Films, Sketches, Nonsense, the best podcast ever.

So. A game, then. List your top 10 favourite movies – your personal top 10, not what you think you’re supposed to say, not what you think is ‘popular’ (and no, being popular is not a criterion for measuring how much you like a film, doufus), not what is critically acclaimed, but the films that you like the most.

It’s quite difficult, really, which is why I’ve just listed some films I really really like. Also, anyone who puts Shawshank Redemption in their top 10 fails on an epic level.

Take a look what they score on imdb, work out the average and that’s your score. It rates YOUR WORTH as a person.

Here’s mine:

Some profound wrongness, there from imdb. Spinal Tap scores shockingly lowly as does Ghostbusters. I suspect there are idiots who spend all day giving low ratings to good films. The highest scoring is also the most famous. Coincidence?

It also shows that the rating spread over ‘good’ films isn’t wide enough clearly showing that the human race is jaded and mediocre in it’s opinions. Medium!

There aren’t that many good Dalek stories, actually. There’s a couple in the 60s that are worth a watch, at least one of which is lost (Evil of the Daleks). That’s right, I’m talking about Dr Who. The Pertwee ones (which didn’t appear until late-ish in his tenure) are pretty shoddy, frankly.

This only leaves:
- Genesis of the Daleks, which is frankly overrated although still good. Too long, though. I’ve actually watched episodes 1, 2, 5 and 6 and it works perfectly well. Also has Gruber from Allo Allo in it.
- Destiny of the Daleks, which I think is pretty shit, although it’s generally considered to be mediocre.
- Ressurection of the Daleks, which tried to revive the grittiness of Genesis and succeeds in spades. It’s even more dark. Good, though. Peter Davidson at his best.
- Revelation of the Daleks, which I think is utterly awesome (despite Colin Baker). Dark in a good way. Davros doing really bad stuff, man gets turned into a Dalek in horrible special effect, Richard from Keeping Up Appearances as a really nasty man, what more could you need?
- Rememberance of the Daleks – Which is much more like the new series and lots of fun.
- Dalek – excellence with Eccles.

.. and nothing else, frankly. The Ecclestone finale is nothing like as good as I remember (reality TV?). I dunno, maybe that one with the Cybermen isn’t *that* bad. It has to be said the hit rate for Cybermen stories is considerably lower. There’s maybe 3 good ones in the whole history of TV Dr Who.

Banal!

There’s an election looming.

I said there’s an election looming.

“What’s that dear? oh yes, I like that lovely David Cameron. He’s got a nice smile. I trust him”

Let’s see, leader-wise, we have:

1. An old fart who is a) Utterly incompetent at everything b) A nasty old school, power hungry politician.
2. An empty PR suit, who is trying to do an impression of Tony Blair, like that’s a good thing.
3. An empty PR suit doing an impression of an empty PR suit, who is trying to do an impression of Tony Blair, like that’s a good thing.

Fortunately, that’s just the leaders. It’s the parties that are important, man.

I’ve always voted Lib Dem, but I always try to keep an open mind as I want to avoid football team-style zealotry. None of these people have anything in common with me and they are all cunt-bag politicians who would sell their own grandmother. What matters is what I think they’ll do once in power, which is not necessarily what they say they will do once in power. Nothing the Tories say has any bearing on what they will do, as far as I’m concerned. Gordon Brown in ‘lying shocker’ and the lib dems can say what they like because they aren’t getting in anyway.

I find the TV debates a really bad thing. Who decides on the format of the show? What order the speakers get to argue their point? How long do they get? Who gets to cut them off? How long before Sky try to get the rights to do it? etc. etc. It’s also another nail in the coffin for party politics being replaced by empty celebrity bollocks.

So the latest new-style news is that the BBC are going to scrap various things, generally the stuff that is actually good like 6 Music, the idiots.

The BBC has a history of being self destructive in the face of a hostile biased media, but never so much as in this post-Hutton environment. It seriously looks like they are pre-empting the election result and are trying to wreck the BBC quickly before the Tories get a chance to.

It has to be said that the Conservative culture bloke is the most hateful slimy total prick fucking cunt ever and with the Tories record on people who are hateful slimy total fucking prick cunts, that’s seriously saying something.

He probably thinks that poor people shouldn’t be allowed to watch good TV because they might learn something and it wouldn’t be fair on the large number of rich people who can’t be bothered.

Etc.

So I was in  car crash, like. Although I’m actually incredibly lucky by not actually getting hurt, it can really put a damper on your day.

Picture the scene: driving to work, 7:27 Monday morning, Chris Evans shouting in my face (which I’m finally starting to get used to), I cross a mini roundabout and this massive bastard people carrier hits me from the left. I actually saw him coming so I can’t have been going very fast. He must have been going very fast as my car spun round 180′ smashing into a lampost on the opposite side of the car. I had no idea I’d hit a lampost of course, and as I was spinning around I was more annoyed that I was losing time to get to work.

Natually once I came to a stop I was pretty shook up and was actually shaking for the first 30 minutes or so after it happened. I did get over it rather quickly when fear turned to cynicism after OVER 4 HOURS AND £10 WORTH OF PHONE CALLS of waiting for my breakdown cover to arrive. Neither my insurance nor my breakdown cover (RAC, fact fans) could just help me out. Both expected me to phone other companies myself as opposed to them, y’know, actually doing what I pay them to do.

All they could do was lie about how long it would be. Amusingly, the first random number I was given (at 7:30) was 45 minutes, and I suspect that this may have been Tony Blair.

So , yeah. Car is broke. For some strange reason they’ve given me a BMW as a courtesy car. All I need to do now is drive like a tit and cut people up and that.

Archibold O Henry McMillan stood at the entry to the night place without a care in the world. He knew that soon there would be a show. The band that was playing was the Excrementals, who were the current sensation in town overshadowed only by their arch nemeses The Cantakerous Dullards. And what a night it would be, if he could only find enough tokens to get an entry-ticket.

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see the band, as they were shit, but the last time he’d been in that place, that place, that was so full of wonder and enjoyment, he’d met an interesting girl named Pedra. They’d talked all night about the amazing expose that had been on telly the night before. He couldn’t remember anything about it now but he did remember her impressive capacity for hunting the choudhurys roaming the floors of their beloved establishment.

Without a care for his own safety, he looked at his watch. One of the watch police watching him gave him a new watch. This one was more safety-friendly than the other watches he had and he felt safer because of it.

“Can I keep this?”, he mused.

“No, piss off”, said the rather tetchy time-piece constable.

In a moment the policeman snatched it back having only just forced this moment-defining machine into his hands. But what a moment it was. He was now back to square one, but had to get inside and meet the girl again. Besides, knowing only enough Spanish to keep his dog amused was getting tedious. He then started to notice a strange glow from one of the light fittings above the entrance. A shadow decended over the crowd, like in one of the old movies where the protagonists are really cool but you can’t really be bothered to work out what’s going on.

And who could that be?

The shadow moved closer to reveal a familiar face. The face he’d seen a thousand times before but hadn’t really given a shit. In truth, he still didn’t really give a shit, but hey, this was some good times.

“Bollocks to this”, he thought, and went home to bed. The end.

I don’t do drugs. No, really.

I think I saw the worst ever episode of The Big Question this morning. It was a pretty horrible bunch of ill thought out views from zealous idiots who have no interest in actually discussing something whatsoever. It’s just the same mindless titilation as everything else.

There’s nothing that makes this any different to Jeremy Kyle other than the people who watch it like to think that they’d never watch anything like Jeremy Kyle. That would be people like me, then. Actually, it’s exactly like Kilroy, the orange tosser, which is even worse.

There seems to be one basic rule to TV at the moment: turn it on to watch QI and Being Human, turn it off the rest of the time and do something more stimulating like reading a book, playing a game or even leaving the house.

I am now at the end of my tether with people. People are idiots. People are dumb. People are petty minded.

What is wrong with people? You there, people. People of the world, your attention, please. Friends, people, countrymen. Hey People, don’t make it bad. Hey Hey people say the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.

And so on.

When I say people, I don’t mean all people. Some people are lovely. Some people, whilst not lovely, are perfectly fine. The awesome genius of Douglas Adams told of the Golgafrinchams who in a desperate attempt to get rid of the useless bloody loonies who made up a third of their population to leave the two thirds of thinkers and doers managed to convince them to leave in a big spaceship because they were about to be killed by a mutant stargoat.

The reality is that we have 4 quartiles of human being. As the works of Adams foretold, we have a population of thinkers and another of doers. What we now know is that the other segment is made up of Chavs and Daily Mail readers. The daily mail readers’ role is to complain loudly about anything and everything and to hate everyone. The chavs’ role is to complain loudly about anything and everything and to hate everyone whilst wearing burberry. Unfortunately, if we actually got rid of them the book of Adams clearly states that we will be killed off by a disease contracted from a dirty telephone. Or possibly in this case some sort of dirty foreigner.

What I’m trying to say is that wanker who cut me up on the way home from work today is a Chavvy Daily Mail reading tosser.

I was recently shown a video of something. Well, okay, the Internet/Facebook/Youtube recently showed me a video of something, but that’s beside the point. It was a Youtube video of Britney Spears singing. Not a video of Britney Spears singing and me hearing some well-produced sound effects processed from her voice, but a video of Britney Spears actually singing.

It was dreadful, of course. My first response was to think that it really doesn’t matter. It’s certainly no different from any other pop singer. They aren’t supposed to be musicians, they are well trained entertainers part of a well oiled machine that produce easy listening to a population indifferent and docile enough to do what they tell them. It’s a completely different thing to something that’ll inspire your mind to feel and to create. Y’know, like music does.

People complain about Simon Cowell or whoever getting paid more than the ‘artists’ they manage, and too bloody right he should. He’s the talent. Not random bloke no.37 who happened to have the kind of voice they’d already decided they wanted before they’d even met him.

People will always want pop stars, in the same way that people will always want soaps on TV or massive fuckwit movies like Transformers. If you can veg to it, it must be good, and woe betide anyone who questions that logic. Music doesn’t matter, because nothing matters.

It does matter, of course.

I think that my problem with this is that it means that people don’t care about music. Which makes me all sad and crying inside, like a huge laughing fat woman who giggles inanely when everyone is friendly and smiles pityingly at her during work hours but goes home to cry into her solitary pillow in a miserable bedsit wishing that it had been her who had gone to the ball that night, not her bitchy sister.

At Christmas I had to endure an edition of Top of the Pops and I ended up getting into a semi-argument about whether Lady Gaga was miming or not (she quite clearly was, not only because you could tell by listening to it, but also because she actually wasn’t even bothering to move her lips when she wasn’t facing the audience). Why get so defensive about trivial entertainment?

Anyway, souless music eh? It’s all rubbish and stuff.

hmmmhumphhmhmhpmhpmhpmhpmhpmhpmhphmph.

oh!