How The $#!* Did This Get Made?

In today's How The $#!* Did This Get Made?, we take a look at BBC Three television programme How Not To Live Your Life.

How Not To Live Your Life then? If you are an aspiring writer/actor/director, exactly like this:

Hieronymus Bosch (c. 1511)

 If you desire to be damned as devil-spawn, to be spurned by your fellow man, to be whipped and beaten and cast out like Connor MacLeod, then this effort, this turd-sodden quiche of a show, offers an unsurpassed guide as to how to live your life, both in content and execution.

How (Not) To Live Your Life:

1. Through witchcraft, dominate the minds of the BBC's team responsible for the commissioning of comedy.
2. Dip an ant's feet in ink, as per the BBC's submission guidelines.
3. Release said ant onto 90 gsm.
4. Send result to brainwashed team, with an offer to play the lead.

Ladies and gentlemen, today I bore witness to proof that the above method not only works, but results in recommissioning. There are now three whole series.

THREE. MIND-UNSPOOLING. SERIES.

Disclaimer: I could only watch for a few minutes, at which point the aneurysms became too frequent to continue. I apologise to all concerned if the remaining 5/6ths were 21st Century Shakespeare.

Around the 00:01:00 mark, I questioned what sins I had committed that would deserve such brain-fisting torment. Surely no God was this vengeful? And yet, Dante could not have envisioned Brutus in worse agony than that served upon me by the comedic stylings of one Dan Clark.

I'm not naturally a wrathful person, my philosophy being generally maim-and-let-maim, and let bygones be bygones; so it was an understandable shock to experience the work of a spirit so antagonistic to my own. How Not To Live Your Life is plainly the work of a vicious, brutal bully, who, desirous to strip the world of all fair-play, decency and Englishness, has, colubrine, blighted our souls with his crippling, festering comedy.

To fully grasp the monotonous violence of Mr Clark's crime, rendered hatefully in sound and moving pictures, consider a victim's response. One does not simply "not laugh" at the discrete events identified as jokes by interminable, SG1-esque reaction shots. No. One unlaughs.

What? Unlaughs, you say? Surely these are the Cromwellian fairies of a puritanical void, a grey, senseless realm of which few poets dared dream? Not the stuff of reality.

Sadly, I would that were true. No, I unlaughed until I could bear to watch no more, each joke stripping forever from me a happy memory, a childhood pratfall or game. Each joke left me less a man, and mankind less a dreamer. I fear to sleep now, lest this comedian's witticisms return in the night and claim the ruins of my soul.

That said, there was one moment that wasn't ear-shaftingly awful - Nick Mohammed's line "On with the show, my rancid little puppets". I liked that. But just as a Nazi commandant is not absolved of his crimes by once choosing organic eggs the supermarket, no single gust of sweet-smelling, rose-petal comedy could redeem the scat pile that is How Not To Live Your Life.

In conclusion, I fully support and endorse any attempts made by those responsible for this thirty minute stain to Not Live Their Lives anymore - Thank you.

Matt Cardle invests £1.3m into scheme to ensure that Fame won't change Matt Cardle

I'll bite my tongue to avoid saying something not 'real'

Such is X-Factor winner Matt Cardle's desire to "keep it real" that he has gone to new and extraordinary lengths to maintain a level of "groundedness" that will endear him to the people; "the very fact that I used the word groundedness proves that my grasp of grammar hasn't changed since before the X-Factor, I am still the same, also I often swear"

Key to the lumbering iguana's grounding scheme is "realness advisor" Alan Cliffe, who Matt has hired to be on hand 24 hours a day, observing what Matt says and does and then, using a bespoke electronic realness-moderation system, Cliffe is then able to rate how real Matt is keeping it and upload the results to Matt's Realness Analytics Centre which will provide up to the minute stats on how well Matt is performing and offer tell-tale clues as to whether the big fucking meat neck has, in fact, been changed by fame. "Think of it as a sort of reality thermometer if you will" says Matt "... or a reality barometer... a barometer measures pressure... I'm under a lot of pressure lately" 

Matt will also be maintaining a level of real-ness by continuing to work as a painter decorator, thought he will not be decorating the houses of the public as he would be at risk of being recognised as the X-Factor winner and plummeting into an "ego canyon". Instead, Matt will be contracted to gradually work his way through a dilapidated 38 room mansion in the South West of England, decorating each room in turn, to the specifications of hired actors playing the role of unimpressed home-owners. Said Alan Cliffe; "once he's finished one room we just rip the wallpaper off, piss all over the skirting boards and wait for him to come round to it again. It is my belief that monotony is key to maintaining a link to your roots. That and ugly women." 

Actors will also be hired to fill a fake job centre, which is located underground in a secret location  for Matt to gain experience in trying to find work during these supposedly tough economic times. "Matt will be queueing, printing off job descriptions, talking to advisers and smoking outside with other job seekers. The fact that no one has thought of this before just goes to show how serious Matt Cardle is about remaining normal." 

And should Cardle fail to maintain grounded as the amounts roll in? "I will shoot him" says Cliffe, "I will not hesitate to put him down"

In other news, Matt Cardle has written a book. 

A Personal Personal Appeal Appeal

Please read this appeal from someone who actually has to use the Internet, and then leave me alone.

Easy.

When I first saw Jimmy Wales' stupid face mugging out at me from above whatever Wiki page I was reading (probably http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jayce_and_the_Wheeled_Warriors), I recognised its potential for parody. His face was almost uncomfortably close, his eyes sociopathic. His was smile loaded with hipster pity, like a douchebag Mona Lisa.

The text was arrogant, sparse and begging to be 'shopped. I expected to see a tool similar to the Conservative Party parody poster generator by the end of the day.

The next time, he was walking alone, a lonely Garfunkel no doubt intended to take the edge off Jimmy's "I will kill you" eyes. The spoof-force was strong with this one.

Finally, "the horror" - Wales lurking in the darkness, his message now screaming out to the Internet "MOCK ME".

But I urge you to resist. If you value the Internet as a source of humour, "lolz", cats playing pianos etc, don't pick the lowest-hanging fruit, the easy score. A child could make fun of this.

If you consider yourself a humourist, try harder. Aim higher. Make us laugh not with sub-Seinfeld "What's the deal with the Wikipedia guy?" bits, or spoof "Jimmy watches you poop" banners, or ambiguously self-referential pictures of cats.

The next time you post, ask yourself "Am I a fry-cook or a chef?".

All the best,

Some Guy

User, Wikipedia

Ireland Bailout Bonanza

I'm spending my share on a meatball sub. Om nom nom.

85 Billion Euro Windfall To Be Shared Among Syndicate, Ireland To Close.

News that the EU and IMF bailouts awarded to Ireland would not be used to prop up the country's flailing economy broke today, with Irish Prime Minister Brian Cowen revealing that the money would instead be split up amongst the population.

"85 Billion split four and a half million ways gives us almost twenty thousand euros each. That's eff you money in my book." In his address, the Irish Premier listed some of the things the winnings could be spent on. "A luxury cruise, a decent car, a year's supply of Subway sandwiches. It's a long list. I encourage you all to spend wisely."

When asked what would become of the country now that its shattered economy would not be saved, Mr Cowen was resolute.

"Well, it's done for, isn't it? We might as well enjoy ourselves, but Ireland's spent. " He then addressed the gathering crowd. "I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here. Time to give the Emerald Isle back to the serpents."

"Begorrah" He added.

Interest in the soon-to-be stateless island has already surfaced, with Pinewood Studios expressing a desire to shoot the long-mooted Braveheart remake on its soon-to-be-vacant shores. Irish entrepreneur Michael O'Leary has also expressed an interest in acquiring his soon-to-be-former-homeland.

Mad, no-frills tyrant.

"I see Ryanland as being the top choice for individuals looking for a low-cost, no-frills citizenship." At a hastily-organised press conference, O'Leary's eyes glazed over as the muse of commerce possessed him. "A nation state for the discerning non-traveller who wants to get from A to A with the minimum of fuss. No taxes! Passports now only 99p (plus charges)! Book online to avoid disappointment!" O'Leary was led away by minders before he could relate the full terms and conditions of his offer.

Royal Engagement Angers Nation's 20-Something Men

God dammit, now my girlfriend keeps dropping hints.

Prince William, future king and future manwife of Kate Middleton (plebeian), has raised the ire of a generation - A generation of men trapped in long-term relationships, now stripped of hope, now doomed to a slow decline into matrimony.

"I didn't think he'd go through with it, and when they broke up, I'd have dumped mine too in the confusion". Brian Smacks, 27, vowed  bloody vengeance against the monarch-to-be in an impassioned, impromptu pub lunch address that hit YouTube earlier today. It has received over 6 hits in three hours, leading to some pundits to question whether this is the beginning of a serious revolutionary movement. Brian continued "I swear to god, my missus sent me a link to the story this morning. A link. What the hell am I supposed to make of that?"

Protests have begun already, with several organisations vowing to march on London. One group, formed in opposition to Prince William's casual disregard for his position as a 20-something mens' moral leader, the Society for Trapped, Angry Guys, has taken a firm line.

"We won't stand for it. I mean, she's not bad, not my type, but not bad, but what did he think he was doing? I prefer Asians, myself." an anonymous member of the radical group claimed today.

Despite 20-something men across Britain avoiding eye-contact with their inevitable fiances today, allegedly afeared for their freedom, the Palace was resolute. During a hastily organised press event this evening, a spokesman for Prince William addressed the groups' concerns.

"Save yourselves men. It was too late for the young master, but you still have a chance. Run. Run!"

Not everyone has condemned the Prince's actions, however. Stacie Pitch, 23, declared loudly in the cafeteria today that she, and others, were in favour of the arrangement.

"He's so cute. Oh. And they look great together. He proposed on holiday, in Africa, and with his mother's ring, that's Princess Diana. Oh. It's so romantic."

But what do women know?

More on this story as it breaks.

THE DEBATE: Portland Bill - Reality TV Gone Too Far?

Reality television. To some, the greatest thing to happen to the medium since Mr Motivator, to others, the worst thing to happen to the medium since Mr Motivator.

Courting controversy since its infancy, Reality TV has weathered many storms, from Ben Fogle's notorious "Reichstag address" speech on Castaway, to Hurricane Jade and the ethnic and intellectual cleansing of Big Brother - each series more shocking, each scenario and "high concept" more desperate and demeaning than the last. And yet, the genre endured.

With the arrival of self-parodying shows such as The Only Way Is Essex, pundits argued that the demise of true reality TV had begun. No more would the authentically shocking grace our screens - we had moved, to paraphrase Marx, from tragedy, into farce.

 Or so it was assumed; that is, until The Adventures of Portland Bill.

In a recent episode, Bill's "assistants" do "a spot of cleaning"

The worst nightmare/nocturnal emission of every Daily Mail reader in the country, this unparalleled, revelatory despair has broken like a wave against our collective consciousness, washing away our tidy 21st century illusions and leaving the reality of Modern Britain bare, revealed in all its startling truth.

Ostensibly a documentary charting the lives of three lighthouse keepers, Portland Bill plots a far darker course, deep, deep into the nation's Heart of Darkness. Social and sexual mores are brutally challenged and overturned, threaded through with biting satire, cruel humour, and jam tarts.

To suggest that this unfolding drama is Pinteresque would do Bill a disservice; it may now be more accurate to call The Homecoming Portlandesque. Unlike Pinter's harrowing, truth-revealing art, however, Portland Bill is simply, harrowingly true. Too true for many.

With calls to reinstate the death penalty to bring these keepers of depravity to justice, the public has failed to appreciate that Portland Bill is a mirror, and that like Caliban and his master, it is we who are responsible for the existence of these desperate creatures. The Adventures of Portland Bill may have triggered a knee-jerk hate mail campaign, and even questions in Parliament, but in an age of apathy and ironic detachment, it appears that only the very worst excesses of behaviour can move us. And in our apathy, from the Lizard to John O'Groats, we have let these worst excesses breed.

Perhaps the programme makers should be praised, not letter-bombed, for their brave decision not to edit or censor even the vilest acts, having the faith in their audience that we would see these wrongs, and seek to change the circumstances that created them, not damn the messenger, or the true victims - Bill, Ross and Cromarty.

Or perhaps not.

TV bosses have turned a deaf ear to the expected cries of "Ban this sick filth", but this critic wonders if the Middle England brigade may have a point. Objective reportage is all well and good, but if scenes such as the "whitewashing" of a "lighthouse" are suitable to broadcast, where do we draw the line?

With The Adventures of Portland Bill already renewed for a second season, perhaps we shall find out -for example, perhaps the keepers will have a visit from an "inspector" on "lighthouse business".

No doubt Ross should have been cleaning the steps as opposed to fishing, leading to, brace yourself, "high seas highjinks".

Wik-wikileaks-Leaks leaked

I'm confident no one has thought of this yet

Following hot on the heals of all those wikis leaking out all over what appears to be the newspapers, leaks indicate that a site called wikiwikileaksleaks (doubledot com) has leaked wikis detailing the Wikileaks leaks and how they came to leak.  For the first time, Joe Public will gain access to documents documenting the documentation of the leaked leaks and get a harrowing glimpse at what condition the wiki leakes leakers are forced to leak under. Joe Public will then probably pass it on to his friends, one of whom might work for a paper and he or she will print them.

Sometimes finding pictures is more work than the words.

Details are already leaking out about working condition in "wikileaks house", lets just say it's not just the plumbing that's leaking. It's also the Wiki's. Here's an example from one of the leaked documents.

MR X: WHAT'S THAT OVER THERE?

MR Y: [*CLASSIFIED*], SIR.

MR X: HAS IT BEEN LEAKED?


MR Y: NO SIR.

MR X: WELL PULL YOUR DICK OUT OF YOUR ASS AND LEAK IT!

FX: WATERBOARDING

I'm confident no one's thought of this either, radical.

But what thinks the Government about all this? I asked him; "Whatever gets people to climb out of my ass for 15 minutes is fine-diddly ine by me, I did some heinous shit out there that I can not undo"

Along with a delicious recipe for cooking leeks, discussion of leaking the leak leakers also made it into the leaks.

FX: SHUFFLING "SECRETS"

MR X:  LEAK THIS, THIS TOO... AND THIS AND...

MR Y: WHAT ABOUT THIS?

MR X: WHAT?

MR Y: WHAT WE'RE SAYING NOW.

MR X: WHAT ABOUT IT?

MR Y: DO YOU WANT ME TO LEAK IT?

MR X: DO I WANT YOU TO LEAK WHAT WE'RE SAYING RIGHT NOW, OR WHAT WE WERE SAYING BEFORE ABOUT LEAKING OTHER THINGS?

MR Y: THE FIRST ONE, NO... ALL OF IT. BUT... PUT IT THIS WAY, WHAT DON'T YOU WANT ME TO LEAK?

MR X:[*CLASSIFIED*]  

"I can't move for Wikis at the moment"  cries journalist Kale Kiwi, "and it's not just the plumbing that's leaking here... I don't care if you're planning to lead with that, put it in anyway... nobody can own a sentence." Have the leaks compromised National Security? "No, I have full faith in the leaks, I have even leaked my home address to a violent criminal known as Scalp-coat Fister who is yet to show up naked at my patio door as everyone said that he would and, y'know, do his thing."

George Osborne; "prepared" for Christmas Satire

AH HA HA! Oh, I'm sorry, you've caught me at a moment when I was thinking about the similarities between the Chancellor of the Exchequer from Britain's "The Government" and Ebenezer Scrooge from the Bible.

...and laughing. 

Ah ha ha ha.

I'm looking forward to Christmas this year and not just because we get to celebrate the time that Jesus defended his house from the 'money lenders' with a complex series of makeshift boo-bee-traps. But because I will no doubt be treated to some biting Scrooge/Osborne themed satire from Hugh Dennis and those other people who do satire.

 It's the one time of year when Radio 4 comedians get to take a break from ending all of their jokes with "ocado delivery van" and can instead make repeated references to the Greatest Story Ever Told.

I saw Hugh Dennis in Waitrose with Sandy Toksvig the other day, they said they were "looking for ideas" so I said, "are you planning on making jokes about George Osborne being like Scrooge this Christmas?"... They went very quiet for a moment and started looking at each other with surprised, happy faces. They hurriedly said "goodbye" and then walked away quickly making whispery phone calls. I think they are planning on doing what I said.



But what thinks George "McDuck" Osborne (satire!) about all of this satire? I did not see him in Waitrose so I could not ask him and I do not have time to wait around in every Waitrose in London hoping for him to come in for some double cream or tiffin (Some of us have jobs (!)) Having said that he is probably prepared, he looks like he is prepared.

What is he hiding in his mouth? Coins? (Satire)

With just weeks to go till Christmas, I am jizzing all over myself with excitement at the thought of walking past a newsstand and seeing a caricature of George Osborne wearing Victorian nightwear, holding a lamp and cowering in front of a previous Chancellor draped in chains. Ah ha ha ha ha. I am not sure who the previous Chancellor will be but that just adds to the excitement. There might even be a witty caption to the effect of "these chains are the national deficit" or something like that, though they may surprise me and make the chains something to do with child benefit. Eeek! How am I going to last the 6 weeks till December? I'm so excited I might just draw it myself. No... no, I mustn't spoil it... be patient.

Just enjoy Autumn, for now.

MILIéMON - EdRed & DaveBlue REVIEW

That's right kids, it's here! The latest iteration of the eternally popular Miliémon RPG handheld games series hits store shelves next week - but is it revolutionary, evolutionary (Wink - Ed.), or just more of the same? Our in-house Milié-fan investigates...

Like every game in the Miliémon series, the two editions, EdRed and DaveBlue, have some subtle differences, but offer broadly the same experience. As with previous games, some Miliémon are unique to one edition or the other - you'll have to use the Conference Party WiFi mode to swap your collection with other players if you really do want to "catch 'em all".

EdRed edition Box Art

The box art for both editions is typically bold, with each featuring the "legendary" Miliémon you can catch in each game, but EdMilié and DaveMilié are only two of the many new Miliémon available in the game. The designers have really outdone themselves, and graphically-speaking these games represent a new height for the series. For those players disappointed by the failure of BlairYellow and BrownBrown to deliver on the developers' promises of better performance, sharper mechanics and more colourful characters, these new games will restore your faith in the franchise.

DaveBlue edition Box Art

"But what about gameplay?" I hear you cry. Players begin their quest on ConDem island, a totally revamped version of NuLab from the previous games, but don't be put off. The developers and designers have put a lot of effort into distancing themselves from previous games, and the "look and feel" of these new environments really does give a subtle but much-needed boost to the overall experience. Whereas NuLab was "too shiny" in places, ConDem has a more realistic, almost grimy feel - and with many more NPCs offering quests, ranging from finding a few copper pieces so that the NPC can feed his family, to operating offshore tax havens, the scope for player interaction is much greater.

As with any Miliémon game, the first decision the player makes is to choose their starting Miliémon. In EdRed and DaveBlue you have the following familar options (I've included their evolution chains for reference):

Fire/Fighting-type: Starter: Sockalist, 1st Evolution: Actifist, 2nd Evolution: Brawllord

Water type: Starter: Torydrip, 1st Evolution: Consqueeze, 2nd Evolution: Lifepeer

Grass type: Starter: Cutsno, 1st Evolution: Warno, 2nd Evolution: Bono

Each have their strengths and weaknesses, but I'll leave that to you to find out!

In addition to these fresh starter Miliémon, there are many others for players to hunt for. As always, most are easy to catch, but remember that they are generally easier to find in the WestMonster Battlezone than their "home" areas. Some, like Gosborn, need to be coaxed with precious metals, whereas others can only be found using starter Miliémon as "bait", Hayge can only be caught using a Torydrip (or Toryboy starter from the original MajorGrey game).

Here's just a taster of the new Miliémon roaming ConDem island:

Edballz

 And of course:

Dabbott

In addition, some of the issues or errors of previous games have been rectified, with new evolutions for under-powered Miliémon. Many long-term Milié-fans felt that the evolution of Mandlesone to Mandlestwo ruined many "sneak attack"poison/psychic-type strategies - if that sounds familiar, then the new evolution of Mandlethree should be the answer to your prayers. Mandlethree loses the weak MEP psychic attack move, in favour of the very effective Skeleton Cupboard move, capable of paralysing your opponent's Miliémon for several turns.

Mandlethree

Professor Fox makes an appearance, and later in the game can sell the player several powerful items to grant your Miliémon even more battle options; such as the Trident item, giving your Miliémon an area-effect Special Attack.

Overall, EdRed and DaveBlue are a fresh new interpretation of the franchise, whilst staying true to the series' roots. Fans will no doubt be divided as to which edition is better, and traditionalists are, as always, going to prefer the simplicity of earlier games, but EdRed and DaveBlue remain an excellent starting point for new players. No prior experience is required, and literally anyone can jump in and play at the highest level.

Well, that's my Miliémon review - I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed playing the game!

DISCLAIMER - I haven't actually finished the game, but it'll probably end just like all the others, with a confusing "final confrontation" with the leader of Team Exocet, Boss Thatcher.

What is WITH those Milibands?

With the Labour Leadership race having reached its scintillating climax with younger brother Ed narrowly clinching the title of King of Labour, satirists nationwide have been gripped by one question; what is the deal with these guys faces?

Who will gain the right to call the Prime Minister "Mr Bean"? Ed. It was Ed, everyone knows that now.

I mean what, did they, like, share a birth mother or something? What is with THAT? That means, you know they lived in the same womb, like aliens. They're also like robots. Robots with no emotions, yeah? That grew in the same womb. It's almost as if they were grown like aliens on a farm, they started off small and just got bigger. You know, like the male gamete and the female gamete merged to form a zygote. I got this off Wikipedia so don't hold me to it but it's pretty wild right?

I refuse to believe that this is the biggest picture I can find of both Neville brothers eating the same cake.

What's totally freakiest about all this is that after they made the first Milliband, they made another one but he was noticeably different looking. However some things are the same. They have the same hair colour sort of and though I have been clicking back and forth between their wikipedia pictures I cannot confidently name the other similarities though I am sure that they are there.

You think this is the real Quaid? It is!

 They have similar jobs. In politics.

Look at these guys.

I haven't watched Mock the Week this week but I'm almost certain that the above is a word for word account of what they've said minus a few ad slogans and shouting about "retards".

California Gurls - The Sacred Feminine

In the rich esoteric tradition of Paracelsus, Aleister Crowley and Dan Brown, the much-feted white witch Katy Perry publishes her latest tract on alchemical feminism this month. Haiku Panzer Force considers the revolutionary message and impact of "California Gurls - A Treatise In Dialectic And Symbology".

Fecund

Ever-controversial, Mistress Perry engages, in this latest work, the dichotomy between the sacred feminine and the mundane representation of "woman" in popular culture. Unlike previous tracts that have dealt exclusively with the internal relationship between the "Hot" and "Cold" aspects of the psyche, or with the female perception of herself as a physical being "I Kissed A Girl", this work looks outward, exploring and contesting the role of woman in society.

The Modern Woman

Of particular interest is Perry's treatment of representations of "man" in the form of the pimp-wizard. The wizard is depicted as an impotent God, a titanic male with externalised phallus, in the form of a pimp-stick, that is nonetheless thwarted in his attempts to dominate, that is to say "creep a little sneak peak", the figure of woman.

Throughout her allegorical journey, The Woman is faced by iconic representations of herself, each figuring a challenge that must be overcome. These labours are ostensibly random, but the subtext is plain; the rules behind the "game" are devised by the dominating male. Archetypes, imprisioned by the pimp-wizard, are by this mechanism revealed to The Woman, her task being to free them, and in doing so, freeing an aspect of herself. These archetypes each conform to a sub-element of the titular "California Gurl", as follows:

i) The Bubblegum BJ Pro
ii) The Absinthe Jello Whore
iii)The Cellophane Slut

Prologued by The Man's display of impotent rage at The Woman's progress, an erotically-charged, triumphal dance begins, with much emphasis place on the thrusting, gyrating hips. This display marks the entry, or "penetration" of the Pimp-Wizard into The Woman's sphere. His is no longer a dictatorial, distant deity - he engages directly, though not as an equal, but as an advocate. By first gathering aspects of oneself, and then submitting them as "evidence", Mistress Perry conciously echoes an earlier form of esoteric virtue/vice allegory (cf. Robert A. Potter, The English Morality Play: Origins, History, and Influence of a Dramatic Tradition).

The conventional mode is turned rectoverso now, as the God/Pimp Wizard becomes an actor in the drama, we, the passive audience, must sit in judgement. Battle lines are drawn, as The Woman's collected "attributes" arm her for the final confrontation. The release is codified as an ecstacy, a victory of ladyjuice over the Manseed, as represented by Jelly Bears.

Reverse Insemination as Castration

Fully impotent now, his seed extingushed, the Pimp-Wizard symbolically removes his phallus in submission, a voluntary castration. Reduced to a head, a double metaphor for the only male part(s) a female desires, the victory of Woman is complete, and total.

No doubt Mistress Perry's magnum opus, "California Gurls" is an epochal work, an inescapable locus for esoteric feminist literature for the foreseeable future. Unlike some commentators, Perry captures not only the philosophical aspect of this debate "All the boys; Bangin' out; All that ass; Hangin' out", but also, and crucially, its human heart. A fitting coda, the warmth and depth of her prose is best illustrated with these following lines:

Westcoast represent
Now put your hands up
Oooooh oh oooooh

Your Letters but not YOUR letters

Dear Haiku Panzer Force,

As a high flying solicitor who drinks a great deal of water as well as a variety of other fluids, I tend to break up my working day with brief excursions to the gentlemen's toilet room or thunderbox if you will, (be sure to note however that I never pass thunder during work hours.) On a recent visit to the kidderminster I stepped barefoot into a moral quagmire that could endanger my career and bring disrepute to the profession as a whole. I shall recount it to you now.

Steven Segal is in a band called Thunderbox.

Slipping out of a meeting with a client (Mrs X) regarding her upcoming divorce, I made one of my usual visits to pass hot liquid lightning into my favoured stall (like an increasing number of men in the 21st Century, I prefer the rectilinear peace of mind provided by a cubicle to the tear drop vulgarity of a urinal)  Adopting my usual stance; legs apart, eyes to the heavens I awaited the rush of what had, mere hours earlier, been a decanter of icy highland-spring water. Everything was in place for what seemed to be some textbook micturition when I became aware of the presence of a fellow user inside the cubicle! I had neglected to secure the fortifications of the cubicle with the provided slide lock! I longed to cry "Occupato!" but my larynx had seized up along with Aretha, my urethra.


I froze, head down me eyes darting to my left to take in the man beside me. He swiftly unzipped and nudged me in the arm. "Cross the streams!" He enthused.

I remained rooted to the spot, member in hand (he too had frozen and shrivelled slightly in the presence of a rival pipe.) "I..."

Mine was the expression of the Stay Puff'd Marshmallow Man... to begin with.

"Cross the streams!" He said again, but this time I sensed a hint of almost brotherly tenderness. With one hand, he squeezed my elbow and playfully swayed his midriff from side to side, chuckling softly.

I was swept up in the moment. I let myself go... to the man's great pleasure and eventually we were both hooting and howling over the rush of our combined effluence crashing 'gainst the pristine porcelain of the solicitor-class bowel basin.


"Yeaaaaahhhhhaaaaaahhhh!" He howled. Then with no thought of hygiene or even replacing my modesty in its cotton pouch, we turned to face each other in the cramped stall, locked eyes and high fived repeatedly and vigorously.(High fived is not a euphemism for a sex act, just to be clear... I know your Haiku Panzer force habit of using bold, italics and tiny text to accentuate certain phrases and I am wise to it.)


But then before I had the chance to offer to wash this gentleman's hands, secretly hoping that he in turn would wash mine, he bolted out of the cubicle leaving me to activate the flush and thoroughly sterilise my paws after the encounter. Who was this man? Why had he chosen me? On looking into the other cubicles I noticed they were empty so it was not for want of space that he chose to cross the streams with this particular solicitor.

No scarcity of cubicles... then why?

I left the men's room exhilarated but I could already feel the adrenaline rush subsiding before I had returned to my office. Back to th trivialities of Mrs X's divorce from Mr X! No doubt a momentous passage in the lives of the X's but a process I can now go through with my eyes screwed shut and my fingers thrust far into the canals of my ears.


When I reached my office, my assistant hissed a warning before I crossed the threshold into the office proper "Mrs X's husband is here with his solicitor", they were a little early but I was more than prepared to wring this hapless fool for every shilling in his grimy pockets. I entered the room with a hearty greeting but stopped in horror when I saw the man who awaited me...


It was the man from the cubicle... the man I had crossed swords with just moments before!


"This is my husband, Mr X" sighed Mrs X flatly. "Not for long I hope", said Mr X, a cruel grin shooting across his face, reaching out a hand that may well have been drenched in my own bladder brandy.

It can't be!

Rats! How do I proceed when dealing with a man with whom I've intersected golden arcs? Is this a conflict of interests? What was I to do... what am I to do? I'm still here now... I'm pretending I'm picking a suitable album from Spotify as background music when I'm fully aware that nothing kicks off divorce proceedings like Chet Baker. They're starting to get suspicious. Help me Haiku Panzer Force!


Kind Regards,


Alan Cliffe



Dear Alan,


Fuck you for not knowing anything about the Law. Of course this is a conflict of interest, in fact if you'd done a little research you might know that this is a common technique amongst men going through divorces. In fact it was one of the fun facts recently omitted from our Paul McCartney Factstravaganza a few days ago - that whilst going through his divorce, Sir Paul crossed the streams with all the finest lawyers in the UK so that none of them could represent Heather Mills and she was forced to resort to using an entirely stop motion animated legal team when the big day arrived.


Sadly for Sir Paul the claymation litigators performed pretty spectacularly, if painfully slowly, and Mills is now something something something. Point is, you better find a window to climb out of before shit gets real. And Chet Baker is no way to divorce anyone, try some Sammy D.

Warm best wishes,

Haiku Panzer Force

Get More Twitter Followers - 5 Easy Tips

Who loves ya baby?

NO ONE.

No one loves you, because no one loves you. No one follows you, because no one follows you. Yet some people have followers, so why not you? It's not fair, is it?

But don't cry into you soup! Today's edition of 5 EASY TIPS will solve all of you Twitter-twoes.

Why don't you have followers? Surely it can't be because you're ugly, or short, or one chromosome short of a full set. Of course, you are all of those things, but your profile pic is Adam West's Batman, so these can't be the reasons. Why else? These 5 EASY TIPS will help cure the hideous disease that is unpopularity:

1. FIAT LUX

Twitter, like "RL", is a popularity contest, and just like "RL", you need popularity to get more. Where do you start then? How can something come from nothing? It's a paradox built in to the fabric of the universe. And the solution, the missing ingredient, is God.

EASY TIP: Become a fundamentalist Christian. Regularly tweet the beneficent effects of Jesus's love, and they'll come a flockin'.

2. SEXY SEXY TIME

The only thing more e-liberating than being an anonymous 20-something male is being an anonymous 20-something male being an anonymous teenage girl, on the cusp of womanhood. Anonymously. The erotic frisson created by the brief, tentative steps of a fey innocent into the brusque tworld of men will guarantee an instant, slobbering following.

EASY TIP: Big eyes, barest hint of decolletage, perhaps a photoshopped blue tint. Name yourself "LittleMinx93" or similar.

3. RAW, UNBRIDLED API ABUSE

You know that app you should be using for Twitter? TweetDeck, Seesmic etc? Don't just use it occassionally, as you would twitter.com; abuse it. Ruin it. Bash out those tweets, skullfu*REDACTED* those #FF lists, follow like a bitch, and be DMn' like you be BMn' after a curry. Create opportunities for the twitterverse to ignore you, but in more invasive, irritating ways. You will break their will eventually and they'll follow out of exhaustion.

EASY TIP: Don't stop tweeting until you either a) get an "API limit reached" message or b) the ends of your fingers are bloody and raw.

4. STARLIGHT, STARBRIGHT!

@StephenFry has more followers than their are people on Earth. How? Is it because he's a raconteur par excellence? Because he has a big, gay wit? No. @StephenFry has more followers than there are atoms in the sun, because he is a celebrity. But isn't celebritying hard? Nope!

EASY TIP: Publish a series of epochal memoirs, each in turn winning you a Nobel prize, and collectively becoming the definitve literary and cultural contribution of our age.

5. BE A LOVER, NOT A HATER

Reciprocity: the Golden Rule, the fundamental foundation of ethical philosophy, human rights, and civilisation. Before you can expect your fellow man to follow, you must love your fellow man. Smother him with LOL's and RT's, <3's and LMFAO's. Sing his praises to others, at random. #FF him constantly, all week long. Tweet unto others as you would have them tweet to you.

EASY TIP: Pick a target. RT their every message. @ them photoshopped images of your profile pics holding hands, and making love. Repeat ad infinitum.

It's all so EASY (TIPS) now, isn't it? Go forth and become the King of Twitter!

That's all for this week. We'll see you next time, for another 5 EASY TIPS!

Y'all Don't Know Shit bout Paul McCartney: 3 Fun Facts about the man with the golden thumbs

I feel I must reiterate the sentiments of the title, y'all really don't know shit about Paul McCartney. Now the problem with that is y'all think you know about Paul McCartney, but y'all don't know shit about Paul McCartney. Read on for more.

Fact Number 1: Paul McCartney's Biggest Regret

Paul McCartney is kept awake at night with the knowledge that he could have won any argument with Heather Mills by calling her a "unicycle." Said Sir Paul; "It implies she is a lady of easy virtue whilst also making fun of her for having one of something there is normally two of, I never said it because I thought it would make her feel bad... it's really not that clever but I think it would have worked in a crude sort of way."

Fact Number 2: Paul McCartney's Wall of Shame

Approximately twice a month, Sir Paul McCartney slips out under the cover of darkness bringing with him a paint roller and a tub of egg shell Dulux paint, and makes his way on his bicycle (with two wheels) to Abbey Road Studios to paint over the graffiti on the wall where Beatles fans compose asinine tributes to a band that everybody likes at least one song of. "Why don't we assume that everybody likes the Beatles and we can stop defacing this lovely knee-high wall?" quoth Sir Paul, " They always pick the worst lyrics to write up there too, you know, the really mawkish ones that don't really mean anything. Then they draw a peace sign because they're German or Spanish and they think that's cool because it's still 1991 over there" Racist.

Fact Number 3: Paul McCartney's Christmas Wonderful Time

Few people know this but Sir Paul McCartney wrote the greatest Christmas song ever composed, recorded it and then destroyed the tape using a high powered magnet. Having completely forgotten everything he had done the night before, Sir Paul attempted to re-write the song by asking his neighbors what it sounded like and forcing them to nervously sing into a dictophone any parts they were able to remember. The result was the second greatest Christmas song ever composed.

Until next time...

"Straight from the Can": The Filmmaking Secret that the Studios don't want you to know

Hello? Hello? CAN you hear me? THROUGH THESE CANS?

You're a screenwriter, right? Sure, everyone is. And you read some pretty deep shit, yeah? Yeah you do. That's why you're a screenwriter. Also it's because when you saw 'Lawrence of Arabia' when you were 4 years old it was the most intense experience of your entire life.

So all the pieces are in place but why isn't anyone getting back to me about my spec script for Spooks?

It's the question that niggles at the back of everyone's mind, especially when they've just sent off a spec script for 'Spooks'. Or Luther.

Well listen up "writers", because you're about to uncover the truth you've known all along but couldn't quite put into words. The one tip that will help you take it to the next level, the one sure-fire way to get that writing job on 'Hustle.' It's name? ... The 'Straight from the Can' Technique.

The Straight from the Can Technique, alternatively known as "SftC", "Recluse and Beans" or "Fork in the Tin". And you've probably seen it countless films, TV shows... you might even have done it in real life. (I'm sorry if you have.)

Here's the scenario; you've got a character who doesn't fit in; an outcast, a freak... doesn't fit in. An Outsider. But how do you show he's an outsider? How do you show he's an outsider without having someone actually call him an outsider. You go Straight from the Can, or to spell it out for you; You show him in an empty flat eating beans directly from  can, staring vacantly at static on a TV screen. And it's done. You already know everything you need to know about this character and you can get on with that slick banter you're so good at.

What's on? NOTHING.

So what do we know? Everything. He doesn't have plates. But he does have a fork. And a can opener. But he doesn't have plates. He might have opened it with a knife? Doesn't matter. The TV static shows he is disconnected from society like the TV is disconnected from the aerial. Whereas the beans are the most pathetic thing a man can eat from a can, even tinned ravioli retains some shred of continental dignity. He should also have a gaunt face. Like John Hannah, but moreso. And he should be sat in a fishing chair with no other furniture. If you really want to WOW those bigwigs at Broadcasting House, give the audience a glimpse of other open cans on the floor around the chair - He's done it before. Maybe even today. Is that why he's so gaunt? Probably.

Extra flourishes are always welcome; hunting knife, bomber jacket and if you're feeling like showing off, have him wearing fingerless gloves. Loner.

I do not know who this man is but I already care!

You can use it in anything, there's not a film been made that couldn't have been improved by a SftC scene. But the one thing you must remeber is You Must Never Try It Yourself. It may seem like a good idea at the time, but it's a dangerous road to go down. Why'd you think Mickey Rourke was offscreen for so many years? Method Acting.

Why am I telling you this? Why am I telling you this? Why am I telling you this?

Does not work with female characters.

Cameron: "Nobody is Ready for the Death Race"

David Cameron has been touring driving schools up at down the country in an attempt to get instructors to "wise up to the very real prospect of me declaring a Death Race in order to bring order to society gone mad."

Cameron is concerned not only for the safety of the drivers in the possible Death Race, but also for the spectacle of the televised broadcasts. "The sad fact is that most people are afraid to die, whether that be in a spectacular fireball or just by being clubbed to death by a leather clad competitor who has leaped from one car to another with some kind of mace, and let me tell you - that leads to some pretty faggy driving"

Naturally the mainstream press have been more shocked by the PM using the term 'Faggy' in 2010 than his idea to teach new drivers to handle a blunderbuss whilst performing a three-point-turn, Cameron's immediate  response was "Of course I know it's 2010, that's why I'm trying to get you to attach barbed wire to your car doors! Help me help you!"

Critics have declared that Cameron has already lost touch with the common man, noting that Death Races are unlikely to bring order to society that is so intent on not being on fire "Well you won't police yourselves! What am I supposed to do? The problem is that you don't fear me, and that's my fault because I've let that slip but once you've had your exploding neck collars fitted you'll either get in line or get to the starting line" (He leaned forwards to say that loudly into a microphone)

But what is Cameron going to do whilst we're all having Death Races/Policing ourselves? "I shall be watching over you from my Vertibird occasionally dropping what I will henceforth refer to as Power-Ups such as new weapons, Turbo Boosts and occasional cash bonuses, you'll have to earn them of course with superior driving skills and wanton carnage"

Cameron will be on tour till September.

An Impassable Moat

Trend Spotter - The Cement Mixer

A new dining trend is sweeping all the hottest restaurants in London, some are calling it a culinary comeback - a glorious regression to simpler times, others simply say it's disgusting and needlessley confrontational. We're talking, of course about what is known as 'Cement Mixing' or for all you squares out there - the act of nonchalantly eating with your mouth open. It's the word on everyone's lips, along with pieces of half chewed sushi and globules of soy sauce.

A few short years ago, it was all the rage to demurely keep ones lips firmly shut whilst eating to avoid showing fellow diners the mashed up contents of the inside of your mouth, a trend started by Lana Turner (though some have the audacity to credit the movement to a pre-'Frasier' Kelsey Grammer.)

However Cement Mixing has made a spectacular comeback in recent months with hot young celebs spotted slapping their jowls open and shut in all the glitziest spots around town. Just the other day Robert Pattinson was seen spraying undigested hunks of tooth pummelled squid all over Dame Judy Dench who appeared to be lagging behind in the Cement Mixing stakes, but still politely brushed off the tween heartthrob's particles of deep fried seabeast with a smile.

And in London's uber cool Shoreditch district the drummer from Muse was spotted holding out his tongue to display a sphere of saliva pulped falafel. The singer from Muse was said to remark; "It looks like a white dwarf exploding into evil antimatter, we shan't let it overthrow us! Awheeeeeeeeeeeuuuuuuuwwww!" in a high pitched voice.

What's the attraction for these young hipsters? Jip Cabernickle is a grapahic designer from Cammmmmden "It just makes you look like you don't give a fuck, you know? Like you're too cool to even stop bits of shrimp falling out of your mouth." Sappy Hegherty (fashion designer) has a different take on it; "It's like, all the third world countries have so little food, but we have so much... it's a protest. Don't shut your food away inside your mouth, we're saying."

It's now a common sight to see young party animals furiously stuffing doughnuts into their mouths in preparation for an impromptu photo session or to impress a member of the opposite sex with a spray of breadcrumbs. Naturally, the better the food, the better the effect. So don't expect to impress anyone by Cement Mixing with a £2 Meal deal sandwich from Tesco or a mouth full of mini kievs.

There's even a new hang out for all of the hottest young Cement Mixers in London, it's a restaurant owned and run by Giles Coren by the name of 'Mutual Mastication'. Coren has become the poster child for the Cement Mixer Movement. What does it mean to Coren? "It started in a restaurant, I wanted to make all the other diners leave so I started walking around showing them the ground up contents of my gaping maw and then rolling said contents around on my tongue, instead of leaving they all thought it was some kind of food critic thing and started doing it too. The rest, as they say, I'm very well off and I don't care what you think"

But whatever it means, the sound of smacking lips is something we all better get used to because the Cement Mixer is a trend that's definitely set in stone.

People Are The New Vampires

Hollywood, CA

The film industry is having a rough week. Not only has the latest installment of the Twilight franchise, Eclipse, sold fewer than 7 tickets on its opening night, two studies published earlier this month confirm that vampire love is no longer de rigueur. When asked if they would let a lusty vampire man, born in the 19th century, impregnate them with a hellfoetus, an overwhelming 87% of respondents chose "Unlikely" or "Highly Unlikely". By comparison, when asked the same question last Summer, 93% of respondents chose "Highly Likely" or "In all three holes".

So shiny immortals will soon be gone forever from our silver screens; and yet it seems that the next "big thing" in movies is just around the corner. After several recent hits on the Times Bestsellers list featured prominently human characters, studios are betting that this wave of people popularity will soon hit the mainstream, with several anthropocentric flicks already in production.

The Expendables, on general release later this year, features a cast of persons displaying no significant vampiric or lycanthropic tendencies. "We believe audiences are eager to reconnect with the familiar story of a gang of renegade mercenaries who attempt to free a small country from the grasp of tyranny," said Jon Feltheimer, CEO of Lions Gate, "none of whom are vampires."

Just Go With It, an Adam Sandler vehicle set for early 2011, has taken a similar path; "We thought about doing vampires, sure, but something told us that there were enough VamRomComs on the market." Sandler told Variety, "So we did this instead. You know," he continued "there are stories you can't tell with a vampire. Like, they can't go on a redemptive journey, because a vampire is an unholy abomination in the eyes of God."

Vampires are out, and people are in. Like zombies, gladiators and underage pregnancies, the blood-suckers have fallen from favour in the eyes of the fickle public. But what about mankind? How long before they too are extinguished from the celluloid zeitgeist? Alan Cliffe, CEO of Dover Demographics, believes his company have the answer; "People have two, three years tops. Then it's apes."

Your Letters but not YOUR Letters.

Am I the Evil Twin of my Good Twin?

Dear Haiku Panzer Force,

I’ve recently been troubled by a number of discoveries I have made about myself, it’s difficult to put into words so please excuse me for my lack of eloquence on the subject, I do not know who else to turn to. I have tried to speak to my mother and my priest but they shoo me away when I reach the crux of the matter. A few days ago, I began to suspect that I was someone’s evil twin, whose evil twin I do not know. I am not someone who has ever considered himself malevolent or even particularly vindictive and I have received no indication from friends and family that I may be a twin at all, but lately there have been signs that just seem like too much of a coincidence. Please permit me to catalogue them in an internet friendly manner.

1. Facial Hair – This is what started it all, I’ve made my first foray into facial hair having not shaved in two weeks. I was looking for something to give my face an ‘edge’, perhaps a touch of flair to set face apart from the crowd. At first the pitiful growth resembled a teenager’s moustache. But as the growth began to fill out it formed itself into an unmistakable goatee. I know what you’re thinking “What does that prove?” I will tell you. You see, I am completely devoid of hair in any region of the face unconnected to the goatee (the most sadistic beard of all). The sideburns, the chops... nothing! Fate has decided the shape of my beardybits and I am powerless to resist. All I am able to grow is a rather sinister looking Goatee with moustache corners that I suspect are beginning to twirl themselves.

2. Clothing – I have often been told I dress like Dennis Hopper in the film Waterworld (May his soul rest in peace... would I say that if I was an evil twin? Am I being sarcastic? Even I am unable to tell.)

3. Home Decor – In my home, I favour an industrial look that involves lots of exposed pipes, clouds of steam and the occasional belch of flame. I modelled it after the video for the Duran Duran song Wild Boys (Wild Boys! Wild Boys!)

4. Dining etiquette – When I’m in a restaurant, perhaps with a lady-friend (most of whom are worryingly “vampish”) the moment I am handed any sort of knife I will lasciviously extend my tongue and run it along the edge of the blade. Sometimes I will heat the blade over a candle before doing this. I am currently banned from all Toby Carverys in the United Kingdom.

5. Lovemaking – I only engage in intercourse from behind my raven haired partner, all the while gnashing my teeth and rolling my eyes into my skull. I’ve seen enough films to know that only bad/perverted people make love like this. I never even look them in the eye.

If it is true that I am someone’s evil twin, what am I to do? Should I fight it and try to do as many good things as I can? Or embrace it, walk around with a woman on a choke chain collar... covered in crude oil? Your advice would be greatly appreciated.

Yours,

Alan Cliffe

Barnsley

Dear Alan,

Fuck you for not knowing anything about twins. Everyone knows that the “evil twin” myth is just that, a myth. Even a couple of hours of research would have revealed that what really happens is that one twin can see into the future and the other one can see into the past. Also, one is left handed and the other is right handed. That way if they ever want to join together into some kind of “Zord” they will be ambidextrous.

It sounds like you’ve got what doctors like to call a serious case of the “Beyond the Thunderdomes” which can be cured by heavy exposure to living in Berlin in the 1990s... too bad you don’t have a twin because then one of you could see into the past.

Miller’s Penis and Testicle Exhibit

Darren Miller to exhibit his penis and testicles at the Swiss Cottage Gym in London

Miller's penis and testicles are rarely seen in public but recently he has been exposing them to the fresh changing room air on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings with the occasional outing on a Sunday.

If you catch him at the right time, you will see Miller stood facing the lockers as he tentatively unfastens his belt, unbuttons his trousers (often fashionable 'denims') and then he will hurriedly lower them along with his underpants (generally a snug fitting trunk) leaving his flaccid penis on display for all to see whilst he scrambles for a towel. If you can tear your eyes away from Darren Miller's penis and testicles you may notice his downturned eyes and expression of solemn concentration as he performs the display.

When asked why he chose now to reveal his penis and testicles, Miller simply furrowed his brow and clutched his towel a little tighter to his damp, trembling body. And he's right; the baring of his penis and testicles should be enigmatic, like Picasso's Guernica... what's that about? Probably nothing.

Rumour has it that Miller often follows the ritual with a shower, allegedly washing the aforementioned penis and testicles with soapy water but we have it on good authority that he does NOT like you to follow him in.

Entry may require the purchase of a gym membership. Expect queues.

All next week, local man Darren Miller will be revealing his penis and testicles in the changing rooms of the Swiss Cottage Gym and everyone's invited! Everyone that is male because the changing rooms are the male changing rooms.