You think your life sucks?

Well, it could be worse… much much worse. You could Wade. Or you could be one of the sad bastards revealing all on Fuck My Life

I always thought the saddest, most pathetic dregs of life ended up on BASH.org. It turns out I’m wrong, and there’s substantially worse on FML. What makes it even funnier is that it’s not even stuff that comes out in people’s conversations on line. It’s people actually confessing some of the most pathetic things that could ever be dreamed up by the gods of cynicism and bitter irony.

I’ve actually been plumbing the recesses of my own failings in life, and can’t actually think of anything in there bad enough to make me want to post.

Enjoy laughing at other people’s misfortune, you schadenfreudes, you.

In case you somehow missed, Dom Deluise died today.

And in case you have no idea who Dom Deluise is, he was the last of the jolly fat guys. Unless you’re a fan of Mel Brooks films, there’s a good chance you’re not too familiar with what he looks like, although if you ever watched a Disney cartoon movie in the 80s, you’ve probably heard his voice dozens of times over and not even realised it.

Unlike current fat comedians such as Jack Black, Dom was rarely an angry or sarcastic character. He was a gentle giant of the silver screen, much like whales are the gentle giants of the deeps. With that said, watching Dom attempt to dance in some of his roles was a rather similar experience to whale watching.

Either way, he was always a good watch. Whether it was as Pavorotti in Silence of the Hams, Pizza the Hutt in Spaceballs, or merely listening to his melifluous voice in All Dogs go to Heaven, there was always gentle, jolly, giant entertainment to be had.

The world will be a sadder place, and the only thing not made lighter by Dom’s passing will be our hearts.

When it’s playing fucking Reggae!

I don’t really ask for much out of clubs. I’m not too picky on the decor. If the drinks suck, I can deal with it. If the DJ’s playing at ear shattering levels, I’ll just get some ear buds, or step outside where the perfect sound balance is reached… You know, so long as my friends are there and the music’s good.

Ahhh, the music. I’m not too picky about that either. I like the vast majority of stuff on the gawth playlists. Manson, Cure, Fortification 55, VNV Nation, Switchblade Symphony, Phillip Glass, Bob Marley, Kevorkian Death Cycle, KMF… Wait a second…

Bob Marley? 

Bob Fucking Buffalo Soldier Marley?

Don’t get me wrong. Marley’s a musical genius and something of a hero. His music has a time and place… Neither of which happens to be in a room full of people that go in for harsh electronic sounds to sway to like bits of angsty seaweed, whilst clad in leather or vinyl, and figuring out precisely how many sexually gratuitous acts they can fit in before they have to go to their parents for lunch on Sunday.

Now, supposedly, this was all because it was “Revolutionaries” night. A great idea for a theme really. Cheap absinthe (the choice drink of the intellectual elite and beatniks), posters with clever slogans, lots of Fascist Chicks in Communist Chic. That kind of thing. Very hot, really. Skin tight Red Star outfits, and big fluffy Russian hats oFUCKING REGGAE! AT A GOTH CLUB!?!?!

It’s like stepping in bizarro land!

It wasn’t even like it was background level where you could pleasantly ignore it. Because no one was dancing (because it was fucking reggae) the DJ did what all goth DJs do when no one’s on the dance floor. They turn it up, thinking that will attract people to dance. 

Noooo, no one’s dancing because your music selection is shitty. And when you turn up the volume, it’s shitty and literally painful to listen to.

I be thinkin I actually goin ta look at who be meant ta be DJing before I & I is makin da dessizun to be goin nex week, I-oh mon. Jah be witchoo.

 

 

P.S. Sorry about a lack of postage yesterday, but I was busy attempting to hall 5 desks up a flight of very narrow stairs. It took most of the evening. I’ll insert some pictures and links later when I’m less ranty and my boss isn’t about.

Some places make a drink called a Golden Geisha… It doesn’t have real gold.

Mine does.
The idea for this drink has been floating in my head for a little while, like little specks of gold, ever since I spotted another drink on a nerd blog involving Gold Schlager.

It got me thinking about a few things. The first thing that came to mind was actually the Dwarves of Discworld, and the way that they like to sing songs about it. Unfortunately, these songs tend to only have one lyric, but it’s really more about the meter, timing and emotion behind it than the actual meaning of the word(s). (more…)

« Older Posts