Thursday, April 24, 2008

Radio Head

Now, I'm sure you have trenchant opinions regarding people who constantly plug their tiresome radio programmes, rightly regarding them as a blight and a menace.

Indulge me if you will for the following snippet, some say excerpt from the other week. Picture the scene: We are approaching the end of a harum-scarum two hours of high octane beat pop and top-notch small talk. However, if we eschew the news broadcast we can still squeeze in one more eight-minute guitar instrumental.

Why not simply precis the latest headlines and plough on with the strumming and drumming fun?

Because of the modern tendency towards flippancy, that's a why. The result, some distasteful "joke funnies" and one chap almost having a seizure.

Be careful out there, folks

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Radio Therapy

Alreet, big feet?

The latest installment in the continuing saga of the Unknown Pleasures chronicles am here!

Le Menu

Handsome Boy Modelling School - Rock 'n' Roll Could Never Hip Hop Like This
Fridge - Comets
Flowered Up - It's On
The Fiery Furnaces - Egyptian Grammar
Boris - Woman On The Screen
We Are The Physics - You Can Do Athletics
Gorky's Zygotic Mynci - Face Like Summer
The Unit Ama - Plastic Bertrand
Wubble-U - Petal
The Albany - So Long/Too Long
Oneida - The Adversary
Jens Lekman - Julie
Stephen Fretwell - William Shatner's Dog
Lambchop - New Cobweb Summer
SL2 - On A Ragga Tip
Kling Klang - Heavydale
Death in Vegas - Aisha
The Moldy Peaches - Anyone Else But You
The Smiths - I Want The One I Can't Have
British Sea Power - Canvey Island
DJ Funk - There's some hoes in this house
Bright Eyes - Weather Reports
The Ramones - Judy's A Punk

All told, some fractured opinions on life and the universe and a rather spicy mix to this week's musical smorgasbord.

Have fun with it!

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

Ins and Outs: April '08

Phew, what a scorcher, eh? How 'bout this heat?

If there's one thing, I say one thing, that can take one's mind off the infernal hot weather we're enduring in this warmed globey spring, it's the rundown that makes Heston put his gun down and sorts the Ben Hur from the Ben Dir and the Planet of the Apes from the Planet of the Chimp's Cock.

Fresh from the cold, dead hands of the Committee, Ins and Outs am here!!!


Idling your way round the stalls at the WI sale and discovering a jar labelled 'Betty's Motherfucking Damson jam.'
Watching old VHS recordings of Robot Wars to get you in the mood for a night out. "Come on, Hypnodisc!".
Almost going to a beer festival.
Having hoes in different area codes, with the exception of 01302. Not for nothing but thems is mooses in Doncaster.
In pubs, axing trendy young things whether they prefer "Midsomer Murders" to "My Family", and offering to fight them whatever the answer.
The Pleistocene epoch. It was skill.
Hittin' it, then quittin' it.
Finally kicking Alan Smith's sorry peroxide ass to the curb.
Pilchards. Good eating at a price that's right.
Taking one's sweetheart for a picnic lunch, then later reciting "Pale Hands I Loved Beside the Shalimar" to her as she pulls you off.
Drunkenly arguing that Salt 'n' Pepa are the best band ever. A claim far less risible than your opponent's position that it is in fact Oasis.
Loudly declaring anything that meets with one's disapproval to be "Total BS!" in the style of an American sports DJ.
Secretly reckoning that today's pop chanteuses such as Leona Lewis, Duffy, Alicia Keys and that fat ginger simply can't hold a candle to Bonnie Tyler.
Intently discussing the music of Howe Gelb over a cheeky glass of Barolo with the woman who calls round to collect your local election poll registration form.
Jarmila Kratochvilova's Lyle & Scott pullovers.
Realizing that, after all these years, you don't actually like pork pies.
Sternly ignoring requests and invitiations for shite quizzes and that on Facebook.Letting the ball do the work.
Drawing a work colleague to one side and gently requesting that they bear with you if your behaviour is a little odd, but your period is late, while being unmistakeably of the male gender.
Entering a pub that is waal to waal boule and telling your mate "There's some hoes in this house!"


Replacing the lyrics of popular songs with the words "Get your gash out" and singing them with great gusto in a dreadful nightclub.
Having a pot to piss in. Frankly, a regular toilet is infinitely preferable.
Loganberries. Fucking wankers.
Anyone using "project manage" as a verb.
Those excruciating "comedy banter" bits on "Top Gear", as the presenters mug their way through the clumsy dialogue leading to the next video clip, while surrounded by grinning fuckheads in Next sweaters and rugby shirts.
Gaining a reputation as a "chubby chaser", leading to your dreadful mates claiming that every well-covered female the group encounters in town is of "your stamp".
Which, in turn, leads to said DMs miming the act of vigorously rubber-stamping an imaginary document whenever a larger lady passes by.
Leaving putts short. Poltroon!
Scuffling on the cobbles after a disagreement regarding the relative merits of the Ogg Vorbis and MP3 sound file formats.
In the event of your chosen football team stringing two passes together, claiming it is "Sambah sockah!" in a harsh, ratboy accent.
Shadrach and Meshach, alway bitching about poor Abednego ahind his back, saying he had a stupid name.
Forty quid for a polo shirt? FTS!
Still filling in a pools coupon in this era of Irish Lottos, online poker and cock-fighting.
Setting up a complicated system of hydroponic equipment and lighting and heating apparatus just to grow strawberries.
Middle-aged knackers attempting the latest dance craze "Jumpstyling".
Worrying that your foes may be correct regarding the deficiencies of your Tiger style kung fu and that, as they have pointed out, it is defeat for which you must prepare.
Moping round the kitchen, "plastic apron with amusing breasts motif" akimbo, scratching yourself with your big spatula, rueing the non-arrival of barbecue season.
Being unnervingly well-informed regarding which female celebrities are "in the lesbians".
Muttering "off the pigs" whenever The Bill or Crimewatch appears on telly.
Harrumphing about doley and scroungers. Signing on the nash isn't as glamorous as it looks.

Bonus "Out": - Fucking useless cunting website. And that's swearing.