Where the fuck are they now ?

E! is our one stop entertainment information hub that keeps us up to date with the glitzy world of Celebritannia. They take us through harrowing true Hollywood stories saturated with sex, drugs, betrayal, hardship, addiction, violence, fame and glory of all of our favorite famous thespians and stars. That is discriminatory behavior, in short it’s Hollywood apartheid. You look confused; ok they are not being diligent enough! They are only focusing on our “favorite” and “famous” stars, the spotlight whores, what about the hundreds of thousands of actors whose shattered dreams and unfulfilled ambitions served as the stage for all these Celebritish cads to bask in unadulterated adulation and glory. What about them? Well now they have a voice, we are now the voice for the voiceless, the diaphragm for the condomless and the tampon for the padless, get ready to soak this is all in.

Where the fuck they are now?

Unlike E! We are focusing on the ones that matter, unfortunately the information on these fine thespians is not as comprehensive because of their lack of evident fame so a lot of this is speculative but at least we are commemorating their achievements and taking 5 minutes to wonder where the fuck they are now.

Today we are wondering where the fuck Slimer is?

Slimer was born in a Springfield Nuclear plant in 1975, during the heyday of Zepplin’s domination of the airwaves. He was born into a Pagan family, his father was the first Uranium rod created in that plant and his mother was a free spirited cafeteria lime jelly. The minute they connected there was a reaction of nuclear proportions.

Early Years
The first 6 years of Slimer’s childhood were difficult. He was constantly poked, prodded and experimented on, it is this definitive period that paved his path to eventual stardom. The constant attention he received during his youth made him realize how special he really was. He left home in the spring of 1980 to a place that accepted and celebrated his uniqueness, he went to Hollywood.

The Hollywood Years – Who you gonna call?

Slimer didn’t have to wait long for his star to shine; he was at LA’s famous Troubadour one night scraping of Jimmy Page’s DNA off the floor when he met two young actors who were knocking back the slippery nipples. After a quick conversation, the two young actors Bill Murray and Harold Ramis were convinced that Slimer was born to play the role of their ghostly sidekick in Ivan Reitman’s now classic film Ghostbusters. Ivan didn’t need much convincing and the rest is history.

Slime is born
The huge success of the Ghostbusters franchise instantly sludged Slimer into international stardom. He was at every party, every gallery opening, basically at every event to be seen. Slimer had slimed his way to the top and had slimed the big time. He was the slime of the town; it didn’t get much better than this. He epitomized the rock and roll life and held his own against the very best of him. He was surrounded by horny viscous liquids that wanted to dissolve in him, fire extinguisher foam wanted to party with him and sludge wanted to be him.
Eventually Slimer’s emulation of a Keith Moonesque lifestyle caught up with him and one rainy night outside a New York club Slimer was involved in a mud sling with Stay Puft. The story goes that Stay Puft was a frequent user of toasted marshmallows; in his intoxicated state he started mucking around with Slimer’s girlfriend at the time Mire. Slimer was in no mood to be mucked around with and went after Stay Puft. They glopped outside the club and it was on that fateful night that everything Slimer had worked for and he himself literally oozed down the drain.
No one has seen hair or slime of this brilliant method actor who embodied every aspect of the character he played. Rumors surfaced a few moons ago that he was back in Hollywood and was moonlighting as an understudy to the versatile Silicon, whose extensive work in breast implants had made him peak early in a notoriously fickle town. They say that Slimer has enjoyed miniscule success and has had a bit part in some B cups and once was commissioned to do two sets of C cups but none of this can be confirmed.

Of course all these kinds of rumors ooze out of Hollywood on a daily basis. This is just one theory. If you have any idea or can speculate about the possible whereabouts of this lovable gooball then please let me know. I will collect, collate and compile the theories and send them across to Bill Murray. It would be great to see Slimer in the new Ghostbusters 3 film and regain his past glory. After all we owe it to a whole generation of mutants who have been deprived of the brilliance that is Slimer otherwise it truly would be a gelled waste.

The Almost Fall of Half-Man

Dear Congregation,

It has been a while. And what!?

Let’s begin….

‘C’meer’, for the sake of anonymity, is a young man delving into the reaches of the corporate world. He often resembles a child in a sweet shop asking the man behind the counter to feed him through a hose pipe and then refusing of fear of suffocation. He has a hunger that lies within him, a keenness for life and work that is positive and healthy, yet an undeniable fear of the unknown that prevents him from venturing beyond the limitations of his disciplined corporeal form.

He is a conscientious and clearly well-raised child yet still braving the traverse through puberty even though his balls should have dropped 8 years ago.

Well, he walks like he has four nuts, a bit like John Wayne with a comedy Jim Henson puppet voice on Helium. Perhaps, only 50 per cent of his hairless testicles need to drop before he starts resembling a homosapien in all its glory but it would seem there is still plenty of time and experience before we are drenched in C’meer’s adulthood.

But far from wanting to scratch his personality to shreds, I quite envy this boy. Innocent and pure as a boy could be, he seems as gentle as a teddy bear surrounded by a group of bunny rabbits and kittens smoking pot in a fairytale woodland.

He seems to care when it is necessary and he is responsible in his family dealings. A good boy.

All of these traits led me to believe he was asexual - as though the idea of wetting his raw manhood would bring him to tears and fears of ritual ramifications like burning genitalia in a public, village gathering in Northern India.

A few months ago he wouldn’t have uttered a misogynistic word against the tender sex. He would probably treat them to a tour of his ‘Star Wars’ toy collection if he ever got beyond the barrier of speaking to something that seems so unfamiliar to his sheltered eyes. The idea of ‘C’meer’ and sex was just unthinkable.

And then tragedy struck. Now we won’t go into what happened but this is what gets me, right. We all go through a right of passage to different degrees that shape our personalities whether that is being held in a concentration camp or going through a series of miserable relationships. But what is it about man – the male - that forces them to revert to carnal, Neanderthal pleasures in the face of adversity.

It seems to be a reversion to type whenever adversity strikes. When a man has been scathed down in a passionate love affair and told he is not wanted anymore, the first thing he’ll aim for is brief sexual liaisons in order to somehow emit any pain within him through his genitalia. There’s even a syndrome called the ‘crank’ where men still fresh in the pain of failed love, masturbate profusely over their former lover, while simultaneously crying.

Even in prison, man will go as far as to have sex with another man, with the alpha dog referred to as the male and the recipient considered the female. Is it just me but in any other situation wouldn’t that be considered homosexual or a slight on their masculinity? But in the condition of imprisonment it is considered manly and a demonstration of heterosexual dominance!

Fuck me! Even if you asked Terry Waite or John McCain or any other bloke who was released from captivity what the first thing they were going to do was when they got home, do you honestly believe that they’d be telling the truth by saying “Yeah, I’m going to have a pint of beer with my mates” or “I’m going to have a goodnight’s sleep”. Are they bollocks! First thing he would be caught up in is siphoning out the white spirits from burning graveyard of his loins.

“But you’ve been gone 15 years darling and your tea is waiting downstairs for you?”. “Yes, alright love! I’ll be five minutes more in here.”…as he chops his way through imaginations of anything from Goats to Shetland ponies.

So the whole point of this is that ‘C’meer’ in the light of his own personal tragedy has decided that someone is going to get it. I’ve even got suspicions that if you gave him a loaded cock and a naked woman, he still wouldn’t know where to put it.

BUT has that stopped C’meer? Oooooohhh, fucking, no! The boy is a rampant, sexual, deviant talking about slapping women before he even tries to engage in any relations with them.

And guess who the recipient of such unwarranted attention could possibly be? Yup, regular blog character, Bouda happens to be C’meer’s main target. There was a point earlier this week, where he had studied what she was wearing and had still decided that rather than manipulate that situation, he would like to slap her across the face before forcing her into some sort of sexual submission – potentially forcing her to play a cat in his mysterious role play world, where he would be a slightly over zealous Jerry to Bouda’s Tom.

Is it messed up? Quite possibly but it’s the way it devolves I’m afraid. Man in his weakness can be formulised as such: Man + Adversity = Sex.

Why? I wish I knew but even gentle, huggy bear C’meer – innocent quasi prophet of the agency has turned into the kind of prowling stalker that was unthinkable 6 months ago.

So listen birds – next time you think about dumping your boyfriends – think about what the poor fucker is going to be up to once you’ve flown. Even the good ones go bad.

Welcome to the world C’meer.

The shoedown.

I think people have lost sight of what’s really important with the pediassault in explosive Iraq. People keep talking about it being a statement of defiance, a single, comprehensive declaration that encompasses the worldwide resentment towards the American warmonger.

Well fear not sheep, your Shepard is here to keep you from straying and to focus on what is truly important pertaining to this little display.

If the shoes fits

Allow me to toss my shoe into the ring with some insights that will lace everything together nice and tight.

1.) First things first, can anyone tell me what brand the weapon of choice was? I feel that if he had used a pair of Nike’s famous Airforce Ones he would have enjoyed better air time which would have improved his chances of hitting the shoe on the head. Maybe a heavier shoe like a Timberland would have helped due to its excess weight. It would have dipped at the right time to ensure success. Remember no steel toes because he would have never gotten them through the metal detectors.

2.) All the major shoe oligarchs of the world are kicking themselves, think about the kind of brand equity they would have built if it was their lovechild that was hurled across the room.

Jimmy Choo- Knock any man of his feet.

Timberland - Let your shoes do the talking.

Nike - Just shoe it.

Just Shoe it : To throw footwear at something or someone to express disgust, disdain or disinterest. Words to live by.

Their global sales would have gone up, especially in markets such as North Korea, Venezuela, Iran, Palestine (if they could get them through the Israeli Blockades) and Pakistan just to name a few.They could have come up with their own line Nike AOEs ( Axis of Evil) and Jimmy Choo AOE ( Access the Evil in you) . Come to think of it people in Africa and India might even start wearing shoes. Ships transporting shoes beware of Somali pirates.

3.) Last but not least… where are the shoes that were heard and seen around the world? I am sure that currently it is vigorously being tested for traces of chemical weapons. Then it has to be ruled out as a weapon of mass destruction before it can be released into the wonderful world of eBay. Those shoes are the keys to stamping out this current financial impediment. Put it on eBay, some rich sovereign wealth fund will buy it under the guise of a wise investment. The money generated is a shoe in to :

1.) To kick the financial crisis in the face. The wealth fund money that will be raised to buy them will be enough to saturate the liquidity of financial institues galore.

2.)It will give the now flourishing shoe industry denizens a well deserved raise from 10 cents a day to 15 cents a day( that’s stimulating the economy right there). Yes children that's one more grain of rice you can purchase.

Eventually wherever the shoes do land, their proud owner can sleep well knowing that they double footedly saved the global economy and made their own shoeprints in the sands of history.

Till then think about what could have been : http://www.sockandawe.com/

Fear and Loathing in Beirut

Whenever most rational people approach certain milestones they are overwhelmed with a cacophony of emotions. So as I approached the impending quarter of a century old milestone I did what any member of the rationally inept and emotionally immature are socially pre-conditioned or genetically pre-disposed do (a lot of pre-words present in this pre-lude) Therefore I prescribed to the notion that a pre-dictable trip ( I use that word with pre-cision )down the rabbit hole , into the heart of darkness, to break on through to the other side was imminent ( how pre-sumptuous and pre-dictable to use three pre-valent cultural references in a row in this little pre-amble).

I pre-sent to you …..

Fear and Loathing in Beirut
Quillock and I were graced with the effervescent presence of Irah and embarked deep into the depths of an irresponsible binge saturated with a delectable mix grill of uppers, downers, screamers, laughers, Al-Maaza, mashawi, Hommous with Awarma, Tabouleh, eggs, cheese, wine and cupcakes.
As much as we would love to take you through a play by play up to the minute account of what transpired, we can’t! You had to have been there! However all is not lost I give you my word (whatever that is worth) that you will definitely be privy to the participants’ special commentary version.
Painting a picture is overrated, it limits the imagination, who the fuck needs boundaries? Prime example Israel and that other country, I want to say Palestine? Anyways enough digression so instead of painting you a picture I am going to play you a song , more accurately going to give you the soundtrack listing to this epic excursion in hedonism.
1.) Massive Attack – Discography -Favorite Tracks – Teardrop, Angel, Inertia Creeps and my personal favorite Dissolved Girl.
2.) Oasis – Definitely Maybe – Special mention to the track “Do you know what I mean” ( I know it’s not on this album).
3.) Soap Kills – Lebanese Trip Hop – Unfortunately they have disbanded but music the music keeps you trippin and hoppin.
4.) K&D Sessions Volume 1 and 2 – Doesn’t get better than Kruder and Dorfmeister
5.) Burial – Nominee for the Mercury music prize this year
6.) Interpol – Rest My Chemistry
7.) Seasick Steve – Dog House Blues
8.) Eric Clapton – Cocaine – He is just stating the obvious
9.) Dub Qawalli – Nusrat Fateh Ali haunting us from the grave
10.) A Tribe called Quest – The Love Movement

11.) Katachafire - Collie Herb Man - It's good Karam,good Marijuana
I could go on but the last orgasmic rhapsody belongs to a small unknown group from England
THE PRODIGY – ANYTHING BY THEM CONTRACTED OR EXPANDED IS A MUST! A MUST!
a.) Experience
b.) Experience Expanded
c.) Music for the Jilted Generation
d.) Fat of the Land
e.) Always outnumbered never outgunned
You know what? The albums needed to be listed because when you are all searching out of space to find another race fuelled by Lebanon’s finest candy, you will have a moment of clarity in between the rambunctious music… and in that moment of serenity you will thank us for having car bombed this one single minded thought into your conscious, sub conscious, ID, EGO and SUPER EGO

“TAKE THE PRODIGY WITH YOU WHEREVER YOU GO!”

For the rest of this rant there will be periodical reminders of cette fact.

Skit 1 – Night Hawks at the Diner
Location 1 – Roadsters Diner, Downtown
Characters : Prank , Quillock , Irah and Charbel
Background : Prank and Irah haven’t slept in 24 hours because they are absolutely ecstatic ( yes it is exactly what you think it is , you guys are right on the fucking money ! )Quillock has the sagacity of a spiritual leader from this day on he will be known as Guru Getsomebirdsmanstoned
Irah to Charbel : I would like the Brunch special please…
Charbel : How would you like your eggs sir ?
Irah : Cheese !

And Scene

“TAKE THE PRODIGY WITH YOU WHEREVER YOU GO!”

Skit 2 – Are you talking to me?
Characters: Prank, Irah and Taxi Driver
Location: 7 am outside BO18
Background : After a pleasant evening that involved being submerged in a parallel universe and frog heads, Prank and Irah float out of this particular rabbit hole aiming to get back to their hotel room to awaken a slumbering Quillock. As with any country taxi drivers are an enterprising race with a specific skill set that consists of extortion, mediocre pimping and social commentary on the status quo. We being the diligent travelers and hustlers of our own repute collated all the pertinent information that was required to ensure that we were not ripped off. A simple function will explain this

Trip from B018 to hotel = 10,000 lira ( nothing more)

Prank to Taxi Driver: Bonjour, we would like to go to Ramada Downtown
Taxi Driver: Of course my friend !
Prank: How much ?
Taxi Driver: 15,000 lira
Prank: No! Too much! We will only pay 10,000 lira
Taxi Driver: No! No! It far!
Prank: No! It’s not far, fine we walk!
Taxi Driver: Ok, ok, come I take you !
Prank: Ok but only for 10,000 we are not paying anything more!
Irah (invaluable input as always): Ok! You take us and we will pay 8,000 lira only!
Prank and Taxi Driver both look at Irah as if he had asked us to work out the square root of pi in our heads.

And Scene

“TAKE THE PRODIGY WITH YOU WHEREVER YOU GO!”

That will be the last little anecdote because trying to remember these little chickpeas of substance induced miscommunication has been quite problematic. Plus even if by some miracle ( the scope of this particular miracle would qualify it as one of Christmasesque proportions) we did recall every misadventure this particular post would morph into an indefinite posting in a Middle Eastern war zone which loses its appeal after sometime. All I have to say is that I couldn’t have planned a better deconstruction of a milestone than this little sin binge because as you know the best laid plans never worked out for mice or men.

“TAKE THE PRODIGY WITH YOU WHEREVER YOU GO!”

An Ode to Bouda

Oh Bouda, with your feline face upon a tanned Iranian body and Baywatch dirty blonde hair. There you sit, beautiful like a Persian twat…cat, cat, I meant cat….tapping away at your computer, probably facebooking or looking at Vogue online.

How I long to spend endless hours with you discussing geopolitical issues and the meaning of life. I know, I know, you’d probably just stare at me with complete and utter vacancy but that isn’t the point is it?

What? I’m supposed to be a good listener? Now, what the fuck am I going to listen for? Your discussion on what you’re wearing or your personal problems (you’ve probably got Daddy issues)?

Seriously, I don’t think this is going to work, Bouda. If you really think I’m going to listen to endless drivel about the state of affairs in “The Hills” then you’ve got another fuckin’ thing coming.

Ohhhhh, but you’re so delightful. Ohhhhh, the confusion, the pain….I don’t know, which way to turn…but I know which way to turn you….that’s it lovely, you face the wall and I’ll be back in a tick after I’ve brushed my teeth.

Abandon hope all ye who enter here

The idea of hell has been forged into our core belief system since we entered this meat space we call life. As infants we were baptized, circumcised, anaesthetized, ritualized, iodized, and immunized with the single minded intention of saving us from all the future sins that we would all eventually commit. I have left out infanticide on the aforementioned list because that particular treat was reserved for those fine specimens that were committing sins as infants ( which makes old Lucifer very proud) or those who were born the wrong gender ( you didn’t think I was going to leave that little delectable nugget of truth out?).

Fire, Brimstone, Demons of unimaginable horror, all efficiently managed by a severely sun burnt, horny (i.e. with horns) gentleman with a tail and an oversized gardening tool called Satan aka Lucifer or by the moniker he is more popularly and universally known as… Dick Cheney.

That little postcard of eternal damnation strikes fear into the hearts of most regular people, but I ask you is that the scariest depiction of hell we could conceptualize?

Hell has lost its edge; Hell historically was always used as a deterrent against bad behavior. I look around and all I see is bad fucking behavior so it is time that we put the "bad motherfucker" back into hell. Hell needs to be the Sam Jackson version of hell. We need to come up with a hell so bad, so terrifying that it will scare the gays straight, it will scare the thieves to find alternative employment, it will scare the adulterers into monogamy, it will scare the U.S. government into admitting that there were no WMDs and it will scare all of us into actually acknowledging that “The Big G “is all powerful so that he doesn’t banish us into eternal damnation at this particular venue.

Keeping this in mind I have decided to present to thee my top ten list of scary ass hell in no particular order just of the top of my head.

Prank goes to Hell

1.) Trapped in a room with the women of “The View” during a collective that time of the month.
2.) Teaching George Dubya calculus.
3.) Tom Cruise’s wife
4.) Being trapped in George Lucas’s Double chin.
5.) C-Bar.
6.) Being shackled in a basement and being forced to watch re-runs of The Teletubbies.
7.) Being in powder form around Keith Richards.
8.) Organizing Lebanese elections of any kind.
9.) Being trapped in a public outhouse sandwiched between George Michael and Elton John
10.) Trying to say the full name of any South Indian quickly.

You are looking at this list and laughing at the insanity of it and thinking to yourselves “This is not half as bad as fire and brimstone”. I want you to take a look at the list above and add one small word at the end, just one small word “FOREVER”. Now look at the list again. Do you hear that? that is the sound of you all soiling yourselves. The fear is overwhelming ,the thought of being Tom Cruise’s wife FOREVER, C-BAR FOREVER, Subrumaniumakkarajuaribukeralitispongallamvindaloojohn FOREVER !

That children, is the Mac book of Hell , no spam , no spyware, no screw ups, pure unadulterated damnation at its worst.

Quillock and I would like to extend an invitation to you all to come up with your idea of hell and we will collect and collate then provide you with 20 possible new residences for the Overlord of Darkness - Dick Cheney.

People, this needs to be done, we need to do this for our children and our children’s children so that those puny rat bastards will truly know fear, we owe them this much.

Do you hear that ? That is the sound of Bouda showering ! Please close your eyes and marinate over that thought for as long you like.

Rupac: Trans-gender, gangsta crap

Over the last ten years something has bothered me so much so that I can sincerely say I’d like to ban it. Not because it is offensive or I’m conservative but simply because it creates a paradoxical cycle of audible shit.

Yes, children – I’m talking about Rap, R’n’B and Hip Hop. It sucks cock for the lack of a better term. Don’t get me wrong, when Rap originated it was different and creative and meant something. There was a message and it was powerful. Who can forget the likes of Public Enemy, A Tribe Called Quest or Grand Master Flash? Society changing and infectious. And Rhythm and Blues was the domain of some of the most creative black songwriters the world ever saw. Subsequently, good, old white folk took over and adapted it – including the likes of The Rolling Stones.

But now….now it is just prose about money, diamonds, shagging or masculinity over a series of bleeps or samples of great tunes they didn’t write.

“Oh man, you heard the latest joint by Timbaland? Go out and buy it.”

Errmm, no. If I wanted to listen to music that should be the backdrop to a 1980’s Atari computer game, I would use a mind rubber to delete what grey matter I have and live in a mental asylum.

All the braggadocio and spastic talk that only middle class white American teenagers seem to relate to seems as primitive as a caveman, masturbating over a breast shaped rock.

I’m sure there are exceptions but none of it (original or sampled) seems like it is something that will be listened to in 20 years time with affection. Hmmmmmm, how to spice it up and make it more interesting….???

Well, perhaps nobody knows this but the late Tupac Shakur spent one long night with Ru Paul 13 years ago. The result was Rupac, the illegitimate, hermaphrodite spawn of this vile relationship that involved candlesticks, knuckle dusters and 17 broken Trojan condoms.

I believe that new audiences would be attracted to a dull genre if this transgender, gangsta rapper/rappess were to make music.

What a refreshing tone for Rap music. A male with an adjacent front opening, singing about how he/she attracts young men only to reveal a browned cucumber as an unfortunate bedfellow. Perhaps a song about the joys of having anal sex with young men or having to deal with a period as well as erections….there are so many possibilities. I think Jay-Z or Puff Daddy or whoever the latest, great producer is should actively search for Rupac and await the amazing results.

Ohhhh, the freestyle potential. Could you imagine it? Rupac and Eminem face-off against each other to the point that they get so angry with one another that they end up wrestling. The wrestling would begin aggressive enough in earnest but it would devolve into some rabid, confused, sexual pile. White on black, cock on munge or cock up bum.

I’m sure the same insipid hicks who watch American Idol instead of living their lives would tune in. How could Simon Cowell ever turn Rupac away? He wouldn’t. He would be blown away by the true life story of a black, she-male trying to make it through everyday life and he would ensure that the sympathy votes would go to her/him.

Cue end of Rap

Simon: “Do you really want my opinion, Rupac? Well, I think that was the most amazing performance by a double, genitalled individual I’ve ever seen. In fact, that is the only performance by a twat, cocked person I’ve ever seen!”

Audience laughs and cries at the sweet irony of it all.

Either that or just ban shit music altogether. Bundle it all up like a toxic debt from Lehmann Brothers and sell it to Mars. It’d be better off in a vacuum.