Wednesday, March 08, 2006

PC Gone Mad! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !11! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

"Guess who's back in the motherfucking house,
with a fat dick for your motherfucking mouth?"

Not my words, of course, these are in fact the foul-mouthed gangsta stylings of rapper Snoop Doggs, as heard on his seminal "Ain't no fun (if the homies can't have none)".

Now, I'm not a gun-totin', indo smokin' hip-hop superstar. Never have been, don't suppose I ever will be.

But my sentiments are somewhat similar to those expressed above, if you replace "in the motherfucking house" with "typing stuff on my 'blog". Similarly, I don't actually propose to put a fat dick in your motherfucking mouth, instead I offer a metaphorical fat dick, made of words that you can read with your eyes and mind, rather than put in your motherfucking mouth.

However, if you were actually wanting the literal fat dick/ mouth interface, send me an e-mail and I'll see what can be arranged.

That said, lie back and suck on this.

You may have noticed it is quite some time since this site has been updated. Doubtless you have been fussin' and frettin', wondering why the Colonel has left you all alone in this big, bad world. Worry no more, my poor simple chums. Dadda's back and he's gonna make it alright.

The primary cause of this neglect has been having no computer. Say what you like about the march of technology and how the bloggers are taking over the media with their on-the-spot reportage, freedom from censorship and their sixth-form opinions about Tony B Liars and George "Chimp" Bush, but they are knackered if they don't have access to a computer.

This is the stymie I have found myself in over the past few weeks.

Let me offer a few words of advice to anyone contemplating a career in PC repairing. When the little fan at the back of the computer starts making an irritating whining noise, don't stick a screwdriver into the workings to slow the fan down and stop the din. Fire comes out the back and your computer dies. Far better to stick to the IT helpdesk mantra of "try turning it off and turning it on again".

However, one trip to Mr Dells' Online PC Emporium later, I'm back, back, back with a bucketload of hair-raising, gut-wrenching, rib-tickling tales to tell you.

Of course I haven't. I've merely been drinking booze and talking shite about pop music and football. That's not a story, is it? You could do that yourself.

However, my adventures, such as they are, saw me in the same room as the most dangerous, corrupting, hellraising rock beast in Britain today. Yes, look impressed, I've been to see Peter Libertine O'Docherty and The Baby Shamblers.

The audience were a right bunch of young herberts too. Daft haircuts, poncy scarves and voguish wristbands wherever you looked. When the band finally came on they were an absolute disgrace. Doherty looked fairly clean and sober, he never fell over once, he didn't have his funny little hat on and the band just played their songs without having a big fight on the stage.

Add to this the Carling Academy's notorious shite, too-quiet sound system and you have a fairly dull gig, all told.

I made my excuses and left, eager to catch last orders.

However, lest you get carried away with the idea that your Colonel is a hidebound, reactionary old misery-guts, content to wallow in nostalgia, listening only to safe, officially sanctioned rock chestnuts like The Beatles, The Clash, The Velvets, The Vengaboys and Cud, let me take those preconceptions off of you and do a big shit on them. Aah, you didn't expect that, did you?

This is no shock tactic shittting either. I recently saw the future of rock and roll and they were mintah. Bouncy, shiny, fun music for bouncy, shiny, fun people. And me. Perhaps you have heard of them, they're a new band from down south called Cold Play.

Just my little joke, there. I am, of course, raving about The Go! Team.

They are skill. I like them, I think they're good. Buy their records, go to their concerts, hang around where they drink and try to get off with them when they are drunk. You'll thank me for it, I promise you.

Well, there we must leave it for now. My fat dick is spent, you can open your mouth now, I have to go home.

Take it easy chickens and I'll see you soon.

Bee-yatch!

1 comment:

Harriet said...

First: "officially sanctioned rock"- The Vengaboys?????????

And: thanks for the link