Today, I am ashamed to be British

To paraphrase the words of Derek Smalls, bass guitarist with legendary rock band Spinal Tap, 'playing music makes you feel like a preserved moose'. I'm sure we all know how he feels. One old moose whose career is particularly in need of preservation is Micheal Jackson, the world's second favourite alleged* child-molester. (The first is of course Ronald McDonald - there's something undeniably seedy about a grown man in a clown suit choosing to spend that amount of time being chased by children).

Anyway, Jackson's new compilation album only managed to sell 8,000 copies in the USA. Well done America. However, I am mortified to report that in the UK the same album went straight to number 2. On behalf of my nation, I can only apologise to the American people for not doing enough to curb this menace.

* On the advice of my lawyers, I must draw particular attention to the word 'alleged'.

The future's bright, the future's a chain-link cage

The New York Times today carries an article on the increasing popularity of Cage Fighting, in which two thugs hack at each other for as long as it takes for one of them either to come to his senses, or to lose all sensibility whatsoever. In the UK, we had a similar sport that was popular during the 80s, except that it was carried out on a large rectangular piece of turf with goal-posts at each end, rather than in a cage. Remnants of this sport still exist, e.g. Millwall, Sheffield Utd, but apart from the odd international fixture the fire seems to have gone out.

I think by not embracing cage fighting in the UK, we're missing out on a fantastic opportunity. Saturday night in a provincial British town is a terrifying experience for anyone not familiar with Beirut*. I think back to my last evening out in Reading. I grew up in a fairly rough seaside town, the holiday destination of choice for people who find the high-falutin glitz and glamour of Blackpool a bit pretentious**, but even I was impressed. From my vantage point in the bus shelter, I could see skinny, spotty teenage lads in Ben Sherman shirts vomiting copiously in the gutter. Similarly attired but rather larger males squared up against each other and against the enormous, psychotic doormen stood outside almost every entrance in this part of town. The violence I could handle, but what was on offer from the two cackling harridans in short skirts staggering towards me, kebab in hand, I was not tempted to risk. About a dozen police officers were parked just around the corner, cowering from this Dante-esque scene in an armoured minibus. On reflection, what is most shocking about this is that it wasn't shocking to me at all - it was just another Saturday night.

Now imagine if this uncontrolled violence were to be channeled in some way. Bedeck the Majedski Stadium in Burberry colours***, stick an octagonal cage in the middle, and off you go. 'Ladies and Gentleman' (note the irony), 'Thames Valley Police Constabulary, in conjunction with Yates' Wine Lodge and Carlsberg Special Brew, is proud to present...' No more CCTVs in our town centres, no more running street battles. Those who want to fight may, for the entertainment and erudition of their peers (any crowd trouble would be easily dealt with by a gentle tap on the shoulder, and a quiet reminder that there's still plenty of room in the schedule for one more cage combatant). The inevitable injuries could be dealt with on site, instead of cluttering up the local casualty ward****. And of course, to the victors the spoils - an evening of passion with their pick of the enormous thighed, short-skirted harpies in the audience.

There's a fortune to be made here - gate fees, savings in police and ambulence service budgets, sponsorship, foreign TV rights, the list goes on. It's the future I tell you. Oh, I'm sure the bleeding-heart liberals will bemoan the inhumanity of it all, but to them I say this. Go and visit your local hospital at midnight this Saturday, and then tell me about inhumanity.


Notes for my American audience
* I'm talking about the real British Night Out, not most tourist's view of nightlife UK-style i.e. a couple of pints of London Pride in Piccadilly and then being chatted up in Equinox by an Australian barman.
**Blackpool is a holiday resort in the north-west of England, who's most notable cultural contribution is the 'illuminations', an endless parade of gaudy, tasteless lightbulbs illuminating streets desolated by discarded burger wrappers and used condoms. I've never been to Tijuana, but I would imagine that there are distinct similarities.
*** Beige Burberry plaid is the official badge of mindless British violence
**** Casualty = Emergency Room

Bored in Boston

In light of today's announcement by the IRA that after 30 years of violence they are finally ending their armed struggle, many observers are asking what that means for the future of loyalist paramilitary groups. Me, I think the burning question is what wealthy Irish-American businessmen are going to spend their money on now.

I would suggest as a start that they could spend their spare cash on visiting the locations of this 'glorious struggle', for example West Belfast and Londonderry. Maybe they could promote local investment to help combat the crippling poverty that pervades these areas? But I don't suppose that's as much fun as helping to finance the murder of 1,800 Irish civilians and British soldiers.

Alternatively, they could always filter some money to those 'freedom fighters' in Al-Quaeda, just for kicks.

Chivalry still alive in Colorado

This heartwarming tale of love from the Daily Camera ('Boulder County's newspaper') I dedicate to Rob and Gill, whose wedding on Saturday I am unable to attend due to an unfortunate case of geography.

Nederland man David Gordon, or "Barstool Dave" as he is more commonly known (for reasons unexplained), is appealing against his conviction for the murder of his partner in 1988. On returning home he found his lover, Angela Foulks, in some discomfort having failed to commit suicide by shooting herself in the ear. In order to end her suffering, Barstool Dave finished the job off. As a stranger to the joys of matrimony, I can only speculate as to the deep love that a man must have for his woman in order to shoot her 3 times, in the face, at point blank range.

Rob, Gill, best of luck on Saturday, and I hope the gift of his'n'hers matching Webleys arrives on time. If nothing else, they'll be useful for keeping the bloody starlings from crapping on your car.

It's all in the presentation

In all the excitement of bomb-scares and Brazilian-slaughtering, this one almost slipped through the cracks (credit to Harry Hutton). Apparently, in the eight years since becoming Prime Minister, Tony Blair has spent GBP1800 of public money on make-up artists and beauty products. This doesn't bother me at all, since a) I think that it's important that our leaders are really, really good looking, and b) I very rarely pay my taxes anyway.

I don't know how much Cherie Blair spends on slap, but clearly it will never be enough. The woman simply cannot compete with the poised magnificence and simmering passion of Condoleezza Rice.

Condoleezza - fell down from heaven

Cherie - fell down from the ugly tree

By the time the film restarted, all hope had disappeared

It has become my firm belief that, as a stranger in this land, it is absolutely vital to watch television in order to understand mainstream values of my new home. Not because the programmes are particularly good, you understand, but because of the commercial breaks (of which there are many). The average commercial break shows the full span of a wholesome, American life - from teenage years whining about cell phone coverage, through dating services to find the perfect partner, onto suburban parental bliss as the proud owner of a SUV and life insurance policy, and finally incontinence pants and Viagra. The American Dream in two minutes.

I have just seen an advert for a charity that makes makes wishes come true for children with physical disabilities. Jim'll Fix It for the sickly. One teenager who suffers from cystic fibrosis tells of how this charity made her dream come true. What was this wildest dream, this deepest wish, this spiritual zenith of a young and troubled life? A day trip to a shopping mall. I found her choice of ultimate ambition depressing in the same way that I find millionaire lottery-winning pensioners who opt to stay in their dingy Medway bungalow depressing.

I was well into the scotch by the time the film restarted.

Bossanova Bullshit

Despite independent data indicating that it is one of the most successful campaigns worldwide, the US has decided to withdraw $40 million from Brazil's AIDS program (that's about $0.22/Brazil capita). This is because the Brazilian government has failed to officially condemn prostitution.

Meanwhile, under the Ryan White Act, the State of Nevada receives $13 million (approximately $6/Nevada capita) of federal funding for AIDS programs. In Nevada, of course, prostitution is legal and licensed by the state.

I believe that further comment is unnecessary.

Science question

How many Volts does it take to make a bull orgasm?

This question has been on my mind for some weeks now, ever since I had a conversation over a few beers with a Denver veterinary student. Disappointingly, she doesn't spend much time with her arm up a cow's backside, so unfortunately there were no amusing anecdotes about lost wristwatches. What she does do, however, is make bulls ejaculate - it seems that good quality cattle semen is highly prized here in Colorado. I'm afraid I don't know the current going rate for a bucket of fresh Charolais spunk, so you'll have to find out on Google or something, assuming your firewall doesn't get offended.

Rather than employing a 'hands on' approach, as far as I can tell a system of scrotal electrodes is used (what I've come to call the Robo-bitch). What I'm keen to know is how many volts are blasted through a bull's gonads? Are some breeds more (re)productive than others? Is a higher current required to get older clients in the mood, or do you just slip them a Viagra and wait for half an hour?

If anyone out there can answer these questions I'd be enormously grateful. (I'm also mildly curious to know why anyone would go to University for four years to become a cattle-fluffer).

Bone idle Jihadis

From the BBC 'A man shot dead by police hunting the bombers behind Thursday's London attacks was unconnected to the incidents, police have confirmed'. It looks to me like a lame attempt to get into Paradise and take possesion of a 72 year old virgin without doing any actual Jihading. Apparently, some people think it's enough just to put on a bulky coat and run away from our brave lads in the Met, without even trying to slaughter some infidels. Why, the man in question may not even have been a Muslim! In His greatness and omnipotence, I don't really believe that Allah is going to be fooled by this pathetic attempt at jumping the queue.

On a more general note, I think this crackdown on deviant behaviour on the Tube is long overdue. Clearly, I have the deepest respect for human life, but I don't think that anyone who has ever lived in London can honestly say that they haven't, at some point, found comfort in the thought of brutally dismembering the arrogant buffoon stood in the middle of the exit barking into his mobile phone. I realise this may not be a mainstream view - or is it? Enter my anonymous Tube-justice poll below, and we'll see what the public really thinks.

Keep an eye on your Dong

SE Asia analysts are increasingly concerned at the state of the Vietnamese Dong. Although stable at the moment, the combination of low interest rates and the trade deficit is causing an inflated Dong, which may result in eventual devaluation. It's hoped that outside interest could help to sustain a robust Dong. But then there's always the risk, as in the '90s, that if the markets get over-excited the whole thing could just blow, leaving a terrible mess over a lot of portfolios.

If that happens, any investors caught with their pants down whilst still holding their Dong are going to find it very difficult to be taken seriously.

Frightening Lightning

According the the US National Weather Service, the long term effects of being struck by lightning include impaired short-term memory, distractedness, irritability, self-isolation, suicidal tendencies, disturbed sleep patterns and intense fatigue, with victims becoming exhausted after just a few hours of work.

That sounds just like any normal day for me.

Don't panic Mr Rumsfeld!

Apparently, a good proportion of the peacekeeping forces in Darfur are from Rwanda. It's a novel approach I suppose, and certainly nobody could question the Rwandan military's experience in dealing with the brutal massacre of unarmed civilians. I just can't help feeling that although wiping the entire population of an area would indeed be an effective way of restoring the peace, it's probably not what those bleeding-heart liberals at the UN had in mind.

On the subject of novel military approaches, the Pentagon is considering raising the recruitment age to 42 (about that same age that most regular British soldiers are pensioned off). It's claimed that the older recruit's extra experience and education are worth the extra drain on supplies of Preparation-H, Steradent etc. The New York Times cites the case of a 40 year old IT manager with no military experience complaining that he's being denied the chance to use his skills in the service of America. Quite how advising some murderous Tikriti activist that he needs to take his issues 'offline' or 'think outside the box' is likely to diffuse the situation is unclear, but since nothing else seems to be working over there what the hell.

If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the OAP-Team

Tighter than an owl's chuff

So J.K. Rowling is bleating that Indian 'pirates' are mildly reducing her royalties from Harry Potter and the Contractual Obligation. Frankly, my sympathies are limited - the cacky fingered old bint already has a ton of cash, surely she can spare a bit for a couple of piss-poor Bombay chancers. No doubt soon she'll be up there with Bono, Geldof and all the other billionaires telling us what we need to do solve world poverty. How about digging in their own pockets for a couple of hundred thousand in loose change?

The whole bandwagon is bollocks anyway. I totally refute the notion that Harry Potter is good for kids because they're encouraged to read. There's nothing more likely to further emasculate an entire generation than the notion that some speccy twat who spends far too much time playing with his 'wand' could ever be a hero. We had a name for kids like that at school, and it certainly wasn't 'wizard'.

As for the unfortunate phenomenon of adults reading all about Harry's adolescent adventures, don't get me started. What's next? Conkers on the Tube and marbles in the Boardroom? I ask you.

For all you culture vultures

Rehearsals continue apace for the Bolivian National Ballet's production of Swan Lake, despite last week's setbacks when their prima ballerina, Nora Ignacio, was carried off by a condor. (For those of you who've not seen Swan Lake, it's like Romeo and Juliet but with feathers and stuff). Personally, my tastes are more Spearmint Rhino than National Ballet, ever since I got thrown out of Covent Garden for shouting 'he's behind you!'. Honestly, some people have no sense of humour.

They're at it again!

Hell's Bells, they're putting the 'fun' back into Fundamentalism yet again in London today. It's about time somebody told these humourless beirdy-weirdys that due to an error in translating the Koran, the actual payment due to a suicide bomber is not 72 virgins, but in fact a 72 year old virgin. Obviously, it's a bit late now to recall those Jihadis that have already been dispatched, but we feel sure that they will enjoy their eternity in Paradise with Aunt Phyllis anyway.

To be honest, my biggest fear is a repeat of the events of two weeks ago, when typical Colorado 'patriots' were stood by the side of the road holding up placards saying 'Today we are all British'. Well for fuck's sake don't tell the asylum seekers!! That's just the sort of wishy-washy liberal approach to immigration that 'Crusher' Blunkett has been warning us about. Next thing you know, some moron in the government will start suggesting that we should all carry identity cards.

There can be only one

No, I'm not still banging on about the US Supreme Court nominations, but the 80s 'cult' film 'Highlander', which in a fit of nostalgia I watched last night. After all, what could be more fun than watching a load of weirdo immortals duking it out with swords whilst wearing ridiculous 80s clothing? Wiping my arse with sandpaper impregnated with Ralgex, that's what.

For those of you lucky enough to have avoided Highlander, a camp Frenchman hammily plays a Scotsman, a Scotsman hammily plays a camp Arab, and rock band Queen just play camp. Unfortunately, the promise that 'there can be only one' proved a hollow one. The film spawned 3 sequels (the imaginatively titled Highlanders 2, 3 and 4) and a tv series. Inexplicably, there is even a Highlander fanclub, which raises serious questions about the state of our mental health care. I urge you all to log on and abuse these deluded people - http://www.highlanderworldwide.com/home.shtml

The moral of the story is beware of nostalgia. The reason why things aren't what they used to be is that things used to be even more crap.

Opening salvo

Here it is, my first ever post. To be honest, there's so much mental incapacity around here that its difficult to know where to begin, so why not start with something current and we'll see where my rage takes me?

After months of speculation about whether 'Big Bad Billy' Renquist would retire before or after he carked it, he was trumped by the resignation of Sandra Day O'Connor. Perhaps she could no longer stand the stench of old man's sweat and stale urine in the Supreme Court - a sort of Fort Lauderdale with gowns and wood panelling. Whatever. The important point is that the lobbying groups swung into action, money no doubt changed hands, and the phrase 'Roe vs Wade' was incessantly cried out by both sides of the political divide like a sacred catechism. The race was on for America's very soul!

'Look what I've found Daddy, a Supreme Court Judge! Can I have ice cream now?''No Georgey, your mother's already told you - no ice cream until you've finished with abortion'

British people are often confused by the US mechanism of government, so I suppose I should at least attempt to explain what the Supreme Court is. It's nine men and women, political appointees all, (and with no maximum term of tenure) lording it over the entire American legal system (and by implication, lording it over the general direction of America's values). Imagine the House of Lords restricted to nine people (all of them lawyers), except actually able to wield meaningful power. Scared? Well the liberals certainly are.

Anyway, I digress. The point is that the President has finally made his choice, and the cover of the New York Times was today bedecked with his customary infantile smirk. 'Look Daddy, I've made a Judge. Can we have ice cream?' In reality of course, he hasn't made a Supreme Court Judge until John G. Roberts has gone through a confirmation process, which probably explains his choice. Roberts is conservative, naturally, but not too conservative, and so far has remained fairly tight-lipped about abortion (although that won't last for long, the shit will start really flying soon). Apparently, he also has an impeccable professional record and is widely respected by colleagues, which just goes to show that not all Republicans are incompetent cretins. As Colin Powell would have said, 'you don't have to be an imbecile to work here, but it helps'. So, it seems likely that America has a replacement for O'Connor, and normal stupidity can be resumed, at least until either decency or decripitude wipes Renquist off the list...