Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Amsterdam #2

Of course there were other things to do. The 'seedier' things. You know, dope and sex - oh, I got a giddy thrill just typing it! How can you not like a city that, even in a five-star hotel, gives you wipe-clean PVC bolster pillows? Fabulous.

From what I was saying in the previous post about there being nothing to do is a little ungracious - there's loads to do if you want to get stoned and chuck your muck up a stranger. But as that pretty much summed up my last year of uni, and as my knees are pretty much made of breadsticks these days, we thought we'd tone it down a little. So Nelson and I got stoned and went to look at the prozzies.

Goodness, the night shift were a gorgeous bunch of ladies. I mean seriously - they're like the ones that you see on the the top shelf magazines of the newsagent, but on the nice magazines. Not the ones with a cover taken on a Kodak disposable of some Kettering housewife looking like she'd had an accident with the icing bowl. No, these ladies of the night were pneumatic lovelies who were actually good looking, wearing nothing but three bits of masking tape and a come-hither grin. As Nelson and I wandered past, they'd tap on their windows with nails so long and sharp they could have probably cut through the glass with a quick swipe. Amazing.

The day-shift, though? Bugger me, rough as a badger's arse. You'd have thought they'd have kept them in the dark of night, not the other way around. Or fed them after midnight.

And no, you're not being told how I knew the pillows were wipe-clean.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Amsterdam #1

Ah, Amsterdam. A city as free and easy as Paris Hilton's mimsy without its constraining underwear, and just as easy to be taken in. It's a strange old place - it's like London if they built Soho and Covent Garden and then forgot about the rest. As a result, you get a genuninely laid-back city. I mean I've been around around the world (primary to put it around a bit, but you know that) and each place has its own character. Like my beloved London, a city that is pretty much that red-faced commuter on the tube who seems pleasant enough until you step on their foot or take their seat.

Barcelona is the arsey Spaniard who doesn't care if you like them or not, just get out of their face.

Vancouver is just so gosh-darned happy that you turned up that it practically turfs out its own family to give you a room for the night.

Whereas Amsterdam will wander into the lounge mid-morning still sleepy, tell you to make yourself at home and help yourself to anything, light up, then go back to bed. You think about it: other than the canals, is there anything to see there? Any Big Ben or Eiffel Tower? No, because the Dutch were too stoned to put any damn thing up!

There's so little to do there, tourist-wise, that people actually have to queue for the museums to pass the time.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Glitter for Brains At The Movies! Star Trek!  

We go so you don't have to!

So. I can see from my Twitter feed that I'm probably one of the few who doesn't like this shiny new reboot, Chris Pine in his space-briefs and everything. I did try, honestly. So I'll get my feelings as to why in the only way we know how. You know, by taking the piss. So, without further ado, Glitter for Brains proudly presents...

STAR TREK: THE ABRIDGED SCRIPT
Warning! Contains deliberate spoilers!

JJ ABRAMS: Hi there. I'm JJ, the director. And this here is my Big Wheel of Directing, which I'm going to spin before every pivotal scene. As you can see, the three categories clearly marked on it in the proper font are 'Nostalgia', 'Over-the-Top Drama' and 'Whimsy'! Let's start by spinning the wheel, and...

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!

JJ ABRAMS: Over-the-Top Drama! Fun!

SHIPS EXPLODE and people RUN ABOUT. It is all VERY IMPRESSIVE.

STAR TREK FANS: Eh? What's this? Excitement? Where's the two hours of soul searching and notes on trade agreements?

JJ ABRAMS: Oh yes. This is the first time we've had a cast under the age of 40 in a Star Trek film. We can do so much more now! Like running shots. And close-ups on Uhura without you thinking we'd employed Lance Henricksen in the role.

CAPTION: MANY YEARS LATER.

CHRIS PINE is being beaten to a BLOODY PULP in a BAR FIGHT. It is by STARFLEET CADETS.

BRUCE GREENWOOD: Stop! Stop! Cadets to your quarters. Chris Pine, I want you to join Starfleet. It's what your dad would have wanted. Starfleet is all about honor. It's about nobility. It's about being worthwhile.

CHRIS PINE: Six Starfleet cadets just mashed my face in for no reason, completely subjugating me!

BRUCE GREENWOOD: Oh alright, its about being an American.

CHRIS PINE: Can I drive a kick-ass spaceship like it was a sportcar and make out with chicks?

BRUCE GREENWOOD: Hell, that's what this part of the franchise was always a metaphor for!

CHRIS PINE: You're on! I'm just going to cheat on my entrance exam.

BRUCE GREENWOOD: Now you're apparently thinking like a Starfleet officer!

CUT TO:
ERIC BANA'S MINING SHIP

ERIC BANA: Aha! I'm pissed off!

SUBORDINATE: Any reason?

ERIC BANA: Not really. I think it's pretty much because Spock from the future was going to save my planet. But he was five minutes late because he'd left the space-iron on or something, and it went ka-blooey so we've travelled back in time to do the same to his. To Vulcan! To blow it up!

THEY GO.

CUT TO: CHRIS PINE and KARL URBAN sneaking aboard the ENTERPRISE.

CHRIS PINE: What if someone sees us?

KARL URBAN: I'll inject you with this!

CHRIS PINE: Wait! What is it?

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!

JJ ABRAMS: I've just spun the Big Wheel of Directing and it has landed on... Whimsy!

CHRIS PINE'S HANDS swell up to TWICE THEIR SIZE!

KARL URBAN: Oh well, I'll keep injecting you until it gets a laugh too.

CHRIS PINE: Lets go and see Uhura. She appears to be working in the Enterprise's micro-brewery. We have to assemble the original crew on the bridge as fast as possible!

CUT TO: THE SHINY NEW BRIDGE.

JOHN CHO: Ready to go to warp speed, Bruce!

JJ ABRAMS: I just like to point out I haven't spun the wheel again, John. We're still on Whimsy.

JOHN CHO: Whoops silly me what a clutz I've left the parking brake on fiddle-de-dee.

ANTON YELCHIN ('Russian' accent): Wick-tor-Wick-tor-Tango-Foxtrot!

JJ ABRAMS: Oh Anton, I'm assigning a special WhimsyCam to follow your every move from now on! The audience will lap it up!

THE AUDIENCE: ...

THE ENTERPRISE WARPS to VULCAN. ERIC BANA is already THERE about to BLOW IT UP.

BRUCE GREENWOOD: Pine! Cho! Guy in a red shirt! Go and stop that drilling equipment!

They PARACHUTE down to it. Although the Guy In The Red Shirt DIES.

JJ ABRAMS: Isn't this clever? We killed the guy in the red shirt! Woo!

THE AUDIENCE: Yesyesyes, we get it. Shut up and spin your wheel.

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!

JJ ABRAMS: The wheel's landed on... I think that's Over-the-Top Drama...

PINE and CHO FIGHT TWO ROMULANS who come out of the DRILL!

JJ ABRAMS: No wait! Nostalgia!

JOHN CHO (Getting out OTT CGI SWORD): Did I tell you I'm a master of fencing?

JJ ABRAMS: No! Over-the-Top Drama!

THEY FIGHT. AND FENCE. AND BLOW UP the DRILL.

CHRIS PINE: Enterprise! We need to be beamed up! NOW!

JJ ABRAMS: Anton! Is WhimsyCam full of film and ready for action?

ANTON YELCHIN: Yeuss, Ca'pn Jey-Jey!

JJ ABRAMS: Off you go!

ANTON YELCHIN simultaneously MAULS the ENGLISH LANGUAGE, completes THREE COMEDY PRAT FALLS in quick succession and BEAMS THEM UP.

JJ ABRAMS: Brilliant! That's all from you, Anton. But if you want to stand in the background of the bridge and try and put up some wallpaper with a pasteboard, three buckets of paste, a plank and two other slapstick extras, I'm not against it.

ZACHARY QUINTO: Chris Pine, I'm expelling you from this ship to the next coincidental plot point. Take him to an escape pod.

CHRIS PINE is EJECTED to a ICE PLANET'S SURFACE. Where he ESCAPES from the MONSTER FROM CLOVERFIELD and finds himself in A CAVE. Which further REVEALS...

JJ ABRAMS: One second!

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!

JJ ABRAMS: Nostalgia!

... LEONARD NIMOY sitting around the camp fire.

CHRIS PINE (shuffles awkwardly): Oi! Get back to your own franchise!

LEONARD NIMOY: But I'm here to placate those mad fans still protesting in the lobby about Uhura getting a first name.

CHRIS PINE: How you going to do that? I've been getting sent toupees and corsets in the post for the last year with scrawled notes saying 'DO IT PROPERLY OR ELSE'.

LEONARD NIMOY: I'm going to explain this is all an alternate reality, so we can fuck around with continuity all we want and they can happily get back to counting red cars. Now lets go get Simon Pegg so we can beam you back to the plot.

CHRIS PINE and SIMON PEGG BEAM to the ENTERPRISE...

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK!

JJ ABRAMS: Whimsy!

...only SIMON PEGG BEAMS into the WATER COOLANT SYSTEM and almost DROWNS in a HILARIOUS MANNER.

SIMON PEGG: Och aye, I like this ship! Cough! Splutter! Hack!

ZACHARY QUINTO: You know, Chris Pine, I'm completely emotionless unless you make me talk about my mum. It'd be an ideal way to make me give control to you, and not make the audience question your self-serving motives at all.

CHRIS PINE: You know, I think I will. Your mum is rubbish. And dead. And Winona Ryder in some seriously bad aging make-up.

ZACHARY QUINTO: You bitch! I'll scratch your eyes out! Let me at him..!

CHRIS PINE: Oh Zachary, I relieve you of command. Until the next scene where we need to go and blow up Eric Bana's ship.

ERIC BANA (on screen): Enterprise! SPOCK! I blame you for my planet being blown up. But rather than kill you, you must live to watch my revenge! From a cave! A little way-away! Make sure you don't miss it, eh? Eh?! Ah, sod it, I'll blow up the Earth as well. For no other reason than Spock probably had a timeshare home there or something.

CHRIS PINE: Well, we're going to blow you up using the best that Starfleet can offer!

ERIC BANA: Honor?

CHRIS PINE: No.

ERIC BANA: Patriotism?

CHRIS PINE: No. Technobabble! Zachary Quinto, load up the Omega-13 doomsday device that will create black holes and end the film!

He DOES. And ERIC BANA'S SHIP is DESTROYED.

CHRIS PINE: Eric! Before you go, I'd just like offer the hand of friendship now we've subjugated you and nearly wiped you out.

ERIC BANA: What kind of monsters are you?

CHRIS PINE: We, sir, are Starfleet!

ERIC BANA looks over in HORROR and DIES.

CHRIS PINE: Oh well. Medals for everyone when we get home!

LEONARD NIMOY (voice over): Space. A wholly-owned subsidiary of the Paramount Corporation. These are the voyages of the USS Cash Cow. It's ongoing mission: to rebuild a franchise. To boldly bank-roll where we've all been before. Only with nicer sets and better special effects.

THE END.

(with thanks to Richard Atkinson and Gary Gillatt who shared my sentiments).

Friday, May 01, 2009

Carol Ann Duffy

If you're going to make such a point of the new Poet Laureate being a woman, perhaps employing one that looks like Ian McShane is a bit of a non-starter.

EasyGay

Well. Isn't it embarrassing that your long-forgotten gaydar account sends you an email just at the moment your boyfriend is leaning over to poke a finger at your in-box which, by the way, is not as filthy as it sounds? All of a sudden I was like Hugh Grant with Parkinson's - stuttering and fumbling all over the shop. I was mortified! I haven't been so embarrassed since I was having sex with this guy in the dark when he tried to slip something in my mouth, and when I told him I didn't smoke, he got dressed and said "That was my cock."

Poor lad. It was like a button mushroom with ideas of grandeur.

Anyway. Said email was an offer for unlimited access to all the cock-shots on there for free. How marvelous! It's like a 'two-for-one at Boots' on desperate men! So what does it mean when the recession could have finally creeped in on the site we lovingly call 'Sit-On-My-Face-Book? Should we worry when the sex industry is hit? I tell you for one, I'm glad that I'm not on it at the moment due to the sky-rocketing costs involved. Not for the website - but have you seen the price of Rohypnol these days? I'd never get laid!