I seem to be on somewhat of a media frenzy at the moment, I’m not sure what has prompted this but it’s always nice to share isn’t it? I mean, I’m an only child and here I am distributing links to five flavours of awesomeness without any thought of remuneration, let alone the need to shout ‘MINE’ then run off.
Yes, it’s nice to share. After all, if I didn’t then you wouldn’t be aware of the existence of xkcd now would you? Obviously you may have been able to live a happy and fulfilling life without this knowledge but then you would never have seen this.
Frankly, that’s what the 90’s were all about for me.
I’m not really a fan of bandwagons and internet memes; I’m not really a fan of anything anyone else likes because I’m so damnably elitist these days - think of it as a hobby that I’m pursuing to the nth degree – but something about Meme Cats makes me chuckle.
Mr Cadbury and Miss Rowntree met on a Double Decker, it was After Eight.
She was from Quality Street; he was a Fisherman’s Friend. On the way they stopped at a Yorkie Bar, he had a Rum and Butter, she had a Wine Gum.
He asked her name, “Polo, I’m the one with the hole” she said. “I’m the one with the nuts,” he thought. Then he touched her Milky Way.
They checked in to a hotel, and went straight to the bedroom.
Mr Cadbury turned out the light for a bit of Black Magic. It wasn’t long before he slipped his hand into her Snickers and felt her Cream Egg. He fondled her Flap Jacks then he showed her his Curly Wurly and Tic Tacs.
Miss Rowntree wasn’t keen to have any Jelly Babies, so she let him take a trip down Bourneville Boulevard via her Party Ring. He was quite pleased as he always fancied a bit of Fudge. It was a magic moment as she let out a scream of Turkish Delight.
When he pulled out, his king size Mars Bar felt a bit Crunchie. She wanted more, but he needed a Time Out, however, he noticed her Pink Wafers looked very appetizing. He did a Twirl, had a Picnic in her Sherbet Dip and finished off by giving her a Gob Stopper.
Unfortunately, Mr Cadbury then had to go home to his wife, Caramel.
Sadly he was soon to discover he had VD. It turned out Miss Rowntree had been with Bertie Basset who apparently had Allsorts.
I’m not sure what I was expecting from Spider-Man 3, some entertainment certainly, maybe a reasonable amount of action and suspense and so on. I shouldn’t really be that surprised that it was rubbish.
I know you’re supposed to go into ‘blockbusters’ and not think about what’s happening, you’re supposed to suspend belief for two hours or so and stop looking for any meaning beyond “CRASH! BOOM! GOOD GUYS WIN!!!1one!” but I can’t help myself. Being repeatedly beaten about the head by the same clumsy symbolism doesn’t help either.
What irked me most, aside from the ridiculous jazz section in the middle, and there is one, is that this was yet another film where you have to have a ‘YAY AMERICA!’ moment rammed down your throat, billowing flag and all. We get it ok? The rest of the world understands that it’s supposed to be filled with awe at just how amazing America is, that it’s the last bastion of everything noble and good in a darkening world, but why, oh why, is it necessary for nearly every big budget film to feature a moment designed to do nothing more than drive this ridiculous fantasy home?
Even accepting the American market is the largest for English speaking films and that they’re targeted accordingly, surely even the native audiences aren’t so blindly jingoistic as to require this sort of chest-thumping shite in every film they watch. Certainly the Americans that I know aren’t.
So what’s it for and who makes the decision that every major US film should feature a vignette illustrating just how utterly amazing it is to be American? What’s the fucking point?
I saw these guys live at the Edinburgh Military Tattoo in 2006 and they rank as one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen in my life. Simply awesome.
Solidarity is a strange thing and can often reveal itself in unusual ways. It isn’t often that a chinless ginger bloke is the recipient of such unanimity of feeling, but it’s nice to see.
Harry’s troops do a Spartacus
Soldiers are heading for Iraq wearing T-shirts saying “I’m Harry” in a show of support for Prince Harry.
The khaki tops also feature a telescopic sight target on the chest, reports the Mirror.
The T-shirts echo the legendary scene of solidarity in epic movie Spartacus.
Militants have pledged to kill Prince Harry in Iraq and the T-shirts are intended as a humorous display of camaraderie.
A senior military source said: “Soldiers are well known for having operational tour T-shirts and also for pulling together to support each other.
“Prince Harry is highly respected by his comrades as a young officer and for what he is doing in the Armed Forces.”
The £19.95 shirt is being sold on eBay and advertised under a rallying call of “I’m Spartacus, I’m Harry, We’re all Harry now. Confuse the enemy, wear the T-shirt”.
It is meant to copy a scene in the classic 1960 film Spartacus when Kirk Douglas’s character is protected from Romans hunting him down after a battle.
Captured slaves are urged to hand over Spartacus for crucifixion - but instead they all stand up and say: “I’m Spartacus.”
To my mind, nothing sums up the human capacity for creativity better than the myriad wonders of the interweb. I mean, where else are you going to find something as unusual as LOLTrek.
I realise that my sense of humour can be a little odd at times, often I laugh at things that really shouldn’t be funny. I’ve been subjected to more than one dark glance as a result; sometimes it’s just plain distaste. And there’s a tendency too, to be amused by obscure cultural references, I like to feel as though I’ve ‘got’ a joke that no one else has. Some deep-seated desire to feel special I don’t doubt.
But this morning my mood was brightened by this, because sometimes it doesn’t take an oblique reference to Descartes or a death in amusing circumstances to make me giggle.
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