'The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles'. Jack Kerouac

A couple of weeks ago I had a review published in a local newspaper. I was excited to get something in print, as you can imagine, so I drove up the M3 to Winchester to grab a few copies from the office. It was the briefest of visits as it was deadline day, but the editor introduced me to a few of the staff. And a pleasant bunch they were too. My next assignment had come in: I was to do a write-up on a night of wrestling at Southampton Guildhall. On hearing this, a big bloke with a bigger smile turned from his screen and shook my hand. He was introduced to me as Max, the reporter, top boy etc. He'd just covered the boxing a few days before at the same venue and wished me luck with my task. We chatted for a few minutes about the Guildhall's terrible bars and draconian anti-smoking policy, shared a joke or two then I made my way out. I probably could have stuck around and made myself useful but the truth was I wanted to get back to the car where I could have a good look at what they'd done with my story (did I get a byline? Did they use the photo?), away from the stares of professional journalist types for whom that was a weekly occurrence. I arrived home a little later to an email from the editor suggesting that I shadow Max the reporter for a few days, to get a feel for the paper and the local area. It's unusual for me to warm to an individual so quickly, but I had a feeling that this Max character was exactly that (a character, for those dozing at the back) and we were going to have a right old laugh. I even mentioned it to my girlfriend, who is far more used to me moaning about the pond life I seem to encounter in my daily life, at least most days.

I was doing my usual rounds of the web yesterday, trying to find inspiration as always for projects not yet conceived. I checked the paper's website (you never know if they're going to put your work online plus you can get an insight into the style, so it's worth a look) and found out that Max Jones had died in a car crash on March 18, two days after I'd met him. He was 33. Now, anyone who knows me will know that I'm not the mawkish type. I don't go for weak sentiment, the new disease of the soft-brained English (a club of which I am a very reluctant member). I've been to more funerals of family members who exited before their time in the last couple of years than anyone I know (apart from the poor buggers who attended those same services). You have the conversation that goes "Death is part of life etc etc" so many times it becomes automatic. And there's the phenomenon whereby an individual is canonized in death when we all know what a grubby loser they were when alive; loving and generous in the tributes, a sadistic despot in reality (note the complete absence of any tossers among the victims of the London bombings; sorry if this sounds glib, it's merely an observation).

But this news really spun me around, made me stop and think about my own life in a way that nothing else has in a long time, almost in inverse proportions to how well I knew the man. Max was the same age as me, give or take. He had a baby daughter. Most of all - having read his work and the many tributes - it's pretty clear he was one of those rare good guys, if such categorization has any meaning at all. He was making his way in the same industry (not forgetting the same world) that I'm trying to infiltrate, doing his job well, enjoying himself and making a lot of friends on the way. What more could you want from a job, or indeed life?

Of course, I've only got his writing and tributes plus one brief meeting to go on. But in this case, that's good enough for me.

Today's link round-up

As is often the case, I had no idea what to post here today so I have decided on a whistle-stop tour of loads of other people's links. First up is aintitcool which is a site for people who like movies and TV way too much. I found that while browsing the Not BBC comedy forum. More than one person has introduced themself to me as a 'comedy historian' or some similar pretentious crap in the last few months. Well, this place is where the really passionate comedy connoisseurs hang out (apparently) and comment on/moan about stuff (worst. show. ever. etc).

If you're after something funny and slightly disturbing - often a good mix - get over to Mr and Mrs Wheatley. The creators are clearly a little 'touched', shall we say. Have a look at the Horror Clown strip. Not laugh out loud stuff, just... odd. I borrowed this link from Dave Gorman's site. You may like him, you may not but he was the starting point for today's activities so we should all be grateful. If I'm going to steal one, I may as well steal them all. So, check out I Hate Music. The writing is really rather funny. Vitriol has always been a friend of mine. I don't hate music on the whole but after reading this for a bit I began to feel I could be persuaded as to the wisdom of Tanya Headon's stance. Although she seems to know a fair bit about music for someone who hates it. I assume it's a case of know your enemy.

This got me thinking: it may sound dumb but a bad name for a band can really put me off. Two examples spring to mind straight away - Bran Van 3000 (rubbish anyway, as I remember) and a more recent one in Pure Reason Revolution (I'm told they're good but I can't get past the self righteous, hippy-esque monicker. "Look at us! We're going to usher in a new dawn, a Revolution of Pure Reason. And all by playing stodgy, electronically-tinged indie-rock," or something). Any other really awful ones? Send them this way while I think of some other horrors (heavy metal band names don't count as they're meant to be upsetting).

There hasn't been much activity here the last few days. For which I am profoundly sorry. As it goes I have been spending a bit of time making music, sweet music (at least that's what it is to these ears...), knowing that next week I'll be at work using up all my energy trying to stay upbeat. Actually, I've been shamelessly ripping off Dave Gilmour's guitar playing (that's the bloke from Pink Floyd) and recording it on a computer but I don't hold that against myself. Highly unfashionable but once you get sucked in there's no end to the fun you can have. Guitar solo heaven, let me tell you. I recorded a couple of improvized solos earlier in the week and have spent this afternoon stringing them all together. With a few ropey edits along the way of course. The great thing is I don't actually recall recording either of the the solo bits but they are both so overblown, messy and bonkers and consequently brilliant that it would be criminal not to share them with you, my reading and listening friends and public. And this is exactly what I will do. A bit later. In the meantime you can continue to be astounded by the free, YES FREE! tracks available at Cookie Sounds. That'll keep you going for a bit.

In a changed to the published schedule, I have a few things to get through today. In no particular order...

Can anyone explain to me the bewildering 'success' of 'Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps' on BBC3? I say 'success' because it keeps getting recommissioned so someone must be watching it. Just a glimpse of a trailer makes me nauseous so how anybody can subject themselves to a whole 30 minute episode - let alone a whole series - is utterly beyond me. Comedy (and I baulk at associating this stinker of a show with the genre at large) is a many splendoured thing and you can't like all of it. This I appreciate. It's aimed at a younger audience, I hear someone say. So why does it clog BBC3's schedules at the tail end of the evening. Get it over and done with before the watershed and pack the snot-nosed trainee chavs off to bed, or to the crackhouse where they can only be an annoyance to themselves. I'd love to offer a stinging critique here, detailing my reasons for hating this waste of bandwidth (not to mention licence payers' money) but I find myself getting angry at the very thought. There's more laughs to be had watching puppies being fed into a threshing machine, with the sounds of Mike Flowers Pops' rendition of Wonderwall to drown out their anguished (but short-lived) cries. Come to think of it, that wouldn't be an entirely inappropriate fate for the empty-headed schmuck who commissions this drivel. All thanks to the unique way the BBC is funded.

On a more upbeat note... no, it's gone.

Well, that was the thing that was. The inaugural Spoofworld award(s) ceremony. And what a fun time (no pun intended) we had, with Badman the deserving winner. Some of us think he should think about pursuing his rediscovered passion for all things art and design further. Well, I do at least.

The ceremony was enjoyed by all, with fine hospitality provided by Mr Rogers and amusing banter courtesy of me, Jonathan Ross being unavailable on the afternoon in question.

Looking forward to the next chapter. More reactions and comment to follow. Possibly.

(At the time of writing I am unable to upload pictures of the afternoon, the Blogger servers straining under the sheer weight of traffic, probably due to the masses swarming around this small community for more news of this historic event. The buggers.)

Here's another of my creative Photoshop efforts. A variation on a theme, I'm sure you'll notice, but this puts me in with a chance of winning Carl's competition (head to Spoofworld if you want to find out more) with a combination of quality, original ideas and quantity. The stakes have been raised. No doubt Mark will come back fighting unless I can spill some beer on his computer later this evening.

In other news, this week's edition of the Mid Hampshire Observer printed a review I wrote plus a photo, also taken by me. I'll scan it tonight and post it here for your reading pleasure. There will be more to come which is encouraging a week before I have to prostitute myself to the construction industry once again due to the publishing world's inability to recognize real talent when they see it. I'd say it's their loss but that'll be scant consolation when I'm freezing my nuts off on the roof of some godforsaken building in Portsmouth (I know, of all places). Must find something to cheer me up now.

A couple of things to point you towards today: first up is Google Mars which is similar to Google Earth but slightly less useful. Still quite amazing in my opinion (which, as I have said before, is what you get here). The first person to spot the wreckage of the Beagle thingy that crashed there a couple of Christmases ago wins the admiration of his or her friends and a signed Busted CD single. Or something.

Perhaps even more amazing is the appearance of the Introspective Superstring , a new blog from a recent convert to all things blog-related. I was really looking forward to sending the author some abuse but as it turns out it's a sensitive and erudite offering and I'd have to be some sort of heartless sod to get the knives out. And I do have a heart, albeit one shrivelled and blackened with cynicism and barely-suppressed rage. There I was, expecting rants on how pointless all this technlogy stuff is, how the Brazillian football team is boring and a pale imitation of their 1970s forebears and so on. Nothing of the sort. As the man says: "Make people smile. Be happy. Enjoy life. Say thank you." That's is, after all, what this page is meant to be all about (today at least). Go see for yourself.

Oh how I would have loved to have been there to witness this meeting of minds. The great statesman, hero to a generation, promoter of civil rights, pushing for expansion at the very frontiers of freedom. And Nelson Mandela.

Who's the king now, Kong? Who's the daddy?

In the spirit of shameless self-promotion as made possible by the internet it is my pleasure to direct you towards CookieSounds. Admittedly I didn't have a clue what MySpace was until a few weeks ago. In fact, I'm still not entirely up-to-speed as you'll surely notice when you see how little content is on my page. I am aware that Rupert Murdoch has bought myspace so that he can market directly to tomorrow's consumers but I'm just in it for the free storage. Besides, why should teenagers with their incomprehensible mix of street slang and net jockey talk (I don't know what it is either) have all the fun/hog all the bandwidth?
Anyway, you'll find a couple of instrumental tracks on there for your downloading pleasure from your humble author. There will be more to follow. Very much a DIY, punk rock ethic but without the spitting. Or the punk rock. Or the excitement but I'll work on all of that. Everthing you hear (should you so choose) is strictly one-take stuff completely made up on the spot. If I build an international fan base of impressionable and wealthy music fans, all the better (I understand that people can ask to be your friend and link to the page etc: sorry, I'm not hiring at the moment, although this is flexible...)

That's the plug over with. Thanks for tuning in.

Another image courtesy of Carl. Me as Hellraiser? Those days are long gone I'm afraid. There will be no souls torn apart, at least not on my shift.

Look out for this book in all good bookstores. And probably a few bad ones as well. Sorry, scratch that: it doesn't exist.

Another day on the job hunting trail characterized by the usual early morning enthusiasm souring into a despondency that has come to define Monday mornings. Still, plenty to be cheerful about as Badman (his choice of monicker) finally makes his presence felt online with some of his Photoshop madness. As with previous entries (see Spoofworld) it appears I am on the wrong end of some of these questionable artworks but in my opinion all publicity is good publicity. For now. I won't be spouting my knowledge of libel laws and stifling their creative urges anytime soon (unless I run out of funds and can't pay the rent. Watch this space...). I can hardly claim to have much of a reputation to damage anyway.

On that note, I hope you enjoy their efforts.
Some may claim that this is a fair representation of how I would look if I grew my hair. I would respond that, as a teenager, I did indeed grow my hair and it looked nothing like that. Those same claims-makers would then start looking for evidence from 'back-in-the-day' and until they unearth it I am sticking to my story.

Another one from Spoofworld. Yes, another plug. All sponsorship gladly received.

A certain Mr Carl Rogers has finally spilled some of the questionable contents of his brain on to the worldwide web for all to see. Stare blankly into the face of madness with a visit to SPOOFWORLD. See for yourself. I am displaying one of his images to prove my utter lack of vanity as well as to demonstrate his Jedi-like grasp of Photoshop. Hopefully he will pay me to say the last bit.

In my never ending quest to bring you the funniest material I feel I must recommend Holy Moly. Lots of rage and very funny with it. That's the spirit. In fact, I find it strangely inspirational, so much that I am considering starting a new blog filled with swearing. As we all know, swearing IS big AND clever. I'll keep you posted.

Meanwhile, in order that this page holds you gaze for more than ten seconds, allow me to reproduce/copy and paste some of their stuff here:

Subway staff
When I ask for a Sub of the Day with everything on it, that's because it is what I want. So why oh why, every time, do we have to play 20 fucking questions, do I want this on it, do I want that on it, do I want to pay even more money and turn it into a "meal"? Oh and just remember, you are only making a fucking sandwich, don't make out you are performing some fantastic supercool skill that took years to master with that smug "look at me" expression on your ugly spotty face. You look like a twat you sandwich-making-can't-get-a-better-job CUNT.

I have to go along with that one. I haven't been able to eat one of those soggy sarnies since the girl behind the counter with the monumental attitude problem picked her nose WHILE WEARING THE PLASTIC 'HYGIENIC' GLOVES. I ask you.

Colin Montgomery's Ex-Wife
Let's get this straight. This cunt sees her future hubbie playing golf, winning pots of money and living a jet-set lifestyle. She thinks: "I'll have some of that." Marries him. Then, after spending fuckloads of his money, which he earned from playing golf, decides to divorce him because he was, in her words: "obsessed with golf." Didn't complain about all the fucking money his "obsession" brought in. He's a fucking professional golfer, you stupid cunt. Of course he's going to be obsessed with golf.

Go on, dive in.

Today I'd like to direct you to Mediawatchwatch which will be useful to anyone out there who doesn't know what to make of the whole 'Danish cartoons depicting some bloke with a beard and a turban in compromising positions (or something) which upset a bunch of fanatics gentle followers of Islam' debate. If you want my take on it (and let's face it: that's what you get here) the argument goes something like this: my invisible man in the sky is better that your invisible man in the sky. It's the the religious incarnation of two bald men fighting over a comb, although I may come to regret this statement when a) I find myself at the gates of heaven (or the equivalent) and I'm not on the list, or b) an angry protest gathers outside BloodyGravity Towers with placards calling for my immediate butchering (presumably halal).

From mediawatchwatch:

A couple of questions for the Danish imams who kicked up all the fuss, and for the Saudis who made it go global:
- Have your actions improved the image of Islam worldwide, or tarnished it?
- As a result of your actions, are there now fewer disrespectful images of your prophet in the world, or more?

Answers to the usual address.

There's sense out there if you want to look. Back to 'my invisible man in the sky is better than yours' debate. Here's an interesting view (full text here):

We’re just as touchy, claim Springer campaigners

The anti Jerry Springer: The Opera campaign turned out in force last night at Birmingham’s Hippodrome. About 60 tambourine bashing leafleters turned up - twice the number that attended the opening in Plymouth.

Inevitable comparisons with Muslim toon rage arose. Nigel Powell, of Hurst Green Family Church in Halesowen, said:

It is the same sort of thing - the Muslims are offended by what was in the Danish newspaper and we are deeply offended by what is taking place here.

“One of the Muslim spokesmen actually made a comment that they were the only religion in the world left that really cares about their God - they said even Christians are happy to let the Life of Brian and Jerry Springer - the Opera take place without any protest. Well we do care and there has been a lot of protests. We love Jesus with a passion and we find this deeply offensive.

This “loving” of semi-mythical dead prophets “with a passion” does seem to cause a few problems, doesn’t it?

It gets better. It would seem that if you've got enough righteous anger in you, it matters not one bit which side of the religious divide you park your bum on. I am sure there is a massive contradiction here but it is all so bewildering. You want evidence? I'll leave you with this short quote from a piece on the Muslim Council of Britain website (full text here should you really want it)

Last night on the BBC Newsnight programme, Mr Stephen Green of "Christian Voice", who had earlier led the campaign against the staging of "Jerry Springer the Opera", supported the cartoons by arguing that Islam is different. As he puts it, "Christians do not blow up bombs on the London Underground". I urge Mr Green to reflect on the fact that as a Muslim who loves and respects Jesus (on whom be peace) I was also deeply offended by the clips I saw of theJerry Springer show, and the fact that a devout Christian like Mr Bush had invaded Muslim countries and probably caused the deaths of 150,000 Muslims in less than five years did not prevent me from writing a strong letter of protest against that opera.

I don't know about you but I don't think 'strong letters of protest' compare with convicted crack dealers dressing up as suicide bombers. I guess I should be careful though: I'm no Christian sympathiser and I'm starting to worry that they may be orchestrating a campaign to leaflet me to death.

Highlight below to read:
Do you think you’re some kind of fucking Renaissance man just because you’ve got a few ostensibly creative applications and a shitload of money to spend on hi-tech gadgetry? Do you have any idea how many other fuckheads all over the world are, right this very minute, using precisely the same technology to produce precisely the same pedestrian results as you? Why don’t you just take all your software, all your gadgets, all your pointless, overpriced digital fuckery-foo and hurl the lot of it into the fucking sea? You’re using it to churn out shit. Get a fucking grip. You’re a cunt; you always HAVE been a cunt; you always WILL be a cunt - a useless, artless, soulless, worthless, hateful, sickening, handful-of-your-own-shit cunt-chewing cunt-eyed cunt. And your lazy, delusional stabs at creativity aren’t fooling anyone, so stop trying, Prick. The Kilroy team would like to speak to you. Call now on 07922 23591.

Three years of patchy posting to this here blog and a theme is finally emerging. Hurrah! It seems I spend far too much time trawling the internet for things to make me smile. By this I mean comedy in all its rich and varied forms, not what ever you were thinking. When I find them I often end up sticking them in the links list here, mainly so I can find them again. Yeah, I know you have favourites lists for that sort of thing but you've got to keep them organized. This smacks of effort. This way, you all get to enjoy this stuff too without having to look any further. Who knows, I may even get round to applying a little quality control in the way of brief reviews. I know funny when I see it, dammit. Perhaps I'll even make a start on that sitcom/sketch show/comedy crocheting of my own.

In the light of this, you'll see the links on the left start to expand. Sure, there's still a few things in there that don't seem to fit. I refer you to my earlier comments if this is a problem.

In addition to this mini-manifesto, if you will, I also intend to post my own observations should I experience anything amusing in the real world. First, though, I must expose myself to this real world (not in that way unless things get desperate). This is something I have largely avoided in recent weeks.

Keep it foolish...

I can hear it now... "You're not going to get a top drawer CV out to potential employers by playing with Photoshop all day, are you?"

Perhaps not. But it'll be fun trying.

Enough messing around already. In case anybody is interested here's a couple of reviews of the new Richard Ashcroft album (the website is one of those annoying affairs where everything is coming soon...). Both make for mildly amusing reading. I still like the album all the same.

Independent Friday January 20, 2006
Guardian Friday January 20, 2006

This looks like a good feature on the same subject. I'll read that now.

There you go. All comments are valued, as always.

Now that I am the proud owner of a motorized vehicle I guess it's time to learn a little about how to look after the damn thing. This, I have discovered, involves more than emptying the ashtray, kicking the tyres to see if they are squashy and having a quick look to make sure all the panels are stuck to the body in the right places.

All about podcasts.

Today we have something educational. No, don't run away. It's The Most Popular Myths In Science. Mostly interesting, although I never believed for a moment that 'Animals can predict natural disasters'. See what you think.

Spoof signs that are good for a laugh. Here.

A slight departure from the norm today as I am on a one-man campaign to cripple an insurance company that recently stung me. I will endevour, as always, to avoid swearing on this page although it's proving a tough task where these fools are concerned. Sorry, I meant fuckers.

Here's a little sample of what I sent them today:

By now I am sure you are aware that I am less than overwhelmed by the service provided by your company. The above does not even take into account the discrepancy between the quote I believed I was accepting and that which was printed on the credit agreement. Nor will I waste my time by describing to you the rude and superior attitude I experienced when dealing with the automatons manning your call centre. Needless to say I will watch my bank account carefully over the coming days to determine how much of my deposit you feel inclined to return to me, taking into account further levies of which I am currently unaware.

Having said that if I can dissuade at least one person from using your services in the future then this £40 ‘administration’ fee will not have been wasted.

I know this is not up to my usual exciting standardsn but I am doing this for you, my beloved readers. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to buy insurance of any kind from Quinn Direct. If you heed this then this will have all been worthwhile. They're based in Ireland, by the way. Just so you know there was a point to the picture above (with thanks to TV GoHome).