Erm…right. Firstly, I have been spotted dancing at a party for a relatives birthday. This does not sound that newsworthy, but wait. Watching me dance is like watching Barry and Paul Chuckle maneovre a wardrobe. Awkward, loud, and lots of ‘to me, to you’. There has actually been a resolution passed by the United Nations forbidding my dancing in Venezuala, Greece, and some regions in Turkey. I also remember (albeit vaguely) doing Rockette kicks to Frank Sinatra. Cringe, cringe, cringe.

Next item, erm…oh! I have recently changed from Windows (boo) to Linux (hooray). The change has been a positive one, and one I haven’t yet had chance to regret. Needless to say its working fine now, it has worked fine since, and will continue to work fine for the forseeable future I believe. Now that its not spending all its time looking around gormlessly and not doing what I ask, its a new machine practically! Plus with KDE4 it even looks quite flashy where XP had to look shit. XP had to look shit because the 1,000,000 effects caused bugger-all else to work.

Balls to this, I’m tired. I’ll write some more soon.

Weirdly one search term which crops up repeatedly is ‘evil aliens rape’. I’ll just let that sink in. Somewhere around the world, people are searching for websites to do with the weird rape scene out of Evil Aliens, and naturally my educational post from a few weeks ago is drawing them inexorably to my blog. So this is why I have tagged this post with ‘evil aliens rape’; I want to see comments, people, on why you are searching for this term! It’s not a witch-hunt, it’s just a high curiosity of mine! Feel free to tell me, people, I beg for the answers.

Other posts will be put up soon, but it’s late and I have minestrone soup and Top Gear to get to so…bye bye!

P.S. This blog has nothing to do with steep prices or trees…fans of Homestar Runner will understand…if they watch enough of it.

This link is to my little brother’s blog. He’s only fifteen, so pat him on the head or something. Or give him candy because he’s a child, and all children like candy. Or maybe because, due to the fact he’s fifteen, you’ll have to pacify him with distractions and youth centres or else he’ll attain a hundred ASBOs in the next thirty seconds, stab half the population of Wallasey and set your grandmother on fire, which will in turn anger Mr. Gordon Brown. By the way, this is not an examination of my brother, more an examination of British youth.

Read it, or face an inflammatory death of the wrinklies with a sharpened blade!

I appear to have trodden in monsieur’s bucket…

Monty Python rule.

The show consisted of four swedish types, two girls, two guys, in Abba costumes. They sung, and played piano, and the homosexual on the left pretended to play the guitar. The real band was behind them in the darkness, one of whom was rather worryingly shielded behind bullet-proof glass. So while ‘Agentha’, ‘Frida’, ‘Benny’ and ‘Bjorn’ did their thing, the real musicians toiled away in the darkness. Minus a point there for being mean to the talent.

On the whole it was a very good evening. The main annoyance for me was the rest of the damn audience. During ‘Super Trooper’ it was suggested that maybe audience members could wave their arms in time (except it was suggested in the most hyperactive faux-Swedish way possible). The stupid woman in front took this as a sign to regress to the level of an infant idiot and flail around as though she was on fire. And then the women in front of her stood up with her equally rotund chum and I couldn’t see a damn thing, which meant I had to stand up and then clearly I looked a bit gay, what with being male and standing at an Abba concert. So that meant I had to hold onto my girlfriend to prove to the hundreds who didn’t care that I was straight. And then there was an old man across from me who started doing some sort of finger-pointing, gun-shooting, dying-cat voodoo in time with the music, and I couldn’t concerntrate on the show because I was too busy being amused by the gentleman’s wife’s dismay at her idiot husband. Oh, and every thirteen seconds an usher the size of a building came running into the crowd to ‘quietly and discreetly’ tell someone to stop taking photographs. Naturally everyone obliged because I bet that usher could punch a hole through a man’s head, but still he kept bounding past me to go shout at the audience. Boo to you, big usher. You’re worse than the stupid windmill arms woman. The show must therefore lose a point for having an audience.

At one point during the evening the crowd was split in half for a pointless bit in the middle of ‘Money, Money, Money’ which, cleverly, would involve ‘Bjorn’ and ‘Agnetha’ throwing money into the crowd. I was only slightly put out that I was on the top shelf, and if they threw coins up there they’d have to throw them so hard they could potentially kill someone. So the left hand side got ‘Agnetha’, the leggy blonde, and we got ‘Bjorn’, the hapless homosexual in a terrible toupée. He proceeded to enthusiastically claim that we were clearly the better half at singing, only to have a circus-type retort from ‘Agnetha’. I’ll be honest, I was ignoring ‘Bjorn’. Eventually the clever segue between ‘Money, Money, Money’ and money became clear. They threw literally two pounds into the audience, some of which I thought may have become embedded in elderly skulls. Hulk-usher came thundering past again at this point to shout at an elderly couple with their Polaroid camera. Minus one again for this man for resorting to riot crowd control techniques. As if an elderly couple who most likely holiday in Dorset are going to commit gross copyright infringement with a Polaroid for their nephew. And minus a point for ‘Bjorn’ not giving me any damn money!

Plus one point for ‘Bjorn’ wearing huge heels all night. That’s how a real man does it! Not like ‘Frida’ who had sensible shoes on, or ‘Benny’, who resembled Tony Blackburn in the 80s. Respect where it’s due. Minus one point for making me think of Tony Blackburn. How very dare you.

Minus a point for the distinct lack of ‘MANIA‘. We struggled to see any ‘MANIA‘ anywhere. We even looked under the seats. No ‘MANIA‘ there, either. At best, I’d describe it as a hullabaloo, or even a hubbub. ‘ABBAHUBBUB‘ has a ring to it…plus a point if they change the name to that. If not, still minus a point for the lack of ‘MANIA‘. Bastards.

I suppose this has been quite a negative entry, and I don’t want to leave you with the idea that this is some kind of terrible atrocity. It was a very enjoyable night out which a good deal of laughs, some of which came from the performance! Plus one for having binoculars that cost 50p to use! Put your money in the slot and you can use said binoculars to look at ‘Agnetha’ close up! Or ‘Bjorn’…your choice…weirdo. But yes, plus one point for magnified cleavage.

The spastic voodoo man found the binoculars very useful…minus a point for perverts. Needless to say I was not allowed binoculars by my girlfriend and my wallet.

Another minus point was the seating. My knees were permanently lodged in Mrs. Windmill’s beehive. If I moved them away, then the usher from Hell would undoubtedly trip and then tell me to leave or kill me. Minus a point for being a theatre.

Right, post over. I’m tired of this. Basically, visit www.abbamania.com for a better idea of what the show was like. But ignore the part where it says ‘ever wondered what it would be like to see Abba perform?’…trust me, Abba was not secretly from England! Minus one point for being fraudulent, and minus another thirteen for those goddamn terrible Swedish accents!

Plus a hundred points for making people dance though…that’s the sign of a good show.

Minus a thousand points for making me dance.

Bah.

Wonderful!

But seriously, I could read Gray’s Anatomy for days at a time. It’s a mixture of Henry Gray’s findings, coupled with surgical instructions for those who do a bit of grave-digging themselves! How useful! Technically I could now fix a cleft palatte with nothing more than a few knives and a pair of scissors! Admittedly the procedure is fatal to a living person, but if you die and feel the need to have a cleft palatte, I’ll dive on in there and fix it for you!

The book is incredible, though…even if you don’t care about medicine its worthy of a look! I don’t care about medicine but look at me! Looking! With my eyes!

Read it! Or I’ll stick power tools in your great longitudinal fissure, damn you!

I thought I’d share it with you, just because it managed to fill my nucleus accumbens with dopamine, resulting in a chemical reaction of laughter. This was definately laughter, and not cocaine, by the way (neurologists have proven that cocaine triggers a reaction in the same part of the brain as a joke…didn’t you know that?)

Basically, it suggests to me that a man in drag hobbled home having place his false breasts and one shoe in a bag. Just think that through for a moment. What ridiculous string of events caused that to happen?! Did he get a bit too chest heavy and decide to remove his breasts, then decide he was sick of not being lop-sided and so corrected the fault by removing a shoe? Where did the red bag come from? Presumably this would have been a well-thought out plan! Should this man be institutionalised for his mania? Was he lobotomised? Hmm…maybe.

Anyway, a RADICAL CHANGE OF TOPIC WILL NOW OCCUR! You have been warned! Prepare for a breakneck change…here it comes!

The brain.

Ouch, whiplash!

As you might have guessed from my comment about the nucleus accumbens, I have been reading up on neuroanatomy. Don’t ask why, and don’t reason that it has anything to do with finished my three season box-set of House M.D. either (what a marathon that was…). Apart from the humour centre, there is no central location of intelligence in the brain. It’s dotted all around, and not situated in the frontal lobe as was originally proposed. The only real fact about intelligence is to do with grey and white matter and the amounts assigned to the genders. Women have more white matter, and men have more grey. Grey matter is typically a sort of processing centre, while white matter is a communication link for processing. It generally explains multi-tasking, and why men are better at in-depth things like mathematics and women excel at more creative aspects of thinking. Oddly these two different parts are found in different locations in the brain…the matter is found more in the frontal lobe in women than in men, and the same with grey matter. By the way I’m not going anywhere with this.

But seriously, I could read scientific journals all day. I hate science, by the way, but there’s something delightfully insightful about the brain. It’s a lump of meat, yet its marvellously intricate…if I buy a pork chop, also a lump of meat, it won’t be able to do nearly as much maths as a brain, and if I buy a turkey at christmas I could easily out-think it. So naturally, I’ve grown curious as to why and have now added ‘futile medical research’ into my daily planner. It goes between ‘eating’ and ‘drinking heavily’.

I could never be a doctor of brains. All those wet folds to delve around in, and so delicate too! Why, for example, the patient file known medically as H.M. (I think that’s right…) whose hippcampus was intentionally ruined by scientists to see what would happen had amnesia for the rest of his life. Hmm. That’s why I don’t want to be a neurologist. Just give me the books, and leave the wet folds to the experts, I think.

Okay, so it’s starting out as another movie review. Don’t lynch me yet. I’m not going to talk about the movie because its not a very good movie and, to be honest, it was only amusing because it featured zombie goths eating intestines and indulging in a little healthy incest.

And by the way, that isn’t just a poor screenshot, that is the quality of the film.

The basic premise of the film is that some luminous pills are doing the rounds at a rave, and those who take them turn into zombie monsters with a lust for blood. The problem is never resolved, instead it finishes with a stupid dancing scene and then darkness. Wonderful…actually thinking about it I’m led to believe that the zombies get out and the world is infested, but again that’s never made crystal clear. So who gives a toss?

The message is the amusing part. It’s very simple…if its green, luminous, and blatantly not of Earth origin…DON’T EAT IT. I mean seriously, you’d have to be a Class A moron to think it was anything even remotely similar to a drug. It looks like plutonium out of a cartoon! No wonder it has weird effects on people. That’s the obvious message, but the slightly better hidden one is patronising and woeful.

DON’T DO DRUGS, KIDDIES!

That’s what it seems to say, anyway. Judging by the production values it could just be some teenagers with Daddy’s camcorder and Mummy’s makeup making a film about zombies and I could be completely wrong, but I like to think they thought they could cleverly disguise this film as a strange anti-drug campaign. Even if it’s not supposed to be there, which I don’t think it is, I’m going to crowbar it in anyway. It fits nicely with the whole ‘green pill’ thing.

The only other reason I enjoyed this film was that a character who doesn’t really feature majorly wears goggles somewhat similar to mine, while having hair that kicks quite a serious amount of arse. He later eats the Vietnam veteran of a doorman, I believe. Delicious.

So all the nonsense above aside, Raving Maniacs is a pretty badly done, patronising, boring, endless piece of celluloid shite that, to be honest, makes me weep in my bed. But I still enjoyed it…the only bit I didn’t enjoy was the ‘Lady and the Tramp’ scene whereby some lovers eat an intestine like spaghetti. This is the only bit of the film that made me cringe…a bad thing in a film which revolves almost solely around gore.

So yeah, in conclusion, choose life, no drugs, and don’t watch this damn film.

This is a film about a film crew who get stuck on a Welsh island with some vicious bastard aliens. The massacre that ensues is nothing short of brilliant, but strange. Here are a few choice facts about life that ‘Evil Aliens’ has taught me. By the way, this contains spoilers if you actually want to watch the film. I suggest you do.

This bitch needed to die earlier

 Oddly, this young stripper-cum-actress is handy with a shotgun and she’s very proficient at screaming. Also, she killed the Welsh psychopath with her rotten crotch, so she needed to die right at the start.

An alien can rip a humans arms off without difficulty, and make a human give birth in a matter of seconds

According to this film, an alien can just grab your arm and pull slightly, and it will just come off as though it were attached by blu-tack. Naturally this is a power that a beast from outer space would have to possess, so I think I’m going to let Mr. West off on this one. It’s cool, it’s fucking funny, and the guy it happens to deserves it so much it makes me all giggly in the stomach. This scene is preceded by one of the alien queen (who, by the way, has sex with the nerd) ripping the legs off the demented hot chick and then stamping on her belly to send the little alien baby on its way. Niiice. Many thumbs up there.

A small laptop can somehow reverse lay energy and cause stones to smash up a spaceship

This is one that isn’t going to get off quite so easily. We learn through the course of the film that ‘Gavin’, an alien nerd, can use a computer with some ridiculous GUI to monitor lay line energy. Fair enough as it’s kind of integral to the plot. But he then proceeds to reverse this lay energy and use it to shoot about nine eight-foot stones through an alien spaceship. What?! How…how…oh right, he has some little boxes with LEDs on. That’s how. To be honest, I enjoy the film because of the gore, not the plot, so this hardly ruined the film, but oh my God what were they thinking? Even as a B-movie this idea sucks! It made me laugh though, through sheer idiocy.

Bitch-slapping a nerd with someone’s spine is really rather funny!

This is perfectly self explanatory. I nearly crapped myself laughing when an alien tore the strippers head off and bitch-slapped the nerd with it. Funniest thing ever.

Aliens find it entirely necessary to strip female humans in an entirely gratuitous manner

I’m not joking about this one. At one point, an alien honks the blonde girl’s tit and tears off her top. Mr. West, you pervert! She’ll catch a chill! Needless to say this is a highlight of the film because it truly makes it a ridiculous spoof. Only in these sorts of films do you see girls in bras with shotguns blowing ten kinds of shit out of an alien’s face. Quality stuff.

The Welsh can’t talk, co-ordinate themselves or use modern weaponry; instead they must rely upon bows and arrows and screaming and grunting.

The portrayal of stereotypes in this film is the number one reason to buy it (apart from the gore, and the violence, and the scene with the combine harvester). The Welsh, especially. They can’t speak English, and spit and mock when they’re mentioned, they have literally a billion guns in their house but favour bows and arrows, and when roughly fucked in haystacks they are susceptible to alien rape afterwards. Naturally, this being an English film, the Welsh are all murdered within thirty seconds except the most incoherent, who exists purely to save the life of the idiot blonde who goes around fucking everything up. Then she shags him in a haystack and he’s killed. Serves him right for not plugging her at point blank when he should have.

A gay man will use no fewer than one hundred homosexual cliches per sentence

Another stereotype that makes me laugh is the gay man who makes it all of ten minutes when things get a little nasty. He runs minces around, screaming ‘oh no honey’ and wears a silver jumpsuit as part of his reconstruction of the alien rape. He claims he’s a ‘character actor, not a hero’, and wears a dress at the start of the film. Oh, and naturally he’s bummed to death with a twelve foot crucifix. Good work there, Mr. West.

A nerd can fly an alien spaceship by manipulating a slimy brain after no practice at all.

Okay, this is one of the sillier parts. He just sits down, stares, and instantly he knows what to do. No cool bits where he fails, no crashing until the very end…dumbarse. This amused me as a part that failed to make any sense.

Before you query the fact that I’m critiquing what is essentially the most tongue-in-cheek film ever made, I obviously never thought ‘yes, this is a serious film’ when I first bought it two years ago. Having re-watched it, I can fully recommend it for the drunk nights in.

Anyway, I was checking the scores when a most alarming banner came up and told me that ‘someone‘ has called me ‘a foolish dolt‘ because I cannot beat their IQ score of ’100′. Naturally I threw caution to the wind and signed instantly to the £6 a minute text messaging service that would test my IQ for the minimal price of £50! Of course I did! This very real person was a serious threat to my ego!

DISCLAIMER: That last sentence was a lie.

I halted at the banner part, and laughed my arse off until I wept with mirth. What are these people thinking? Do they really think that the above story is likely to occur?

Actually, I may have jumped the gun. Of course it happens, otherwise they wouldn’t have the funds required to advertise on Facebook. This induces a real fear in me. Are people really that incredibly dense?

If so then there is no choice but a global thermonuclear strike to banish the idiocy at the cost of the non-idiocy. I’m sorry, non-idiots, but for humanities sake you have to die.