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Yeah. Good effort.

Some of you will be reading this as a way of deciding whether you will enjoy my writing, some of you will be reading it because you’ve read my writing before and not been able to pin down my personality, and some will be reading it because I told them to. Regardless, this is basically a little explanation of myself.

Officially, I was born in 1988 in West Yorkshire. However, the truth is quite different. As many people may know, I was not actually born. I am the result of years of internationally collaborative research into mood condensation. In the same way that the Jedwards were created in an attempt to manifest pure deposits of annoying twattery, which is a mood, definitely, I was created in laboratory conditions as a crystalline deposit of cynicism, which was then hewn into a vaguely human shape, brought to life using SCIENCE, and then programmed to do the bidding of a mad scientist named Dr. Karl Power. Unfortunately, Dr. Power is an incredibly indecisive man, and is still trying to work out what he would like me to do. As a result, I have mostly free will, although expect one day to drop into a waking coma, pick up a poisoned umbrella, and go murder the fuck out of a dissenter.

My basic political views are basically based around necessity. I don’t believe necessity should dictate everything in life, which is why I own a cold war era gas mask (the kind worn by the SAS), but I do believe that it should dictate policy. Basically, my view is, unless we don’t need anything, the government can’t have things we don’t need.

My interests include avoiding difficult questions, being incredibly angry, writing an outlandish comedy script that I’ll never have the balls to get made, and listening to music you don’t know or like.

Things that anger me are… well… the list is far too long for here… it would actually take up most of the internet, but religious music, Glee, quasi-scientific commercials, and those dickheads from hair product commercials are big up there, all being eclipsed by my enormous, incandescent, apocalyptic, Wagnerian hatred of television news and its abject incapability of reporting on anything even approaching the truth, preferring instead to make people scared or angry about things that aren’t scary or angering.

Well, that’s me, anyway. There’s probably more to tell but I’m not going to. HAH.

Between you you’ve not only managed to ignore what I fucking told you to do, you’ve also managed to take a man who is 80% meringue-based dessert and 20% mutated fucking gila monster, a man with an ego the size of a small to medium sized galaxy, a man whose idea of relating to the voters is just to string together a fucking random selection of words his communications officer heard on fucking skins and blurt them in no particular order interposed with the word ‘guys’ at random intervals at kids who have all the mental dexterity of a nematode worm in a persistent vegetative state, and then fucking vote for this cunt in a general election. And you thought this was a good fucking idea?

Oh, I’m sure you’ve all got your fucking excuses. “Ooh, I didn’t want Labour to get back in.” “Ooh, I didn’t want to vote Lib Dem because it would have been a wasted vote.” “Ooh, I’m a colossal fuckhead who doesn’t deserve the right of representation in any country with more than one political party and doesn’t understand the slightest fucking aspect of electoral process, but decided to vote because despicable programmes like Britain’s Got Fuck All Talent and despicable cunts like Simon Fucking Cowell have convinced me that it’s cool.” You know what? FUCK YOU ALL.

I don’t care if it is a fucking hung parliament. Right now, Nick Clegg is in talks with the conservative party about forming an alliance government. Well THERE’S  a fucking rosy future for us all. A country ruled by a combination of a cunt and someone nobody voted for because he might not have won, which, as a statement of logic is up there with “I don’t like this programme, or the thing that’s on after it, but I’m not going to change the channel because the batteries in the remote might have run out”.

The entire thing is a massive clusterfuck of Wagnerian proportions, and I just don’t care anymore. If you want to live in a country ruled by a 43 year old man-child who probably only gave up the teat because his mummy was too busy giving pointless interviews about her son, then so be fucking it. But don’t come crying to me when it’s all gone wrong, which I anticipate should come some time within the next 3 months.

To close, I’m going to call on my muse, Mr. Spider Jerusalem, to sum up voting.

“You want to know about voting? I’m here to tell you about voting. Imagine you’re locked in a huge underground nightclub filled with sinners, whores, freaks and unnameable things that rape pit bulls for fun. And you ain’t allowed out until you all vote on what you’re going to do tonight. YOU like to put your feet up and watch “Republican Party Reservation”. THEY like to have sex with normal people using knives, guns and brand new sexual organs that you did not know existed. So you vote for television, and everyone else, as far as your eye can see, votes to fuck you with switchblades. That’s voting. You’re welcome.”

Now, I’m not entirely sure whether I’ll be voting, and that sure as hell isn’t out of apathy. Anyone who’s read more than one of my pieces will be abundantly aware of my opinions regarding, for example, the Bendy Nihilist Party, whose voters I personally feel should be forced to undergo some kind of political re-education course, possibly involving a slide made out of razor blades and scorpions, or for another example, the “Christian Party- Proclaiming Christ’s Lordship”, my opinion of which can be seen below.

See?

However, there does seem to be light at the end of the poo-filled tunnel of death and trapped wind-related pain that is how I experience political upheaval in this country. Unfortunately, it’s a very dim light, which is soon to be snuffed out by idiotic denial, twattish twattery, or a combination of the two. That light is the Liberal Democrat party.

Oh, boo, poor show, you’re now all calling. Nick Clegg, the man without a personality, and Vince Cable, who sounds like a mascot for a telegram company? Well fuck you. Fuck you with bells on. The media, my ultimate nemesis, is once again responsible for this. Why can’t they just grow up and accept that he’s a reasonable politician, and the only person who’s likely to lead this country into anything other than a shitstorm of Wagnerian proportions.

There are three kinds of people who will vote for the Conservative party; people who liked the Thatcher administration and imagine that somehow David “Just A Normal Bloke Really” Fortescue Pepperingham Cameron the Fifth will be exactly the same, people who’ve believed his bollocks-o-vision billboards and believe him to be the only viable alternative to Brown, and finally people who are just pricks and will perpetually vote conservative because they believe that their leadership will restore Britain to the state it was just after we’d finished tidying up after the war. Meanwhile, the same people who always vote for Labour will probably vote Labour again this time, for the same reason they give every fucking time. “They’ve got our best interests at heart.” Well that may be true, but they don’t have them in their mind, do they?

No, this election is largely pointless, and in my mind serves only as a block to keep Nick “Cunt” Griffin out of office for another 5 years. But wouldn’t it be something if we had our first election that was decided by intelligent, informed decisions, rather than your opinion of the smart-suited young chap who comes to your door telling you that the way forward is a political party whose name means they want to keep things the way they are? We can hope. But that’s probably all we can do, isn’t it?

Bollocks it is. Vote Liberal Democrat and let’s see if we can make some fucking progress in this country.

Because We Can't Be Stupid Forever

This is basically a story about a lie.

Last Wednesday, a young girl was killed in a bus crash in weather conditions described by every news agency’s overstatement staff as ‘horrendous’. This is a very sad, but frankly quite mundane occurrence, or it would be if it hadn’t been on a school trip. Now, every newspaper, parent, teacher, TV presenter, “news man” and opinionated twat in the street is having an emotional dick-waving competition to see who can make the school look like the biggest cunt for causing this apparently unprecedented event.

However, as is so often the case in these situations, blame is being attached wrongly.

Back in the shadowy past of 2002, a ten year old boy named Max Palmer drowned during a school trip to the Lake District. Again, this was very sad, but the main thing that came through in the news coverage, apart from their semi-sincere, slightly difficult to believe sympathy, was that the school was very much to blame. As a result of this, field trips and the like dropped off in frequency with massive effect. Schools, as public bodies, couldn’t afford the potential legal recourse and subsequent costs. But it is rather presumptuous to blame the school. In this case, yes, the teachers were found ultimately responsible, but that can’t be applied to every single situation, a concept which the news media doesn’t quite seem to have grasped.

So here we have this latest situation. The most common phrase used is “The real question is; Why was the bus allowed to leave?” or words to that effect, and as such, people are asking each other this. But I can answer. The bus was allowed to leave because the driver turned up, and said they were alright to go. Teachers aren’t supposed to be weather experts. It shouldn’t be their responsibility to say whether or not a road is safe for someone else to drive on, and yet that’s very much what people are saying. The problem is, the school aren’t talking. And with very good reason. There isn’t actually a response they can give that doesn’t incriminate them or make them look callous.

Basically, it’s just another case of the news media stirring things up, like that malicious little specky kid telling the school bully that you’ve been calling his mum a slag.

However, fear not for two stories did stride through the boredom to be resplendent if ridiculous.

The first is that the proposed cider tax increase of 10% has been ditched and rumours are that to celebrate Nick Clegg donned a crown and drank from two pints of Magners from a goblet for he is the King maker and all shall bow before him.

The second story which jolted my face up from the desk (Face/Jolt/see what I did there?) was PPC Mark Ashweel who thought that all politicians should take a lie detector test in the run up to the election. A lie detector test? Why stop there? I want urine samples, background checks and 24 hours surveillance and the people of Wokingham should do too!

That is all!

First off let’s look at the red corner. Labour rolled out the powerful, and yes homosexual, Mandleson to lead the charge against Grayling. The idea was obvious – let our favourite prince of darkness unleash his demeur, modern and precise performance against the foot in mouth, stuck in the past, un fit to lead Grayling. Yet instead of converting this golden chance, Mandelson looked clumsy, perching on his chair like an incontinent senator and stuglling to defend his position even in the face of weak questioning from Sky News.

Mandelson began with the obvious jabs about the Conservatives having not changed, that if “You turn the camera off and you find that they think and speak quite differently,”. And that was fine, it was delivered with the gusto of a history teacher discussing sea fishing reforms in the doubly landlocked Liechtenstein, but it was solid enough. Except for the use of the phrase “great changes” to describe what Cameron has claimed to do to the Conservatives – the word great just jarred too much and left you thinking – oh what ‘great changes’ are these?

The real trouble however came when he was questioned on the rights of those with religious convictions to turn away from their own homes those who had view with which they disagreed. Instead of launching into a defence based around the liberal democracy within which we are all glad to live, Mandelson began to bark out phrases that have been out of date in law faculties around the world for decades : “The law is the law and one must live within it”.

To find the gaping flaw in this attack one need only to look back to the laws on sodomy which outlawed any sexual acts between two men (or two women) until 1967 in England and Wales. If Mandelson’s attack is taken to its logical conclusion he would be forced to say that any gay man living before 1967 should have repressed his personality and live a lie. This is most likely not the view he holds but is the result of his attack. Law is a reflection of our moral views as a society of which tolerance is one, and any defence of a law musn’t be built simply on pointing to statute but to why we feel it is required.

Flawed too was the attack by the Lib Dems, for whilst they identified that the real issue was not one of legality but one of discrimination and intollerance, Chris Huhne seemed dedicated to repeat the phrase “No gays. No blacks. No Irish.” and variations upon it as frequently as possible. Rather like Simon Foster saying “diarrhea” repeatedly on a radio show in the film “In the Loop”, Chris Huhne won’t be remembered for delivering a precise and eloquent attack on intolerance but rather as the man who reminds us of every discriminatory period we had hoped to move on from.

In short, both parties missed the chance to nail the Torys and take back the momentum. Grayling should have been painted as only paying lipservice to tolerance for homosexuals, as the face of a systemic failure to change within the Conservative party and it should have been stamped upon his head that the whole point of non-discrimination legislation is to eliminate intolerance. And with those three brush strokes they should have gone home. And the failure to do so means that the Conservatives, and perhaps Grayling, will ride out the storm.

How wrong I was.

Chopping Cameron’s head onto the face of Gene Hunt, the Labour media gang have managed to take the 80s, a decade where austerity, economic decay and voter anger toiled the Conservatives and find the singular image that near enough the entire nation can look at and think – “oh actually I wish I was in the 80s”.

More than that though. the new Labour ad also manages to ally David Cameron with the can-do, straight talking, working class copper with which the nation have fallen in love.

As a result the ad is not simply a damp squib as the earlier assaults were, oh no, it is positive propaganda for the Conservatives and in particular Dangerous Dave who looked a little weak of late in the face of Brown and Darling’s experience.

Surely with old-hand Campbell back on the scene the Labour cabal could find another image of the 80s that the public could identify with the 80s. Rick Astley anyone?

So what now? Pull the ad, go back to the drawing board and go positive in your ads – as the Conservatives did initially. Wondering quite what those positives should be? I’ll have a think and let you know tomorrow

It is this myriad of previews and press cuttings that shape our expectation of a film, and I admit that I too was taken along by the “Its a superhero movie… but its VIOLENT! And there’s a little girl SWEARING! Think of the children!” hype. I had read the comicbook series and was anticipating an enjoyable romp, but ultimately a bastardization of the source material- as we have seen so many times before, with franchises such as X-Men,Spider-man, and Wolver- well, I’ll leave the oncoming geek-power rant for another time, perhaps.

So we are led to expect, through clips, interviews and the bleating of news digest shows, a teen comedy (as evidenced by the presence of Christopher Mintz-Plasse, better recognised as ‘McLovin’) with a few big-name actors (Cage, Strong) as superheroes, all aimed squarely at the controversy-hype publicity dollar via the medium of a swearing 11-year-old.

She will kick the CRAP out of you. Seriously.

Fun, but unlikely to leave a lasting impression, then. And objectively, there’s nothing wrong with that- we go to the cinema to be entertained.

So James and Becky go to the movies, they buy their tickets, they buy their popcorn, they buy their keg of cola. They sit in the screen for two hours, they laugh at the jokes, and they marvel at the explosions. They go home, amused and happy. Excellent.

But Kick-Ass has a lot more to offer to anyone who cares about films. The gimmicks we expected to see are not gimmicks at all, but instead are reasoned, considered elements. The comic book roots of the plot are used as a device to move the story along, rather than superfluous parentheses by an unknown narrator. While not in the league of features that the forthcoming Scott Pilgrim movie will attempt to handle, Kick-Ass does this very well- at the most basic level, having text boxes appear to direct locations or timings is a nice touch. Further to this, Vaughn has kept the pacing and flow of the film brisk and tight, while still finding time to crack jokes and insert clever, often oblique references to the genre that unfortunately may go missed by many. Particular highlights, in my opinion, were Dexter Fletcher’s cameo in a very recognizable vehicle from a previous Vaughn picture, and Nicholas Cage’s inspired homage to Adam West’s sixties Batman.

The violence, too, is well integrated- all the more impressive for its strength and sheer brutality in places. It doesn’t feel shoehorned in, or a pointless spectacle- it is there, plainly, to make the action onscreen real. It is there, as in Watchmen, to make us question what kind of a sociopath would actually dress in leather and viciously beat street punks for minor infarctions. Early in the film, Kick-Ass shows us that it is not afraid to be real by enacting the visceral detail of a gut-stabbing. This is no mere line of blood drawn from a tear in the costume artfully placed to show our hero’s musculature, but a brutal rent in the flesh from which blood and muscle spill. On the other hand, this is not ‘Hostel‘-style gore-porn. The violence is sudden, startling, and confusing in a way that is only experienced in a real life altercation, not in a sanitised, choreographed scene between your favourite action stars. For that alone, this film should be applauded.

The screenplay is admirable in its handling of the source material, which is unfortunately rare in these days where every other blockbuster is a adaptation.Some hardcore fans may be disappointed by the slightly saccharine twist given to the romantic subplot, and others by the slight liberties taken to blend in certain characters’ backstories, but in general the film is admirable in its unwillingness to cut key moments from the comic. If some must be adapted to fit a two-hour retelling, then we should be thankful that a lot of effort has gone into keeping the spirit and events of the tale largely intact.

And as regards ‘Hit-Girl’, the prepubescent girl assassin portrayed the obviously talented Chloe Moretz? She’s a fictional character, and a very well realized one at that. So shut up, and go back to your Daily Mail.

In closing, I recommend Kick-Ass for a variety of reasons- it is fast, entertaining, and an impressive piece of cinema. It is just a shame that this last fact might be lost under the sweltering weight of right-wing hysteria.