Paperjam

Hmmm, been a bit quiet round here lately hasn’t it? Well much as I’d like to tell you that we have taken some sort of holiday or sabbatical the truth is much more mundane; no one has been bothered.

Steve has been more interested in trying to create the exact snare drum sound off an old Broadcast B-side that was never actually recorded or even released to the public. Vanessa has been stalking Dave Grohl (no, really) and Nick’s just had to do 150 hours community service after he was caught doing a Cool Hand Luke on the new parking meters in Leamington. Personally I’ve been practising my new hobby of shaving and honing some mad skillz on my old hobby of being in a mood.

Anyway following an on-line campaign and receipt of a petition signed by world-renowned paper-jam fans as diverse as:

Presidents Bush and Ahmadinejad, that Nazi Pope, Ant (but not Dec it seems - twat), Sir Alex Ferguson, Bernard Manning (last thing he did apparently), Paris Hilton, Axl Rose, Victor Kiam, that roadie that used to shove the drugs up Stevie Nicks’ arse, Tom Henderson, the collective victims of Hurricane Katrina, some remaining members of the Glitter Band, the Brazilian ladies beach volleyball squad and Satan – the great deceiver.

…we felt compelled to get off our collective arse and do something.

Unfortunately prior to any new material going on we are going to have to spend a bit of time removing all the spam off the comments sections. So while I wade knee deep through a sewer of stuff about cheap pills to give me the girth of a horse, real amateur bukkake dwarves and all sorts of Polish milf action, here is a quick update on things that may have appeared here recently, if we had been arsed.

The Transformers film: Total shite and about a day too long but actually very entertaining, especially when you consider that it is preceded by the words “A Michael Bay film… In association with Hasbro”.

The Great British Beer Festival: There will be something about this in due course, but I can already reveal that having an alka-seltzer before you go to bed is a great hangover prevention measure.

The Simpsons Movie: Well, I thought it was funny and another chance to sample the charms of the charming electric cinema with its squeaky leather sofas, bijou bar and slightly stale donuts.

Super Furry Animals at the Godiva Festival: Ace as expected despite a bit of a dodgy sound system. Being a free festival in the middle of Cov it was all a bit Barter Town from Mad Max 3 by the time we left.

The V Festival: We might be hearing more about this from various sources, I didn’t go this year due to a prior engagement with some furniture and a van full of total shit.

Buying a Nintendo Wii: Can the needless purchase of pointless consumer entertainment items force morbid thoughts of loneliness, existential dread and financial woe out of your mind? Too fucking right they can. Wii Sports Tennis may, I speculate, be the reason that electricity was invented.

You may well have already read/watched/shaken your head in disbelief about the new "Terror Trial" legislation in America that was recently passed by the senate. If not you can read about it on the BBC web site

This cheeky little bill does two key things, firstly it seems to extend the murky category of "enemy combatant" to include:

- Anyone supporting terrorists by supplying weapons, money or Tesco club card points.

- The friends, family, pets and paperboys of all existing Guantanamo inmates.

- People officially designated as foreign-sounding or shifty-looking.

- Anybody who is gay.

The second part then allows the president to be a bit selective about exactly how he interprets the Geneva Convention, especially those pesky bits about fair trials and not torturing anyone. Helpfully the bill does explicitly rule out the use of rape and biological experimentation as forms of coercion, but apart from that it is pretty much open season on all those "enemy combatants".

The stock market has responded rapidly with shares in Black and Decker reaching a five-year high. Apparently they can't make more pliers quick enough.

The liberal media in the USA has responded in the most sensible way, by making jokes about it, the pick being this excerpt from Bill Maher.

Not too well? Feeling a bit fed up? Yeah me too. At least if you are feeling rough there is the internet these days (assuming you can make it out of bed) to help, rather than the horror of daytime TV. Speaking of which, while having a look through ThrowAwayYourTV.com I came across this rather good interview with the late, great Hicks seemingly done not a long time before he snuffed it.

It is from a public access channel and features Hicks talking about the infamous David Letterman censorship row, plugging his concert the next day and making mention of the proposed Channel Four series Counts Of The Netherworld which unfortunately never happened. It is fair to say that he isn't looking too sharp and at times seems fairly dejected about the state of his career and profile in America. None the less, if you are a sad Hicks devotee like myself it is well worth sitting through. However if you are feeling a bit sick and fed up (especially if you have recently formed a chemical dependancy on Strepsils like me) then it really isn't going to leave you feeling any better.

Keep getting asked if I'll go speed-dating, mostly it would seem for the amusement of other people. The answer is a resolute "No".

Fearing a BA/Milkshake style conspiracy I have made a list of absolutely the worst questions that I could think of to ask the ladies, so that if I ever wake up from a drug induced slumber faced by a number of birds with name tags and scoring cards at the ready I could use this lot to get myself a lifetime ban:

"When you die, would you rather be buried or cremated?"

"Do you know how to empty a colostomy bag?"

"Who had the best uniform, the SS or the Luftwaffe?"

"Would you like to see my birthmark? It virtually covers both cheeks."

"Have you got any, like, really fit mates?"

"Can you lend me a quid for the bus?"

"Coprophilia: your thoughts?"

"Have you got any knives that need sharpening?"

"I've got two tickets to see Jim Davidson in Nuneaton next week, d'you fancy it?"

"Will you do me a favour and pull my finger?"

"Have you heard the good news? He is risen. Hallelujah!"

"Would you mind calling me "Daddy" for the next few minutes?"

Sandi Thom's musical death sentence "I wish I was a punk rocker (with flowers in my hair)" dredges up some sort of memories over at this BBC News Magazine article, where some LSE students are interviewed and asked for their opinions on decades they didn't actually live through. The public comments are mostly as wistful, pining for those half-remembered times, viewed through the fog of thirty years and the memory pollution of TV's "I love the 1970s".

I didn't live through the 1960s either, and was only four by the end of the 70s, but I can understand how much better it was back then. What with the always imminent threat of nuclear attack. And when our car industry was merely under constant threat of closure rather than in its death throes. And those race riots, and sus laws. And three TV channels. And the three-day week. Ah, classic.

Even the terrorists generally had the courtesy to give you a ring before blowing your house/pub up.