Author: Mosh

Anti-gay music poll results and new poll

Roll up, roll up. Your results are in. With more of a spread than in the previous poll, it seems that most of you side with me in saying that this stuff should be left on the shelves, but a slightly larger proportion of you think that at least some action should be taken about it.

poll-gaymusic
Results of Anti-Gay Music poll

And now for a new poll. In the news recently has been home security – that’s security of the household rather than some kind of fascist policy that removes all of your citizens’ human rights. That one’s homeland security. Just ask George “The Chimp” Bush about his PATRIOT act.

Anyway, in the UK it’s generally been the accepted rule that if someone tries to break into your house and you do anything other than hand them old aunt Maud’s jewellery collection, your stash of DVDs and the stereo then you’ll end up in court. Hell, if they strain their back hoiking your widescreen TV into the back of the van they nicked for the job, you can expect to find youseld on charges of neglect or assault.

The poor dears.

Anyway, after recent court cases someone has decided that wouldn’t it be a good idea if we were actually allowed to protect our homes, family and property without worrying about the consequences of giving some thieving chav a broken jaw. The Tories started it, the mostsenior police officer in the ocuntry voiced his support and then Labour spotted the bandwagon about to leave town without them on it so jumped aboard.

What’s reported so far is a moderately simple change: to alter the fact that you can defend yourself “with reasonable force” to the fact that you can do what you want to the toerags as long as there is no evidence of “gratuitous violence”. I take this to read “as long as they don’t find the corpse” but I may be twisting the words in my favour somewhat.

Anyway, the poll – what would you decide is gratuitous? Where should the limit be? Or do you feel we should leave it on the basis that if scum know they’re more likely to get a fight then they’re more likely to come armed?

On the same subject I was watching Crime Scene Academy from last night and heard a great story set in America. Two scum broke into a guy’s house and held him at gunpoint demanding “the money”. They knew he had a safe in the house and made him lead them to it. They stepped aside and demanded he open it, which he did. They demanded he reach in and give them what was in there.

He did. It was a gun safe and contained, among other things, a 50mm semi-auto which was loaded and ready to use. A swift turn and a spray of bullets saw the two guys run off, one already mortally wounded with a nicked artery in his neck. The homeowner chased them through the house and put two bullets in the chest of the other. Both died.

Police verdict? Completely innocent. All the evidence backed his story up and they adjudged him to be protecting his property and himself. For once I am in awe of – get this – Americans with sense. Will wonders never cease?

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How stupid are some people?

This numpty (apologies if the link dies – it’s on eBay) is trying to sell Star Wars: The Phantom Menace on VHS… for £30. For those unaware, it can’t have cost much more than a third of that when it came out maybe 3 years ago.

Today, you can buy the same film on DVD and buy a DVD player to play it on for around £30. Who on earth would pay that much (plus postage) for it?

eBay is full of such stuff. Buyers are no better than the hopeful sellers. As some of you may be aware, I recently shifted my Region 1 copy of Buffy season 4 for a reasonable £20. I’ve got the rest of the series in Region 2 and just wanted the packaging to all be the same when they’re on the shelf, plus my new DVD player’s not that keen on R1 discs.

So, off I plod on eBay to try and get a cheap-ish second hand copy of season 4 on R2. Can I heckers like. Every single one is going for around the £30 mark. Plus postage. I’ve had the quickest of searches on the web and found half a dozen places charging this much – including delivery – for a brand new copy. Why pay the same or more for second hand?

Answer: people are stupid. It just pisses me off cos I want to pay about half price for a second hand copy, which seems reasonable. But other people’s bloody stupidity is making that near impossible!

Apologies for a rant with hardly any humour, sex or vomit in it. I’ll get over it and start being a sick **** again soon.

Best news headline ever

Well, ok, the best one I’ve seen on the BBC News site: Penis is a competitive beast. I actually came across it (pardon the pun) by accident. I followed a link from another story that caught my attention on the front page: Op can boost size of micro-penis.

So the nob of the penis is designed to scoop out previous partner’s spangle, is it? Well, what do you know. How soon after sex were women moving on to the next guy back in those days? Hark at me – in those days. I’ve walked through the Bigg Market on a Saturday. The slappers there don’t wait until they get home…

Reminds me of an old joke. Stop me if you’ve heard it. Or skip to the next post: Three scientists in a room, arguing over the purpose of the nob on the end of a penis. The French guy states that it’s to increase pleasure for the woman. The German insists it’s to increase pleasure for the man. The English guy says it’s to stop your hand slipping off the end when you’re having a ****.

And after all that, it’s really to scoop ladlefuls of hot, stringy cum from a slapper’s ****. Well, who’d have guessed.

That first bottle of Brown. And the second. And third…

OK, someone asked for this so it’s there fault. I think it was JanetyJanet. Actually, I just checked. So blame her.

The first night I tried Newcastle Brown Ale. Hereafter referred to as “Brown” or “Dog” (as in “walking the…” – a popular excuse for a gentleman to wander to the local drinking establishment). It was a dark, wintery night… really. It was. Sometime around October, I think. If I was at home then I could probably confirm the exact date.

Anyway, I was meeting two friends after school. I mean, college. University. Bugger it. School. I was underage. Tut all you like. I know you lot aren’t exactly pristine. Jonny Heron and Richard Moore were awaiting my arrival at “The Legendary Yorkshire Hero”, more commonly known as “The Archer” in Jesmond, Newcastle Upon Tyne.

The first pint was supped – a simple lager, probably Fosters. Then a cider, most likely Strongbow, though possibly Woodpecker. We had a little time before we headed for the theatre to see Thunderbirds. Yes. Thunderbirds. That thing with the strings and puppets that was recently ruined by that guy who used to be in Star Trek. On stage. With actors. Two of them, to be precise.

Anyway, I get ahead of myself. I then decided to try that mysterious brown stuff in a bottle that I’d heard about. Quivering, I walked up to the bar trying to stop my teenage voice from breaking. “Bottle of Brown, please”. A fair chunk of my paper round money handed over and the bottle was opened and placed in front of me.

Mmmmmm.

It went down far too quickly. By this stage I was pissed, but didn’t know it. I bought another bottle to keep me company on the walk down to the Playhouse. When we arrived, we ordered some drinks for the interval. A bottle of Dog each.

The play began. The first half ended. I guzzled my third Dog (erm… I should rephrase that but what the hell) and Jon and Richard couldn’t manage theirs. So I downed the remaining half-bottles.

The second half of the play was brilliant. What bits I could make out through the stupidly loud laughter. That turned out to be mine. I was also the only person in the entire theatre giving the two-man troupe a standing ovation at the end. Well gone, I was.

One of the lads jumped on the Metro at Haymarket while myself and the other (I can’t to this day remember which one) wandered down Grainger Street towards Central Station. At one point, I stopped for the obligatory public pee. Unfortunately, the evil effects of the Brown Juice prevented me from using a customary shop doorway. Instead, nob oot, slap it on the edge of a rubbish bin and let loose.

Being wasted, I thought the lasses who walked past were giggling at my antics. Ages and experience now tells me it was more to do with the effects of cold weather and colder beer.

Central Station arrived at, I got the Metro to Gateshead for transfer to bus and home. Only, being pissed I’d forgotten that there was a bus strike and that the services had all finished early. I really should have got on the Metro at Haymarket…

Addled, I collapsed in one of the shelters awaiting The Bus That Would Never Appear. After a few minutes, my stomach started telling me that it wasn’t actually all that keen on this Brown Ale stuff after all. So it took it upon itself to get rid of it. A kindly gent walking past gave me the friendly advice to “get it all up son.” How nice.

Five minutes later, he walked past again and stood in the expanding pool of cooling orange vomit. Muttering swearies he wiped his show on my trouser leg. Nary a grumble could I raise in complaint. More a “pshfwglbbbb”.

Some time later my brain finally took a peak out from behind the alcohol haze and decided it was time to kickstart my legs as no sodding bus would be coming. Almost an hour later, I made it home – by what route I am still uncertain. I think I made a remarkable job of not appearing drunk at all when my mum collared me coming in the door. I don’t see what clues I could have given her anyway. I am so sneaky.

The next day on the way back from school, I could still see the huge orange stain on the pavement inside the bus shelter. Which makes you wonder what the stuff does to your inside. Like Irn Bru and Tizer.

For over a month after that I couldn’t even sniff Brown without feeling queasy. Certain mates used this to their advantage and always gave me their bottles to hold while they went to syphon the python. ********. I taught them, though. I didn’t tell them when I was fine drinking it again. It took them a while (and several mysteriously emptying bottles) to twig.