My journey back to the cradle of civilisation that is West Sussex after a serious ‘night on the pop’ in Cardiff is made bearable by my old friend Metro, the free commuters newspaper. My wretched pounding head and continuous urge to soil myself in the first class GWR carriage (complementary filter coffee and water) is eased and soothed by the trove of nuggets in today’s soar away edition. My worries about the permanent damage I might have inflicted on multiple internal organs by necking unfathomable amounts of fine ale followed by drinking my generous hosts entire Christmas wine supply are swept aside by the majesty of the journalism on show today.
Take for example this quotation from the insightful and thought-provoking interview with 27 year old star of global smasheroo movie Oppenheimer, the fragrant Florence Pugh: ‘Close my eyes, fall asleep, they’re filming, and then eventually part of my brain is like, “Oh shit, oh shit,” and I wake up in like a startle like, but I’m like, I’m like acting waking up like, “Ahhh,”
This is surely one of the most complex sentences outside of James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake (google it thickos), I have read it over and over from Newport to Didcot Parkway and I’m still getting to grips with the nuances that lie deep in its bowels.
Next up is my new hero, the self proclaimed ‘Eunuch Maker’ Mr Marius Gustavson. Marius carries out ‘live castrations’ on the dark web: this is undoubtedly a live show with a difference, and probably an easier watch than Britains Got Talent or The Voice Kids – incidentally, I strongly believe that the parents who put their children up for this show should be immediately jailed and their poor little dabs taken into care. I shit you not.
Anyway, back to Marius and his interesting hobby. The respect he gets from this quarter comes from looking at the finances of his, err, operation. He’s pulled in a paltry 200k in six years of this butchery, I’d expect 200k a pop for chopping someone’s dick off on live streaming. He’s gonna do time – a lot- and it sounds like it was more a labour of love than a profiteering exercise. Michelle Mone he ain’t!
He also has had his own penis removed. Who did this? He can’t have done it himself without huge amounts of stupefying prescription drugs, and from bitter experience taking huge amounts of stupefying drugs usually means you can’t find your own knob, let alone surgically remove it. There’s more to this story… Oh yeah, when he’s out he will certainly sue the Death Metal band who will surely use the name ‘The Eunuch Makers.’ Although Death Metal bands don’t like to use ‘The’, so ‘Eunuch Maker’ will probably be the preferred moniker. I’d still sue.
Moving on to Tiger Tiger ‘nightclub’ in Haymarket – whose creative barman gave four ladies on the Tequila shots caustic soda instead of salt, resulting in their mass hospitalisation. Well I don’t know about you but I’m in the school of thought that anyone who goes through the front door of Tiger Tiger in Haymarket deserves everything they get. As Scott of the Antarctic would say ‘Great God! This is a terrible place.’ Like people who get food poisoning at Reading services they reap what they sow.
And further to the point, on a proper session on slammers you wouldn’t give a flying one if it was caustic soda. Fucking stupid lightweights. In my days of banging down shots served from a glass artfully lodged between a large pair of breasts the caustic soda would have been a minor inconvenience. Not ‘arf!
Sky’s poll on festive tele fare darkens my mood considerably. ‘It helps to get people in the mood’ is their line on discovering that the proles like the usual Xmas nonsense they are supposed to like – this is unsurprising as if you’re bombarded with enough shit some is bound to stick. ‘Get people in the mood?’ What for? A quiet contemplative day giving thanks and offering joy to the world for the birth of our Lord Jesus, King of Kings who died for our sins? No? It’s getting in the mood for a shit day eating weird things with people you despise. The Vicar of Dibley apparently makes all this tolerable. Or so say Sky….
