, say “when is this gonna pick back up again? It was really good at the start, why isn’t it funny any more?”). Seriously - not even Ray Stevenson managed to save this movie. The fucking PUNISHER could not save this movie. Did you see what a good review I gave War Zone?!?!?! And now I'm ripping the shit out of the next movie I see him in? That's how bad this film was. it was dull. It was boring. It was not funny.

Even the scene that most people are going on about, where Wahlberg and Ferrell get trashed in a bar and it's all shot as a series of stills put together which the camera moves through as though travelling through both time and the bar in one movement didn't impress me. Sure, it's different, which is good, but it killed the pace of the action, being such a slow scene, and just ultimately wasn't worth the pay off. i can imagine the exact same effect could look awesome elsewhere, but it just didn't work in The Other Guys - except to the extent that the fancy technology seems to have blinded people from important factors like flow and continuity, and left them pacified to the shit blizzard that was the second half of this movie. Fucking Shit Blizzards, Randy.


Shit Blizzards.


In short, save your money, don’t go and see this film. I got a copy of Kiss kiss Bang bang for 4 quid 3 years ago, and I bet it hasn’t gone up in price since then. Take the money you would have spent on seeing this, and watch that DVD instead – I guarantee you, you’ll have a much better time, as it’s a hilarious film by a competent director who actually knows how to do comedy. The other Guys, on the other hand, is one of the worst movies I have seen this year. Hell, I’d rather watch 2012 again than sit through this shit one more time. The only thing I can suggest is go into the cinema, watch til the end of The Rock and Samuel L. Jackson’s funeral, then get the fuck out of there before it goes to shit. But wait, don’t do that – because if people actually pay to see movies like this, they’ll just keep making them. This movie had a 90 million dollar budget, and still isn’t even a tenth of the movie the Trailer park Boys Movie (2006) was, which had a budget of 5 million CANADIAN dollars! Shit, going like for like with the detective theme, Kiss kiss Bang Bang only had an 18 million dollar budget, and that’s infinitely better. Now, I know you can’t always compare movies like this on a dollar-to-value basis (especially when 2 of your favourite ever comedies were very low budget affairs) – but come on, you could have made 10 Seagal films for the cost of this movie, and I guarantee they would have had me laughing far more than The other guys did (though not always intentionally).


Don’t see this film. And don’t see Let Me In, because Låt den rätte komma in should not have been remade. In fact, fuck it, if you have to go to the cinema, go see Mr nice, and tell me what you thought of it, because I loved the book, and I really wanna see that movie. Let’s just hope it’s nowhere near as big a let down as this one was.



Rating:


*


1 star


I know it seems dumb that I would give a movie I was quoting with my brother only a few hours ago just one star, and to be honest, it is pretty stupid; there were some good jokes in it, and I loved the beginning, so I would really like to give this movie a 2 star rating. It's just that this was a real disappointment, they took a movie which could have been great, and just ran it into the ground. It's not absolutely dire, but definitely not worth giving the time to. I'd still recommend it over Buffy the Vampire Slayer or 28 weeks later, but only just. As I said, loved the opening, and a couple of bits were incredibly quotable, but it's just not worth sitting through all the boring unfunny crap they threw in with it to watch those bits. I think it's time we stood up and said "no" to these "comedies" which don't actually know how to tell a decent joke, and go back to good old fashioned film entertainment. And hey, You know what they could have spent that 90 million budget on instead?




George Clooney as Sam Fisher?!?! WHY DOES THIS MOVIE NOT EXIST ALREADY?!?!




Voice




Eva Mendes does have great tits though, amiright?

Steven Seagal Against the Dark Review (Text)

So far this month, this Blog has been viewed a grand total of 1,346 times. The most viewed article I have written, by far, still remains the review I did of the Steven Seagal Legacy DVD Boxset, with an incredible 697 page views. Hell, just look at the keywords searched that most often link people to the site, and you start to see a clear pattern emerge:




Seagal is still as popular as ever. Look at those search results – it’s as though nearly everyone who visits this site comes here because they wanted to see something Seagal related! In light of this, and the fact that despite how hard I try, an article I wrote way back in April is still getting countless more views than any of my newer stuff, I have decided to dedicate another review to the Seagal fanboys out there. This one’s for you, guys!






AGAINST THE DARK

Against the Dark is a straight-to-DVD Seagal vampire horror movie which was released last year, and it only has a rating of 3.4 on IMDB. Then again, given they have The Dark Knight ranked as being the 11th best film ever, and Inception having the same score as Godfather Part 2, I think we can take the rating on there with a pinch of salt.

Obviously, this was filmed with a very low budget. That goes without saying. The budget is listed on IMDB as being $9 million, and you can bet at least $2 million of that was Seagal’s salary. But, with that in mind, I was pleasantly surprised with this movie, and I’ll tell you why.

First off, whilst the movie was advertised as being a vampire film, I suspect that you would get the most benefit from this if you viewed it as more of a zombie film, because this is essentially what it is. It starts with an explanation of how the “infection” spread, and sets up the apocalyptic backdrop to the movie, in which small groups of survivors are forced to hold out against hordes of the creatures. In fact, as far as I can tell, the only reason the creatures are referred to as Vampires rather than Zombies in the advertising is because they can’t go out in the sunlight. So, in order to get the full benefit of this film, watch it as though it is a low budget zombie film. If you do this, and if you’re into that style of film, then I think you’ll probably enjoy it a lot more than you would otherwise.

With this in mind, then, the movie unfolds really nicely. It’s a stereotypical zombie flick in terms of plot, with a couple of groups of survivors banding together inside a hospital to get medicine, and make it out before the generators run out of power, and it is relatively suspenseful throughout. Obviously, there are bits which make you cringe a little; poor dialogue or acting, an unrealistic plot turn, but for the most part it is very enjoyable, and much better than some far bigger budget movies. I am thinking of one in specific here. A movie which IMDB gives a rating of 7.1, but which I felt was inferior to Against the Dark. I am, of course, talking about the Will Smith extravaganza, I Am Legend.





You see, in my opinion, Against the Dark is essentially what I Am Legend SHOULD have been. From the very start, we see that the zombie/mutant/vampire creatures show signs of intelligence. We see one cut the throat of a human victim she has strung-up, upside down, and collect the blood in a cup, from which she drinks. This use of tools, and demonstrations of intelligence become more and more apparent throughout the movie, until we realize that the creatures can think and speak, just as humans do. One of the characters in the film even says “if we’re the only ones left, and everyone else is infected, then we’re the monsters now”. For those of you who have read the book I Am Legend, you’ll realize that this was the entire point of the story: The title refers to the fact that he is the legend in their stories, the monster who kidnaps their children, their friends, and experiments on them. The film I Am Legend completely fucked this up, and gave it a generic “hero” ending, and that is why I would rank Against the Dark as the superior film; it is the film I Am Legend was meant to be, before Hollywood fucked it up, as they so often do.



Too right.


There is no doubt in my mind that some people will see this as a bad thing – the movie stole the most significant part of its plot from elsewhere. But to be honest with you, I’m glad. Someone had to do the basic premise of I Am Legend justice, and if it couldn’t be done with a $150 million budget, I’m glad someone could do it on $9 million.

On top of that, I personally enjoyed the effects in Against the Dark a lot more than I did I Am Legend. The reason for this is simple; they looked a lot more convincing. Why? Make-up, prosthetics, and buckets of fake blood. Against the Dark does everything old-school. In total, I think there were about 10 digital effects shots in the whole movie, and 9 of them came right at the end. I Am Legend, on the other hand, relied too much on digital effects, which led to creatures which were about as realistic as, and very reminiscent of, the mummies in “The Mummy” (Brendan Fraser version), which cost 100 times as much as the ones in Against the Dark. Again, some people will probably complain about how essentially the monsters in this were just “extras running around with fake teeth in, and fake blood all over them”. I would just like to say that I much prefer this to creating the creatures digitally, and I think we need to go back to this old-school style film making. As I said in my review of The Dark Knight, digital effects just aren’t as convincing as make-up effects. Besides, I’m perfectly happy to watch Romero’s original Dawn of the Dead, and the zombies in that are far less realistic looking than they are in this, so no complaints from me on the effects front!


Old-School effects are clearly the best.

Whilst the characters aren’t exactly brilliantly written; you have the typical overly scared woman, the slightly over-confident kid, the hard man, the stoner, the guy who doesn’t want to be a hero but total will end up being one, and a slightly less scared woman, they all work quite well together, and most of the interactions seem relatively realistic, if a little forced. The acting isn’t brilliant, but then, what do you expect on a low budget horror flick? The last truly decent low budget film to come out was probably SAW, and Monica Potter was absolutely shit in that. Cringe-inducingly bad. Yet we were still able to look past it, and appreciate the story. No-one in this film is as bad at acting as Monica Potter, despite the fact the most famous person in this other than Seagal is Keith David. Oh, you don’t know who he is? He was the black cop running the negotiations in Transporter 2, and he does a load of voices for video games. Honestly, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again; how the fuck does Monica Potter get work? She’s shit!


"I'm sure some people would say the same about Seagal!" "Yeah, pussies."


Other than Keith David, the only familiar non-Seagal face in this movie is Danny Midwinter, who turns up on British TV every now and then (he was in Lewis, and I have a feeling he may have been in Doctor Who as well, but can’t be sure). But regardless of how unknown most of the actors are, they perform admirably, and for the most part their performances are fairly believable.

The direction in the movie’s pretty good as well. Quite a few of the shots are clearly done with a long lens, so we get some cool shots where the focus will shift, and there are some fairly inventive shots as well; looking in mirrors, then panning round to follow the characters round a corner, etc.



But, of course, what you really paid to see is the ACTION:


Holy Shit - Seagal's in Machete??? Why wasn't I told? I know what I have to go and see next!


Just as a warning from the get-go: Seagal isn’t in this film that much. The movie mainly focuses on the survivors trying to escape from the hospital, whereas Seagal plays a “hunter” trying to get in and kill any infected he finds. Still, it cuts to Seagal often enough that you feel it is still a Seagal film, even though he’s not the lead, and when he is on screen, the action’s usually pretty good.


Though obviously not THIS good...


Although there’s not much Aikido shown in the movie; Seagal only goes hand-to-hand right near the end, there are plenty of scenes of Seagal and his pals cutting swathes through hordes of infected with their samurai swords and knives. There are some pretty badass moments involving Tanoai Reed, who looks a bit like The Rock (in so far as I'm fairly sure he's Samoan), and apparently played the bouncer at the Midnite club in Constantine. My favourite of these happens near the start where he puts his hands through the glass in a window, grabs an infected, and pulls his head, neck and upper-torso through the window space, before sticking a knife in his chest, then snapping his neck. It looks exactly like the sort of thing Sam Fisher would do in one of the later Splinter Cell games, and is fucking Bitchin’! The scenes where Seagal gets his shotgun out also had me cheering, too.



He certainly looks better with a shotgun than a guitar, THAT'S for sure.


On the subject of Seagal, it should be noted that, as with Attack Force, he did not return to do the ADR voice recordings after the movie was wrapped, so is dubbed in a couple of scenes, mostly the ones where you can’t see him speak. However, unlike Attack Force, you can’t tell it isn’t him in this film (his character hardly speaks, being a badass hunter, and his voice has changed so much anyway you just kind of accept the differences without thinking about it).

That’s about all I can say about the movie, really. There are a couple of good twists where you are expecting one thing to happen, then something different does, and not to ruin too much, but the scenes with the French Doctor in are creepy as shit, and add another layer to the film, making it more than just a zombie-flick. Some of the choice in editing bothered me a little, for example cutting to gore-shots where they weren’t really necessary, but other than that, I really quite enjoyed this movie.

If you’re into Seagal-style action films and low-budget zombie flicks, then this film is definitely for you. Or, if you were upset the book I Am Legend was ruined by the film, why not watch this and see what could have been? It doesn’t have the loneliness and the journey through the human mind the Will Smith version did, but at least it’s got the right ending. Enjoy!



Rating:


***

3 Stars


Not amazing, but good fun, and great for a cheesy low budget horror. Hell, great for a low budget Seagal film to - and more fun to watch than a lot of Blockbusters to have come out recently. I wouldn't say I prefer this to the Saw movies, but i would definitely recommend it over The Hurt Locker, Iron Man 2, and so on. But then, I'm a Seagal fan - we're as bad as furries when it comes to defending our hobby - so don't just take my advice, do what you think is best for you!




Voice



For more Seagal-related Goodness, be sure to check back in the next time I raid the movie bargain bin at ASDA.

How to Get That One Girl - A Guide to Stalking (Text)

We’ve all got that girl we’d do anything to spend time with. A work colleague, an Ex-Girlfriend, that cute girl from the coffee shop who totally held your hand when she gave you your change. Hell, someone out there probably even fancies Tulisa from N-DUBS (*cough* PAUL *cough*). The point is, we all have these little obsessions, but often cannot do anything about it. Well thanks to me, Voice From the Pillow, LLB, now you can – with this simple step-by-step guide!



Voice From the Pillow: My Guide to Stalking like a Pro!



"What do you mean rape face?"



Tip 1:


Make sure the object of your affections is, in fact, real. We’ve all seen that video on Efukt of Chris Chan fucking an anime character sex pillow in the missionary position whilst screaming “Julie”, so don’t even pretend you haven’t. The point is, Chris was clearly under the impression that the person he was sending this video to was an actual human female named Julie who was into that kind of thing (that should have been the first giveaway, really. The fact that he already fell for the whole “Clyde Cash, Guido extraordinaire” thing being the second), but instead sent it to what is commonly referred to as a “troll” or “/b/fag”, who then proceeded to upload it. So, before you even consider beginning a stalking regime, be sure the object of your desires is a tangible being, not a creep who for some reason wants a guy with aspergers to send him a video of himself fucking a pillow. If you find yourself in that situation, you are unfortunately on the wrong end of the stalking process, and need to rethink your tactics.

Whilst we’re on the subject, make sure it’s not a character you’re in love with, but an actual person. I once had a friend who was infatuated with Madonna in the “Just Like a Prayer” video, but when he finally went to see her on the “Sweet and Sticky” Tour, actually threw up after realizing that the Granny skeleton shoving it’s crotch in a Homosexual’s face on stage was the true persona (and appearance) of the woman he thought he loved. I also had a similar problem, falling in love with Enrica Villablanca from Splinter Cell Double Agent, and spending every night for 2 months under the impression that I was Sam Fisher. The Doctors at the hospital weren’t too happy with that one, especially when I learnt that my OCP could stop pacemakers (I was later informed, upon my release in August last year, that what I thought was an OCP was, in fact, a taser I had stolen from the security closet, and what I assumed to be pacemakers were, in fact, other people’s hearts. And the person I had assumed to be Emile Dufraisne was, in fact, David Cameron, who had been visiting to show his support for non-custodial sentences, a policy he reversed the very next day, curiously enough). The point is, no matter how sexy a 33 year old brunette PHD student-slash-terrorist may seem, if she’s not real, it’s a waste of time trying to impress her. Plus, if you’re the kind of guy who still hasn’t stopped ripping one of his friends for watching Star Wars porn about 5 years ago, it makes you look like a hypocrite.


Whoa! Too Political!




Tip 2:


I recommend stalking multiple women. Whilst to some of you that may seem like you are being unfaithful, bear in mind that in some cultures, such as in Spain, it is perfectly acceptable for a man to have 7 wives, and 7 mistresses per wife, and 7 cats per mistress. Now that’s a fuckload of cats, even if they aren’t going to St. Ives.

Remember, the more women you stalk, the more likely you are to find one who actually enjoys it. Take me, for example, in November 07, I met this cute little blonde girl outside a bar whilst I was carrying out surveillance on another woman, and rather than stick with my original target, I thought “fuck it, I know where she lives – let’s give Blondie a whirl”, and it fucking worked! She totally let me take her home that night!





You know, after I’d put Roofies in her drink and tased her when she attempted to escape from my car.


Ice Cold, Baby!


But seriously, this technique works every time – hit on as many girls as you can, and eventually you may trick one into coming with you. This works especially well if the woman in question is inebriated. But don’t take my word for it: This technique is actually recommended by Mike “The Situation” Guidoking. So there you have it.



This man makes 'Clyde Cash' jealous. Jus' sayin'.




Tip 3:


Don’t bother with anything too fancy. Remember, stalking isn’t really about getting to know the person better, or having physical interactions with them, it’s about fulfilling a fantasy in your head of what could be. Imagine seeing the most beautiful girl ever, and imagining the two of you getting married and having kids or whatever the hell you’re into. Now imagine that you work up the courage and go speak to her, then it turns out she has a Scouser accent. Boom, a perfectly hot fantasy ruined by a woman opening her Goddamn mouth. This is also known as the Lorraine Bracco effect – if this happens to you, pretty soon the only fantasy you will be able to have about her is the one where you stuff burgers down her throat to prevent her from speaking. Of course, it doesn’t HAVE to be burgers you use…



It could be a hotdog.


I recommend just keeping your distance and photographing subjects you are interested in, unless you are just planning a one night stalking harassment session and don’t see it going any further the next day. But if you are going to be photographing your victims, remember rule one: No flash photography! A perfectly good night’s stalking can be ruined in a split second if you forget to turn your flash off – after all, bushes don’t just flash by themselves, do they? It’s a mistake I’ve made before, believe me…





Tip 4:


Whilst we’re on the subject of rookie mistakes, remember to bear in mind that your judgment isn’t always at its finest when you’re trashed on vodka. Or Drugs for that matter.



“Drugs”, in this instance, includes Cannabis incense sticks.


I’m a great fan of clear-headed stalking. After all, who needs any more intoxication than that of a woman, walking home all alone at night, vulnerable. Just thinking about it makes me feels slightly high. Or is that the PCP I was smoking earlier?



Rodney King supports PCP. Do you part for Racial Justice.



Tip 5:


Baby Steps. I know you’re going to want to go into kidnap and rape fantasies straight off the bat, but trust me, ease off a bit. When you finally become a serial killer a few years from now, you’ll see that your casual stalking days were some of the best of your life. Not only was the anticipation itself so much more exhilarating than the act of mutilation itself will ever be, but not having the police on your back day and night is actually fairly pleasant, regardless of how gangster it is or is not. This is the voice of experience talking here – do you want to be the next Stephen Griffiths? That’s what I thought.



Tip 6:


When you do finally decide you’re ready to progress to serial killing, remember: preparation is king. No-one likes a killer who picks up the odd prostitute and lazily strangles her. Hell, the only reason Gary Ridgeway has any fans is because of the sheer volume he killed. Same with Shipman – if you break a record, no-one gives a fuck about your M.O. But you have to prepare yourself for the fact that you may not make it to “Most Prolific Serial Killer of All Time”, and whilst prostitutes are certainly easier to abduct, and strangling is easily the most efficient way of dispatching them, it’s not very original, and won’t earn you points in the style category.

Imagine serial killing like a game of SSX X-treme Snowboarding ‘Tricky’ – sure, the fastest person wins the race, but you unlock way more features if you come last but do the best tricks. That’s kind of how the serial murder game is. Go on Facebook. Right now. Harold Shipman, the most prolific killer ever, has 58 fans. Ted Bundy has 3,394. For killing a 6th of the number of people. Why? Because brutally killing and eating teenage girls and 20-something college students is far cooler than putting some old people to sleep, that’s why! So, whilst we’re at it, here’s a list of what’s hot, and what’s not:


HOT

Killing female law and medicine students – these are supposed to be the smartest girls of their generation, and should definitely know better than to trust strangers. It’s quite an accolade to lure a 20-year-old law student into your car to murder her. Have at them!

Cannibalism – Cannibalism has always been hot. Why do you think Silence of the Lambs was such a popular film? Because some creepy dude got naked to Q Lazarus? NO! Because Lecktor chowed down on his victims, that’s why!

Trademarks – Everyone remembers The Candyman, the Killer Clown – come up with something that people will remember! But bear in mind:



NOT

Naming yourself - I know there’s a fine line between coming up with a trademark, and going all-out and naming yourself, but leave the nicknames to the press, ok? You don’t want people to know that you came up with your own name, or they’ll just think it’s plain sad. It gives people the impression that all you care about is being remembered, and that the actual killing part doesn’t honestly interest you. Remember, nobody likes a fame whore. Put simply, would you rather be The Boston Strangler, or Katy Price? That’s what I thought.

Killing pets – now, I know the Trailer Park Boys is an awesome film, and they kill cats and dogs for a living, but bear in mind: you are nowhere near as charismatic as Ricky.


This guy fucking OWNS you.


The main complaint people tend to have about Patrick Bateman in ‘American Psycho’ is that he killed the Homeless Man’s dog. For some reason, people prefer animals to other people, so don’t kill them, or you’ll be hated by everyone other than Satanists. On a side note, killing Satanists is hot, because it’s funny to see them pray to Satan, like in that MillenniuM episode.

Killing Comedy Bloggers – the world needs more free laughs, so leave internet comedy writers and reviewers alone. Luckily, as 99.9% of these are male, it shouldn’t affect you. Unless you’re into dudes, in which case hey, it’s your choice! I’m not going to judge you!







Stick to these rules, and you’ll be fine. Happy stalking, guys!





Voice



Before I receive any complaints about posting 3 serial killer articles in a row - it's the run-up to Halloween! Lighten up, will you? This is the only time of year we can fully express our dark sexual fantasies without being ostracised! Except Valentine's Day, which is waaaaay creepier...

The Mystery of the Stolen Lyric - A Voice From the Pillow Adventure! (Text)

It was a day just like any other, I was researching for an article on what various album covers would look like with pictures of Tacos inserted in them, and had just scrolled past an amusing photoshop of Big Black’s Songs About Fucking when I saw it. The cover to Sonic Youth’s “Goo”. I had seen this T-Shirt worn by Indie-kids before, but as I tend to ignore anyone wearing shutter-shades or drain-pipes, had never read the words.



because, seriously, fuck this guy.



But there they were, staring me right in the face, along with a crudely photoshopped image of a taco.



“We killed my parents and hit the road”.






It couldn’t be possible. I had heard these lyrics countless times before, only varied to “killed our parents”, and not spoken by Sonic Youth. Could it really be true? Did Acid Bath really steal that line from Sonic Youth? I couldn’t believe it – and yet here was the proof, staring me right in the face. I’m not that up on Sonic Youth albums, but I knew for a fact that Goo came out before When the Kite String Pops. Could my second favourite stoner sludge Doom-metal band really have stolen from these Indie motherfuckers? There was only one thing to do – I would have to delve into the worlds of both bands, and explore their innermost depths, to discover the truth.




“You Scream, I scream, Everybody Screams for Morphine”


Amazingly, the Taco-editors seem to have the exact same taste in music as I do...

If you wanted to know about the roots of an Acid Bath lyric, the obvious place to go would be to the band’s bassist and founder, Audie Pitre. Unfortunately for me, Pitre had died way back in 1997, at the surprisingly young age of 26. I say surprising, because Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain all made it to 27 before finally succumbing to the effects of the Rock N Roll life style. So, I was instead forced to track down vocalist Dax Riggs, who I found backstage after a Deadboy and the Elephantmen reunion gig.

“Yeah, I stole the lyric. So what?” he said, completely unconcerned with the seriousness of it all.

“But why?” I asked, still unable to comprehend what was happening “Acid Bath is one of the greatest stoner sludge doom metal bands to have ever existed. How could you have stolen your lyrics from a band that fucking Indie kids wear T-Shirts of?”

“Bleed me an Ocean, will ya? It’s just business. You listen to your competition so you can gauge what you’re up against, and cash in on what’s popular. You don’t wanna just release Old Skin all the time. That’s how you end up forgotten, a Dope Fiend strung out on Cheap Vodka, waiting for the arrival of the New Death Sensation, so that you may feel the embrace of the Mortician’s Flame, and rest among the Graveflowers of Venus Blue, as a New Corpse. With Thirteen Fingers. Understand?”

“Uh… sure. But why would you steal a lyric from Sonic Youth? I mean, you guys had so much going for you – do you really want to go down in history as being nothing more than that band who stole lyrics from that T-Shirt the Indie kids like?”

“It was never my choice. I used those lyrics as an Ode of the Paegan, to depict What Color is Death, so that Jezebel could understand the Finger Paintings of the Insane, and see that Dr Seuss is Dead, laying among the Bones of Baby Dolls alongside her, a Dead Girl. Diäb Soulé.”

“Ok, I’m going to be completely honest with you now, I have no idea what the fuck you just said. Is there something wrong with you?”

“The Doctors had me Tranquilized so I could not prevent their Paegan Terrorism Tactics. They’re trying to get The Blue Locust Spawning again!”

Just as I began to reach for the nearest heavy blunt object to defend myself with, in this case one of the massive Dildos from Rammstein’s special edition version of Liebe Ist Fur Alle Da, which happened to be on the table next to me, Riggs’ Deadboy bandmate Tessie Brunet walked in.

“What’s going on here?” asked Tessie, as I attempted to inconspicuously hide the 11inch pink rubber Dildo behind my back. She was kinda hot, and in different circumstances, I imagine me, her, and Ollie Riedel’s Rubber Cock could have had quite a bit of fun.




But I was here to do business, and you can’t let your dick think business. After all, how many cocks have MBAs? Point taken…

“Nothing.” I replied “I’m just asking Dax about some Acid Bath lyrics”.

“Well, you won’t get much out of him” answered Tessie, looking over at Dax in a sympathetic manner “he lost it a few years ago whilst we were on tour. Apparently someone compared us to The White Stripes, and he just couldn’t take being compared to such a pile of wank. They don’t even have a bassist for fuck’s sake! What kind of a band doesn’t have a bassist? Honestly.”

“Uh, you don’t.” I responded, clearly to the disdain of Brunet’s sensibilities.

“WE’VE HAD FOUR FUCKING BASS PLAYERS!” she screamed at me, the anger glowing like a napalm fire in her eyes. “It’s not my fault they keep quitting on us!”

“Ok, ok. My mistake” I said, attempting to cool off the situation so I wouldn’t have to deploy the Dildo that was now hidden up my shirt sleeve “I didn’t mean to insult you, I just wanted to know about this lyric is all.”

“Ok, I guess I may have over-reacted a little” replied Tessie, clearly understating her psychotic reaction to a factual statement “which lyric did you want to know more about?”

“It’s a line from Scream of the Butterfly” I stated, not sure of how much she could help, not being a member of Acid Bath “where Dax sings about how he and his Angel killed their parents, then hit the road.”

“Ah yes, I recall that one” acknowledged Tessie “What do you want to know about it?”

“Well” I said “I just discovered that it’s a line that’s used in a Sonic Youth song which came out before Hymns of the Needle Freak, and I just wanted to know if Acid Bath stole it from them, and if so why? I mean, Acid Bath are way better than some shitty Indie band.”

“HOW DARE YOU INSULT INDIE MUSIC!” Tessie roared, picking up a TV and hurling it at me. I dodged it, and deployed the weapon up my sleeve, which hit her square in the eye. Do chicks like that kind of thing???

“Aaaaargh!” she screamed out in pain as I ran away, kicking myself for forgetting that any band a reviewer compares to The White Stripes is obviously going to be Indie, and not appreciate attacks on the genre. It looked like I was going to have to find another way to get the information I desired. But how?




“Cinderella’s Big Score”




I found Sonic Youth’s hideout in the town of South Jonic, in Maryland. It had taken me 3 days, and 4 fights with Hobos, but I had finally discovered their base of operations. I walked in slowly.

“Hello?” I called, subconsciously putting my hand on the grip of the .45 tucked into the back of my jeans as I did so “anyone here?”

“Who the fuck are you?” came a female voice, and I looked up to see Kim Gordon standing at the top of a flight of stairs. At least, I’m pretty sure it was her. Sonic Youth only have one chick in their band, right?

“I’m a journalist” I lied, figuring it sounded slightly more respectable than saying I was a Blogger, and slightly less creepy than saying I’m an expert in the field of psychopathy and sexual offences, which I kind of am, but not in that way.

“A journalist, huh?” she smiled, walking down the stairs and coming to a rest in front of me. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Well, Ms Gordon” I responded, trying to sound professional “I was interested in knowing the roots of the lyrics you featured on the cover of the Album Goo”.

“Of course” she replied, looking disappointed “that’s all anyone wants to know about. Well, follow me.”

She walked off into the back of the darkened house, into what I presumed was the kitchen. I followed, nervously, wondering what I might discover.

We emerged in a dank utility area, filled with various white goods. As in appliances, not goods that only white people can buy. She took a seat on top of the washing machine, and I was just wondering whether she was going to turn it on and use the vibrations as a masturbation aid when she spoke.

“I suppose you want to know which one of us came up with the line then?” she asked.

“If that’s not too much of a problem?” I responded. She held my gaze, calculating her next move.

“Do you like my Dirty Boots?” She asked, flashing me a glimpse of the black leather fetish boots she was wearing.

“they’re very nice” I lied.

“You can have them, you know?” she said, in a bizarre attempt to apparently buy me off.

“No thanks” I answered “I don’t think they’ll fit me. Now, about the line…”

She sighed, and looked up into my eyes. I was worried she might be trying to read my mind, so averted my gaze slightly to look at the ‘Titanium Expose’ refrigerator magazine sitting nearby.

“We got the idea from Oliver Stone” she said, softly. I rounded on her.

“What?” I said, unable to believe what I was hearing.

“You heard me” she replied “Oliver Stone, the guy who directed Wall Street. He gave us the idea for the story.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible” I stated firmly, becoming agitated. She must be lying. She MUST be.

“Honestly, it’s the truth” she said, getting down from the washing machine, and standing before me once again. “It all happened in the summer of ’89. Stone was in the neighbourhood, celebrating the wrapping of Born on the Fourth of July. We were all getting drunk, and partying, when I realised my kittens, Scooter and Jinx were missing”

“I see…” I said, not really seeing, but showing off the active listening skills I had acquired whilst studying Interviewing and Testimony for my Criminal Psychology Course.

“We looked everywhere for the two of them. After all, it’s not as if they could have just disappeared into thin air like some sort of Disappearer, is it?”

“Quite” I said. Man, I was good at this active listening shit – I was gonna nail that Interviewing and Testimony unit! “Please, continue.”

“Well” she said, getting back to the story “We decided the only place they could have gone was Old Dr Benway’s House, so we crept in, and began to sneak up to the bedroom…”

“We?” I questioned. Honestly, this was so easy to do I couldn’t understand why the police force and Home Office take so long teaching their recruits how to do it.

“Yes, Mildred Pierce and myself” she replied.

“Interesting” I said, not really that interested as I had no idea who the fuck Mildred Pierce was “keep going.”

“Well” she said “We got into the bedroom, and started to look for the kitties, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a man in a Tunic…”

“Uh-huh” I said, thoroughly bored now and contemplating whether or not it would be easier just to shoot her and go interrogate Oliver Stone instead, given she’d named him as an accomplice. After all, at least I know Oliver Stone can tell a good story – fucking Platoon is the shit!

“I screamed ‘Mary-Christ’ and turned to run out of there, when we saw that the man was Tom Cruise!”

“Come again?” I asked, genuinely surprised this time.

“You know, Tom Cruise, the actor!” she said, as though I was a complete and utter moron. “He’s the inventor of the Christian Scientist movement!”

“I’m fairly sure he’s not” I said flippantly “but feel free to continue.”

“Well, he stood up like one of those Tuff Boyz, and started to walk towards me, when Oliver Stone walked in, drunk as a skunk, and started screaming about how he was going to make Tom Cruise and I the star of his next picture, which was going to be about-”

“CHARLES STARKWEATHER AND CARIL FUGATE!” I screamed, finally getting it!

“No, Mickey and Mallory Knox” she said “apparently, he was going to use his telepathic abilities to implant the idea into Quentin Tarantino’s brain, and then buy the script off him once it was written. I have no idea why.”

“Yes!” I said, excited as a paedophile watching a young boy through binoculars on Christmas morning “and Natural Born Killers was based on the case of Charles Starkweather and Caril Fugate! I may just have solved this thing!”

“Well, I hope that’s all you need” said Kim, “Because that’s all I know… Right Now”.

“I think that is all I need!” I said, turning to walk out of the door “thanks for the help!”

“Don’t mention it” she said, getting back up on the washing machine and turning it on. “Sure you can’t stay a little longer?”

“Sorry” I responded “But I have a case to solve!”

And with that, I ran out of the building, the orgasmic screams of Kim Gordon following me all the way down the road to the nearest Taxi rank, where I beat another hobo into unconsciousness just to show the cab drivers I wasn’t to be fucked with. This was going to be a good day.




"Lights out tonight, trouble in the heartland"




It was snowing when I got to Lansing, Michigan, Fugate’s current home city. Starkweather had been executed for his crimes in 1959, so she was my last hope. I walked up medical centre Wikipedia informed me she now worked in, and walked up to the reception desk.

“Ms Fugate, please” I stated. The receptionist gave me an odd look.

“You’re not one of them weirdos who is interested in them murders she was accused of way back, are you?” she enquired.

“Of course not” I responded curtly “I was always more of a Bundy man myself”.

“Hmmm…” she seemed to be deliberating whether or not I was to be trusted “ok, then – you have the face of an honest man.”

“I know” I said “it wasn’t easy slicing it off him, though!” I laughed. She gave me a cold, hard stare.

“Caril’s in the staff room” she said. “The code’s 8653. Do you want me to write that down?”

“I think I’ve played enough Splinter Cell to remember a 4 digit door code” I responded, and walked off down the corridor.

I got into the staff room after my 51st attempt at the code. Which I thought was very impressive, given a 4 digit lock has 10,000 different combinations, or something. I walked in, and saw her sitting at the nearest table. I gotta say, she was pretty fucking hot for a 77 year old woman.

“Caril?” I asked as I approached her.

“Yes?” She said, looking up.

“I’m a Journalist, I’m investigating some lyrics I believe were based around you and Charles Starkweather. Would it be ok for me to have a moment of your time?” I asked.

“Can’t you just Google it?” She said.

“… I suppose” I responded, shocked I was unable to think of this earlier. “Do you have WiFi here?”

“Sure” she replied. And with that, I took out my laptop, and logged into Google. I searched for ‘Goo album cover lyrics’ on Google. I was linked to the Wikipedia page, which told me the truth.

“So…” I said “The picture is of the witnesses in the Moors Murders case”

“and my guess would be that the quote is somehow related to that case” she said.

“yes, that would be my guess too.” I said “back to England it is!”

And with that, I dived out the window, and ran to the nearest airport. There was a little trouble at customs, because apparently seeing an out-of-breath guy running through the terminal screaming about the Moors Murders isn’t normal in America, fucking shit country that it is.




"WHEN GOD'S VOICE RISES - UNLEASH MY FLAME"




I ran into Broadmoor penitentiary a mere 4 hours after my flight landed at Gatwick international (how’s that for timing?) and went straight up to the nearest guard.

“I need to speak to Ian Brady” I panted “Please, it’s urgent!”

“Uh, Brady’s in Ashworth Hospital” the guard replied “you know, in Merseyside”.

“I thought Merseyside was in Yorkshire?” I asked, surely there couldn’t be more than one high security prison/hospital in the same county.

“No, you’re thinking of Teesside” said the guard. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way we can get you to see Brady. We have the Crossbow Cannibal, if you’re interested?”

“What, that tosser who picked his own nickname?” I asked rhetorically “can I tell him that real men let the media name them, and don’t try and come up with their own nickname they want people to remember them by?”

“Uh, sure, I guess” replied the guard, and he took me over to a cell marked ‘Stephen Griffiths’.

“What’s he doing in Broadmoor by the way?” I asked the guard quietly as we approached the cell “Surely he shouldn’t be in here unless he’s been convicted?”

“True” replied the guard “But he’s a mecha-fag. Wakefield doesn’t have time for mecha-fags, so they sent him here.”

“I see. So a Mecha fag is a Muslim homosexual or something, right?”

“That would be Mecca-Fag” said the guard “and no, he’s just a douche. Here you are.”

The guard dropped me off by the cell.

“Who are you?” Came the voice from inside.

“Stephen Griffiths?” I asked.

“That’s right” he said, coming over to the door “who are you?”

“I’m a journalist” I lied for the third time “and I just wanted to say what an honour it is to meet Pepsi Sutcliffe”.

“What?” he said in surprise “What did you call me?”

“Pepsi Sutcliffe. You know, because Peter Sutcliffe is the Coca Cola of Yorkshire based serial killings, and you’re just a poor imitation of him.”

“You son of a-”

Griffiths ran at the bars, and went headfirst into them, cracking his skull open on one of the bars, and fell slumped to the floor. The Guard turned up again.

“I think you should leave” he said.

“But I didn’t even get to rant at him about what a gay name ‘The Crossbow cannibal’ is yet!” I said, disappointed.

“Tell you what” said the guard “If he wakes up, how about I tell him for you?”


And with that, I left Broadmoor with a smile on my face. I may not have discovered the true origins of the lyrics written on the cover of Goo, but I managed to screw with someone who has mental difficulties. And in the end, is that not what made this country great to begin with?








"Most Likely You'll go you way, and I'll go Mine"




In a twist of fate, it seems Ian Brady heard about my plight, and sent me a confession admitting the origins of the lyrics a few days later. Apparently, he and Myra Hindley had written the lyrics together on a napkin during their trial, and the napkin had then been sold at auction to the highest bidder, a collector named “Stephen King”. When researching his project “Mickey and Mallory Knox, the totally bitching killers who are totally not the characters from Badlands”, Oliver Stone had contacted Stephen King about the Starkweather case, knowing King had followed it intensely throughout his childhood, and at a meeting between the two of them had stolen the napkin believing it to be magic. He had later passed the lyrics on to Kim Gordon in the attic with Tom Cruise, although the whereabouts of the napkin itself is unknown. In an Ironic twist, it turns out Ian Brady hates Hipsters, and swears on his release that he will murder everyone on the planet who owns a copy of Juno. If you want to join the campaign for Brady’s release, there is a link at the bottom of the page. I’m glad I could solve the case of the missing lyric, and prove once and for all that Acid Bath stole that line from a hardcore source, and not some hipster piece of shit. I think a child murderer qualifies as being Hardcore, don’t you?



The King of Hardcore agrees.




Voice



Stephen Griffiths goes on trial on November 16th. Please do not reprint this article until after the trial comes to an end or he may claim it infringes on his Article 6 rights under the European Convention of Human Rights, but if he does, he’s a total Mecha-fag.