But not insectoid windowsill pointage.
It's two flying off to the cinema at speed to catch extortionately priced animatory movies that leap ouf of screen.
Of course, the state-of-the-fart cimena complex is as helpful as ever.
Now, it's an umpteen screen cinema, with many a film starting at 11. So, to cater for such a large number of screens, they open at 10:45.
With vast queueage of hoards of unrestrained freal chavbrats, desparate to see Britannia High. (Or is it Fame? Or High School Musical The 13th?)
So, naturally, they open with 2 people Bernarding the tills.
Who seem to take forever to do one person.
No wonder Woolies is closing down, when they allow ChavMum to force her brood to pay for their own stuff, item by item, rather than paying for the lot so everyone else can get served.
"Buy it yerself yer little shit, I ain't wasting me benefits on you"
"Can't you buy it, and take it out of my pocket money. I need this satchel for school"
"Fuck off, I need the cash for fags and voting on X-Factor".
And why can't they have this argument before getting to the checkout in front of me, rather than holding me up and keeping me away from my McMeal.
Which no longer has a 2-4-1 cinema offer on it.
Which is probably as well, seeing as The Hollywood seem to know what films I wanna see, so don't screen them so I can't use me voucher.
Scuzzbuckets!
Sunday, 30 November 2008
Saturday, 29 November 2008
What’s this...
Extortion!
Now, there are some who say I have a slight obsession with Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas ,and one thing I've regretted is never seeing it on The Big Screen.
Lucky for me, an eagle eyed angel spotted that it's showing today and tomorrow only.. in 3D! Whoop whoop!
Unfortunately, The Pretties are all off pampering themselves today, so I had to see it on me own, as there was no guarantee they'd be free tomorrow. However, if one's compadres are free tomorrow, I'd love to see it again...
Although, even the staff were shocked at the tickety price! The Trout on the till had to get burly bloke to double check. And in astonishment, they rang up Management for confirmation.
Yes folks, the price of one ticket to see NBX 3D is...
£8.75. per person!!!
In the words of Tony Harrison: This is an outrage!
On the other hand, this is the man who spent {*cough*} on pin badges in Disneyland, so I'd gladly pay 9.7p a minute (with a 2p tip) again tomorrow.
But seeing as there was only one other Billy NoMates in the whole cinema, I expect few others to fork up the extortionate entry fee, just to see exactly the same film as always, just in 3D.
But it is impressive though!
Now, there are some who say I have a slight obsession with Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas ,and one thing I've regretted is never seeing it on The Big Screen.
Lucky for me, an eagle eyed angel spotted that it's showing today and tomorrow only.. in 3D! Whoop whoop!
Unfortunately, The Pretties are all off pampering themselves today, so I had to see it on me own, as there was no guarantee they'd be free tomorrow. However, if one's compadres are free tomorrow, I'd love to see it again...
Although, even the staff were shocked at the tickety price! The Trout on the till had to get burly bloke to double check. And in astonishment, they rang up Management for confirmation.
Yes folks, the price of one ticket to see NBX 3D is...
£8.75. per person!!!
In the words of Tony Harrison: This is an outrage!
On the other hand, this is the man who spent {*cough*} on pin badges in Disneyland, so I'd gladly pay 9.7p a minute (with a 2p tip) again tomorrow.
But seeing as there was only one other Billy NoMates in the whole cinema, I expect few others to fork up the extortionate entry fee, just to see exactly the same film as always, just in 3D.
But it is impressive though!
Friday, 28 November 2008
The bell hatted cat...
You're everything to me
…
Is it burning bright
On the other side?
Today
Too late
And memories wont fade
they're still there without you
...
And I need time no more
When you can't cry no more
And love died before
Look behind no more
…
Too late
And I need time no more
Thursday, 27 November 2008
Ich bin ein Icelander...
It's all very well claiming that Donovan, Nuclear pussy, Transylvanian Trannies and one of Richie's four tissue fantasy do nowt but stuff their cakeholes full of cheapo grub all day long, but I'm pretty certain they fayre they consume isn't exactly what's proffered.
Party like a celeb... at Iceland? Now, the only icelandic celeb I'm aware of is Björk, and I don't see her clobbering pepperoni photographers in airports with a box of £1 mini Kievs. She's too busy spending all the UKs cash when the bottom fell out of the Icelandic bank*.
Or did Björks bottom fall out in a bank? I remember Björks nörks being all over an album sleeve when she went piercing crazy, but not baring her bot in banks (which would clearly make the Merchant Bankers day, what with their bottoms falling out, and whatnot. Although I'd be concerned if their WhatNots were falling out in front of Björk - probably why she went all Ninja on them in the airport.)
Celebs should be ordering Caviar from Harrods, Bigfoot snouts and Polar bear penises - outrageously expensive, rare and mythical tucker, not a bag of oven chips and a packet of Micro-sausages.
Not to mention rating pasties for their cuteness, the great fat pie-dophile!
Although, to be fair, it could quite well be true of the Jungle Queen - her dependency on the mead is obviously down to the ridiculously cheapo beer. £5.50 for 2 bottles of Jacques - get it down yer neck girl!
If I recall, didn't she keep singing about begging for The Sex whenever she got drunk? Oh yes, It was a hit single that went something like..
Or something...
*APOLOGIES TO ANYONE WHO INVESTED IN AN ICELANDIC BANK, BUT TOUGH TITTY! SERVES YOU RIGHT FOR NOT INVESTING IN BRITISH BANKS, AND TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF FOREIGN INTEREST RATES THAT WERE BOUND TO COLLAPSE. SERVES YOU TAX DODGERS RIGHT!! MWAH HA HA HA HA HA!
Party like a celeb... at Iceland? Now, the only icelandic celeb I'm aware of is Björk, and I don't see her clobbering pepperoni photographers in airports with a box of £1 mini Kievs. She's too busy spending all the UKs cash when the bottom fell out of the Icelandic bank*.
Or did Björks bottom fall out in a bank? I remember Björks nörks being all over an album sleeve when she went piercing crazy, but not baring her bot in banks (which would clearly make the Merchant Bankers day, what with their bottoms falling out, and whatnot. Although I'd be concerned if their WhatNots were falling out in front of Björk - probably why she went all Ninja on them in the airport.)
Celebs should be ordering Caviar from Harrods, Bigfoot snouts and Polar bear penises - outrageously expensive, rare and mythical tucker, not a bag of oven chips and a packet of Micro-sausages.
Not to mention rating pasties for their cuteness, the great fat pie-dophile!
Although, to be fair, it could quite well be true of the Jungle Queen - her dependency on the mead is obviously down to the ridiculously cheapo beer. £5.50 for 2 bottles of Jacques - get it down yer neck girl!
If I recall, didn't she keep singing about begging for The Sex whenever she got drunk? Oh yes, It was a hit single that went something like..
If you seen me staggerin' down the street
Staring at the sky
And draggin' my two feet
You just pass me by
It still makes me cry
But you can fill my hole again
Or something...
*APOLOGIES TO ANYONE WHO INVESTED IN AN ICELANDIC BANK, BUT TOUGH TITTY! SERVES YOU RIGHT FOR NOT INVESTING IN BRITISH BANKS, AND TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF FOREIGN INTEREST RATES THAT WERE BOUND TO COLLAPSE. SERVES YOU TAX DODGERS RIGHT!! MWAH HA HA HA HA HA!
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
Dead as a Dodi...
Some people will go to any lengths to prove a consipracy!
Take that Al Fat Head. Always banging on about how the Queen and Prince Phil drive through Paris shining torches into drunken drivers eyes in order cause the demise of Diana to avert radical fundamentalist muslim offspring fouling the Royal line and suicide bombing Balmoral.
In his latest ludicrous attempt to uncover the truth, he's persuaded the Russians to hand over a teapot to the Queen.
Ah, but not any old teapot!
This teapot comes equipped with tealeaf avoidance detector so that Butlery Buglary Burrell types can't snaffle it under their ermine capes and crown jewel encrusted Swag bag.
But it's main feature, is the attachment of an array of spyware. The ornate style of a samovar teapot is that you can lodge electronic devices about it's intricate bits and bobs.
That way, if Lizzy II is in the middle of munching her Coco-Pops at brekkie, and accidentally says to Phil "Does one remember when one topped off one's ex-daughter in law and that ghastly foreigner", old Moe Hammond can record it as proof of their duplicity!
And if that fails, he can always release the album "The Greatest Brew Stews In The World (vol.iii)":
Track 1: Earl Grey. The sound of swirling leaves in tepid water
Track 2: Lapsang Soushong. Water trickled over a fine filter of dregs into a china teacup
Track 3: PG Tips: Hot water pours into a cracked mug, and Her Magde squeeze the teabag against the side, whilst she slums in in her pants watching H!IACGNOOHN
Bonus Track: PG Tips (Redux). Extended mix, including Chocolate Hob Nob dunkage.
People criticised Bonnie Prince Charley for being mad and talking to plants... clearly these'plants' were literally such! Planted listening and recording devices! For from encouraging them to grow, he was recording all his secret plans and nefarious activities amongst the foliage.
Now, If My Hammerhead has planted a bug on a plant rather than a teapot, he may have caught wind of Charles' confessionals: "Hello Clematis. Did you know, one cut the brakes on ones ex-wife's car, and drugged up the driver on cocktails. Mwah ha ha ha. Serves the attention seeking shagabout slapper right!".
As it is, a simple sweep of Balmoral resulted in Spooks type peoples nabbing all the teapots, due to the "security risk".
Think I may try that in Bennets. "Hmmm - I'm from MI5, and that great big 50" HDTV telly could have a listening device within. Think I'll have that! I mean, remove it from the premises for further analysis"...
Further analysis being watching Danni Behr in a skimpy bikini showering in a jungle waterfall - well, you need to be certain there's no hidden listening or video recording spy type gadgets hidden behind the cathode ray tube.
Or something.
Take that Al Fat Head. Always banging on about how the Queen and Prince Phil drive through Paris shining torches into drunken drivers eyes in order cause the demise of Diana to avert radical fundamentalist muslim offspring fouling the Royal line and suicide bombing Balmoral.
In his latest ludicrous attempt to uncover the truth, he's persuaded the Russians to hand over a teapot to the Queen.
Ah, but not any old teapot!
This teapot comes equipped with tealeaf avoidance detector so that Butlery Buglary Burrell types can't snaffle it under their ermine capes and crown jewel encrusted Swag bag.
But it's main feature, is the attachment of an array of spyware. The ornate style of a samovar teapot is that you can lodge electronic devices about it's intricate bits and bobs.
That way, if Lizzy II is in the middle of munching her Coco-Pops at brekkie, and accidentally says to Phil "Does one remember when one topped off one's ex-daughter in law and that ghastly foreigner", old Moe Hammond can record it as proof of their duplicity!
And if that fails, he can always release the album "The Greatest Brew Stews In The World (vol.iii)":
Track 1: Earl Grey. The sound of swirling leaves in tepid water
Track 2: Lapsang Soushong. Water trickled over a fine filter of dregs into a china teacup
Track 3: PG Tips: Hot water pours into a cracked mug, and Her Magde squeeze the teabag against the side, whilst she slums in in her pants watching H!IACGNOOHN
Bonus Track: PG Tips (Redux). Extended mix, including Chocolate Hob Nob dunkage.
People criticised Bonnie Prince Charley for being mad and talking to plants... clearly these'plants' were literally such! Planted listening and recording devices! For from encouraging them to grow, he was recording all his secret plans and nefarious activities amongst the foliage.
Now, If My Hammerhead has planted a bug on a plant rather than a teapot, he may have caught wind of Charles' confessionals: "Hello Clematis. Did you know, one cut the brakes on ones ex-wife's car, and drugged up the driver on cocktails. Mwah ha ha ha. Serves the attention seeking shagabout slapper right!".
As it is, a simple sweep of Balmoral resulted in Spooks type peoples nabbing all the teapots, due to the "security risk".
Think I may try that in Bennets. "Hmmm - I'm from MI5, and that great big 50" HDTV telly could have a listening device within. Think I'll have that! I mean, remove it from the premises for further analysis"...
Further analysis being watching Danni Behr in a skimpy bikini showering in a jungle waterfall - well, you need to be certain there's no hidden listening or video recording spy type gadgets hidden behind the cathode ray tube.
Or something.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Handbags at dusk...
There be Office Talk at the moment of Fridays Big Event.
Seems the MIR space station is passing over, so you get a good old goz at the sight of a shiny star moving across the sky.
BUT...
The Big Event is that you can see the Handbag that the dozy mare dropped on her spacewalk!
Now, ladies in space is very popular - after all, what lady doesn't want to be like Ellen Ripley (or Vasquez, for that matter!), but seems a tad extreme to don a huge spacery suit, clamber out into the void of space to do repairs, and take your Ladies Accoutrements along, only to let them tumble into the stratosphere!
Of course, you may be up to your norks in solar panelling, when a UFO pops by, and naturally you'd want to bung a bit of lippy on. For as everyone knows, folks get abducted for sexual experiments and breeding programs with space monsters.
Although, more often, it's munteresque hillbilly inbred types in forests who get ravished by Insemmenoids, so tarting yerself up may indeed be a defense against astro-rape.
As would be a heavily loaded handbag.
But she dropped it, and now we're in for a Leonid shower of lippy & tampons. Or whatever else lurks in the bottomless pits of a handbag.
Chihuahua comet! Hurtling from the sky, yapping at the hedgehogs in the aquasphere as it plummets in a firey streak across the sky.
Would never have happened if they'd sent a proper jobbing jobber to do the job. True, he may piss in your helmet, sit on the roof having a fag at time & a half, downing tea and leering over the lady astronauts in Zero-G strings in the shower whilst being secretly filmed for Matt All-Right's Rogue Space Traders.
I wonder if she was paranoid about her bum looking big in a space suit...
Seems the MIR space station is passing over, so you get a good old goz at the sight of a shiny star moving across the sky.
BUT...
The Big Event is that you can see the Handbag that the dozy mare dropped on her spacewalk!
Now, ladies in space is very popular - after all, what lady doesn't want to be like Ellen Ripley (or Vasquez, for that matter!), but seems a tad extreme to don a huge spacery suit, clamber out into the void of space to do repairs, and take your Ladies Accoutrements along, only to let them tumble into the stratosphere!
Of course, you may be up to your norks in solar panelling, when a UFO pops by, and naturally you'd want to bung a bit of lippy on. For as everyone knows, folks get abducted for sexual experiments and breeding programs with space monsters.
Although, more often, it's munteresque hillbilly inbred types in forests who get ravished by Insemmenoids, so tarting yerself up may indeed be a defense against astro-rape.
As would be a heavily loaded handbag.
But she dropped it, and now we're in for a Leonid shower of lippy & tampons. Or whatever else lurks in the bottomless pits of a handbag.
Chihuahua comet! Hurtling from the sky, yapping at the hedgehogs in the aquasphere as it plummets in a firey streak across the sky.
Would never have happened if they'd sent a proper jobbing jobber to do the job. True, he may piss in your helmet, sit on the roof having a fag at time & a half, downing tea and leering over the lady astronauts in Zero-G strings in the shower whilst being secretly filmed for Matt All-Right's Rogue Space Traders.
I wonder if she was paranoid about her bum looking big in a space suit...
Monday, 24 November 2008
Manic Street Preacher Man...
Today, it was announced that Richey Edwards of the Manic Street Preachers has been declared officially deaded after 14 years.
Which made him 27 when he died.
Now, it's well known that in order to be a true star, you have to die when you hit age 27. Heath Ledger, Pete deFeitas of Echo & The Bunnymen, Dave Alexander of The Stooges, Kurt Cocaine of Nirvana, Jim Morrisson of The Doors, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones of The Rolling Stones…
…and it's all the fault of that Robert Johnson.
Robert Johnson was a bit crap at the ole R&B (proper R&B that is, all Louisiana Swamp Jazz, not this booty shakin' vocal wailing that talentless Leona Tuneless types try & pass off as R&B), so he took himself off down The Crossroads motel.
Whilst there, he summonsed up The Devil in order to become a Blues Musician of the highest quality. And get lots of cash & gash whilst he was at it.
Anyhoo, Mr Morningstar isn't keen on handing out talent and trollops, and duly set a time limit on how long Bobbo's benefits lasted. And so, whilst recording his 30th record (Apocalypse Blues) on his 27th Birthday, up pops Lucifer and drags him off to hell, leaving naught behind but a devilish chortle on the LP.
Somehow though, you can't help but wish certain other celebrities would take advantage of this deal, preferably 11 months after their 26th birthday.
*cough*JamesBlunt*cough* etc…
Which made him 27 when he died.
Now, it's well known that in order to be a true star, you have to die when you hit age 27. Heath Ledger, Pete deFeitas of Echo & The Bunnymen, Dave Alexander of The Stooges, Kurt Cocaine of Nirvana, Jim Morrisson of The Doors, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones of The Rolling Stones…
…and it's all the fault of that Robert Johnson.
Robert Johnson was a bit crap at the ole R&B (proper R&B that is, all Louisiana Swamp Jazz, not this booty shakin' vocal wailing that talentless Leona Tuneless types try & pass off as R&B), so he took himself off down The Crossroads motel.
Whilst there, he summonsed up The Devil in order to become a Blues Musician of the highest quality. And get lots of cash & gash whilst he was at it.
Anyhoo, Mr Morningstar isn't keen on handing out talent and trollops, and duly set a time limit on how long Bobbo's benefits lasted. And so, whilst recording his 30th record (Apocalypse Blues) on his 27th Birthday, up pops Lucifer and drags him off to hell, leaving naught behind but a devilish chortle on the LP.
Somehow though, you can't help but wish certain other celebrities would take advantage of this deal, preferably 11 months after their 26th birthday.
*cough*JamesBlunt*cough* etc…
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