The Sweet Smell Of Failure

Newton's Law Of Reciprocal Actions

States that for every action there is a an equal and opposite reaction. Deliberately misinterpreting this law has lead me to understand that Horne and Corden is neutralised by Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle but what's balancing out Al Murray's Multiple Personality Disorder? Genuine mental illness is funnier.

The Lost Cheque

 

Exclusive to all broadsheets:

 

Is Julie Myerson the cruellest woman in Britain? It would seem so. In an exclusive and shocking interview her son reveals that not only did she take no steps to stop the book to which she owed a duty of care from going bad, she cruelly exploited it’s failings in order to get media attention and boost sales. Jake (20) said “She claims she did all she could and that she took it to a specialist editor in the US but I’ve seen the manuscripts and I don’t believe that’s true. I was so proud when she started to write her first ever story about someone she isn’t related to and it seemed to be going well to begin with, but then she let things spiral out of control and before she knew it she was addicted to cramming it with half-truths about our family life before leaving the poor thing to fend for itself.”

 

All About My Mother

 

Myerson hit back “I had no idea that writing about my family’s woes could get me into any sort of trouble. After all, it’s only happened to me twice before and of course I absolutely refute any claims that I’m an unreliable witness. When I showed the final draft to Jake as he smoked crack round at Pete Doherty’s house, he told me that it was better than Tolstoy and he was very happy for me to publish it two months early so that sales might benefit from the brouhaha in the press. Of course he wanted to go to the tabloids and sell his own version of events but I told him that wouldn’t work, I’d already spoken to Max Clifford about it and he said they don’t know who I am. Apparently these people don’t even watch Newsnight Review!”

 

A Clarification Of Our Stance On Drugs

 

We would like to make it clear that we have always accepted that a little bit of Pot always does/never did anybody any harm (please see/disregard last week’s stories: Skunkin 'Bout My Generation, Reefer Madness and What You Gonna Do With All That Skunk, All That Skunk Inside Yo Trunk?). It’s a deadly game/just a normal part of growing up and it’s liberal parents’ refusal to tackle the issue of Cannabis/draconian adults with their ‘tough love’ that is allowing children to become out of control addicts/demonising ordinary teenagers! [subs, please sort this mess out] We hope this ends any discussion about our confused attitude towards drugs.

 

Inside

 

Page 2-55: Should Julie Myerson Be Burnt At The Stake Or Hung, Drawn And Quartered First?

 

Nowhere: Have We Turned Julie Myerson Into The Broadsheet’s Jade Goody?

QotD: Lenten Sacrifices

Today is the first day of the Season of Lent. Are you giving anything up for the next 40 days?

No! Hah, I bet nobody will have thought of that answer!

 

http://rainman.vox.com/library/post/qotd-lenten-sacrifices.html

http://jimmyscott.vox.com/library/post/qotd-lenten-sacrifices.html

http://rcd.vox.com/library/post/qotd-lenten-sacrifices.html

http://porter000.vox.com/library/post/qotd-lenten-sacrifices.html

http://nita440.vox.com/library/post/qotd-lenten-sacrifices.html

 

*Harrumph* Fine. I'm just going to give up giving things up then!

 

http://jillzey.vox.com/library/post/qotd-lenten-sacrifices.html

http://freespiritbeauty.vox.com/library/post/qotd-lenten-sacrifices.html

 

Fuck you, Vox.

 

 

 

Twatter

I've signed up to an exciting new Social Networking Phenomenon called Twatter. Basically you have a probe inserted into your brain and an assortment of monitoring equipment attached to your body that tracks every thought or physical movement, no matter how minor and then emails the details to everyone you've ever met. It's a bit like having a writer with an extravagant interest in the banal working 24/7 on serialising your life.

Did you know that Stephen Fry has lower lumbar pain that's particularly acute when he sits on the toilet, that Fearne Cotton picked her nose 27 times yesterday or that Phillip Schofield thinks about Jenny Agutter circa 1981 when he has his post This Morning wank? Well I do and it's all thanks to Twatter.

 

 

This post has nothing to do with me being confused and a little frightened by Twitter - like some medieval yeoman confronted with a supercomputer.

Apologies/Reader, I Ate His Brains

Internet campaigns are often the preserve of misguided souls who think that when SOMETHING MUST BE DONE it's time to fire up the ol' PC and start a Facebook group called something like 'God Bless You Baby P You Are With Jesus Now In Heaven'. If it's not them then it's usually tedious oddballs 'just doing it for the lulz' who think that getting their favourite target of undeserved attention yet more undeserved attention is interesting and funny so it's time they started up 'Boxxy is a QTPie Lulz!' With that in mind I'm reluctant to point people in the direction of an internet campaign, particularly one that has no direct and immediate relevance to anyone I know (i.e. me). However, the campaign against section 92A in New Zealand is something that I think deserves support if only because it's not a million miles from discussions that the major record companies have been having with many other governments. It's not the most important protest in the world but it's important enough to take a minute out of your day. Oh and there's also a Facebook group to join, if that's your sort of thing...

 

On a less dull note, we've got Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and now Pride and Predator on the way. Are these the oddest crossovers since Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter?

Run out of Lux

So, farewell then Lux Interior.

 

You were a teenage werewolf

Who asked: how far can too far go?

 

Maybe now you'll get that date with Elvis

And a chance to go to the Zombie Dance.

 

 

Jef Darling (considerably older than E.J.Thribb)

Buttercup Writes

Hi all, I was just thinking about how brilliant Valentines day is and how totally important it is to remind everyone how to celebrate this favourite holiday of mine in the proper way! (rather than other tacky, oiky ways of reminding your loved one how much you love them).
 
This year we're doing things on the cheap (I did say I was skint 6 days ago!) and I hope the boy appreciates the golf lessons he'll be taking on our expensive foreign holiday. If he doesn't then I'll get the maid to throw the gold bracelet he bought me back in his face and cry for three straight weeks. You see if I don't!! (maid will be doing the crying as well, it's so hard on my tender cheeks)  

I have loved Valentines day since 1999. Even the ones spent single where I had to hire a bar and entertain 100 of my closest friends [gosh I'm popular] or buy a house, or go on mini month-long break to Spain with a few (hundred!) of the girls! Remember ladies, Valentines day is all about making you feel perfect. It doesn't have to be about spending lots of money.

2000 or was it 2001? Was especially important to me because I was going out with that bloke who bought me £150 of roses! I know?! I let some of the other girls have a little go at holding them when I did my celebratory lap of the office. They loved it and it served as great reminder that 'EVERYBODY SHOULD LOOK AT HOW PRETTY AND LOVELY I AM!!!' If only I could remember what year it was I went out with this wonderful man and his £1500 roses!! He really was dreamy *sigh* but it could never work out between us, because as Nanny always said "He carried the stench of his class." (*whispers* I think his parents may have bought their own furniture as well but let's not get into that lurid scandal.)

I guess that really what I wanted to say is that Valentine's day is such a lovely time to remind everyone what pretty little Princesses us girlies are and that all those people who complain that acting like a spoilt child-woman and using boastful examples of how much men are willing to spend on me as proof of my own worth is in some way embarrassing are probably just hairy feminists who couldn't get a man to buy them a £15000 bunch of roses!!

Anyone with me?!?!

Wearing a trucker cap

Is like wearing a sign that says "Hey guys! I'm a dick!."* Stop doing it man-at-the-bus-stop, just stop it.

 

There's been another victory in the stupid war for the Sun's Reader Submissions over the BBC's HYS. The following was posted on a non-story about Simon Cowell backing a novelty song written by Russell Brand's warm up man:

"Well you have to be a nonce, an idiot, Ignorant and stupid to be called a "celebrity" or make a CD in Politically correct creeping, stupid, yellow livered Britain. Country is down the pan."

I BLAME GORDON CLOWN!

 

 

*Unless it's actually a trucker wearing one.

Also, detox diets

Do you know what I'm loving right now? Hating, that's what. Not proper, cruel hatred; the sort that plunges nations into war, pits communities against each other and sunders families apart but silly, inapropriate hatred. Petty hatred manages to make you feel powerful and look awesome at the same time. Right? Right? Oh...

Strangely, hate is much like love in that it's impossible to get from the simple h a t and e to the actual emotion without negotiating an already well trodden path. I can't tell you that I hate something in a way that tells you exactly how I  feel; it's too broad a term and too steeped in other people's words. I'd tell you how much I hate that, but what's the use?

Anyway, here's what I'm really hating at the moment:

1) The return of Masterchuff. When was this last on? Can the schedule really stand 4 series of this in a 12 month period? Has it become a seasonal show and this is just Masterchef: Winter Edition? In these difficult economic times are there enough Gastro Pubs to employ all the losing finalists? Why haven't they updated the intro? When will Greg grow a pair and win an argument with John? Come to think of it, why didn't they keep Michel 'Skeletor' Roux Jr?

THERE ARE NO ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS. I HATE YOU MASTERCHEF.

2) My landlord and his girlfriend having obnoxiously loud sex when I'm in the house. If you want everyone to know about it then just go fucking dogging.

3) Slebs in adverts. It's not that I care that Iggy Pop has become a car insurance salesman but I do care about the adverts being so very, very bad. I've only just got over that fucking Ewan McGregor/Davidoff recurring nightmare and then there's Davina talking to her alter ego/'mother' about hair dye and George Clooney flogging a naff coffee machine and Dame Kelly Holmes showing less personality than the cereal she's praising and Dame John Lydon saying "BUTTERRRRR" in his best panto voice and I'm tired of having to wipe the vomit from my mouth everytime Nicole Kidman says "I'm a dancer. I love to dance!". Make it go away.

4) My lower back. Haha very funny, now just work properly you twat.

I need coffee and a better mood

An exchange between two people at work:

"Did you watch that Surviving Gazza last night?"

"No, I can't. That Middle East stuff just depresses me."

I wanted to pitch in something about how Netanyahu became an Israeli hero when he cried at the World Cup but I didn't.