From Cradle To The Grave

Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Podcasts

Alice Lowe's comedically black horror film Prevenge begins with the line that David Attenborough has never had the balls to use; “Nature's a cunt”. Having found herself knocked up and alone, the lead character Ruth appears to have lost her fucking mind and I honestly don't think I can blame her. Her baby still has a little while until its due but already she believes that she can hear it talking to her and it mostly seems to want her to kill people. It's all just 'want, want, want' with these fucking kids, isn't it?! But can you imagine getting pregnant? It's a fucking terrifying idea. One minute you're having a fun time fumble with somebody that you hopefully fancy and the next you're preparing for a tiny human to blast their way out through your fucking genitals. Thank God I was born a male because unless that shit Arnie movie from the early nineties turns out to be a true story then it seems pretty unlikely that I'll find myself up the duff anytime soon. I honestly think that expecting mothers are braver than fucking soldiers because of what they have to go through. At least if you go to war you can convince yourself that you'll return unhurt and having taken a few of the enemies down with you. But pregnant women? There's no escaping the inevitability that a tiny person is about to rip their way out of your vagina and there's nothing you can do in retaliation but love them for it. Nature really is a cunt. 

Subscribe to the podcast!

Why So Serious?

Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Podcasts

I went to a stand-up club the other day in which people who weren't famous were allowed to jump on stage and try out their new material. One such character was a young man with blacked-out eyes, a beating stick, and a hand-puppet. He said that his name was Lynda. I remember this because he opened with a three-minute song in which the only lyrics were “Lynda's coming out to play” repeated over and over again. He then used the hand-puppet as an excuse to sexually assault one of the men on the front row. If I'm honest it was probably the most terrifying few minutes of my entire fucking life. Not a bad night out though. In many ways, this entire experience is sort of what I think the new Joker film was going for. Both Lynda and the Joker film involve a mentally ill person expressing themselves through comedy as the audience sits on the edge of its seat and watches a psychological fucking breakdown take place. I suppose that the difference is that nobody is suggesting that Lynda might be worthy of any future awards and I'd also be pretty surprised if anybody cited her as an influence in their upcoming fucking shooting spree. 

 Subscribe to the podcast!

Things Were The Way They Should Be

Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Podcasts

Like going for a massage and finding yourself being tugged off before you leave, the end of Toy Story 3 was absolutely perfect. So why the fuck would anybody make a Toy Story 4? The trilogy had concluded with Woody and the toys accepting that their life with Andy was over as they watched him drive off into the distance. Where could you possibly go next? Does Andy come home as a paedophile, grab his old toys back, and use them to lure in the local children? Meanwhile in this scenario, his toys would have to decide whether or not they can reveal their true consciousness to intervene, whilst also coming to terms with the fact that the child they loved has grown up to be a monster? Because that's the only logical way that I can think of Toy Story 4 having anything interesting or new to say. Each of the three films have so far told the exact same story in that they're about one or more toys getting lost and having to find their way home. Meanwhile, there's an extra layer of existential subtext in there in which the franchise spoon feeds you the bullshit lessons of life. The first movie taught us that we're not unique or special, the second that we will be abandoned by the people that we love, and the third that finally, we will die. But if we remember that quote from pretentious wall painter Banksy, “you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time”. This might present itself as being nothing more than a children's film but with Toy Story 4 it seems that it's time for Woody to experience his second fucking death.

Subscribe to the podcast!

Spineless Swines, Cemented Minds

Visit and join our new Facebook page!

When I was sixteen, my plans to have a Mohican hair style like DeNiro in Taxi Driver were scuppered by my Mum who decided it looked too much like “fanny pubes”. We compromised and decided I could have the Brazilian strip down the centre, but just short on the sides rather than bald to avoid any real resemblance to a vagina. So I went into the hairdressers where they did as I'd asked, I looked into the mirror and told them it was fine. I thought it looked good! I then got home and my Mum decided I should have had it slightly shorter on the sides and so dragged me back to get more shaved off. “Wait outside for a second” she said to me before going in on her own. She returned a minute later and said that they'd agreed to correct it for free. That was nice of them, I thought! I went in cheerful as ever and was greeted by the frostiest haircut I've ever had in my life. They didn't speak to me, they didn't look me in the eyes, they didn't smile… turns out that in an effort to save a few quid, my Mum had told them that I thought their original efforts were full-on shit and that I was fucking pissed off. Oblivious to this, I then re-entered like a smug little twat and tried to make casual small talk as though I hadn't just sent a banshee in to do my dirty work. That was the last haircut I ever went for. Even if being a skinhead would make me look like a massive racist thug, it's better than returning to that void of social awkwardness.