Friends are funny things, one moment they're all over you, and the next they're no where to be seen. Of course, I mean that in the friendly sense. I don't do the funky thing with my friends, what else would be left to say afterwards? No, my friends are the kind who forcefully, at friendship point lend me things they think I may have some palpable need of. One friend, whose name I won't reveal in case the FBI catch up with him, suggested to me that I HAVE to watch this movie, and forced the DVD of said movie into my hands, disappearing off into the woodlands never to be seen again until a few days later, and/or he's finished the DVD I politely suggested he may want to see, then blended into the foreground neatly.
So, now that I've watched it at last, in full, without my progeny screaming at me to press stop and put SpongeBob on instead, I can honestly say that his intentions were good, despite his ninja tendencies. (The best movie idea ever, Ninja vs FBI!) See, Mushishi is actually a damn good movie, despite the description putting it slightly into hackneyed Anime territory. And, it is based on an Anime and Manga series too, funnily enough. One of some rep, as well. Director, Katsuhiro Otomo, steps right up to it and delivers a tight, not too fantastical concept that remains grounded despite the obvious fantasy elements. This is the key to the whole success of the movie, as well. Fantasy movies can be too overwhelming, complicated and downright confusing, but Mushishi works on the level of average looking characters and beautiful visuals mixed with dialogue that has just the right level of intrigue and a plot that never loses us, somehow.
Yes, despite my initial misgivings, it won me over soon. Not being a watcher of Anime or a reader of Manga, I suppose I can't fully appreciate the subtle nuances of the genre that it's fans rapture to instantly. I don't consider cartoons and comics for children, I just have never actually got into them too much due to my ever increasing pile of interests merging into a whole days work. Cliches are won over this way, and should a ninja wonder from the darkness and force DVDs into your hand ever, don't give the misgiving stare of a victim, embrace his gift, as I did. You may get a surprise when you slip the discs into your device! Such ninjas of culture are a virtue in this ever more digitised world, and we should be thankful for their silent contribution to our collective existences. As to the plot, it doesn't matter too much, just get engaged by the visual splendour and the ever impending doom looming large over every moment, and you'll get that on the way.
Recommended.
Le Monsieur.
Showing posts with label MONSIEUR SEBA N'EST CE-PAS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MONSIEUR SEBA N'EST CE-PAS. Show all posts
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Thursday, 13 August 2009
All Good Things Must Come To An End.
In these days of recession and swift change as fast as the wind itself, all good things must come to an unfortunate, if not unavoidable , end. This is unfortunately the case with one of the free magazines I discovered only a few months back, +1.
I picked it up today from the usual over priced boutique selling tat on Bold Street, (Which one? My left lobe.) and was flicking through it amiably enough, soaking up the content into my extremely spongy frontal lobe when I came upon the last page, entitled, curiously, Obituary. The word obituary is an everyday buzz phrase when you're a morbid undertaker, or classifieds editor, but to this Monsieur it sends a signal so spine chilling I had just cause to take a sip of my double strength mocha post haste. Problem was, the obituary was of a selfish nature. You know people choose to die just at the wrong moment, like in the middle of sex, or whilst tied to a lamp post in Newcastle, well +1 has decide to die for , quote, adult reasons.
And, we're not talking auto erotic asphyxiation here, either. We're talking post economic heaving. That meaning, lack of revenue to maintain publication. You know what, fuck this fucking economy! What the hell am I supposed to read over my mocha now, huh? Tell you, if there's any reason to string a banker up to a lamp post and prod him with blunt metal objects, this is one. OK, I've still got Vice to furtively perv through, but that's the point. See, it's damn hard to find a nice publication, worthy of thine own intelligent eyes these days, and +1 was as close to that as is possible in the days of Big Brother, X Factor and other shows slowly sapping away the already depleted intelligence quotient of the nations bus stop fucking youth.
Mesieurs et Madames, I am saddened. But still the web version lives on, even if it's not half as satisfying as clutching the magazine and sniffing it's freshly printed smell in the summers breeze.
RIP +1 print edition. You will be missed.
Le Mnsr
I picked it up today from the usual over priced boutique selling tat on Bold Street, (Which one? My left lobe.) and was flicking through it amiably enough, soaking up the content into my extremely spongy frontal lobe when I came upon the last page, entitled, curiously, Obituary. The word obituary is an everyday buzz phrase when you're a morbid undertaker, or classifieds editor, but to this Monsieur it sends a signal so spine chilling I had just cause to take a sip of my double strength mocha post haste. Problem was, the obituary was of a selfish nature. You know people choose to die just at the wrong moment, like in the middle of sex, or whilst tied to a lamp post in Newcastle, well +1 has decide to die for , quote, adult reasons.
And, we're not talking auto erotic asphyxiation here, either. We're talking post economic heaving. That meaning, lack of revenue to maintain publication. You know what, fuck this fucking economy! What the hell am I supposed to read over my mocha now, huh? Tell you, if there's any reason to string a banker up to a lamp post and prod him with blunt metal objects, this is one. OK, I've still got Vice to furtively perv through, but that's the point. See, it's damn hard to find a nice publication, worthy of thine own intelligent eyes these days, and +1 was as close to that as is possible in the days of Big Brother, X Factor and other shows slowly sapping away the already depleted intelligence quotient of the nations bus stop fucking youth.
Mesieurs et Madames, I am saddened. But still the web version lives on, even if it's not half as satisfying as clutching the magazine and sniffing it's freshly printed smell in the summers breeze.
RIP +1 print edition. You will be missed.
Le Mnsr
Monday, 3 August 2009
THE DREAM AND THE REALITY.
Readers, Le Monsieur has a dream.
In my dream, the people behind the dictionaries would categorise words that are apparently *offensive* as now not quite so offensive after all. The effect on society would be massive, but slow to take it's full toll on the people's conscience. I could potentially march around saying "Hey nigga!" to every cracker on the street and they be very unoffended. They would, in my imagination, respond with a very hearty "Yo cracker, wossup!" and we'd bond in the way that homies do, by playing loud music from our beatboxes and pretending to be Bob Marley's lost sons. Anything is possible in a dream!
What a dream it is. Well, Eminem's been living the dream for years now, dissing on all us whiteys who don't rap as if it's a prescription drug for Swine Flu. Hip Hop, whilst admittedly an *Urban Passtime* for kids with issues, was certainly built for a sociopath like Eminem, who, contrary to my vocab requisition, isn't on my Black List. I quite admire him, in his ability to send hate mail to Mariah Carey and get seemingly no criticism at all. Heck, if I did that, the cops would knock on my door and search house for any nipple clamps that happen to be strewn about like anything perfectly innocent. I'd probably be punished by having Mimi played non stop in my cell on a loop! But, all this urban stuff is making me feel rough, and there are other words that people dislike as much as the dictionaries, who are influencing them way too much to my mind.
See, the way I was raised, language is a tool with a definite purpose. For example, if you want someone to go away, suggesting politely that they are in the way won't work, and they are more likely to stay firmly in your way than move out of it. But telling them to F*ck off in a loud uncompromising manner will work more easily, I guarantee. Now, I'm not suggesting that you be like that to everyone, as you'll be mistaken for a rude fucker. This technique is reserved only for times of extreme irritation, and in places where guns and knives aren't commonplace. Point is though, I'm saying that our once effective communication lines are being hampered by words and phrases being constantly "outlawed" by people with more moral substance than sense.
Truth is, I love my dirty words as much as the next person does, but slowly they are being bled out of our societies media portrayed face and pretended out of existence by the ignorant sociopaths who control education these days. There are many teenagers who have no idea how to answer the questions on The Weakest Link, let alone the test they do at school, and the way it's changed our use of language is concerning, to say the least. Language changes, of course, and I love it, the English language is apparently the most expanding language in the world and I say let it expand, but don't cancel out the words you think society doesn't need! Very American, to put it mildly. It's amazing how words like disabled, once able to be uttered freely without fear of causing offense is slowly being turned into a swear word, and replaced with "special person", which is equally as offensive as calling someone a coon to my mind. There are numerous more examples of it, but I don't want to drone on for too long. Suffice to say, you can probably think of a few yourself!
The biggest problem it's causing though, is that swearing is now a form of humour ! It's not big, and it's not clever, and although I love etymology, swear words in particular, I'm not amused. What was once an expressive tool for anger, irony etc has become a controvertial non-issue that makes people ashamed of the words they heard as they wre growing up.
Le Monsieur
In my dream, the people behind the dictionaries would categorise words that are apparently *offensive* as now not quite so offensive after all. The effect on society would be massive, but slow to take it's full toll on the people's conscience. I could potentially march around saying "Hey nigga!" to every cracker on the street and they be very unoffended. They would, in my imagination, respond with a very hearty "Yo cracker, wossup!" and we'd bond in the way that homies do, by playing loud music from our beatboxes and pretending to be Bob Marley's lost sons. Anything is possible in a dream!
What a dream it is. Well, Eminem's been living the dream for years now, dissing on all us whiteys who don't rap as if it's a prescription drug for Swine Flu. Hip Hop, whilst admittedly an *Urban Passtime* for kids with issues, was certainly built for a sociopath like Eminem, who, contrary to my vocab requisition, isn't on my Black List. I quite admire him, in his ability to send hate mail to Mariah Carey and get seemingly no criticism at all. Heck, if I did that, the cops would knock on my door and search house for any nipple clamps that happen to be strewn about like anything perfectly innocent. I'd probably be punished by having Mimi played non stop in my cell on a loop! But, all this urban stuff is making me feel rough, and there are other words that people dislike as much as the dictionaries, who are influencing them way too much to my mind.
See, the way I was raised, language is a tool with a definite purpose. For example, if you want someone to go away, suggesting politely that they are in the way won't work, and they are more likely to stay firmly in your way than move out of it. But telling them to F*ck off in a loud uncompromising manner will work more easily, I guarantee. Now, I'm not suggesting that you be like that to everyone, as you'll be mistaken for a rude fucker. This technique is reserved only for times of extreme irritation, and in places where guns and knives aren't commonplace. Point is though, I'm saying that our once effective communication lines are being hampered by words and phrases being constantly "outlawed" by people with more moral substance than sense.
Truth is, I love my dirty words as much as the next person does, but slowly they are being bled out of our societies media portrayed face and pretended out of existence by the ignorant sociopaths who control education these days. There are many teenagers who have no idea how to answer the questions on The Weakest Link, let alone the test they do at school, and the way it's changed our use of language is concerning, to say the least. Language changes, of course, and I love it, the English language is apparently the most expanding language in the world and I say let it expand, but don't cancel out the words you think society doesn't need! Very American, to put it mildly. It's amazing how words like disabled, once able to be uttered freely without fear of causing offense is slowly being turned into a swear word, and replaced with "special person", which is equally as offensive as calling someone a coon to my mind. There are numerous more examples of it, but I don't want to drone on for too long. Suffice to say, you can probably think of a few yourself!
The biggest problem it's causing though, is that swearing is now a form of humour ! It's not big, and it's not clever, and although I love etymology, swear words in particular, I'm not amused. What was once an expressive tool for anger, irony etc has become a controvertial non-issue that makes people ashamed of the words they heard as they wre growing up.
Le Monsieur
Friday, 24 July 2009
God Is A Blogger.
As with most things, it stared with a thought. The now cliched light bulb flashed above my noggin and suddenly I was illuminated. So, I logged into my Blogger account, clicked on the the button marked 'Create a Blog', and attempted to get the following URL:
godisablogger.blogspot.com/
You're probably thinking that I've lost my mind, aren't you? I wouldn't blame you, to be honest. Such URL's are generally the property of heretics with natural skull caps and toe nails as yellow as the sun. But, worry ye not faithful readers. For, if it is the case that I am insane, my sanity has long been in question. I am in no doubt that I am not *normal* in a normal sense. See, there are somethings that man, or indeed, a person, has to do in order to make life a more enjoyable experience. And, just as some people crave to have in their possession that special bag or license plate, I wanted that URL desperately. Readers, i actually craved to possess a URL. Think about that fact for a second. Isn't it cool?!
Why, you ask yourself, would I want such a URL so desperately, ravenously even. the answer, my friends, is not because it's blowing in the blogosphere, but because it's a cool name for a blog. And, in the blog world, a name matters a lot. Just like a designer name, or even a brand. And, call me mad, but god is a blogger is bound to be an attention grabber. And,whilst I'll unfortunately never know how much of grabber it is, as it wasn't available, I can still bask in it's glory. because. there is definite coolness about that name. You could argue that it was a little big headed of me to actually consider wanting it that much in the first place. To that opinion I say this: Maybe it is but does that make it bad? We all want something, after all. Be it money, sex, power or even a URL.
But just because we get it doesn't make us totally happy. Unfortunately, I didn't.
What's next on my list?
Mnsr Seba.
godisablogger.blogspot.com/
You're probably thinking that I've lost my mind, aren't you? I wouldn't blame you, to be honest. Such URL's are generally the property of heretics with natural skull caps and toe nails as yellow as the sun. But, worry ye not faithful readers. For, if it is the case that I am insane, my sanity has long been in question. I am in no doubt that I am not *normal* in a normal sense. See, there are somethings that man, or indeed, a person, has to do in order to make life a more enjoyable experience. And, just as some people crave to have in their possession that special bag or license plate, I wanted that URL desperately. Readers, i actually craved to possess a URL. Think about that fact for a second. Isn't it cool?!
Why, you ask yourself, would I want such a URL so desperately, ravenously even. the answer, my friends, is not because it's blowing in the blogosphere, but because it's a cool name for a blog. And, in the blog world, a name matters a lot. Just like a designer name, or even a brand. And, call me mad, but god is a blogger is bound to be an attention grabber. And,whilst I'll unfortunately never know how much of grabber it is, as it wasn't available, I can still bask in it's glory. because. there is definite coolness about that name. You could argue that it was a little big headed of me to actually consider wanting it that much in the first place. To that opinion I say this: Maybe it is but does that make it bad? We all want something, after all. Be it money, sex, power or even a URL.
But just because we get it doesn't make us totally happy. Unfortunately, I didn't.
What's next on my list?
Mnsr Seba.
Sunday, 19 July 2009
VITAL ORGANS AND SUNNY DAYS.
Never having been one to boast, but as days off go, this has been a pretty good one!
You know how you can hear it raining when you wake up and it just instantly makes one of those pre-emotive onomatopoeic moments? Well, it was one of them for me. My son, for once waking up after me, remained the same juice demanding, Dora watching tyrant he always is at nine am, but I felt somehow unable to wake up at all, and had a nuclear bomb strength coffee to edge my existence into more clearer territory than it previously had been.
Now that I could see clearly out of one eye, I considered myself in a fit enough state to look in the mirror, not something I do often actually for some reason, and check that my face is still there. What with the spate of burglaries recently, you never know what will go missing. One of these days, I'll learn to lose my Scouseland paranoia , seemingly a genetic imprint from every Liverpool jibe you hear as a child. It's not just non-Liverpudlians who hide their items in Liverpool, it's the Liverpool people too. Out of good sense and a general feeling of wanting to remain personally intact when I return from a day out.
It shouldn't be an issue, after all this is not a Russian back street "medical centre" where you go in a for a health check and leave minus several vital organs. My neighborhood is blessed with so many blue rinse persons and rusting lamp posts that this is the last place anyone would want to steal body parts. My coffee did help rid those thoughts from my head and I eventually enjoyed a lovely day in the park with my son, jumping in very muddy puddles, eating cinnamon rolls, and being generally very childish.
Point being? Well, just that life is god when it seems so mundane and bizarre. I thoroughly recommend everyone to do absolutely everything of a random, fun nature with their kids on a Sunday.
Fun.
Mnsr Seba
You know how you can hear it raining when you wake up and it just instantly makes one of those pre-emotive onomatopoeic moments? Well, it was one of them for me. My son, for once waking up after me, remained the same juice demanding, Dora watching tyrant he always is at nine am, but I felt somehow unable to wake up at all, and had a nuclear bomb strength coffee to edge my existence into more clearer territory than it previously had been.
Now that I could see clearly out of one eye, I considered myself in a fit enough state to look in the mirror, not something I do often actually for some reason, and check that my face is still there. What with the spate of burglaries recently, you never know what will go missing. One of these days, I'll learn to lose my Scouseland paranoia , seemingly a genetic imprint from every Liverpool jibe you hear as a child. It's not just non-Liverpudlians who hide their items in Liverpool, it's the Liverpool people too. Out of good sense and a general feeling of wanting to remain personally intact when I return from a day out.
It shouldn't be an issue, after all this is not a Russian back street "medical centre" where you go in a for a health check and leave minus several vital organs. My neighborhood is blessed with so many blue rinse persons and rusting lamp posts that this is the last place anyone would want to steal body parts. My coffee did help rid those thoughts from my head and I eventually enjoyed a lovely day in the park with my son, jumping in very muddy puddles, eating cinnamon rolls, and being generally very childish.
Point being? Well, just that life is god when it seems so mundane and bizarre. I thoroughly recommend everyone to do absolutely everything of a random, fun nature with their kids on a Sunday.
Fun.
Mnsr Seba
Thursday, 16 July 2009
LIVE REVIEW: HERE WE GO MAGIC AT KOROVA -- THE WRITERS CUT.
It started quietly, with a comment that changed the whole mood of the show instantly for the better.
“Can we get the lights turned down please? This music is meant to be heard in the dark…”
This simple beginning was followed by one of the most accomplished shows I’ve seen in a while, with all five members of the band playing a vital part of the sound. Despite the relative brevity of the set, all the members of the band had their own little moment, be it instrumental, visual or conversational. Interestingly, there was very little actual conversation with the audience save for the odd one liner between songs and the admittedly over excited drummer, (name), and his constant questioning of the audience about the nightlife in Liverpool. (Best line of the night was his “Hey guys, we’re going out after the show, anywhere good?” and the audience just showed him their beers!)
Although this was their first time in Liverpool, in front of the usual loud crowd of the Liverpool scene, the very first chord from Luke’s guitar silenced the crowd and started the show with a flare not unnoticed by everyone there who were watching every note, every second the whole show long. And, what a show it was, showcasing the definite indie leanings of the band and also the big sound they bring with them. The double guitar sound had an even bigger effect in the more, as was noted by the band themselves, intimate conditions of the stage. Although, (as observed before in a previous review from this venue), the acoustics at Korova can be incredibly bad on occasion, which does mar an otherwise expertly done show, which probably lead to the singer himself looking a little perplexed on occasion and requesting a sound adjustment more than once during the gig.
But, that aside, it was a good show with thrills a plenty. There is indeed plenty to recommend the sceptic, most notably the manic variety in the songs which range from quieter acoustic numbers to loud rock riffs to ambient instrumental type intros that thrill more under whelm with this band. The band also looked totally committed to the music they were playing, which is relatively rare to see these days. Even watching them set up their instruments, it showed more than any band I’ve ever seen just how much they were feeling the music. And if they were feeling it, the crowd were definitely following their vibe. Nods and smiles abounded, and even the unintentionally annoying couple in front of me, drunk on whatever it was they were drinking, got forgiven their sins of blocking the view somewhat.
Needless to say, fans were made with songs as great as Tunnelvision or I Just Want To See You sending people to the merchandise table soon after the show had finished. In short a band to see live before you die.
Mnsr Seba
Sunday, 5 July 2009
HEAVEN IS A RAIN SHOWER.
Sometimes one just needs to get wet.
A shower is not enough when sweat is making up more than 100 percent of your body. Today I felt I was festering away in ill gotten high temperatures whilst people in the developed world freeze their asses off, and I doubt that was even a correct assertion in the least. Truth is, I hate sweating like a pig on steroids. And I hate having having no fan in my apartment, which isn't really something I can't be blamed for, I think. So when the heavens opened on me today I almost shouted, cheered and rolled about like a maniac on speed and Red Bull prescriptions.
Personally, I love the rain like I love a hot shower. The one thing I would thank the Lord for if I was even remotely religious would be the fact it rains. Rain makes me feel comfortable beyond belief. It's cool atmosphere makes it a thing of beauty to my mind and if it rained everyday, as it does during Rainy Season in Japan to my delight and others chagrin, I wouldn't complain too much. Let me clarify that getting wet is something that I enjoy from a rain perspective, and there is no better smell than fresh rain to make one nostalgic for things past. When you're from the UK rain is something that forms an essential part of life and you're prepared for it every time you even suspect there may be a drop of it due. We're not as doggedly rigid as the Japanese, for whom the slightest mention that there's going to be rain induces the whole of Tokyo - and I mean every person in Tokyo here - to carry an umbrella, but we're close enough! I bet you anyone reading this of a British nature can identify ten places to shelter instantly anywhere they go! I know I can, that's life in the grim North-West. (The same goes for shoot outs too!)
But the very fact that it even rained today has improved my temper immeasurably and that's the best thing about this gloomy and miserable and forlorn and downright Dickensian weather we're having down here in Seba World today! Hopefully floods of a Biblical nature will ensue soon and I can really chill out!
Mnsr Seba
A shower is not enough when sweat is making up more than 100 percent of your body. Today I felt I was festering away in ill gotten high temperatures whilst people in the developed world freeze their asses off, and I doubt that was even a correct assertion in the least. Truth is, I hate sweating like a pig on steroids. And I hate having having no fan in my apartment, which isn't really something I can't be blamed for, I think. So when the heavens opened on me today I almost shouted, cheered and rolled about like a maniac on speed and Red Bull prescriptions.
Personally, I love the rain like I love a hot shower. The one thing I would thank the Lord for if I was even remotely religious would be the fact it rains. Rain makes me feel comfortable beyond belief. It's cool atmosphere makes it a thing of beauty to my mind and if it rained everyday, as it does during Rainy Season in Japan to my delight and others chagrin, I wouldn't complain too much. Let me clarify that getting wet is something that I enjoy from a rain perspective, and there is no better smell than fresh rain to make one nostalgic for things past. When you're from the UK rain is something that forms an essential part of life and you're prepared for it every time you even suspect there may be a drop of it due. We're not as doggedly rigid as the Japanese, for whom the slightest mention that there's going to be rain induces the whole of Tokyo - and I mean every person in Tokyo here - to carry an umbrella, but we're close enough! I bet you anyone reading this of a British nature can identify ten places to shelter instantly anywhere they go! I know I can, that's life in the grim North-West. (The same goes for shoot outs too!)
But the very fact that it even rained today has improved my temper immeasurably and that's the best thing about this gloomy and miserable and forlorn and downright Dickensian weather we're having down here in Seba World today! Hopefully floods of a Biblical nature will ensue soon and I can really chill out!
Mnsr Seba
Thursday, 25 June 2009
TRIBUTE: THE KING IS DEAD.
The first Michael Jackson video I saw. Let's remember The King for the music he blessed us all with forever rather than the tabloid rumours.
Mnsr Seba
Watch Michael Jackson: Thriller in Entertainment | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com
Mnsr Seba
Watch Michael Jackson: Thriller in Entertainment | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
AM I SERIOUS?
If honesty was my policy, I'd have no-one to talk to.
Even the speaking clock would hang up on me. (It did once, clunt!) This begs the question of what exactly I'm supposed to know if the time isn't for my subversive waxy ears? Truth is, I don't give a fuck. Anything that I want to know can be found on the Internet! I might just go on Twitter and send random people messages calling them tw*ts for getting me pregnant and arrange a meet up to see how many people bring knitting needles and anaesthetic with them "just in case". On second thoughts, I won't. Reason being that I have no womb and I also have no Twitter account either. I hate social stuff, to be honest.
The only people I get on with are freaks, goths, drug dealers and whores who I don't want to get involved with for very good reasons. For those who know me, hold back the fist and give to the relevant part of your anatomy tonight instead to celebrate peace. Don't believe the church, there's nothing wrong with a euphemistic fight with yourself as long - and here's the important part - as long as you're thinking about God! Which explains why a Christian society places billboards featuring naked women on almost every corner. God is in fact a lingerie model/porn star/fantasy shag. People, I think I have seen the light. Butler, bring me the latest Playboy!
But, those of you who know of me personally and/or read my blog on regular occasions will know that there is a word for what I'm doing now. And, no, it's not "illegal". The word is in fact "digressing". The point I have been trying to make in a rather vague and caffeine-induced manner is that my humour is apparently very sharp. It can and will stab you in a split second so much that you won't notice at all until you're rolling around on the ground like a euphoric maniac. Which means that I love you. If you laugh I love you. I want you in my life forever and I want your babies....to laugh at me too. Exert some parental influence get them on my side so I can stage a political coup when my humour dies. Rest assured that those unpersuaded by my humour will be defiled by ex-Presidents of the USA in Hell!
Am I joking? Well, try it and find out, then you'll know just how funny I am. Would you laugh at a big Kiss tongue emitting laughter with no visible means of doing so?
Mnsr Seba.
Even the speaking clock would hang up on me. (It did once, clunt!) This begs the question of what exactly I'm supposed to know if the time isn't for my subversive waxy ears? Truth is, I don't give a fuck. Anything that I want to know can be found on the Internet! I might just go on Twitter and send random people messages calling them tw*ts for getting me pregnant and arrange a meet up to see how many people bring knitting needles and anaesthetic with them "just in case". On second thoughts, I won't. Reason being that I have no womb and I also have no Twitter account either. I hate social stuff, to be honest.
The only people I get on with are freaks, goths, drug dealers and whores who I don't want to get involved with for very good reasons. For those who know me, hold back the fist and give to the relevant part of your anatomy tonight instead to celebrate peace. Don't believe the church, there's nothing wrong with a euphemistic fight with yourself as long - and here's the important part - as long as you're thinking about God! Which explains why a Christian society places billboards featuring naked women on almost every corner. God is in fact a lingerie model/porn star/fantasy shag. People, I think I have seen the light. Butler, bring me the latest Playboy!
But, those of you who know of me personally and/or read my blog on regular occasions will know that there is a word for what I'm doing now. And, no, it's not "illegal". The word is in fact "digressing". The point I have been trying to make in a rather vague and caffeine-induced manner is that my humour is apparently very sharp. It can and will stab you in a split second so much that you won't notice at all until you're rolling around on the ground like a euphoric maniac. Which means that I love you. If you laugh I love you. I want you in my life forever and I want your babies....to laugh at me too. Exert some parental influence get them on my side so I can stage a political coup when my humour dies. Rest assured that those unpersuaded by my humour will be defiled by ex-Presidents of the USA in Hell!
Am I joking? Well, try it and find out, then you'll know just how funny I am. Would you laugh at a big Kiss tongue emitting laughter with no visible means of doing so?
Mnsr Seba.
Saturday, 16 May 2009
MR POSTMAN, I HATE YOU...
Readers, do you look forward to your post? I absolutely look forward to my mail hitting the door mat everyday and, despite the obligatory bills and junk mail I do still enjoy the surprise aspect of wondering who, or what, has decided to contact me today.
However, I have to draw a big fat line at receiving the trash that came through my letterbox yesterday. The person who decided that it would be a good idea to slip the racist rantings of the British National Party into my post box deserves to be sent to live in North Korea for a while and really experience racism for what it is. Personally speaking, I hate racist fuckers like the BNP. The sad thing is that there are people across the country who actually think that by voting for the BNP they'll actually get something. It's all very well to go around spouting bullshit like "British Jobs for British People" but you have to look further than a pamphlet designed to soften the image of a party of proven thugs. Firstly, by voting BNP you are throwing away any freedom, admittedly not much these days, that you enjoy. Why? If they can exclude the so called "foreigners" from the pleasures of normal life, they can exclude anyone. Think about how Nazi Germany came about, and you'll see that voting BNP is a seriously bad idea.
And as for the pamphlet itself, it frankly made me sick to touch it. If it weren't for the fact it had journalistic interest, I'd have torn it up and tossed it in the nearest bin to rot. The pictures of so called "ordinary people" who give the reasons they're going to vote BNP are embarrassing to say the least, and the models they used -for I hope that's all they are- should be ashamed of themselves for even allowing their faces to be seen on such trash! I don't disagree that there are a multitude of issues that need sorting out but , again, the BNP are not the answer to any of them. And as for the pledge that all MEP's of the BNP will give ten percent of their salaries away to help local communities celebrate St Georges Day, why? Wouldn't it be better to give ten percent of their salaries to more worthy causes than an event that has almost bearing on our culture in these modern times? Personally speaking, I'd rather suck a cyanide lozenge than celebrate such a blatantly exclusionist event.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not against standing up for your heritage or celebrating your culture. I just think there are better ways of doing it than voting for the British National Party, waving odd out dated flags around and sitting around being house proud. Being British in the modern sense is about non-exclusionist behaviour and openess to others. We all have open minds, refrain from espousing uneducated racist opinions that only cause others to think us stupid and bigoted and ultimately take people as we find them. So, why should we not vote BNP? Because We've Earned the Right! That, by the way is the campaign catchphrase of this bunch of no hopers, and it's highly ironic that it should be so easily used against them.
Remember, BNP equals racist idiot thugs with no grasp of culture or tact.
Mnsr Seba
However, I have to draw a big fat line at receiving the trash that came through my letterbox yesterday. The person who decided that it would be a good idea to slip the racist rantings of the British National Party into my post box deserves to be sent to live in North Korea for a while and really experience racism for what it is. Personally speaking, I hate racist fuckers like the BNP. The sad thing is that there are people across the country who actually think that by voting for the BNP they'll actually get something. It's all very well to go around spouting bullshit like "British Jobs for British People" but you have to look further than a pamphlet designed to soften the image of a party of proven thugs. Firstly, by voting BNP you are throwing away any freedom, admittedly not much these days, that you enjoy. Why? If they can exclude the so called "foreigners" from the pleasures of normal life, they can exclude anyone. Think about how Nazi Germany came about, and you'll see that voting BNP is a seriously bad idea.
And as for the pamphlet itself, it frankly made me sick to touch it. If it weren't for the fact it had journalistic interest, I'd have torn it up and tossed it in the nearest bin to rot. The pictures of so called "ordinary people" who give the reasons they're going to vote BNP are embarrassing to say the least, and the models they used -for I hope that's all they are- should be ashamed of themselves for even allowing their faces to be seen on such trash! I don't disagree that there are a multitude of issues that need sorting out but , again, the BNP are not the answer to any of them. And as for the pledge that all MEP's of the BNP will give ten percent of their salaries away to help local communities celebrate St Georges Day, why? Wouldn't it be better to give ten percent of their salaries to more worthy causes than an event that has almost bearing on our culture in these modern times? Personally speaking, I'd rather suck a cyanide lozenge than celebrate such a blatantly exclusionist event.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not against standing up for your heritage or celebrating your culture. I just think there are better ways of doing it than voting for the British National Party, waving odd out dated flags around and sitting around being house proud. Being British in the modern sense is about non-exclusionist behaviour and openess to others. We all have open minds, refrain from espousing uneducated racist opinions that only cause others to think us stupid and bigoted and ultimately take people as we find them. So, why should we not vote BNP? Because We've Earned the Right! That, by the way is the campaign catchphrase of this bunch of no hopers, and it's highly ironic that it should be so easily used against them.
Remember, BNP equals racist idiot thugs with no grasp of culture or tact.
Mnsr Seba
Sunday, 26 April 2009
HYPOCRISY IN THE EXTREME.
Readers, are you angry? Personally, I think we should all be angry. Extremely angry!
So door smashingly angry that our fists bleed in unison after the deed is done! I'm not just talking about being angry for fun, or smashing things up so we can get compromised by a sexy pig, erm, policeman. (G2o riot squad excluded, of course) I'm talking about the shockingly offensive waste of paper that was inside my newspaper today. The newspaper was the Sunday Times, and the offending item was the porn like Rich List, which was mildly fascinating last year, but just an offensive kiss off to the jobless and debt ridden this year. To be honest, I don't need shit like this in my house. I've already banned The Sun, News Of the World, and most of the tabloid papers, I don't want to ban The Times. For sheer value for money, entertainment and dubious politics, The Times is worth it's place on my lounge table. But The Rich List is just plain insulting to my mind. If I was a single parent, working all the hours that this so called God sends, (I'm not religious,you might have guessed!), just to pay the bills and have somewhere to live, I'd doubtless be even more offended. This elitist tradition is nothing more than printed masturbation for the sake of glorifying the rich. And, I have no problem with people being rich, the majority of people on the list have worked hard to get where they are and should rightfully enjoy their wealth, in their place I'd do the exact same thing, if I'm being honest. The only part of it that annoys me is that there are people out there who will take this completely the wrong way.
Until a few years ago, when I knew no better, I used to look forward to The Sunday Times Rich List like it was the hottest sex ever had by anyone. It was genuinely thrilling to read the figures and find out who was the richest person, the fucker! Now, it just passes over my head. I am still vaguely interested, and the thrill is indeed a very voyeuristic one, but I don't enjoy it. In fact, I felt sick to the stomach when I looked at the front page once I'd got home. If I'd wanted porn, I'd have gone to Abby Winters. Right now, this is the equivalent to having sex with a horse. Maybe next year The Sunday Times will think better than to insult the many millions with no money to speak of with this crass publication.
Of course, it may provide some comfort to many to many to know that most of these millionaires lost a lot of money. It may also motivate them to get back on their feet and aim for their own entry in a few years time. If it does, great! I'm all for self motivation, but in this year of toning things down, they should at least have not plastered it all over the front page for all to sign over.
To quote someone, 'nuff said.
Mnsr Seba
So door smashingly angry that our fists bleed in unison after the deed is done! I'm not just talking about being angry for fun, or smashing things up so we can get compromised by a sexy pig, erm, policeman. (G2o riot squad excluded, of course) I'm talking about the shockingly offensive waste of paper that was inside my newspaper today. The newspaper was the Sunday Times, and the offending item was the porn like Rich List, which was mildly fascinating last year, but just an offensive kiss off to the jobless and debt ridden this year. To be honest, I don't need shit like this in my house. I've already banned The Sun, News Of the World, and most of the tabloid papers, I don't want to ban The Times. For sheer value for money, entertainment and dubious politics, The Times is worth it's place on my lounge table. But The Rich List is just plain insulting to my mind. If I was a single parent, working all the hours that this so called God sends, (I'm not religious,you might have guessed!), just to pay the bills and have somewhere to live, I'd doubtless be even more offended. This elitist tradition is nothing more than printed masturbation for the sake of glorifying the rich. And, I have no problem with people being rich, the majority of people on the list have worked hard to get where they are and should rightfully enjoy their wealth, in their place I'd do the exact same thing, if I'm being honest. The only part of it that annoys me is that there are people out there who will take this completely the wrong way.
Until a few years ago, when I knew no better, I used to look forward to The Sunday Times Rich List like it was the hottest sex ever had by anyone. It was genuinely thrilling to read the figures and find out who was the richest person, the fucker! Now, it just passes over my head. I am still vaguely interested, and the thrill is indeed a very voyeuristic one, but I don't enjoy it. In fact, I felt sick to the stomach when I looked at the front page once I'd got home. If I'd wanted porn, I'd have gone to Abby Winters. Right now, this is the equivalent to having sex with a horse. Maybe next year The Sunday Times will think better than to insult the many millions with no money to speak of with this crass publication.
Of course, it may provide some comfort to many to many to know that most of these millionaires lost a lot of money. It may also motivate them to get back on their feet and aim for their own entry in a few years time. If it does, great! I'm all for self motivation, but in this year of toning things down, they should at least have not plastered it all over the front page for all to sign over.
To quote someone, 'nuff said.
Mnsr Seba
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