I'm The Vitaman!!

Seriously! I have been eating so many fucking vitamins recently!! You wouldn’t believe it. I was quite unhealthy before but now I’m just Vitamin City, and I am also the mayor. I’m the fucking Vitaman!! Vitamins give you a serious boost of energy, not to mention aliveness. People who don’t eat vitamins die. And they deserve it. Vitamin A! Vitamin B! C! D! E! Give me more! Give me all the vitamins I can handle. I want to eat every vitamin in the world, and leave none for anyone else. You can all crawl around searching in vain for vitamins, because I will have eaten them all! This blog gives you vitamin B. And vitamin L. And vitamin O. And vitamin G! If you ever run low on these vitamins, just read this BLOG! Many people say WW3 will be over oil, or water, but I think it will be over vitamins, and I will be a total sea warrior, the primary air viking, murderous vitamin master coming at ya full strength one time, raiding from land, and the ocean, and from space. Who the fuck needs ‘roids when you’ve got the pure fuel boost of raw vitamins right to the mainline? Eat your greens.

Tarantino's Next Film

I think this is what Tarantino should do for his next project. A shot-for-shot remake of one of his own films, using the same actors as before but now much older, and with his massive chin protruding into every shot. This new ‘chin-cam’ approach would allow us to view the film as a kind of window into the experience of making a film as Quentin Tarantino. They could put a short documentary section on the beginning and at the end, recreating how he originally made the film, allowing us an insight into his creative process. First, you would see Quentin watching a bunch of old films with a memo pad on the table in front of him. Then, he would be shown dialling actors purely at random, thus giving him a perfect sampling of has-beens, unknowns and one or two really famous people. Next come a few Tarantino-style script-writing sessions. He writes a normal scene, for example someone buying a loaf of bread, and then he feeds it through his patented DSD – Dialogue Stretching Device – in order to make the movie long enough for theatrical release. Interestingly, Tarantino’s name was originally Quentin Tantino, until he accidentally dropped his surname into said device. The last stage in the process involves Tarantino whacking a few songs from the 70’s onto a few random scenes so that they make the leap from unremarkable to iconic, and then slapping together a trailer which consists of the name of the film and all the actors, as well as the three coolest lines in the script.

Naggers In The House

I have decided to write, record and release a hip-hop song, using the sick flavours that reside in my off-the-hook street chromosomes. The song will be called ‘Naggers In The House’. Each verse will be sung by a man doing an irritating woman’s voice, complaining. The lyrics will be something along the lines of ‘You leave your shoes at the bottom of the stairs/You don’t care/You said you’d go to the gym/But you haven’t been’, and so on and so on, as she generally complains about her boyfriend letting himself go and leaving the house in a mess. The chorus will be like ‘Naggers in the house!! All my naggers in the house!! Naggers in the house!! Naggers in the house!!’, or something equally sophisticated. I do happen to be white, but that hasn’t hurt Eminem. Also, I am still quite young, which means I could have a long and fruitful music career working within the hip-hop genre, until I get shot and killed by some East Coast bitches. So, record companies, come and sign me up! I’ll be bringing the ruffneck flow 24/7, non-stop, even though I always be knowin’ what time it is. Bookah!

Another Idea For A Reality TV Show

Twelve young, attractive girls are placed in a house full of cameras for ten weeks, much like the show Big Brother. There are no men in the house, and the thermostat is always up really high. They don't have anything to eat except for oysters, and nothing to drink except champagne. The air of the house is dosed regularly with pheromones, and soft music plays constantly, especially at night. There is a hot tub in the garden, and a number of small private rooms with very comfortable beds. The hope, obviously, is that, deprived of men and in such an arousing environment, the women will start to change in their proclivities and become more amenable to certain male-free activities, which would also make great television. 'Watch The Girls Go Bi' would air every Friday night, just in time to catch the after-bar crowd before they pass out.

The Grudge

When I was boy I used to study very hard. I would stay up late every night, trying to get the grades I needed to go to one of the best universities. A lot my friends had beautiful girlfriends, and went to parties, but I always stayed in, poring over biology or history or French, trying to make something of myself. My friend Jake, on the other hand, was a real ne’er-do-well. He never applied himself in class, and got everything he needed from life by dint of his looks and charm. He always had a girl on his arm, and a beer in his hand. How jealous I was! But I kept telling myself that I was working hard and making a decent future for myself, whereas Jake would one day be flipping burgers. However, Jake and I were friends, and I sometimes helped him with his assignments.
Then came the end of the school year, and it was time for us to sit our exams. I was next to Jake, and we told each other ‘good luck’ as we sat down. The test started, and about halfway through I noticed that Jake was glancing over at my desk. He was copying my answers. I tried to signal to him to stop, but he just waved me away, whispering ‘It’s cool’. After all those long nights studying at home while he was out partying, it didn’t feel right that he should pass now by copying from me.
A few days after the test we were both summoned to the principal’s office. He took out our test sheets and showed us how we had chosen the exact same answers for every question. Even a few silly mistakes I had made showed up in the same places on his paper. I was furious, but I didn’t want to get my friend in trouble, so I insisted that it must be a coincidence, and so did he. We were both expelled.
Being expelled threw me into a deep and lasting depression. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t eat. I could hardly smoke. But it was the best thing that ever happened to Jake. Being expelled finally faced him to take a look at his life, and he really pulled his act together. He opened his own shop, selling skateboards and clothes, and turned it into a nationwide chain. He is now a multi-millionaire who still gets all the women, while I still live with my mother, eating frozen food and farting under my Masters Of The Universe duvet. I used to resent Jake so much, but now I have a plan to make everything better. Sometimes people say that holding a grudge is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die, the moral being that if you have a grudge you should actually do something about it.

Balloon Boy

I think the recent balloon boy hoax would have been much better if they had claimed that their child had turned into a balloon, rather than was inside one. I would have ordered a big silver balloon like the ones you see at festivals, and then drawn a face on it with my left hand in marker pen. Then I would have released it and called the media. I would give interviews saying that my son had been claiming he was unhappy and planning to run away for some time, and that I hadn't believed him until the day I opened his bedroom door with a breakfast tray in my hand just in time to see him wobble merrily out of the window and spin off into the sky. I would say that my son had taken recently to eating spoons, which must be where he was getting the metallic content necessary for his shiny new head, and he had been practicing drawing faces with a marker pen when he should have been doing his chemistry homework. I would then write a book filled with beautiful anecdotes of happier times, searching desperately through my memories of his childhood for any sign that he may one day grow discontent and transform into a balloon. I see this lost balloon boy son of my imagination as a haunting metaphor for the desperate triviality of modern life, for the shimmering beauty of our dreams, and for how lost we all are as we reach for the sky. I wonder if a doctor could helium.

Evolution

In the beginning, the Earth was nothing but a dead ball of rock, drifting through space. And then, one day, we evolved. With the aid of our superior technology, we eventually defeated the dinosaurs and became masters of the planet. But how, exactly did we evolve? That's a very good question. Let's take a look...We are made of something called AMINO acids. That's why we're called AMInals. At the start, there was nothing but empty water and land, and then these amino acids started gathering randomly, by chance, to make bigger and bigger, and more complex forms of life. Some of these creatures lived on a meat diet, which means they ate one another. Others had a vegetarian diet, which means they ate only vegetarians.

The above is the history of evolution, as agreed upon by most scientists. I think the job they are doing is wonderful, but I have a few complaints. For a start, there are several things that I need them to invent, in order to make my life funnier. Firstly, I want a giant hand that makes a honking sound every time it comes in contact with a female breast. Secondly, I would like something called a 'monkeyscope'. These haven't been made yet, and I don't know what they are, but it's a fantastic word. Another word I love is 'ne'er-do-well'. Thirdly, I want a device that automatically detects my mood and makes the air around me smell a way that will soothe me and keep me calm. Fourthly, do you remember The Matrix? I want someone to invent something to go back in time and erase the sequels.

Favourite Colours

Most people have a favourite colour, but no one gives a shit about shapes. Most people couldn't tell you what their favourite shape is. If a young girl or a woman's favourite colour is pink, and you go into her bedroom, everything will be pink. But you never go in someone's room and see a load of fucking triangles. I think shapes are as much an important part of our lives as colours, maybe even more important. For example, in these egalitarian times, woman don't care what colour a man's dick is, but they certainly care about the shape. Another example. If you drive a car that's a crazy colour, everyone will just think you are a prick, but if you drive a car that's shaped like a starfish wearing glasses you'll be the best person ever to live. Bar none. It's not as abstract as it sounds, either. A lot of musicians have a favourite note. Most people have a favourite time of day, or time of the year. So, why doesn't anyone ever ask, 'Hey man, by the way, what's your favourite shape?'. If you were meeting a woman for a romantic evening, you could bring her something that was her favourite shape to make her happy. Like, 'Darling, this rhombus is for you'. My favourite shape is the shape of tits.

Reincarnation

People will pay for any old crap, so I've decided to open a 'reincarnagency', where they can come in and pay me to perform some bogus rite guaranteeing that they'll come back as a certain thing or type of person. They can choose from a catalogue which has pictures of birds and dolphins and Harvard professors and the like, and then pay me a fee to make sure that's what they come back as. I'll then start chanting and sprinkling piss all over them with soft music playing. When it's all done, I'll smile warmly and say 'Enjoy your next life as a gibbon', or whatever they've chosen. I'll even sell them lives as people who have already died, if they're stupid enough. So, if they want to come back as Hitler or Little Lord Faulkneroy, they can cough up some cash the same as all the people who want to be trees and whales and so on.
I think it would be good if people just started being the animal they want to be in their next life now. I mean, why wait? I think if there's some Harvard professor who wants to be a tapir or a big smelly goat he should just start walking around tomorrow, screaming 'NYAAAAAA!' at random moments. Animals seem to do that sometimes. Just scream 'RAAAAAAHHH!!!!' for no reason. I think it's brilliant. I think shouting at random times is like the definition of true freedom. But I can understand why lions and tigers roar. It's usually when they're angry or frightened. But birds just seem to sing for no reason. Maybe they are all gay and think they're in a musical.

Idea for a Reality TV Show

I have an idea for a good reality TV show. About ten contestants have to go through their everyday lives, going to work, seeing their partners, going to the cinema and so on, but they aren't allowed to wash. They can brush their teeth, but they can't use soap, deodorant, face wash, perfume or anything like that. They can wipe after they take a dump, but that and the toothpaste are it. They can't go swimming either. And they can't tell anyone why they have stopped taking care of themselves. The show would follow them around, documenting their lives as they fell apart for our amusement. Picture it. Boy gets dumped by his new girlfriend for smelling like a rotten fart. Girl loses her fiance because she hasn't put soap near her cock wallet for weeks. Boss loses the respect of his staff because his skin is falling off in sheets. The show would be called Stinkers, and would be on TV around dinner time.

New Invention

I've had a wicked idea for a new invention that could be made and marketed, given a sufficient advance in neuroscientific techniques. It would be a chip or something like that that goes in your brain. It would be connected by radio waves or whatever to a small fleshy button in the palm of your hand. The idea is that if you make a decision, and then slap your palm into your forehead, you can't change your mind. You HAVE to do it. If you don't follow through on what you've decided, you start to shut down like Robocop when he tries to disobey Directive 4. So, if you want to stop smoking, or lose weight, all you have to do is decide in your mind and then smack yourself in the forehead. There's no logical reason why it should be your forehead. For the sake of argument, it could be your nuts instead.

I'll bet by now you've thought of an obvious drawback to this device. Getting it inside your brain is difficult. Well, don't worry! It would come packaged with a set of instructions that even your granny could understand. And a small axe.

I think this device would make the world a better place. All I need is about forty million dollars for research and development. Unfortunately, I don't have forty million dollars. That's where YOU come in. I would be really, really grateful if you could find someone with forty million dollars and tell them about my idea. Thanks.

Obama Again

Chaos Theory

Here's the thing about chaos theory. Actually, I hate the expression 'Here's the thing about X'. As if there's only one thing to be said about something, like 'Here's the thing about the universe...It exists'. But what seems strange about chaos theory is that, although it's a theory about how seemingly unrelated events might influence each other, the example is always something like a butterfly flapping its wings and then a bridge collapsing. Why is it always a small event indirectly causing a big one? Actually, I don't know anything about chaos theory. Is chaos theory always when something small causes something slightly bigger and then slightly bigger again until something massive results? That can't be true. Because then every tiny event would spiral out of control and combine together into a raging whirlwind that destroyed the world. If it's only very few small events that snowball into much bigger ones, then who cares about the theory at all? Fuck it, I say, if a butterfly farting occasionally causes an earthquake. If it happens so seldom, then it's insignificant. And even if someone fucking up a skateboard trick led to 9-11, it's not like anyone could have guessed and done anything about it. So that leaves us with influence in both directions, from the small to the big and the big to the small. If that were the case, and it works both ways, shouldn't we sometimes hear examples like 'If a bridge collapses, somewhere a butterfly is flapping its wings'? Or, 'Maybe, World War 2 made my dog fall the river'. I might read a book about chaos theory.

Obama's Nobel Peace Prize

Why do I have to work?

Why do I have to work? It's stupid. Everyone's stupid except me. Why can't they just give me some money every month for doing nothing, and then I can just do whatever I want every day? In fact, why do I have to do anything? If I just stopped altogether, I wonder how long I would last. I reckon if I just lay on my side in bed like a sausage and didn't do anything my mum would start coming over and feeding me and opening my mail for me. She'd have to push the food into my mouth with a kid's plastic spoon, and then rub my throat like when the vet wants a dog to swallow some medicine. I wouldn't even make the effort to go to the toilet. I'd just let people turn me over and hose down the bed when it got full of turds. The mail would just pile up. At first, people would come and open the mail and then place it next to me in bed, but then it would slowly dawn on them that even then I didn't intend to do anything about it. So, if was a cheque or something, they'd have to cash it for me. If it was a bill, they'd have to take it to the post office and pay it. I think the ideal situation would actually be to be fully conscious and on life-support, so you can still watch DVDs and stuff while the machine breathes for you. Also, I want something that will blink my eyes or keep my eyeballs moist for me. I didn't ask to be born, so I don't see why I should be subjected to all this shit every day.

Try singing the alphabet song, but with random letters instead of in order. It's really difficult.

Gash Things About Work

I have to go to work today. One thing that's rubbish about work is that you can't fart whenever you want. Some people get away with having a certain obnoxious character trait just because they are them, and everyone's used to it. For example, there's some guy who is really sexist but he's of a different generation so everyone just shrugs and lets him do it. But there's no way you can fart and pick your nose and eat it at work. Picking your nose is one of the last tabboos in society. Even women who admit to masturbating don't admit to eating their own snot when no one's around. You can't even discuss it with people. It's like interracial marriage in Victorian England probably was. But everyone does it! I don't.

Here's one of the film ideas I came up with while I was daydreaming the other day, but not at work:

Vin Diesel plays a man who has his memory erased by a terminator. The only way he can get it back is to kill his past self and consume his own brain, so he has to build a time machine out of meat and old car engines he finds at a radioactive dump at a former nuke testing site in the desert. However, the test site is guarded by a tribe of forgotten rebels called the Sub-Humans because they live subterraneously. They agree to help if he will first travel to the north pole in order to bring back the ancient crystal of Xygor, which is inside the Dark Lord's overcoat, so he has to wake the Dark Lord and do battle with him, get the crystal, give it to Sub-humans in order to get them to build his time machine, go back to the past and eat his own brain to get his memory back. Except when he gets back to the past he can't remember where he used to live because his memory has been erased, and he just gets murdered over the twelve dollars in his back pocket.