A Link To The Past

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Look, everybody knows everything about Star Wars: Episode 1- The Phantom Menace, so what could I possibly say that you haven't already heard over and over again? Well it was 1999, and thanks entirely to the trailers for this movie the world’s supply of nerds were increasingly suffering from some sort of collective movie blue-ball. It'd been over fifteen years since Princess Leia chose to start shagging Indiana Jones instead of her own brother, and so excitement for this prequel trilogy was higher than Keith Richards in a rocket full of crack. Then the film was released, people were able to see it and millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror as it became increasingly more apparent that what they were watching was a total piece of shit. Like Dr Manhattan's giant squid monster, The Phantom Menace brought humanity together to fight one collective enemy with society’s battle cry being, “George Lucas raped my childhood”. Although if modern revelations are to be believed, it seems that most media personalities that rose to fame during the 1970's have quite literally raped somebodies childhood, so perhaps this was a little extreme. Nor in my own case was it true. I was ten years old in 1999 and I loved The Phantom Menace more genuinely than I loved my own soon-to-be-dead grandfather.  

A Fuel-Injected Suicide Machine

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My car tyre burst when I was in a scummy area called Birkenhead and I quickly found myself truly fucked. Due to my stinginess I didn't have a spare one and so had to call some nearby shop to send somebody to help me. As it turns out they sent a full-on fucking psychopath who picked me up and drove me down small suburban roads at about 60mph whilst detailing his plans for a new civil war. Genuinely. He’d been out of prison for seven days and already he was planning a revolution in which 'the whites fight all the blacks'. He believed that foreigners were coming over and stealing all of our jobs to the point were he told me 'I don't blame my kids for being fucking drug dealers'. I had never been so terrified in my entire life. He asked me if I knew any shortcuts between where I'd been stranded and where we were going which I sadly didn’t- “How da fuck do you expect to get away from da police if you don't know your short cuts?!” was his response. The Mad Max franchise might consist of adrenaline fuelled action films in which nutters drive through desolate areas at high-speeds, but it hasn't got shit on being helped by an ex-convict from a working class town in the North of England. I literally shat myself.

This Is Hardcore

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When I was younger, I was well aware that the true meaning of Christmas was to receive as many presents as possible whilst hiding behind the sofa from anybody who may attempt to visit. Since my parents' divorce however, almost every Christmas has been completely different from the last. A couple of years ago in fact I found myself sat around a table with a friend's loving family as they sang songs and had a great time. This might seem normal to you but because I have nothing to do with my family- and we've never sang songs- I couldn't help but assume the night would end with me being burnt alive in a giant Wicker Man. The next year I was kindly invited back but this time we'd be staying in an empty hotel that one family member had been tasked with looking after for the season. Not only that but I swear to God that that specific family member genuinely did show me both an axe that he kept hidden and also some documents stating that someone of his name had worked there a good hundred years earlier. I couldn't go past a fucking lift without expecting to see a river of blood come flooding out. God knows what I'll be doing this year for it. Maybe it'll be another quiet one at home or maybe I'll be floating above my bed as somebody throws holy water in my face and I call their mother a cunt.

Angels and Fate

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I went on a little camping holiday this weekend to a grotty field in the rain because that's what British people do. As we cowered under our makeshift shelter like chimps in a nest, we decided to pass the time by reading trashy women's mags and getting progressively bladdered. If we learned anything from this experience though, it's that like Disney and fairytales have been trying to tell us, true love really does conquer all. Except, if the trashy mags are to be believed, this isn't because people have found their soul mate but rather that they're simply fucking stupid. Story after story we read about moronic women going back to their abusive partners like a flock of fleshy idiot-magnets. In one case, a bloke had tried to strangle his wife before stabbing her in the neck with his car keys and even then she went back to him. Like lemmings slinging themselves off the cliff of love, it seemed that once people got an idea into their head, even the strongest of alcoholic partners couldn't beat it out of them. Now I'd like you to re-read this paragraph whilst using my bitter tone and try to work out exactly just how long I've been single for.