I Saw Elvis In The Woods

How are you supposed to make a fish act that way?

2012-01-01T09:30:00.000-08:00

Hello. It's the start of a New Year. And so what better way to celebrate than by looking back at some of the stories that have intrigued us over the past 12 months? Well a better way would be to watch strippers and pirates fight to the death while snorting crack cocaine off the back of an albino dolphin, but I’m not a wizard so this is what you get.

Is it a bird?

A video showing a UFO supposedly hovering over Jerusalem sent the media in to a frenzy in February. Did this mean that we were not alone in the universe after all? No. Of course it didn’t. Don’t be silly. Instead it proved that on a slow news day any old tosh will get air time.

No it’s not a f***ing bird you n00b.

In March DC Comics was forced to shut down its own message boards after an argument erupted between fans that was so vicious it threatened to destroy the universe as we know it. Apparently this “time out” was deemed necessary after an online discussion about whether Superman or The Flash would win in a foot race got out of hand. Stupid isn’t it? Everyone knows The Flash would kick Superman’s ass. And if you don’t agree I WILL KILL YOU WITH FIRE.

UFO > JFK

In April it was revealed that President John F Kennedy had requested information about the UFO phenomenon 10 days before he was assassinated, thanks to documents released by the CIA. This led to some people theorising that JFK got bumped off to stop him learning the truth about an alien cover-up. Although you would think that if that was the case then the CIA would keep quiet about it and, you know, bury the evidence. Not unleash it in to the public domain. It’s like they’re not even trying to hide it. Shameless bastards.

You should get yourself one of those.

2011 also saw a new TV show hit the airwaves in the form of The Beast Hunter. Hosted by the thinking cryptozoologist’s crumpet Pat Spain, it promised to do away with such things as “Blaire Witch style stuff”. Indeed the first episode got off to a promising start, until Pat ended up in the woods in the pitch dark freaking out at every slight rustle in the distance. Still if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

The end is not nigh.

Harold Camping, head of the Family Radio Church, announced publically that the world would end on 21/05/11. The day in question arrived and, to the surprise of no-one save perhaps Harold himself, nothing happened. So Harold quickly went back to the drawing board and came up with 21/10/2011 as the new date of the apocalypse. When the world stubbornly continued on as normal on that date Harold, who had recently suffered a stroke, retired from his position as the head of the Family Radio Church and told a reporter that “God has not given anyone the power to know exactly when the Rapture will come”. So just so you know the morale of this story is “If Harold Camping can’t do it, no-one else can. Not even Jesus”.

I want to lick your brains.

In June it was reported the following request was sent to Leicester City Council under the Freedom of Information act

Dear Leicester City Council,

Can you please let us know what provisions you have in place in the event of a zombie invasion? Having watched several films it is clear that preparation for such an event is poor and one that councils throughout the kingdom must prepare for.

Please provide any information you may have.

Yours faithfully,

Concerned Citizen

The council had to admit that they were unprepared should the shuffling undead rock up unannounced in the midlands. Which led to Dick Cheney warning us all that unless everyone started taking the threat of necromancy seriously then we would be leaving ourselves wide open to an attack from Al-Qaeda. Probably.

Bill Pullman gotta eat.

Torchwood made its long awaited transition to America, and then proceeded to be nonsensical and horrible for 10 episodes. In the end it turned out that the antagonist for the entire series was a giant vagina buried deep in the earth. On the flip side of the coin, Doctor Who had a cracking 6th series followed by a Christmas Special that made the giant underground vagina seem almost Shakespearean. And there’s still no word on when or even if series 7 will air. Worrying times.

Whoooooooooosh

In news that made physicists everywhere tear at their hair and weep in to their cornflakes, in September it was announced that neutrinos had been recorded travelling faster than the speed of light as part of the OPERA experiment. Scientists everywhere freaked out, largely because this would seem to contradict Einstein’s theory of Special Relativity, a cornerstone on which much of modern physics theory is based. So OPERA repeated the experiment. And got the same result. Which means the only way this could be more disheartening for scientists is if Captain James T Kirk arrived from the future and kicked them all in the nuts while laughing at them and calling them nerds.

Yeti again.

In December rumours started to surface that a honest-to-goodness Yeti had been caught in the Russian wilderness. Alas video footage soon emerged showing what was obviously a dude in a gorilla suit. Which just goes to show that if you want your hoax to succeed, you’d be better off outsourcing the special effects to ILM or Weta. Let the professionals handle it is what I’m saying here.

In memoriam.

Jimmy Savile – Now then. Now then. Now sadly no more.

Steve Jobs – Apple CEO.

Heavy D – Rapper

Nate Dogg – Rapper

Ryan Dunn – Jackass

Peter Falk – Just one more thing.

Pete Postlethwaite – Steven Spielberg called him the best actor in the world. He wasn’t. He was better than that.

Sidney Lumet – Director

Christopher Hitchens – British journalist

Jane Russell – Actor

Elizabeth Taylor – Actor/Icon

And finally…

2011 changed my life forever. I became a father to a healthy, happy, and beautiful little girl who surprises and delights on a daily basis. And “I Saw Elvis…” also managed to scoop the coveted “Best Writing on a blog” award at the Wales Blog Awards. No really we did. And the truth is we wouldn’t have done it without the support and kindness of our readers. So, from the bottom of my heart, I want to say thank you. You’re the best.

Wishing you a wonderful and prosperous 2012. Stay awesome.

Gareth.

I got dressed in a hurry.

2011-12-31T05:40:00.000-08:00

Before we start I feel I have to warn you. I’m feeling a little flat today.

You see I’ve spent most of the day catching up on all the stuff I missed over Christmas. And so far it’s been one colossal disappointment after another. First off we have the rugby match between my home team the Ospreys and their fierce rivals the Scarlets, a game that the Ospreys not only managed to lose but was so poor in terms of quality that calling it “garbage” would be an insult to empty crisp packets everywhere. Then we had the news that some remains of the Pangboche hand had been discovered in ~~Tibet~~ London and had been DNA tested, the results revealing that it belongs to a human and not a bloody great big Yeti after all (Gee Note: Which, if you think about it, just goes to show that monks are as full of crap as everyone else. Yeah that’s right. I said it. Just because you walk around in a robe all day doesn’t mean you you’re any more enlightened than the rest of us. That includes you Jedi. I mean, sure, you may think you’re pretty badass with your laser sword and your mind control. But did you stop Darth Sidious corrupting young Anakin Skywalker and beating down the galaxy like it was a prostitute locked inside Mickey Rourke’s hotel room? Did you? DID YOU?!? No. No you didn’t. Instead we had to leave it up to the Ewoks to save our bacon. Ewoks for f***s sake. So now the entire galaxy is indebted to a load of teddy bears. Thanks a lot Jedi).

Following that we had the ball bustingly exciting news that a bona-fide Yeti had been captured by Russian authorities, only for it to turn out to be a man in a monkey suit (Gee Note: I imagine he gave up the goose when he spied a vet approaching wearing a rubber glove). And to top it all off I eventually managed to watch the festive episode of Doctor Who, and it was largely awful. Unless you happen to love boring trees being boring of course. If that’s you’re thing then this was the TV event of the year. Sadly as I have not recently had a lobotomy, it left me feeling cold and vaguely angry about wasting an hour of my time watching it.

So yeah, since Christmas decided to make its excuses and leave things have pretty much gone downhill quicker than Sonny Bono skiing. Although maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just grumpy that Christmas is over for another year and now I have to go back to my regular duties (Gee Note: As opposed to drinking beer all day and shouting at whatever happens to be on the TV). Maybe it’s the stress of it all. Being a new dad, not getting any orders for a signed copy of RAINBOWS ARE MADE OF CHOCOLATE BUT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT, living through yet another year when no one has found definitive proof of a sea monster or something cool like that, maybe it’s all just getting to me. Maybe I need a break from it all. A holiday perhaps.

But where to go? That’s the question. It will need to be somewhere I can unwind. Relax. Somewhere filled with enough positive energy to make the cast of Sesame Street look like a right bunch of miserable bastards. And it will also need a great big rock as well. Because nothing says “Here is a place you can recharge and feel connected with a higher level of existence” more than a great big rock.

Thankfully the answer arrived in the form of a link sent to me by a wonderful lass named Jenny.

Because out there somewhere deep in the Mojave Desert in California is The Giant Rock, which believe-it-or-not fits the bill perfectly. But don’t just take my word for it, ask the folks at Labyrinthina.com. Specifically an article written by Kathy Doore entitled “George Van Tassel's Amazing Integratron at Giant Rock”.

Now if you’re sitting there and asking yourself “Who’s George Van Tassel? And while we’re at it, what the hell is an Integratron?”, never fear brave reader. I have painstakingly taken the time and effort to reprint the important bits of the article here for you to read, as well as adding helpful notes along the way. No need to thank me. I do this out of love, not for any type of reward. I’m like Robin Hood. Except I don’t have a bow and arrow. Or ride a horse. Or wear tights on a daily basis. So not really like Robin Hood at all when you think about it. Anyway the article in question kicks off with…

To researchers, Giant Rock is significant for many reasons. For starters it was the home and workplace of the enigmatic George Van Tassel, known as (Gee Note: “The All-Night Delight” to travelling salesmen and truckers looking for some love on the road?) "Van" to his friends (Gee Note: Oh. OK).

Van allegedly made contact with extraterrestrials in the 1950's and was tutored by them on a variety of subjects, including human cellular rejuvenation leading to the building of a structure called "The Integratron”. (Gee Note: They also helped him out with his Math homework, and gave him the courage to ask Suzie Rubenstein to be his date to the prom. As well as showing those no good jocks a thing or two by defeating them in a game of basketball. It’s true. I saw it on the Lifetime TV Movie “Van and his alien tutor”, with Harry Hamlin giving the performance of the decade as Van’s best friend who happens to be an imaginary duck. If you haven’t seen it you should check it out. It’s emotional stuff.)

After arriving in California from Ohio in 1930, Van, a young pilot and engineer, lived with an uncle who owned an automobile repair shop in Southern California. One day during that period, he met Frank Critzer, a down and out prospector who needed to have his Essex car repaired. Van found the prospector to be an engaging fellow and the two of them soon became friends. Owing to Critzer’s financial difficulties Van agreed to repair the car for free. Critzer was even allowed to sleep at the garage while repairs were made to his car. Van's largess didn’t end there. He gave Critzer a trunk full of canned goods along with $30, which, as Van put it, was a lot of money then. In return, Critzer promised to include Van and the uncle in any mining claims he might make in the future. (Gee Note: Lucky Van wasn’t married at the time, otherwise he’d have probably have said something along the lines of “Hey Frank. Look I know it’s a bit difficult picking up chicks, what with you living in a car an’ all. So I was thinking, why don’t you have sex with my wife? No really. Why don’t you? Seriously I’d be happy to let you slip one to my missus. In fact, why don’t you go and send a meaty missile in to my wife’s red love zone right now? And when you’re done I’ll have a tray of freshly baked hot scones waiting for you”).

A year later, Critzer mailed a map to Van showing him how to get to Giant Rock - a massive boulder surrounded by a dry lake bed sacred to the native Americans, who called it the "Great Stone", the place where Critzer was living. Map in hand, Van set out to visit his friend. When he arrived, he was (Gee Note: Raped by a marauding pack of Grizzly Bears who were fraudulently sending maps to random addresses hoping someone would bite. This in turn taught Van a valuable lesson about being gullible) surprised to find that Critzer had dug under the massive boulder in order to carve out a place to live. He had made an alcove within the cavity to set up house.

During WWII, Critzer ran afoul of the government and was accused of stealing dynamite and later of being an enemy spy. Conflicting stories about this colorful character abound. But whatever the truth, a confrontation with the police resulted in his death in August of 1942. Interestingly, Van Tassel claims the prospector was an "advanced thinker" who researched innovative methods of manufacturing plastic. However details of that matter are sketchy. (Gee Note: There’s no real great mystery to Critzer’s demise by the way. Basically US Marshalls responded to anonymous tip that Critzer was a German spy and went to arrest him. When he refused to come quietly they set about bombarding his home with tear gas. Alas the dynamite which Critzer had in fact pinched was ignited by one of these tear gas canisters, and proceeded to blow the poor sumbitch to smithereens. Which suggest that he wasn’t really that much of an ‘advanced thinker’ after all. Unless of course by ‘advanced thinker’ you mean ‘dumber than a bag full of tortoises with astonishingly low IQs’).

During the ensuing years, Van Tassel became an aeronautical engineer, flight inspector, and test pilot (he'd obtained his pilot's license while still a teenager), and worked for Douglas Aircraft during the 1930s, and alongside Howard Hughes in the 1940s at Hughes Aviation as Hughes' personal flight inspector for testing experimental aircraft (Gee Note: “Hey. This helicopter we made out of silly string and nitro-glycerine doesn’t look very safe. Get George on the phone would you?”). During this time he continued to visit Giant Rock with his wife on vacation. In 1945, he made an application to the Bureau of Land Management to lease the property. And in 1947, he quit his job at a Lockheed aircraft plant and moved his wife and three daughters to the Mojave Desert near Landers, leasing four square miles of land surrounding Giant Rock from the government.

The area was covered with decomposed granite making it a natural site for a small airport where Van Tassel created Giant Rock Airport and Cafe, which he operated from 1947 until 1975. Howard Hughes was a frequent guest who flew in for the delicious pie that Van Tassels wife made (Gee Note: I hope “pie” isn’t some sort of euphemism).

Van Tassel believed the rock's crystalline structure possessed great channeling power by virtue of its piezo-electric characteristics. In 1953, he began a series of weekly meditations in the rooms under the boulder where it was said the meditations led to contact with extraterrestrial beings. On August 21, 1953, a ship from Venus landed and a man wearing a jumpsuit stood at the foot of his sleeping bag, announcing “I am Solganda, and I would be pleased to show you my craft”. (Gee Note: To which Van replied. “Um… OK. I guess. Although how long is this going take? Howard Hughes has just been on the line. There’s an exciting new helicopter he wants me to be the first to fly.”). Van Tassel wrote that he was led to a hovering spaceship, and stepped into what he described as a “butter colored” light emanating from the underside of the craft. He was taken on a tour of the ship and told that he had been chosen to bring a message of peace and interplanetary brotherhood to his fellow earthlings. (Gee Note: Also his tight firm buttocks would give the ladies something to talk about. Phoooaaawwwrrrr) He was shown the principals of cell rejuvenation which later led to the creation of The Integratron.

Designed specifically to carry out anti-aging processes to prolong human life, the Integratron schematics called for recharging human cell structure using a powerful negative ion field. Although Van Tassel died before he could complete the structure (Gee Note: Wait. He died? Not much of a cell rejuvenator is it?), what was left behind continues to focus and amplify powerful geomagnetic forces running through its location, built over a large underground aquifer, while the unique all-wood construction created, sets up a resonant sound field (Gee Note: I have a similar thing at home. I call it “THE SHED”).

George Van Tassel called his Integratron "a time machine for basic research on rejuvenation, anti-gravity and time travel". The structure stood four-story's high and 55 feet in diameter. It was of non-metallic structure, sited over a magnetic vortex--an essential part of its functioning. Van Tassel erected a sign at the entrance which simply stated: “Integratron: Dedicated To Research In Life Extension.” (Gee Note: “If you’re looking for Mrs. Van Tassel’s “pie”, please use the rear entrance and have a credit card to hand”). The placement of the Integratron was chosen based on a complex set of theories involving the earth's magnetic field, with the Integratron's relationship to the Great Pyramid in Egypt and Giant Rock, presumed to be the world's largest freestanding boulder at the time.

With no written plans for completing the project, Van Tassel's family abandoned the site (Gee Note: Hi Bill. Bill? It’s Mary. Your cousin. Did you hear? Crazy-ass uncle Van died. Left you his alien building or whatever. Bill you still there? Bill?). The buildings at Giant Rock were vacated and gradually Vandalized until the Bureau of Land Management found it necessary to bulldoze the remains, leaving only the nearby dome intact as you see it today.

In his many hundred radio and TV appearances, George Van Tassel compared the Integratron to the Tabernacle of Moses. He claimed that he was instructed by a higher intelligence to build a 21st century version of the Tabernacle that Moses constructed, using the same positive power principle of the Great Pyramid of Giza, and was given the name The Integratron. He was told it would revitalize and rejuvenate the physical bodies of humankind. George Van Tassel openly shared much of the technology with his supporters and followers, but those close to him say he kept much of it secret, sharing it only with his closest, trusted colleagues. (Gee Note: They wants to take it from ussssss. The precioussss. Filthy hobitsesss wants it for themselvesss).

According to Van Tassel, the Integratron is located on an intersection of powerful geomagnetic forces that, when focused by the unique geometry of the building, will concentrate and amplify the energy required for rejuvenation and healing. In 2005, a geophysicist measured the earth's magnetic field for up to 15 miles in every direction from the Integratron and then inside the dome. She proclaimed that there is a significant, unexplainable spike in the earth's magnetic field in the center of the Integratron. (Gee Note: A geophysicist who didn’t want to be named apparently. Sad really. Obviously suffering from crippling shyness. Or as it’s known in the trade “the geophysicist’s curse”).

George Van Tassel's literature describing the project stated that the machine's purpose was "to recharge energy into living cell structures, to bring about longer life with youthful energy." He theorized that the body is an electrical device, and aging was a matter of the cells running out of power. The Integratron, capable of collecting up to 50,000 volts of static electricity from the air, would be a multi-frequency, electrostatic charger for the human body. (Gee Note: It’s amazing that no one had thought of pumping electricity through a human body before really. I mean it sounds perfectly safe and in no way potentially fatal).

The 16-sided Dome was built of wood and concrete and held together by glue and gravity-electrically neutral materials. The generating core was made of copper wire. Had it been placed into operation, candidates would have walked through the building, essentially a huge air capacitor, while wearing white outfits. The charges, distributed over a wide range of frequencies, would affect every cell. Integratron became a Noah's Ark, "a vehicle or vessel that could deliver a chosen lot of followers to a secure place. It's the dream as old as mankind to live forever and have some control in governing our time on earth." (Gee Note: I bet Mumm-Ra The Ever-Living was first in line. Was always on the look out for a wacky never dying scheme that one).

Recently honored with a dedication and historical monument by the Ancient and Honorable Order of E Clampus Vitus, Billy Holcomb Chapter, the Integratron today receives many visitors drawn to experience the Integratron's enhanced energy fields. An overnight stay at the Integratron is said to result in waves of peace, heightened awareness, and relaxation of the mind and body. (Gee Note: As well as the feeling of a great weight lifted from your wallet). Affectionately called "The Dome" by the Karl sisters (Joanne, Nancy, and Patty), who together own and operate the Integratron, say "Our work at the Integratron has been about honoring the old history and getting the story straight about George Van Tassel's life's work, what we call the New History of the Integratron, which we believe is about creating an environment that is a gathering place where science and spirit meet. We're dedicated to the research and the understanding of what the Integratron's gift to humanity really is." And many agree, including a very high-ranking Tibetan Buddhist lama who has been teaching out of the Integratron, purportedly sent there by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. (Gee Note: Which suggests that no one has actually confirmed that he was sent there by the Dalai Lama. For all they know he could just be a bald bloke in a dressing gown. “Heyyy. Whatchoo mean I ain’t no lama or nothing? I’d kick your ass if I weren’t all peaceful and shit.”).

So there we are then. Sounds perfect doesn’t it? I’m packing my bags as we speak.

Now where did I put my white suit?

I never was a fancy talker.

2011-12-15T16:50:00.000-08:00

Something funny happened to me the other day (Gee Note: Funny as in strange. Not funny as in Herman Cain’s run for President. Although, I’ll be honest, I was sad to see him go. Even if he couldn’t keep lil’ Herman under control, he was still brilliantly entertaining. Did you know he even finished his concession speech with a quote from the Pokémon movie? No really. Pokémon. I swear the world would be a much better place if all politicians took that route. Think about it. President Obama purposefully striding towards to the podium, placing his hands on either side with authority, and announcing “My fellow Americans. I just saw something on the television that pulled at the strings of my heart. It was a wildlife documentary about cartoons and people who say “wah” a lot. Anyway apparently a small turtle with surgically implanted water cannons needs to get to a particular forest otherwise he will lose all his power. And if the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles taught us anything it’s that there’s nothing more important than turtle power. So it goes without saying that this little dude needs our help. As such I’ve made an executive decision. Yeah that’s right. Suit up bitches, we’re heading out to Japan to lend a hand. Hold on Squirtle, we’re coming to save you”. And then President Obama marches away triumphantly to the sound of “Hail to the Chief”. It would easily be the greatest moment in human history is what I’m saying).

I was at my desk, perusing the online editions of the daily newspapers, and came across an article about David Icke. The contents of which surprised me so much that I had to get up, find the nearest sink, and splash water on my face.

I should probably explain. For those not in the know, David Icke is a former professional soccer player and BBC sports journalist who completely lost his shit in the early 90’s and started going around claiming to be the son of God. When that didn’t stick, Icke took some time off to reflect and reinvented himself as a conspiracy theorist. And boy did he come out swinging. Reviving the dusty old NWO hypothesis for a new millennia, Icke put a novel spin on the idea of secret overlords making the rest of the world miserable and poor. While his peers were still claiming these sinister rulers of the planet were greedy privileged psychopaths, Icke instead painted them as… wait for it… evil aliens.

Not just any aliens you understand. These sumbitches are 9 feet tall, shape shifting reptiles that are able to pass for people by sacrificing the occasional virgin and making the human race as depressed as possible. You see that way they can feed off the collective negative energy pumped out by the Earth and are able to carry on their day to day roles of causing mass genocide and so on. These “Reptoids” were responsible for the Holocaust, 9/11, medieval witch hunts, the black death, the war in Afghanistan, the JFK assassination, the crusades, Twilight, Katie Price, and everything else in between. In fact if anything really awful has happened on this planet, you can bet your ass these slithering lunatics were behind it. Of course there’s not a shred of evidence to support any of this, but in situations like these all you need is the ability to shout loud enough and have a knack of blowing the tiniest details out of proportion to be a success (Gee Note: For example, “There’s a portrait of Queen Elizabeth I holding a snake! Which proves she’s a reptile! Because snakes are also reptiles! HOW CAN THE REST OF THE WORLD NOT SEE THIS???!!!??!?!?!?”). And, as it happens, Icke has both those attributes in spades.

However, the reason I had to dowse myself in liquid (Gee Note: Easy tiger) was that I never realised just how good a Snake Oil salesman David Icke is. According to an article in the Daily ~~Fail~~ Mail, Icke has recently sold out the Best Buy Theatre in New York, all 2100 seats of it. For £45 a ticket. £45. A ticket. Or, as my calculator puts it, a total of £94,500. Which, and this is the bit that really got me, is more money than I’ve earned in the past five years combined. Of course David won’t be taking all of that huge pile of dosh home to himself. The theatre itself probably requires a cut, and the cost of staging his… er… show (Gee Note: Show? Lecture? Call to arms? One man public service announcement about how meds for mental illness should be easier to obtain?) probably costs a fair whack as well. But even if Icke is taking home only half of the house receipts it’s still a healthy £47,250. Which is a very tidy wage for an entire year, let alone one day.

All this got me thinking. Obviously I’m in the wrong business here. I’ve been quietly poking fun at folks like Icke for nigh on four years now on this blog, and despite being recognised for my talents with a prestigious award my total net earnings from this escapade equal a big fat zero dollars. Nada. Nothing. Zip. In fact the closest I get to any type of monetary reward for this here web adventure is the occasional random email from a marketing type person. Every so often one will offer me a potentially free copy of a book with a supernatural theme, on the understanding that I write a glowing review on these very pages. Which would be fine except I’m a terrible liar (Gee Note: Just ask The Future Ex-Mrs. Davies. Once I told her I wouldn’t be able to take the bins out because I was being attacked by a shark. She soon saw through that one), and so if I end up not liking the product my only alternative would be to type something like “This book is really great! I was especially impressed by the binding. I’ve had it for three weeks now and almost none of the pages have fallen out. Pick up your copy today!”. I’m no expert but I would be willing to bet that quote wouldn’t make the dust jacket.

So after a whole three minutes of quiet contemplation, I’ve decided that things need to change. I need to change. No longer can I be content with receiving the odd email from friends telling me “That last post was OK”, or meeting up with relations every once in a while who’ll say things like “Oh sure. I’ve read your blog. It’s really… say how’s your daughter getting along?”. No. I’ve been kidding myself for too long now. This blog and I. We’ll never be successful. It’s time to go in a different direction. That’s right folks. No longer will I simply find stuff on the internet and add snarky comments. Gone are the days when I would cheerily wonder what brand of beer Bigfoot would drink (Gee Note: Although I’m pretty sure Biggy is a Coors Light type of man-monkey). You’ve seen the last of me trying to make weak jokes about psychic mediums. I’m giving all that up.

Instead, I’m going to become a conspiracy theorist/spiritual guru. Because, baby, that’s the where the money is. Bucket loads of cold hard cash are waiting to be given to me by ~~gullible fools~~ enlightened individuals who want to learn to truth about who REALLY rules our planet. And believe me, as soon as I’ve come up with whatever it is, that truth will shock you to your very core. Get ready to make your cheques out to “Gareth Davies” as I invite you to follow me on a very special path. A path that leads to a higher level of understanding. I can help you set your minds free, my friends. And together we can make the world a better place to live.

Problem is, I have no idea where to start with this new venture. So I guess I should be thanking the various Gods for Edward Alexander. AKA Maggador.

You guys remember Maggy right? Of course you do. A blonde bombshell of Scandinavian silliness, Maggador is one my favourite internet personalities of all time. Claiming to be a reincarnated alien (Gee Note: See? I told you he was awesome), he’s also a top notch conspiracy nut, and something of a dab hand when it comes to raising us humans to a greater plane of existence. Better yet, no matter how many times I’ve been a wee bit mean about him within the sphere that is blog, he always sends me a message along the lines of “Hey, you’re a funny guy. Good luck”. Which means that not only is he wise, he’s also forgiving. You know, a bit like Jesus. If Jesus had a pet monkey and made YouTube videos telling you to overthrow the government that is. Point being, he’s exactly the kind of chap I should be modelling myself on in order to make this new venture of mine a triumph.

So just what has Maggy been up to recently? Well it turns out that about a week ago he uploaded this video:

WOW! Lightening! Egyptian flute music! Badly synched audio! Maps! Maggy saying the exact same thing all over again except this time using some sort of distortion software to either make his voice sound deeper, or to fool you in to thinking you’ve accidentally ingested some sort of hallucinogenic compound! More maps! I bet you’ve just had your tiny little mind rocked to its socks, haven’t you? I know I have. If that trailer is any indication of what’s to come then I can’t wait for the full documentary.

And then of course we have Jim Corr (Gee Note: Or as most people know him “That bloke from the band with all the pretty women”). Corr, the former guitarist from popular beat combo The Corrs, recently caused havoc in his native Ireland by claiming 9/11 was an inside job on national television. Which, if you’re looking for a comparison, is a bit like Fab Morvan from Milli Vanilli publically announcing that JFK was shot by a unicorn with a bad attitude. Even better when the news broke that Osama Bin Laden had been killed by a bunch of kick ass marines in May this year, Corr immediately took to twitter and claimed that it would be difficult to kill Bin Laden as he had already died some ten years prior.

But here’s the beauty of this. Anyone with half a brain would work out pretty quickly that unless Bin Laden was a freakin’ zombie, it would be pretty tough to produce a time sensitive video of him in August 2007 had he snuffed it in 2001. But Jim can afford to claim things like this because he probably knows full well that no serious minded journalist will challenge him on it. Instead at worst he’ll have to endure some “phew what a loony” type snickering from tabloid headline writers, while his target audience will lap it up like thirsty dogs.

And that’s the one thing Icke, Maggador, and Corr all share in common. Because once you’ve put your mind to becoming a conspiracy theorist you can pretty much say whatever you want to and get away with it. Throw in some bogus history and a slide show and - BOOM - you’re making more money than a Kardashian divorce lawyer.

With that in mind, prepare to have your universe shattered. We here at I Saw Elvis In The Woods proudly present to you a serialisation of the new soon-to -be smash hit best seller “RAINBOWS ARE MADE OF CHOCOLATE BUT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT.” written by me, Gareth Davies (Gee Note: And don’t think I’m serialising it here just because nobody else wanted it. Nuh uh Jack. All the big ass newspapers were after it. Rupert Murdoch was practically blowing up my phone to get it for The Times. “Strewth mate” he’d say, “You’ve got to give me the rights to for your new book, you great big galah”. In the end I had to tell him “Rupy, dearest, you know I would. But the people who read I Saw Elvis on a regular basis, all six of them, they’ve been really good to me. I have to give something back. You get it don’t you?”. Unfortunately this upset Murdoch so much that if you ask him about it now he’ll tell you he’s never heard of me. Bit childish really).

CHAPTER 1

Friends. If you’re reading this you probably think you’re awake. Unless you’re sleep reading. In which case, you might not think you’re awake. Or you might think you’re awake when you’re actually not. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure sleep reading is a real thing. Look I’m getting off topic here. The point is you think you’re awake when you’re reading this, but you’re not. And it has nothing to do with sleep reading. You were not awake when you got out bed this morning. Or the day before. Or the day before that. Or the day before that one. In fact you’ve been asleep your whole lives. And not in a fun, dreaming about a sitcom starring Tony Danza and the kid from Jerry Maguire, kind of a way. I’m talking about a constant nightmare. A nightmare that’s so nightmarish, you don’t even know it’s a nightmare. You actually think it’s pretty good for the most part. You may not even to be willing to accept that this terrible nightmare is a nightmare at first, due to it being so terrible that you don’t even know it’s a nightmare. But your life is a nightmare. A terrible one.

Before you go all wacky and start running down the street naked, you need to know why your existence is in the gutter. The good news is it’s not your fault. You see the world is secretly controlled by an exclusive group who are purposefully making your life rubbish just to amuse themselves. Now you may be reading this thinking “My, that doesn’t sound very likely”. If you are, let me ask you this. Do you own that Ferrari you’ve always dreamed of? No, of course you don’t. And even if you do, do you own two of them? And if you own two, why don’t you have three? Or four? Or seventeen? It’s because this shadowy organisation has been holding you down your entire life, denying you such things as spiritual enlightenment and Ferrari’s. The bastards.

But luckily for you I am here to WAKE YOU UP. You’ve been living in a fake reality for too long now, a reality where you’ve probably been walking a lot more than you have to due to the lack of Italian sports cars. However I am not naïve or simple minded. I do not expect everyone who hears what I have to say to be able to fully comprehend it. But for those who choose to stay ignorant I will simply state that a day of reckoning is coming soon. At which point you’ll look back at these passages and realise that I was right all along. What I’m saying is, this is your chance to get in on the ground level here. It’s like when you hear a new band on the radio and you’re all “Hey that’s a pretty good record” and on an impulse you buy the album. And then you realise the band is actually all kinds of amazing and you’re like “Hey this is band is really great. I wonder why nobody knows about them?”. And then six months later everyone you know is talking about how great they are, and they release a second album which is pretty much the same as the first one, and you don’t like them anymore because they’re “not as good as they used to be”. Well, this right here is your chance to figuratively “buy that first album”.

So yeah, the secret rulers of Earth that are keeping YOU down are everywhere. They have infiltrated every section of society, from that Café you went to once where the waitress was looking at you funny, all the way to The White House. Many influential figures including President Obama, Queen Elizabeth II, David Cameron, Ryan Seacrest, Brad Pitt, Meryl Streep, Lady Gaga, Christopher Biggins, and three time figure skating World Champion Elvis Stojko are not who they claim to be. In fact they’re not even human.

No. These imposters are passing themselves off as human when they are actually highly intelligent birds. Yes birds. As in Ostriches and Emus. Puffins. Wrens. Peregrine Falcons. That type of thing. All cleverly disguised by wearing a combination of movie make up and animatronics. Birds previously ruled the Earth over five thousand years ago when they were all dressing up as dinosaurs. In fact back then the only group of dinosaurs that weren’t secretly birds as well were the Stegosaurs. Alas a Stegosaurus brain is only the size of a walnut and so they NEVER realised that some of the other dinosaurs had feathers despite them supposedly being lizards.

When the stegosaurs became extinct after the birds had killed them all and used their plates as surfboards, the evil overlords of the planet took a different route. Some of them reverted to their natural form to act as spies on a new race of evolved apes called humans. Others started disguising themselves in order to manipulate the humans every chance they got. Because of their superior skills, such as the ability to point at things and pick tiny specks of stuff off the ground with their mouths, birds quickly rose to the top of the human power structure. And they have remained there ever since. The TRUTH is that birds have been lying to you from day one. So while you go through your humdrum life by watering your pot plants and painting your fences, the birds are becoming more and more powerful with each passing second. Name any politician and the chances are they are a bird in a man suit. Apart from George Osborne. He's human believe it or not, just a very very stupid one. The point is it doesn’t matter which political party you vote for as they’re all frauds anyway. DEMOCRACY IS A LIE. A BEAKY FEATHERY LIE.

The serialisation will continue next week and cover such topics as “Birds are up to no good. The proof” and “How to tell if your neighbour is a bird”. If you are interested in securing a signed copy of RAINBOWS ARE… ETC please send me your details and a bundle of unmarked notes totalling £300. It would make the perfect Christmas gift for a loved one.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to call the Best Buy Theatre in New York. After all, they’ll definitely want to book a guy like me, right?

Bert, what utter nonsense!

2011-11-16T18:23:00.000-08:00

A thought popped in to my head the other day (Gee Note: Surprised the bejesus out of me let me tell you. I was minding my own business watching a TV show about dogs comically falling over when suddenly, out of the blue, I’m thinking. I almost dropped my custard cream). The thought was that little Davies Jnr will never know what the world was like before the internet.

Now of course you could say that about a lot of things. Like Davies Jnr will never experience the pure brilliance of children’s television show Knightmare, which sadly shuffled off this mortal coil in 1994 (Gee Note: By the way, I know I’ve talked about it on this blog before, but if you’ve never seen an episode of Knightmare then you really do need to hunt one down straight away. Bribe officials and associate with villains if you have to. It’s that important. Sure at a base level it’s just some gameshow where you take four middle-class kids, blindfold one of them, and send him or her off to fight wizards and goblins while the other three watch on CCTV and offer advice. But it’s so much more than that. Firstly - it wasn’t until years later that I worked out that the contestants weren’t really sent to a fantasy world on the back of a dragon, and yet to this day I’m still not entirely sure how it was all put together. Did they use blue screen? Computer generated images? Magic? Seriously, not a clue. Secondly – It’s amazing how many children in the late 80’s/early 90’s had no idea how to spell SHROUD . And thirdly, Hugo Myatt who acted as the presenter/guide was quite frankly incredible. No really. You try saying shit like “Caution team. This wood elf appears to be trying to steal your meat. Maybe you could try giving him something else instead.” while dressed up like ‘Hercules: The Hobo Years’, and you see how easy it is to keep a straight face.) Neither will she know the true horror of hearing your favourite music tape getting mangled in the cassette player, and the frustration of having to spend half an hour delicately winding it back in with a pencil using all the precision of a neurosurgeon.

But with all that said the internet is the big one. Because, even if it’s only on a small scale, the internet has changed our lives. For example, two days ago I had absolutely no idea what I would write for this post (Gee Note: Which, you’re right, wouldn’t exist in the first place without the world wide web. But for arguments sake let’s just say you’ve stumbled across this in a file of papers while burgling my house, you hoodlum you). Partly due to the fact that I haven’t been feeling myself recently and so my daily routine has largely consisted of waking up, watching some telly, feeling a bit woozy, heading back to bed with a good book while waiting for the light headedness to subside, getting back out of bed, watching some telly, feeling a bit woozy, etc, etc. And partly because ever since we won an award for this blog I’ve had the fear put in to me something chronic. Honestly, a blank page on my computer screen used to be my friend. Now I swear I can feel it judging me. C’mon fat boy, it says, type out something interesting. Or funny. Entertain me you chubby idiot. Bet you can’t. Lard arse.

And then salvation arrived from three of the most unlikely sources. The first was from Neil, who sent me a link via Twitter. (Gee Note: I should point out that Neil is the type of person that everyone should want to be when they grow up. Right this very minute he’s actually sprouting a moustache for the month of November in the name of charity. No really. His upper lip is helping to fight cancer. He’s a goddam hero in his own way). As the link states, something odd has happened in the Gobi desert according to Google Maps. Namely these have popped up rather unexpectedly.

Now while to the untrained eye these may look like they were made by gigantic slugs (Gee Note: Which is actually pretty scary when you think about it. It’s only a matter of time before they make it over here. And then what? Do they even make slug pellets that big? The Ministry of Defence should be preparing for this now, before it’s too late.) they actually show what appear to be large structures in the middle of, well, absolutely nowhere. How they got there no one this side of the world seems to know, but theories are sweeping across the internet like Dick Van Dyke with a bad cockney accent. When zooming in to the images there appears to be a collection of burnt out vehicles and tracks from aeroplanes. And so this naturally led to speculation that it was a Chinese missile testing site, located as they are close to the borders of the Xinjiang and Gansu provinces. Which then led to speculation that the Chinese are planning to blow up a major American city for… er… no reason at all. Still it’s astonishing how paranoid some people can be if the Telegraph’s comments section is anything to go by. Other less discussed but just as awesome theories suggest that it was a UFO crash site or, and this is my personal favourite, that it’s the remains of an unknown civilization. Who set fire to trucks for larks I guess. (Gee Note: “And now that the age old ritual of blessing the Sun God has been completed we can finally relax. EVERYONE GRAB A TORCH AND GIVE THAT TOYOTA WHAT FOR!!!”).

The second came from Jenny, again via Twitter. (Gee Note: By the way Jenny is a tremendously talented artist who, thankfully, was too happy at the time to notice that I was Best Man at her wedding. Otherwise she probably wouldn’t be speaking to me). Jenny had stumbled across a fascinating paper published by the Feinberg School of Medicine in 2008 which went a little bit like this.

BACKGROUND:

We have seen a number of individuals who received blood-type tattoos on the left side of the chest as schoolchildren in northwest Indiana during the 1950s.

OBJECTIVE:

To investigate the history of blood-type tattooing.

METHODS:

Historical research was conducted using newspaper and journal articles found in medical libraries, online archives, American Medical Association archives, Chicago Historical Society records, local medical society documents, in addition to personal interviews.

RESULTS:

Blood-type tattoos were used during the Cold War to enable rapid transfusions as part of a "walking blood bank" in case of atomic attack…

And that was the bit where I lost my mind.

Walking blood banks? Walking blood banks?!?! Are you f***ing kidding me?? Who in their right mind looks at the potential problems of an atomic fallout and goes “Look we're all going to be shuffling around without legs and with seven eyes but if we tattoo some children and then steal their blood when the time is right we might just make it through this”? I mean it’s this type of stuff that leads to Batman swooping in to a room and beating up a bunch of dudes wearing white coats. “I understand that we’re all concerned about the Red Menace, but using children as IV stands is wrong Doctor Strange” KER-POW. And having dealt with that he'd zip-line away, walk in to a bar in the shady part of Gotham City, and punch a communist right in the face. Because he’s Batman. And that’s how he rolls.

But just as I was geared up to a write a post about how stuff like marking children with needles and ink in the 1950’s helps fuel modern day conspiracy theories such as 9/11 being an inside job, or even the Gobi desert being a launch pad for a potential Chinese hostile take over of America (Gee Note: Although really it’s not highly likely is it? I mean since the global economic crisis China pretty much owns The States anyway), something legitimately jaw dropping caught my eye thanks to the online edition of The Daily ~~Fail~~ Mail.

No it wasn’t the Liz Jones article about how she stole – quite literally - sperm from her previous boyfriends without their knowledge, or how she pulled out of this years’ I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here because “I knew I couldn’t do it. Not only would I not eat an insect, I would not put one under stress either – not for any amount of cash. I’m not religious, but I admire those who adhere to Jainism: they even wear masks to avoid inhaling a bug by mistake. They are my kind of people. Higher Beings. And most definitely not celebrities.” (Gee Note: Yes. You read that right. She just called herself a Higher Being. Without even a trace amount of irony. And that’s the reason she didn’t head out to the jungle. Not because the realisation dawned on her that for histrionic nutjobs like herself “I’m a celeb” is a legendary career killer. Amazing). Nay dear reader, in fact it was something even more bizarre than that.

Meet Marta Yegorovnam. Ms Yegorovnam lives in Petrozavodsk. Now in 1977 a very famous UFO known as the Petrozavodsk jellyfish made headline news around the world when it was spotted zooming around and having a jolly good time above the western Russian city, so the area is not unaccustomed to alien related malarkey. As such the idea that a UFO actually crashed outside Marta’s summer house a couple years ago isn’t all that shocking. What is shocking is that she went outside, rummaged about in the rubble, found a dead alien, and took it back home and stuck it in the fridge. Right next to the bacon and the eggs no doubt (Gee Note: You know, just like Jeffrey Dahmer would have done). And then she kept it there for two years, until some men rocked up at her front door claiming to be from the Karelian Research Centre of the Russian Academy of Sciences and confiscated it. Here’s the DUN DUN DUNNNN bit though. Karelian Research Centre has, wait for it, no record of the body and claims not to have even heard of Marta Yegorovnam before. Thankfully Marta took some pics of Jack McMartian before he disappeared. Wanna see ‘em?

(Gee Note: Hey, I’m pretty sure I dated that girl for a while back in the late ‘90s. I kid, obviously. I couldn’t buy a date in the late ‘90s).

Now ignoring the bleedingly f***ing obvious question of “WHY WOULD YOU KEEP A FREAKIN’ DEAD ALIEN IN THE FRIDGE FOR TWO YEARS??????” it’s pretty difficult to take this story at face value (Gee Note: No. I know. I totally believed in it as well. In fact I went out and bought myself another fridge just in case a UFO crashes in my back garden. Now I’ll have to use it for beer or something. Grrr. So annoying). The reason? Well according to the Mail they got the story from the “Unexplained Mysteries website”. Presumably they mean this one. Which is great. It’s a fine site. But they themselves got the story from this website here, who claim they were sent one of the images three years ago before the others appeared on a Russian blog earlier that week. So if I’ve followed the trail correctly then the source for this news story is a blog who got it from a blog who got it from another unnamed blog written in a foreign language. Which, I don’t know, doesn’t strike me as all that convincing in regards to its authenticity.

Now the earliest post regarding this is dated November 9 2011. However, this video was posted on the November 5 2011 on YouTube with the following description.

Watch the video in full! After a description will be clean images without the text! Pensioner from Petrozavodsk, Russia, kept the alien UFO pilot in the fridge! November 3, 2011. It turns out that she had a couple of years stored in a refrigerator, frozen corpse of his apartment pilot UFOs, alien! As we told Grandma about two years ago, serene autumn night, she found in the yard of his suburban home in the village Mashezero strange Aliens, which came from the intolerable heat, lay crumpled next to a pile of metal. Shortly before it was heard a terrible roar and rumble. The creature was growing about 40 - 50 inches, with a big head, big mouth, big eyes. Clothing on that creature looked like a jumpsuit.

However, as we reported today in the Karelian Academy of Sciences, is no alien in their study does not and can not be. It seems that the famous story is repeated with a stranger Alexis, who took care of mentally incompetent grandmother from the Siberian village and then the mummy which had disappeared somewhere. Fortunately, still managed to make a couple of shots of the creature. For the first time in Karelia, we publish sensational pictures strange creature, which mysteriously fell to the pensioner from Petrozavodsk and as mysteriously disappeared. This may sound crazy, but an alien corpse was kept in a plastic bag about 2 years.

You get all that? Because, I’ll be honest with you, I have no idea what the hell this person is talking about? Who's Alexis? What does any of this have to do with their mentally incompetent grandmother? I haven’t been this confused since that episode of Lost where it turns out that God did it (Gee Note: While never actually explaining what “it” was. Lost was bullshit is what I’m saying here).

So yeah. Whatever this is, I’m convinced it’s not a real story. No one has managed to come up with a quote from Marta Yegorovnam herself. The photos don’t look particularly convincing (Gee Note: Unless you're a fan of the relatively unknown "rotten watermelons from space" theory). And I can’t find any reports of a major UFO sighting in Petrozavodsk in the past three years, especially when you consider it was alleged to have hurtled in to the ground engulfed in a big ball of flames.

Still thank God for the internet right? Because if it didn’t exist then The Daily Mail might be forced to print some actual news. Or more columns written by Liz Jones.

Which, and I think we can all agree on this, would be pretty horrible.

Kent, your nostrils are flaring...

2011-11-02T16:12:00.000-07:00

Let’s face it. Times. They be tough. So tough in fact that the top story on the BBC website today is about how everyone is flat broke, and we’re all probably going to have sell our spare internal organs to sailors on the docks until we’re 85 just to make ends meet. In fact not a day goes by without a stark reminder that we live in a world where spare cash is scarce and the cost of living is ever increasing. (Gee Note: Today’s lesson was provided by the local supermarket, where I found myself shouting things like “£1.60!!! For some butter?? I could buy a goddam cow for that much!!”. In the end The Future Ex-Mrs. Davies had to leave me in the video game aisle because A) You can’t really buy a cow for £1.60 and B) the shelf stackers were starting to look at me funny).

As such there’s a new craze that’s sweeping the media. Newspapers and television shows are now filled with opinion pieces teaching their audience about the virtues of recycling old junk and turning it in to something useful. Presenter Kirstie Allsopp has recently launched a new programme on Channel 4 entitled Kirstie’s Handmade Britain, in which she tours the country showing how easy it is to make a hat out of an old Listerine bottle. And while all that’s going on, in the print world glossy magazines such as Pick Me Up! are offering readers a princely £25 to submit their money saving tips, offering such insights as “Re-use old net curtains to clean work surfaces” and “Instead of buying expensive wrapping paper, use pages of the kids comics instead” (Gee Note: Although, just so you know, if you come anywhere near my comic collection with a pair of scissors I WILL F***ING CUT YOU. I’m tough but fair).

It appears though that some folks may be taking the advice of using everyday objects for other purposes a little bit too far. People like Paul Moran for example.

Moran, a 30 year old native of Northern Ireland, was jailed last week for 3 months after a hearing at Enniskillen Magistrates Court. His honour Judge McFarland also ordered that Paul be placed on licence for a further twelve months upon his release. Now, technically Moran had plead guilty to arson and to endangering the lives of others after accidentally setting fire to his block of flats and causing an estimated £3000 worth of damage. But the reason the fire started in the first place was because Moran was attempting a spot of good ol’ fashioned Alchemy. Or the practice of turning items that aren’t gold in to… er… gold.

(Gee Note: Actually, before I get emails from a group of angry cloak wearing people who would probably not think twice about calling upon the Gods to curse my crops, alchemy is a philosophical tradition that deals with various different subjects. It is a lot more complex than just creating gold out of thin air. So, there we go. No need to slit that goat's throat at all now is there?).

Traditionally alchemists believe that creating a Philosopher’s Stone and then using it will somehow change base metals like lead in to precious ones. (Gee Note: You know like those toy cars that would change colour when you rubbed them with warm water. Hot Wheels I think they were called. They were pretty great to be fair. I should get me some more of those). Moran on the other hand took the novel step of skipping that bit all together and tried to create bullions without a Harry Potter prop or any lead to convert in the first place.

Instead Paul went all Rumpelstiltskin with an electric heater and…

Umm…

His own faeces.

Now I’m no expert in this or any other field but I think I can see what went wrong here. You see when you heat up poo it doesn’t turn in to gold (Gee Note: Amazing right? With knowledge like this I should totally be on QI or something). Instead it just kind of melts a bit. And then probably smells quite frightful. Point is cooking turds in some ghetto level meth lab doesn’t make you rich. Or, I guess, get you many dates either.

The amazing thing about all this is that Moran could have avoided Richard Bransoning his block of flats by simply fishing around online. For on the world wide web there are more than enough ~~crackpots~~ concerned citizens offering advice on various ways to do alchemy related things. Hell videos such as this one even give you step by step instructions on how to make the “Elixir of life” which promises to help you levitate. Oh and walk on water. “Because” says the video’s description, “it is flowing so much light within you, you literally do not attract gravity” (Gee Note: Sure. Because that’s exactly how physics works. Anyone can float around like a freakin’ helium balloon as long as they drink some fizzy stuff first. Einstein wrote a paper on it once. He called it “The theory of special relativity in relation to being able to fly and shit”).

(Gee Note: By the way is it just me or does that guy sound like he’s doing the voice over for a blue movie, rather than a ‘how to make a potion that will give you woovy bezerk super powers’ video? “Yes. And then you dip it in to the bubbles. Nice and slow. Yeah. That’s it. Right there. Oh yeah baby.” It’s a bit creepy really.)

Another excellent resource for all things alchemy based is the “Cosmic Awareness Channellings” website. Which also has a step by step guide on creating a Philosopher’s Stone. What’s that? You want to read it?

Well ok. I mean if you insist.

This Awareness indicates that the First Matter for alchemist normally referred to as water, is that element known as urine. This Awareness indicates that the urine is taken at the time of the spring or fall, at the eclipse of the moon. This is often referred to in alchemy as the “Slaying of Diana,” Diana being the Goddess of the Moon. (Gee Note: Urine you say? Huh. Well no wonder it didn’t work. I’ve been using faeces this whole time. Tsk. It's so simple now you've explained it).

This Awareness indicates that this is to be put into a cornerless jug, in other words a jug that is bulbous in shape, without any corners, so that the urine can flow without being caught in any corners. (Gee Note: Because liquids often get stuck in corners. That’s totally how physics works. Einstein wrote a paper on it once. He called it “The Theory of special relativity in relation to liquids getting stuck in corners and f***ing shit up”. It’s one of his less well known works).

The bulbous bottle with the urine in it is kept at room temperature approximately 80 degrees, or 75 degrees, relatively warm, during that 40 days. After the 40 days, it may be capped with a cork, to continue fermentation. (Gee Note: You might also want to place it somewhere high up. Because I’m guessing that should you spill it, 39 day old wee would be nightmare to get out of the carpet).

The fermentation that occurs during the first 40 days requires that you have it somewhere that can allow for the odor to escape without offending others. (Gee Note: In other words don’t serve lemon snow cones to your guests while your urine is fermenting on the dining table. Might cause a scene).

This Awareness suggests that this may be in a garage or room or shed, someplace where it can be kept warm, such as in a bucket of sand that is on a hot water tank or some place that keeps the temperature up. A light bulb in a box, after the sand has been heated may keep the box warm enough and may keep the bulb bottle warm enough (Gee Note: Basically treat your piss like you would a tortoise. Maybe try feeding it some lettuce and giving it a name. “Splashy” perhaps. Or “Chester Wingnip Jnr”. Something like that).

This Awareness indicates that after the 40 days, the substance is corked, the cork put in and sealed with wax, dripping wax around the cork so that no air can enter or leave. (Gee Note: Why do you start your paragraphs with “This Awareness”? Is it some kind of narcissistic, referring to oneself in the third person, type of deal? If so why call yourself “This Awareness”? If it was me I’d pick something better. Like “Daddy McAwesome”. Daddy McAwesome doesn’t stand for that. Daddy McAwesome thinks you’re crazy. Daddy McAwesome will meet you for drinks later cutie, but only after Daddy McAwesome has finished saving the universe from evil space lizards).

This Awareness indicates that the temperature remains warm, but below body temperature, and time passes. After several months you will see a rainbow-like oil on top. This is referred to in the alchemical symbolism as the “Eagle’s Wing.” It is colorful in that the oil, when light strikes it, causes a rainbow effect so that there are colorful reflections on the oil that surfaces or floats to the top of the mixture. (Gee Note: Aww. It almost sounds quite pretty. If you forget for a moment that we’re TALKING ABOUT URINE HERE.)

This Awareness indicates during this time, the substance grows dark, almost black, and the Eagle’s Wing, or the oil floating on top becomes more vivid. This Awareness indicates that as the year comes to a close, the oil begins to turn red in color, a more reddish color, and eventually, near the end of the year, it should become more or less dried out as a whitish colored powder. (Gee Note: White powder? Hmm. Whatever you do keep it away from Charlie Sheen. He’s likely to snort the whole lot before attempting to mount a slot machine in Las Vegas thinking it’s a willing mate. A year’s worth of hard work cultivating your own pee undone by horny lunatic Topper Harley. Heart breaking stuff).

This Awareness indicates that the white powder is the Philosopher’s Stone, which then can become a product for creating more Philosopher’s Stone by adding more urine and simply allowing it to ferment and evaporate. Once the Philosopher’s Stone is developed, it serves as a kind of powder that can be put into the melted lead and its presence then turns that lead into gold. This Awareness indicates that entities playing with alchemy need to be extremely spiritual and avoid the greed aspects. It can turn against you. (Gee Note: Of course. It goes without saying really. I mean when I think of keeping a jar of human waste in a cupboard for a year the three words that spring to mind are “closer to God”).

So there you go. If you are determined to turn something ordinary in to gold, then there’s no need to go the faecal/electric heater route. Just follow the above instructions and you’ll be rolling around in Russian supermodels in no time. And as an added bonus you can be just as skeevy with human waste products as you want to be.

Just, try not to set fire to anything.

Wales Blog Awards 2011

2011-11-02T14:16:00.001-07:00

He liked the idea of travel, and the memory of travel, but not travel itself.

2011-10-19T16:16:00.000-07:00

Do you ever find yourself saying something that you know you’ll come to regret later on?

For example, the other night I was lying in bed when I had a sudden urge to [insert your own euphemism for urinating here]. So, with a bleary eye and a head full of cotton, I lurched into the bathroom and discovered two unexpected guests lounging around in my bath tub. A spider and a moth to be precise. Now I’ll be honest with you. I’m not a huge fan of insects. It’s not that I’m scared of them you understand (Gee Note: Because I don’t fear anything. In fact if you look up “Alpha Male” in the dictionary you’ll find a picture of me shirtless and carrying a gun while a pair of Lithuanian sex workers hold on to my legs) It’s just I find them very weird. Indeed, it never fails to amaze me that people scoff at the idea of the existence of Bigfoot, and yet think slugs are perfectly acceptable. I mean sure, tentacled legless mucus bags that have protective shells on the inside of their body are perfectly fine. But an undiscovered large ape? Now you’ve gone too far buddy.

Anyway it was late and I was tired, and this situation was only going to end in one of two ways. Either I was going to stumble downstairs, grab a newspaper, head back upstairs and spend a fruitless half hour trying to coax the little buggers on to the folded journal so they could be deposited neatly out of the window. Or I was going to turn on the tap and send both these intruders to a watery grave.

I chose the second option. Which, it turns out, was a mistake.

Because after I had completed my initial goal of relieving myself I pawed at the faucet to turn it off without checking to see if the little squatters and taken the one way trip to drainsville. Instead I bumbled out of the bathroom, stubbed my toe on the bannister, and climbed back in to bed moaning about how completely unfair the world is when things like bannisters are allowed to exist.

The following morning I was woken by the sweet voice of The Future Ex-Mrs. Davies.

“Gareth?” she asked softly.

“Mmmmppfflufflloff” came my response.

“Gareth?” she asked again, somewhat louder this time.

“Wha?” (Gee Note: To be fair it was first thing in the morning. I’m amazed she got that much out of me. She normally checks my pulse before banging a pair of cymbals next to my head).

“Why is there a dead spider and a dead moth in the bath?”

“I don’t know” I said before making my second mistake “Maybe… they fought to the death”.

Now had I just said “Oh sorry love. I tried washing them down the drain last night but I guess it didn’t work.” then things would have been fine. But I didn’t say that. Instead, even though there was only the slightest chance I may get in to trouble over two deceased insects, my fight or flight response kicked in and I immediately reverted to ‘deny all knowledge of event and offer alternative hypothesis’ mode.

“They fought to the death?” The Future Ex-Mrs. Davies asked incredulously (Gee Note: She’s a smart cookie that partner of mine. She knows nonsense when she hears it. Which is why I have to often distract her with shiny things and pictures of puppies. Otherwise I’d end up spending all day every day explaining myself and, well, that would become awfully tiring after a while).

“Yeah sure,” I said. “Spiders and moths are mortal enemies”.

“Are they now?”

“Uh huh. In fact it was in that nature documentary we watched last week. The one narrated by David Attenborough. Insecty Planet. There was this moth and this spider and the moth was all like “Don’t you come near me man!” And the spider was like “I’ll go wherever I please. I’m a muthaf***ing spider!” And then the moth starting throwing karate kicks and the spider came back with these brutal haymakers and…”

“Gareth.”

“Yes dear?”

“Go in to the bathroom. Get rid of the two bugs you killed. And then clean the bath from top to bottom.”

“Yes dear.”

So yeah. That was my morning. Cleaning the sodding bathtub. All because for some reason I tried to convince my wife that there's a 300 billion year rivalry between two different sets of creepy-crawlies.

But hey, it could have been worse I guess. It wasn’t like I went missing for five days and when I returned claimed I had been abducted by aliens.

Meet Travis Walton. The date was November 5 1975. At the time 22 year old Travis was part of a logging crew led by his best friend Mike Rogers. The rest of the crew was made up of Ken Peterson, John Goulette, Steve Pierce, Allen Dallis and Dwayne Smith, all of whom resided in the small town of Snowflake, Arizona. They had been hired by the United States Forest Service to tidy up some 1,200 acres of land that had become overrun with shrubs. It was a pretty sweet deal all things considered, as should the work be completed by the agreed deadline then Rogers and friends were set to make more money from this single job than they had on any other one previously.

Problem was the lads had fallen behind schedule, and rather than risk defaulting on the contract they had literally started working from dawn till dusk. On November 5 at a little after 6 pm the group had hung up their bush cutting implements for the day and were heading back to Snowflake in Mike’s truck. It was an uneventful trip and nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Nah. I’m yanking your chain. The truth is all hell broke loose. Shortly after setting off on their journey they saw a bright light coming up from behind a hill in front of them. As they got closer they noticed it wasn’t a light at all. Rather a bloody great big flying saucer, hovering above a clearing in the forest. Silver in colour it was described as being somewhere in the region of 8ft high and 20ft in diameter.

Now Mike Rogers was a sensible sort of chap and he immediately stopped his truck so as not to get fried by an alien laser. Alas Travis Walton was not as sensible, because as soon as the vehicle stopped Walton leapt out and started running toward the UFO like a dog chasing a car. Everybody else in the truck started shouting things like “What the deuce? Travis? Why art thou heading towards that beastly contraption at such velocity?” (Gee Note: Either that or “Holy shit! Travis??? Get back in the truck you goddam moron!!”. Records are sketchy is what I’m saying). Undoubtedly scared witless by the huge spaceship in the heavens above none of the other loggers followed Walton. Which was probably for the best, because as Travis arrived at his destination the woovy bezerk flying thingy fired a beam at Travis that "rose him a foot into the air, his arms and legs outstretched, and shot him back stiffly some 10 feet (3.0 m), all the while caught in the glow of the light. His right shoulder hit the earth, and his body sprawled limply over the ground." according to statements made to UFO researcher Jerome Clarke.

Seeing Walton getting his ass handed to him by a bunch of aliens was enough for Mike, who swung the truck around and put his foot down. When he finally lost control and skidded off the road they were a quarter of a mile away. It was half an hour later and after “much discussion” (Gee Note: “So, Mike. I hear Julian Barnes has been shortlisted yet again for the Booker prize. Do you think he’ll win this year, and if so is The Sense of an Ending any better than the bracing postmodernism of Flaubert’s Parrot?”) they returned to the scene. Where they found…

Nothing.

Not a jot.

No sign of Travis. No sign of a struggle, or a body being violently flung about like a hot cup of coffee at one of Barbra Streisand’s assistants. Sure as sugar no sign of any aliens. Rogers and the rest of the crew drove around for a bit trying to find any clue as to what might have happened to Travis, but to no avail. They found neither hide nor hair of him.

At 7.30 pm Deputy Sheriff Chuck Ellison received a phone call from Ken Peterson. Peterson, obviously sounding distressed, reported that Walton had gone missing. Ellison arranged to meet Peterson and the rest of the crew at a shopping centre, and upon his arrival they divulged the full story. During this conversation Ellison noted that all the men were distraught, with two of them actually reduced to tears. While he did not believe for a second that Jack McSpaceman was snatching folks from Arizona willy nilly, he became convinced that whatever had happened to these men had affected them deeply. So Ellison called his superior Sheriff Marlin Gillespie, who advised Ellison to keep the men at the shopping centre until he got there. Within the hour Gillespie arrived with Officer Ken Coplan and the tale was related to them. Rogers demanded that they head back out to the scene with sniffer dogs. No dogs were available, but Gillespie rounded up a posse regardless and they all headed off to find what many expected to be the lifeless body of Travis Walton.

There wasn’t a body to be found. In fact there wasn’t anything to be found.

Literally no physical evidence to suggest that anything untoward had happened at all. Although police kept up the search for a couple of hours the truth was many of them had already come to one of two conclusions. Either Walton had been killed by accident or on purpose by one of his work colleagues and buried somewhere in the forest, with the rest of the crew going along with this fantastical ruse in order to protect one of their own. Or Walton had pulled a prank on his mates and was now currently hanging out in a bar laughing at how silly everyone else was.

Rogers and Coplan went to visit Walton’s mother Mary Walton Kellett to break the bad news to her. Rather than collapse in tears and tear open her blouse, she simply asked the men to repeat themselves. They did and she then calmly asked if anyone other than police and eye witnesses had heard the story. Coplan left her house thinking that she was acting strangely, very unlike a mother who had just been told that her son was missing. He got the impression that the only way she would be this calm was if she knew Travis was actually not missing at all. This added fuel to the growing suspicion that Walton’s “abduction” was not on the level.

Fast forward three days and still little progress had been made on the case. In fact the police had pretty much given up the search, which led to Rogers and Travis’ older brother Duane to cause a fracas in the police station. Worse the media had rocked up in Snowflake, and were salivating all over this story. For reporters this was a win/win. Either Walton was dead, in which case the loggers would go down as the most knuckleheaded criminals in the history of North America. Or Walton had faked his own disappearance, which would make him a real life pantomime villain. Or Travis had actually been abducted by aliens, which would be the biggest news story since that Jewish guy water skied across a lake without any skis or a boat to pull him. Whatever the result the newspapers and television shows were quids in.

Almost immediately large sections of the media started to raise doubts about the validity of the UFO story as well as questioning the character of all the main players involved. Therefore Rogers and the rest of the crew agreed to a polygraph test (Gee Note: On the Jeremy Kyle show! That would be an amazing episode. “Where I come from people are taught to take responsibility for their actions. So why don’t you LAY OFF THE CANNABIS, GET OFF YOUR BACKSIDE, PUT SOMETHING ON THE END OF IT, AND STOP KILLING THE PEOPLE YOU WORK WITH AND BURYING THEM IN THE WOODS??? *pauses for applause* We have to take a break but we’ll be right back with those all-important lie detector results”). With the exception of Allen Dallis, the men passed the polygraph, leading to the tester to comment that "These polygraph examinations prove that these five men did see some object they believed to be a UFO, and that Travis Walton was not injured or murdered by any of these men on that Wednesday".

(Gee Note: By the way the reason Dallis did not complete the test was that he legged it halfway through. You see Dallis had lied about a previous criminal conviction in order to get his job with Rogers and was worried that he would get exposed. Which is why all employers should have a polygraph machine on hand when interviewing prospective employees in the first instance. “What’s my worst quality? Well some people have suggested that I’m a workaholic and I care about my job too much” Beep. “What? Oh f*** it then. My worst quality is stealing underwear from Marks & Spencers. There. Happy now?”)

It didn’t matter though, as both police and the news people were convinced this was all a stunt. Snowflake town marshall Sanford Flake was particular keen to expose the fraudsters, publically announcing that Travis and Duane had fooled the loggers by lighting a balloon. Without, alas, a shred of evidence to back it up. He even turned up on Mary Walton Kellett’s doorstep with a camera crew hoping to find Travis hiding inside her house.

And then on 10 November, five days after he had gone missing, Travis Walton called his friend Grant Neff from a public phone box at Heber Gas station. Neff at first didn’t believe it was him until Travis screamed down the phone "It's me, Grant ... I'm hurt, and I need help badly. You come and get me". So Neff did what he was told. He found Walton at the Herber Gas station slumped in a booth, wearing the same clothes he had on when he went missing. Neff bundled Travis in to the back of his car and headed back to Snowflake, while Walton mumbled about “things with terrifying eyes” (Gee Note: What, like Edwina Curry?) and was surprised to discover he had been away for five days, thinking he was gone a couple of hours at most.

So what had happened to Travis Walton?

Well, according to the man himself the beam that hit him knocked him unconscious. And when he woke up he was on an alien craft. Luckily Walton was carrying a home movie camera with him at the time and managed to record the following footage.

OK. Not really. I have no idea what that is (Gee Note: It’s kind of hypnotic though right? I’ve watched this thing like sixteen times in a row now. It’s not that I like it. It’s that I can’t not watch it). According to Walton the last thing he remembered was being hit by a beam, waking up on the ship, and getting in to an argument with some little aliens which he described as “shorter than five feet, and they had bald heads, no hair. Their heads were domed, very large. They looked like foetuses”. Which I’m guessing is what caused the argument in the first place. I mean Martians have feelings too you know? Anyway the tiny follically challenged dudes beat a hasty retreat when Walton threatened them with glass rod. They were replaced with human figures in blue jumpsuits and with glowing golden eyes. These people grinned at him inanely not saying a word, before eventually leading him to a small room where they gassed him and then presumably dumped him at a gas station for no reason at all.

Now the spacemen were done with Travis Walton, it was the turn of the press. The Phoenix Gazette ran a story about a man named William H. Spaulding who claimed to have examined and questioned Walton for 2 hours the day following his return. He claimed that there had been inconsistencies with Walton’s story and that he was prepared to expose Travis for creating a carefully constructed lie. Feeling under pressure to defend himself Travis spoke to Gillespie and offered to partake in a polygraph or be injected with truth serum. Gillespie said a polygraph would be fine (Gee Note: Largely because he was neither Jack Bauer nor a Russian spy and as such truth serum was pretty hard to come by). But then news that he was to undergo a lie detector test was leaked to the press and Duane Walton, by this point acting as his brother’s minder, cancelled the test thinking Gillespie had tipped off the reporters.

In the end Travis did take a polygraph test, paid for by the National Enquirer, who were probably trying to tie up the Waltons to an exclusive interview. The test was conducted John J McCarthy and…

Travis failed. (Gee Note: I assume that there was a sharp intake of breath by the studio audience when the results were read out. At least that’s what happens on Maury. And considering I’ve never been hooked up to one of these things that’s all I can go by).

In fact not only did he fail but Duane Walton requested the results be supressed, as per the agreement he made with the National Enquirer. And by the time that they were made public eight months later Travis was already considered to be a fraud, the polygraph being the final nail in the coffin. The cynics sighted the lack of emotional response from Mary, interview statements made by Rogers and Duane casting doubt on their motives, and a medical examination of Travis showing low levels of ketones in his urine (Gee Note: Ketones are present when you go without food or drink for an extended period of time and your body starts to break down fats to survive. If Travis had been gone for five days then he surely would have had high levels of ketones in his wee. But he didn’t. So either he was eating pretty regularly, or E.T. and pals were funnelling liquefied cheeseburgers directly in to Walton’s tummy. Which, when you think about it, is one way McDonalds could revive their flagging business. “In a hurry? Why not try the new McPumpulator?”. Cash cow I tells ya).

And it really doesn’t matter that McCarthy’s conduct during the test was brought in to question as being “unprofessional”, or that Travis would later pass two further polygraph tests. It doesn’t matter that Rogers was accused of being an accomplice in a scam to allow him to default on his contract with the Forrest service, despite the fact that he had defaulted on several other contracts with them before without claiming alien involvement. It doesn’t matter that the Walton’s were labelled as drunks and ne’er-do-wells in the tabloids, or that Mary’s dignified response was deemed to be suspicious.

No the real moral of the story is that if you want to have a quiet life and you see a friend of yours being abducted by aliens then do the smart thing. Tell the authorities it was a gang of hoodlums that did it or something. Because when it comes to aliens, just like the moth and spider’s rivalry, getting people to believe you is damned difficult. No matter how many lie detector tests you pass.

My name is Sue. How do you do?

2011-10-04T09:51:00.000-07:00

I should really stop trying to be a smart arse.

Allow me to explain. A couple of weeks ago I posted a piece on this ‘ere web based log about Cosmic Ordering, and how it was all just a little bit silly. To prove my point I decided to nominate myself for the Wales Blog Awards’ “Best Writing” category, and placed a Cosmic Order asking the universe if it could see its way to making this blog one of the finalists.

Now I’ll be honest with you (Gee Note: I mean by this point we’re pretty much buds right?). I expected to get trounced by all the other folks who entered the Wales Blog Awards. Largely because the people of Wales have a tendency to be bloody good at this sort of thing. No really. We might not be able win a football match or leave a supermarket without having to pay for the carrier bags, but dognammit when it comes to being creative we can rub shoulders with the best of them. We produce more Hollywood stars than we have any right to. Our poets and song writers are celebrated around the world. Our language is rightfully considered to be one of the most remarkable in Europe. All in all we’re a pretty awesome bunch when you think about it.

So when it came to my chances of making a splash in the WBA’s, I was rather confident in my upcoming failure. Because, when surrounded by genuinely intriguing and fabulously written blogs, a fat ginger nerd waffling on about aliens and sea monsters would probably be considered laughable at best. Oh sure if there was a “Bless him. He tries hard. He really does” award then maybe I’d be in with a shout (Gee Note: Although even then I’d probably lose out to a particularly slow squirrel bashing a nut against a keyboard). But “Best Writing”? Nah. Not a chance.

Anyway the Wales Blog Award finalists were announced on Friday. And so I clicked on the link while gleefully preparing a smug “told you so you crazy hippy basket cases” post in my head.

And then… it all fell apart.

Because somehow the judges were afflicted with what medical professionals would refer to as “a case of the f***ing crazies” and, lo and behold, I Saw Elvis In The Woods is on the list. Which means one of two things. Either A) the judges really are open to bribes no matter how much they “protest” or B) Cosmic Ordering actually works. In which case nuts to the Wales Blog Awards. I should have asked for a Ferrari to be delivered to my front door by a Swedish bikini model.

(Gee Note: By the way the finalists are all listed here for your consideration. And, despite the questionable practice of including this tour de farce amongst them, the rest of the entries are all brilliant. Not least the other two nominations in the “Best Writing” category, Morden Haiku Poetry by the ridiculously talented Matt Morden and mikejenkins.net by a tremendous writer named… er… Mike Jenkins. So congratulations to both of them as well and, as long as neither of them actually wins, I’m honoured to be considered alongside them. Should either of them win then they are both thieving bastards and probably also terrorists of some sort. Also as well as the established categories up for grabs there’s THE PEOPLE’S CHOICE award which is decided by a public vote. So go there and vote for me if you want to. Or don’t. Whatever. I can’t force you to. It’s not like I’ve kidnapped your pet or something. And then tied said pet to a conveyor belt that's heading ever so slowly towards a circular saw. I mean that would be crazy wouldn’t it? It would also make me the type of guy you wouldn’t want to mess with correct? Well relax. I haven’t done that to Mr. Fluffy at all. You’re right. He’s probably just out in the back garden enjoying the sunshine.)

Speaking of things that don’t turn out the way you would expect, Psychic Sally has been in the news a lot recently. You guys remember Psychic Sally right? No? You sure? Well for those of you who aren’t familiar with “Britain’s Favourite Psychic”, Sally Morgan is a former dental nurse who claims to be able to contact the dead. In 2008 she became rather famous in the UK after publishing a book entitled “My Psychic Life”. Since then she has toured the country non-stop, conducting shows in various theatres where she offers readings to members of the audience. Unlike most UK psychics who, let’s face it, are kind of creepy - Sally’s gimmick is that she’s an average, down to earth woman. She’s the mumsy medium, the one who’ll hold your hand while saying things like “There, there love. Your grandmother wants you to know that you shouldn’t leave the cod in the oven for too long”.

She’s also a complete charlatan. Well she is if you believe a ~~boy~~ woman named Sue.

On September 11th Morgan performed in the Grand Canal Theatre in Dublin. Just like any other show of Sally’s she wowed the crowd by (Gee Note: Contacting the spirit of late great professional wrestler Macho Man Randy Savage? That would be amazing. “I’m with a man named Randy and he says… OOOH YEAH!!!!! Does that mean anything to anyone here? ‘OOOOH YEAH!!!!’? He’s also saying… wait… he’s saying ‘Hulk Hogan is a little bitch’.) informing them that their loved ones in the great beyond were having a grand old time and were proud of them and so on.

However the following day Sue, a member of the audience the previous night, called in to RTE Radio 1 during their Liveline show. Here’s a recording of the interview.

Now if you looked at that video and balked at the running time of 17 minutes then I’ll break it down for you (Gee Note: Although if you don’t have at least 17 minutes to kill then why the hell you’re reading this blog I have no idea. I mean you may not have noticed but these posts tend to go on for a long ass time). Sue was at the show at the Grand Canal Theatre the previous night and noticed something rather odd. At the back of the theatre, just behind where Sue was sitting was a small enclave that she described as like “a projection room”. From the room Sue could distinctly hear the sound of a man’s voice during the performance (Gee Note: Talking during the show eh? Only one way to deal with people like that. They deserve a full blooded, no holds barred, tutting at).

The strange thing is the voice didn’t appear to be having a regular conversation about whether or not one would “do” a certain celebrity or what a shambles a specific sports team is. Instead the voice from the room would say something and then a handful of seconds later Sally would repeat the same thing on stage. The example Sue gave is that the voice would say something like “Dave. Complained of a bad back. Passed quickly” and almost immediately Sally would say “I’m here with Dave. He’s complaining about a bad back. Says he passed quickly”. Sue was under the impression that the information was being fed to Sally via an earpiece from an accomplice who had mingled with the audience before the show, picking up scraps of information here and there.

Anyway the story was picked up by The Guardian, and specifically by Chris French. French is the editor of The Skeptic Magazine, and as such is always on the lookout for a good tale about claims of the paranormal not being on the level. So he submitted his article to the Guardian, threw in some information about James Randi and the one million dollar prize for proof of psychic abilities remaining unclaimed, and probably thought nothing else about it.

Sally Morgan, as featured on Living TV

But, like sharks smelling blood, tabloid journalists came a-sniffing. You see there’s nothing better than stories of celebrities, no matter how small and insignificant, disgracing themselves with which to fill up the pages on an otherwise slow news day. And so with ears pricked and claws sharpened, off to the races the press went.

There were a million opinion pieces written that week, penned by slathering sirens desperate to preach from their holier than thou soapboxes. Journalists such as Jan Moir, who claimed that people who believe in psychics are “gullible”, “simple-minded” and “foolish”. In an article that wasn’t so much an attack on Sally Morgan as it was on those who spent hard earned money trying to find some piece of mind, it’s astonishing that she didn’t jot down a paragraph asking those morons to just kill themselves and make the world a better place. Iain Hollingshead took a slightly less abrasive position, at first comparing the news that a psychic could be a fraud to the pope admitting he’s catholic before claiming he has an “open mind”. Even Nigel Pauley of The Star got in on the act, guffawing that for such a powerful medium it’s amazing that Sally never saw this hullaballoo coming. (Gee Note: Think that’s amazing. I once saw a potato that looked exactly like Winston Churchill. Point to me I think).

Obviously feeling under pressure to respond to the criticism being levelled at her Morgan came out swinging. At a show at the Orchard Theatre in Dartford, Sally opened her act with the following monologue which The Daily Mail referred to as a “spirited defence” (Gee Note: GEDDIT?!?!? “Spirited”. Cos she’s like a psychic and everything? I know. It’s pretty sweet right? It’s all Jeremy’s work. We sat there for, oh gosh, ages trying to come up with a brilliant pun and Jeremy walks in and is all like “How about a spirited defence”? At first we didn’t get it but then he explained it and we were like “Oh man, that’s great”. But that’s Jeremy all over really. Deep thinker).

These are so you can hear me. This is a microphone. I can put my hair behind my ears to prove I have nothing in my ears. I refuse to hold a hand microphone because part of the show is the fact that I act out what I am hearing (Gee Note: Really? I refuse to hold a microphone because I often say stupid things. Like, for example, comparing my feet to my ears or something). If I’ve got a hand microphone I’m going to feel restricted. I don’t hear anything through my ears. It’s like trying to say I receive messages through the soles of my feet (Gee Note: Well I’ll be damned. You say stupid shit as well).

She went on to say: I don’t know any of you in the audience. I don’t know who is coming tonight. I know nothing about you. I can’t Google you. I haven’t walked around your local cemetery. I’m a medium. This is what I do. (Gee Note: You can Google me if you like. Although you won’t find much. Because I’m a super-secret ninja spy who must keep his identity secret at all times. Either that or I’m not very noteworthy. One of the two).

And do you know what? This speech received a hearty round of applause. No really it did. In fact not one single person called out and said “Bollocks. I’ve seen Derren Brown on the telly. I know how this stuff works!”. Instead she carried on with the show and everyone probably had a marvellous time.

Which, I guess, is the moral of this story. It doesn’t matter what all those mean newspaper people say. Morgan’s fans will stick with her regardless. They want to believe that she can talk to the dead, even though all logic and scientific fact would suggest otherwise. They want to believe that Sally Morgan has a direct line to the spirit world, even though if she did you would think that she'd spend all her time betting on the gee-gee's (Gee Note: No relation) and helping world leaders locate members of Al-Qaeda, rather than standing on stage in a sparkly blouse. They want to believe in her to such a degree that they’re willing to ignore a national scandal about her authenticity. They simply want to believe in Psychic Sally.

So despite the outcry, the blustering editorials, and the online comment sections being flooded by opinionated readers, Sally Morgan will keep drawing in the crowds whether she’s knowingly duping the public or not.

And you don’t really need a voice in your ear to tell you there’s something not quite right with that.

Killing me won't bring back your goddamn honey!

2011-09-21T14:25:00.000-07:00

Nicolas Cage is pretty crazy.

Now don't get me wrong, I like Nicolas Cage. I like that he named his son Kal-El after Superman (Gee Note: Although, let's be honest, with a name like that it will be a miracle if Kal-El Cage doesn't grow up to be a heroin addict. Which is why I called my daughter something sensible. I don’t want a child of mine growing up all wrong. No siree. Not my little Megatron Davies). I like the fact he's blown all of his money on big houses and dinosaur bones, and is now at the top of the Inland Revenue's hit list. I like the fact that he's considered a terrible actor even though he was fantastic in Adaptation and Leaving Las Vegas. I even like the remake of The Wicker Man, largely because of this YouTube video.

(Gee Note: Did you see that? He punched a woman in the face while dressed as a bear! A BEAR! How this movie isn't considered an all-time great I'll never know).

But even the most ardent Cage supporters would agree that he's a wee bit eccentric. The way he refuses to eat animals that in his opinion don't have sex the right way (Gee Note: Notice I use the term "his opinion". Personally I think that the way that warthogs make love is the most tender and caring in all of nature). The way he says things like "I am not a demon. I am a lizard, a shark, a heat-seeking panther." in interviews and expects other people to understand him. The fact that even though he owes the IRS around $14 million he still found enough spare cash to buy himself a pyramid tomb in May 2010. No really. A pryamid tomb. Just so he can be laid to rest like a Egyptian prince. Which, when you consider you could probably knock up a decent pyramid using empty egg boxes and a tube of No More Nails, was probably a bit of a waste of money.

However the strangest thing about Nic Cage's tomb is that it's basically redundant. Because rumour has it that our dear Nicolas is immortal.

Now before you start shouting at me through your monitor (Gee Note: Which is a bit pointless because I can't hear you. But, you know, whatever gets you through the day I guess. Me? I like yelling at the Dominos website. I'll say something like 'SAUSAGE!!!" in my best Brian Blessed voice and then try and click the mouse and keyboard in as subtle a way possible. That way when the pizza arrives anyone who is watching me will think I can use only my words to control electromagnetic waves and make them do my bidding. And they'll be all like "Wow. Have you seen that guy? He's a super hero or something". And I'll be all like "No. No. I'm just a regular guy.". But they'll think that's just false modesty and they'll bring me money. And cake. And one day I'll be made King of the known universe and have my breakfast made for me every morning by Michel Roux Jnr and a cyborg named Doris. Anyway, I digress…) the whole Nicolas Cage is immortal thing isn't something I've made up.

Heck no daddio, this is all the work of Jack Mord. Mord, an antiques dealer from Seattle, Washington was flicking through some photos the other day and thought “My, that looks exactly like Nicolas Cage.” Now had this been a copy of OK Magazine or a DVD found at the bottom of the bargain bin (Gee Note: Zing!) then he wouldn’t have thought much of it. However this photo was amongst a collection of civil war memorabilia which Mord had dated at around 140 years old. And the more Jack looked at the picture the more convinced he became that the person he was staring at was in fact Cage himself.

As quick as a flash Jack did exactly what any sane person in the same situation would do. He (Gee Note: Invited his friends around to get stoned and watch Yellow Submarine again while passing the photo around?) put it up for sale on EBay with the following description: “Original c.1870 carte de visite [a type of small photograph] showing a man who looks exactly like Nick Cage. Personally, I believe it’s him and that he is some sort of walking undead/vampire... who quickens/reinvents himself once every 75 years or so. 150 years from now, he might be a politician, the leader of a cult, or a talk show host”. Which is all kinds of great. Even better? Mord has valued the price of the photo at a princely $1million. And who wouldn’t want to own a picture of someone who looks like Nicolas Cage for the same amount of money it would cost to make a Tomahawk missile. Where do I sign up?

(Gee Note: Although to be fair if I was worth something ridiculous like a thousand billion dollars then I would totally buy this. Which is why the Future-Ex Mrs. Davies won’t let me go to Toys R Us by myself.)

Now a lot of folks will scoff at the idea of Nic Cage being some sort of turritopsis nutricula/human hybrid (Gee Note: The turri… turrito… jellyfish is potentially immortal. No really. Once it hits sexual maturity it can pretty much live forever as long as it’s careful and doesn’t pick a fight with a barracuda or something. Which, when you think about it, is completely insane. I mean there’s such a thing as immortal jellyfish on this Earth, creatures that can actually live forever, and people find the idea of Bigfoot absurd) but they shouldn’t really. You see the secret for ever lasting life is already out there on the world wide web.

In fact you don’t have to be a vampire, a zombie, a jellyfish, a unicorn, or any other mythical beast to live forever (Gee Note: What do you mean jellyfish are real? Those pink wobbly sumbitches? Yeah right. Pull the other one buddy. Next you’ll be telling me cushions have a soul). Nay dear reader, you simply need a Magnetic Immortality Device.

Meet Alex Chiu. According to his amazingly barmy "about me" page, Chiu was born in San Francisco in 1971. Shortly after this his parents divorced and he was sent to Taiwan where his grandparents "raised me up" (Gee Note: They raised him up so he could stand on moooooountains. They raaaaaaaised him up to walk on stormy seas. La la la la something something something. They raised him up to more than he could be). It was obviously a rather relaxed upbringing as Al cuts quite the laid back figure. Indeed about the whole Taiwanese-Chinese debate he diplomatically states. I AM NOT TAWAINESE. I AM CHINESE, and I wish China will one day take Taiwan back, peacefully or by force, at any cost! See? The man is so calm and peaceful he's like a duck pond on a sunny day.

About the state of China itself he goes on to say - Americans use books to build heaven. Chinese use books as tools to get rich quick. They laugh at you if you perceive new discoveries or ideas! Thats why they will never improve! Chinese are too practical. When you talk about investing in new technologies, Chinese would back out. They rather open a Chinese restaurant than investing in some new technology that would change the world. But realize the richest people on earth are still the most inventive people, the Americans. (Gee Note: Gosh. Well doesn't time and a global economic crisis make fools of all huh?).

Ah but Chiu is not just a wise political philosopher with a heart of stone. He is also capable of giving and receiving love. From a cat. Or as Alex puts it - One day in year 2003, this guy showed up in my back yard begging for food. He became the love of my life ever since. I open 3 cans of cat food for him every meal (Gee Note: Dude I think your cat has worms. Might want to get that looked in to), and I treat him well. If God wants me to choose between this guy or a beautiful woman like Hilary Duff, I will dump the girl and be with my cat. Which is nice. Although why God would want you to choose between Hilary Duff and a cat I have no idea. I missed the passage in the bible where it states 'Yea and The Lord spoke unto Jeremiah and said "Look pal. I can't have you running around with both a hot chick and a pet. It's making Brian the lonely giraffe jealous. So you'll have to give one up. Which will it be?" and Jeremiah replied unto Him "Hmm. OK. I choose Snuggles the Hamster over the woman". And The Lord said "Wait. What? J my homie, are you crazy??? Have you seen this woman? I spent days creating her. I'm talking like a non-stop grind you know? I mean I made the hamster out of left over rat bits and some spare cotton wool. The woman is a work of art. A masterpiece. You sure you want to throw that away?". And Jeremiah said "Yeah I'm pretty sure". And so The Lord smote Jeremiah for being stupid'.

Now on this evidence it would be easy to dismiss Alex Chiu as a self-hating Chinese crazy cat guy. But despite his personality quirks, Chiu is actually a freakin' genius in the same league as Thomas A. Edison, Nikola Tesla, and Albert Einstein (Gee Note: A point that Alex helpfully illustrates on the front page of his website). And it's all down to his patented invention, the magnetic immortality device.

That's right folks, push that old lady in front of you out of the way and step right up. For the one, the only, Alex Chiu has discovered the secret to living forever. Not only that but it turns out you can have eternal life and look fashionable at the same time. All you have to do is wear a special set of toe and finger rings each night to bed and, kablooey, you're all kinds of Jack Harkness-ing up in this hizz-ouse (Gee Note: By this I mean you're immortal, not having sex with random men who then turn out to be aliens trying to steal your blood. Although I'm not saying you can't do that as well. You wanna bang same sex, extra-terrestrial, leeches then you go right ahead. It's a free world man). According to Chiu's site:

The Eternal Life Rings and The Eternal Life Foot Braces invented by Alex Chiu are believed to allow humans to stay physically young forever or turn humans physically younger, (Our lawyer told us to use the word "believe") as long as you wear the rings or foot braces every night during sleep. (Gee Note: Tsk. Lawyers eh? Always freaking out about "You'll get sued" this and "You'll get sued" that. Why won't they just let me make stuff up to make a quick buck from gullible morons? Stupid lawyers killing my dreams). It goes on to say that these rings create a positive energy that flows through the body allowing it to heal "wounds and scars". Chui adds - The reason why healing wounds and scars of the body is the secret to eternal life is because ----cholesterol do not pile up at blood vessels that has good circulation. Cholesterol piles up at blood vessels that has bad blood circulation. And what causes bad blood circulation? Wounds and scars. (Gee Note: Alex's lawyer would like to point out that cholesterol can also be caused by eating cheeseburgers).

So, I hear you say, how do I get my hands on these fantastic rings that will allow me to live forever and go to the funerals of people I don't like and act smug? Well if you pay Alex Chui around $30 he'll send one to you. If you pay him $100 he'll send you the full immortality set. Rings, braces, special herbs, the "My girlfriend became immortal and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" t-shirt, you'll get the works. But here's the thing. You don't have to give Chui a dime. Because, for all you crafters out there, the instructions to build your own death destroying device are right there on the website.

Alex recommends using "rare earth or ceramic magnets", "and plastic or plastic tape to make the rings". He also warns that we should use a compass because “if you put the rings on with the wrong polarity, you could get sick within hours!”.

Problem is I don’t have any of those things. I do however have a couple of novelty fridge magnets, some sellotape, and way too much time on hands. So here’s one I made earlier.

I’m wearing it to bed tonight. I’ll let you know if it works.

In a thousand years time. On Nicolas Cage’s talk show.

I must break you.

2011-09-15T17:32:00.000-07:00

Before we get going congratulations to Rob Haines and Jenny Sargent who tied the knot earlier this month. I consider myself extremely fortunate to count both as dear friends, and it was a tremendous privilege to act as Rob's best man on his special day. Also, regarding my best man's speech, I'd like to apologise to all of those in attendance. I now realise that when telling the story of Rob and the stripper with the dead horse I may have been a tad too enthusiastic in recounting the details. It was never my intention to cause any offence, or make Jenny's grandmother cry. I certainly didn’t mean to refer to the maid of honour as "that turquoise manatee". And while I'm a great believer in the old adage that it takes two to tango, I am prepared to be the bigger man and take responsibility for the fist fight with the priest as well. For this I am truly sorry and I hope my actions did not detract from what was genuinely a wonderful occasion.

Speaking of Rob, let's talk about the Yeti (Gee Note: Because you see Rob is Asian and lives on a mountain like a troll of some type. OK not really. Truth is it's late and I couldn't think of a good segue. I mean you try coming up with a link between a Sasquatch and a wedding. It's not easy). Or more accurately the hunt for a Yeti. Much like his American cousin Bigfoot, every year the Yeti attracts thousands upon thousands of people to remote locations hoping that they’ll be the one who finally proves beyond reasonable doubt that the this cryptic creature exists. And no one, not one single person, ever succeeds. At best we get a blurry video of something moving in the distance that could just as likely be a bear as it could be a Sasquatch. At worst we get a very cold camper who probably needs to have a sit down and a long think about their life. Either way it's generally speaking a huge waste of time.

Still, common sense dictates that if you’re determined to head off to the slopes with the vague intention of not dying and returning with a Man-Monkey then you’ll need to pack some useful items for the journey. (Gee Note: Net gun? Check. Regular gun? Check. Copy of well-thumbed Hairy Arctic Fat Chicks magazine to use as bait? Check). These would include a compass. And a map. And a first aid kit.

And… er… a bloody great big Russian who used to be a champion heavyweight Boxer.

Meet Nikolai Valuev. Actually you probably already know Valuev but may not recognise the name. You see Valuev usually goes by the alias of "Holy shit!!! Look at the size of that guy!!!!". At seven feet two inches tall and weighing in somewhere around twenty three stone Valuev cuts quite an imposing figure. He's a pretty handy boxer too, chalking up a professional record of 50 wins in 53 fights, 34 of those coming by way of knock out. He is a two time WBA World Heavyweight Champion and both the tallest and the heaviest title holder in boxing history. It’s like if Ivan Drago had his DNA spliced with a Dinosaur. My point is it’s a good thing Valuev became a boxer, because had he decided to become a super villain instead we’d have ended up saluting a statue of him every hour on the hour and teaching our daughters the Russian for “No sir, I think you look smashing”.

Nikolai Valuev looking downright dangerous via Wikipedia

Anyway Valuev hasn’t fought inside the squared circle since losing the WBA Heavyweight title to David Haye in November 2009. His doctor publically stated that Comrade Nikolai was in bad shape, requiring extensive surgery to correct “serious bone and joint problems”. And so at 36 years of age the Giant’s reign of terror in the ring had come to an end. Looking for something to do instead of punching dudes in the face Valuev tried his hand at acting, but soon realised that there’s a lack of demand for ogres in Hollywood.

So what does an incredibly large ex-pugilist do with all his newfound spare time? Well he could try to learn a new language perhaps, or maybe take a course on how to fly a plane (Gee Note: Me? I’d spend my time teaching a rabbit how to do sleight of hand magic. Think about it. A rabbit. Doing magic. It would turn the conjuring world on it’s freakin’ head). But then why waste time doing that junk when there’s a Yeti to be found?

Because somewhere in the wilderness of Russia a hairy hominid is rampaging around and getting up to all sorts of ape related malarkey. Specifically near the Azass Cave in Mount Shoriya. Shoriya is exactly how you'd imagine a Siberian mountain to be. Mainly big, rocky, and bloody cold. Anyway in 2009 local head of government Vladimir Tashtagol received 14 letters complaining about a furry menace larking about the mountain. Most of these came from hunters requesting permission to shoot the poor sod should they ever cross it's path again. Rather than declare Wampa hunting season open, it instead inspired the authorities to take reports of this strange animal seriously, and a group of boffins from the local University were put together to lead an expedition in to the area in June that year. And when they returned they didn't come back empty handed. Oh no siree, they came back with a photo of something-that could possibly-if you hold it upside down-and squint your eyes-maybe-a little bit-looks like-an Abominable Snowman’s footprint. Since then there’s been an annual “Yeti Day” held in November to celebrate the shaggy wonder, where people flock from far and wide to see if they can spot the elusive beast. And to this day people still report sightings of the Yeti on a fairly regular basis.

Which is where Nikolai steps in. Apparently another expedition is heading up to the cave today to see if they can find the Yeti, and Valuev has bagged himself a spot on the trip.

Alas he isn’t too hopeful. Or at least not according to an article on the BBC website. “I’m only here for two days”, said the gigantic slugger. “And I believe that miracles only happen at Christmas time.” (Gee Note: You know that Valuev is a smart man. I mean some people would look at that quote and think it makes no sense what so f***ing ever. But not me. Sure. Miracles. If they happen at all, they only come around once a year at Christmas. It’s an accepted fact. What are you? Some kind of dumbass who thinks a miracle could happen in July or something. Pah! You are so silly. Hahahahahahahaha. You hear that? That’s the sound of Valuev and I laughing at you fool.)

He continues “I doubt whether the yeti is going to run into the road and greet our truck with open arms” (Gee Note: Especially if you run the poor bastard over). “But I'll let you know if I see anything."

But wait, there's more. The article then goes on to say: A spokesman for the Kemerovo regional administration said that the boxer was keen to "talk to the yeti about life"

Right. Wait. What?

Nikolai wants to talk to the Yeti?

About life?

Are you... what?

Am I the only one who doesn't get this? Nikolai Valuev. The man who could probably tower over a giraffe if he tried hard enough, wants to swap stories with a Yeti? What would they even talk about?

NIKOLAI VALUEV: Comrade Yeti. I have come to talk to you about life.

YETI: Bro. Can you keep it down a bit. I’m trying to catch some z’s here. Woah. Look at the size on you buddy. Where the f*** did you come from? Did humans evolve and get bigger or something? Geez how long have I been asleep?

NV: Yeti I am the great boxer Nikolai Valuev. I have come to seek your wisdom. You may have heard of me. They called me the “Beast from The East”.

YETI: “Beast from the East” hey? That’s not bad I guess. It’s a bit generic but, you know, it could be worse. Take me for example. They call me the “Abominable Snowman”. Can you believe that shit? I mean really? I’m a six foot missing link that lives in a Goddam cave and they can’t think of anything better than “Abominable Snowman”? Not “Terror from the mountains” or the “The Monster from the dark”? It’s not difficult is it? Instead they go with Abominable Snowman. A-bom-in-able. It sounds like a toothless donkey chewing a thorn. And don’t get me started on Snowman. How am I supposed to strike fear in to hearts of people if all they think of when they hear my name is Aled Jones singing “Walking In The Air”? Man, I really hate that high pitched dickweed. You know how many jokes I had to suffer in school because of him? “Hey Yets. How you getting home today? You walking? If so I’ll let air traffic control know you’re coming”. SCREW YOU ALED JONES!!!! If I ever meet that sumbitch I’ll bite his face off.

NV: I feel your pain oh fuzzy comrade. I have made a life getting hit with great force. You have hidden yourself away from the world. We have both faced adversity in some form. We are not so different from each other.

YETI: We aren’t? No. No I guess we aren’t. You with your millions of dollars and your big house and your beautiful wife. And me, having to do poos in the freezing cold snow so as not to stink out the cave in which I sleep. We’re like peas in a pod.

Maybe it's me but, I don't know, I just don't see that going all that well. Still I hope that should this historic meeting take place then somebody catches it on film. Close up on film. That alone would make my decade.

And if not then I’m sure this expedition will still be completely worthwhile in each and every way.

Because Nikolai Valuev is there. And he’s a lot bigger than I am.

I hope your memory will be very kind to us.

2011-08-29T13:57:00.000-07:00

Life is a funny old thing. Or it is if you happen to be Noel Edmonds. Noel Edmonds was once the King of the airwaves here in Blighty. In fact there was a period when everything Edmonds touched turned to gold. His Saturday evening TV show "Noel's House Party" would routinely attract 18 million viewers, a number unheard of at the time. Characters he created such as "Mr. Blobby" became pop culture icons. House Party branded lunchboxes, towels, and even theme parks were sold in bucket loads to the masses. Heck so popular was our Noel that he managed to bag the Christmas number one with arguably the worst song released since… um... with the worst song ever released. No really. Take a look.

(Gee Note: Congratulations if you made it to the end of that by the way. I got about half way through before the urge to set fire to my laptop was so strong I had to walk away and make myself a cup of tea. Honestly the worst thing about this, outside of the fact that it makes pouring sulphuric acid in to your ears and plunging a scorching hot branding iron in to your eyes seem like a pleasant alternative to having to listen to the chorus, is that it got to number one in the UK singles chart not once but TWICE. No. No I am not shitting you. On two separate occasions this was deemed to be the most popular song in Britain. Now I love my country, and I'm very proud of my heritage, but I can't help but think that every once in a while Godzilla should be let loose in the Cotswolds or something just to ensure stuff like this doesn't happen.)

But then in early 1999 the wheels fell off the wagon. Viewing figures dropped, the theme parks closed, and the sales of Mr Blobby dolls came to a screeching halt. What was once deemed to be great Saturday night entertainment by the UK audience was now judged to be nothing more than cheesy, bottom of the barrel, drivel. Almost overnight Edmonds had become an embarrassment to the BBC. So much so that the decision was made to pay Noel the remainder of his contract, some £1.8 million, on the understanding that Edmonds stay at home and not appear on television until his deal expired. House Party was taken off the air, and all the rest of Edmonds' projects were cancelled. With no job, no prospect of getting a job, and the stigma of being so publically discarded by his employer of 30 years hanging over him, you could have stuck a fork in poor Noel. He was done.

Fast forward to the year 2005 and something amazing happened. So amazing it made children gasp and elder folk lower their newspapers and say things like "Gosh" and "I say". For the year 2005 was when Noel Edmonds, like a tiny bearded phoenix, climbed back to the top of the TV mountain. If by "TV mountain" you mean "fronting new Channel Four game show Deal Or No Deal" that is. Even more amazing - considering it's a programme based around being really lucky - the show was a hit, attracting around 5 million eyeballs an episode. Which was almost five times more than Channel Four executives had predicted. Of course Edmonds was over the moon, but more importantly he felt vindicated. No longer was he the punching bag of tabloid journalists and late night television exposés. He was Noel F***ing Edmonds dammit! And this time he was back and bigger than ever. Since then Deal Or No Deal has gone from strength to strength and has become one of Channel Four's most prized properties.

So how did he do it? How did a man who spent six years in the great big television wilderness bag such a lucrative role? Did he reinvent himself for a modern audience? Did his agent bust a gut to get him something, anything, that paid and he just got lucky? Did he take photos of television producers in compromising positions with farmyard animals and threaten to take them to the press?

Well, it was none of the above (Gee Note: Although pictures of producers swapping bodily fluids with pigs would certainly explain why Katie Price is still on the air). According to Edmonds he simply Cosmic Ordered himself a new show. "I said I wanted a hit show; it had to be something my girls would watch; and I wanted it by October." he told a journalist from the Observer. "I got the call about Deal or No Deal in August.". Since then Edmonds has placed six Cosmic Orders and all of them have been successful. In fact so impressed by this was he that two years ago he launched a "Cosmic Ordering" app for the iPhone.

For those not familiar with Cosmic Ordering allow me to explain. Or better yet allow the Cosmic Ordering website to explain. Because according to them…

Cosmic Ordering harnesses the power of positive thinking and the creative energy of our thoughts to manifest whatever we desire. There are no limits, you can ask for anything, a new love or a new house, money or wealth, health or healing... whatever you desire can be yours. The only demand is that you be positive, be open and be at ease, requesting your cosmic order without worry or attachment to the outcome.

Now it used to be case back in Robert Johnson's day that you could only get what you wanted without having to work hard for it by making a deal with the Devil. However like any open market people worked out after a while that the whole "burning in Hell for all eternity" was a major drawback with Satan's business plan (Gee Note: Could you imagine if he took it on to Dragon's Den? Duncan Bannatyne would say something like "I don't think you've really thought this through, I mean I'm looking at this and I'm thinking to myself "Who would agree to this?". I think your entire pitch is a shambles. And for that reason I'm out". And then The Devil would shoot Duncan Bannatyne with lasers from his eyes reducing him to pile of smouldering ash, the world would rejoice, and Satan having accidentally done something for the greater good for once will realise that he's nullified his entire reason for existing and cease to be. Possibly with a small puff of smoke. Anyway the point I'm trying to make is that we'd all be winners here). And so instead of receiving several lifetimes’ worth of being poked in the bum by a little imp carrying a pitchfork, with Cosmic Ordering you think happy thoughts and what you want gets delivered right to you. Simple really.

"Hmm. You know I could do with a new washing machine. This one is starting to show some wear and tear. Or sure it'll wash clothes fine. But it's starting to make a cranking noise that scares the dog. I guess I could ask the universe for a new one. So tell me oh fat ginger man, how do I place my cosmic order?" I hear you cry. Well luckily there's a guide on the Cosmic Ordering website. Which I'll reprint here. Because A) I know you're very busy tending to your emotionally unstable dog and B) It'll give me an excuse to write snarky comments as we go. It’s in the form of "Seven principles" which help “ensure" the success of your order. Exciting isn't it?

7 Principles of Cosmic Ordering

#1 Decide What You Want

This is perhaps the most challenging part of the process, knowing what you really want and never has the term "be careful what you wish for... You might get it!" been more relevant. (Gee Note: I want a classic Megadeth T-Shirt from their '87 North American tour… wait… or was that Metallica? Shit. Can I start over?)

#2 Make Your Orders Positive

Make your orders positive, present tense and personal. This is very important, avoid negative words like not and no, instead try to phrase your request positively in terms of the things you want. Keep your orders personal to yourself, order only beneficial things. Placing hateful, negative or vengeful orders are likely to backfire, so keep your orders coming from a loving place of the heart. (Gee Note: "Dear ~~Jim~~ Cosmos. Please please please could you fix it for me so that a piano lands on Perez Hilton's head from a great height? I understand he enjoys music and… er… being really high up and so this I think would be a perfect gift for him." See? No need to be negative at all).

#3 Order In the way that works for YOU

To each, their own. Every person is unique and each person has a different sense of their connection to the Universe. Place your orders in any way that suits you. Many people like some ritual or other mood to accompany and empower their orders. Do whatever is right for you. (Gee Note: Kick a midget perhaps? Or decapitate a cow while singing Frank Sinatra tunes backwards? Whatever you feel is right).

#4 Trust the Process.

Trust the process of Cosmic ordering. It is often best to start with simple orders, like a parking space or something similar until you build sufficient trust and understanding of the process. Part of this is letting go and leaving the Cosmos to deliver your order in the best possible way and at the perfect moment for you. It is in our nature that we try to control everything around us, but it is important not to be too prescriptive as to HOW our order is going to be delivered and relaxed about the timeline. If we attempt to, we simply interfere and restrict the creative possibilities open to the Universe to deliver our order. (Gee Note: Now close your eyes and start to drift off. Ignore the feeling you get that someone is reaching in your trouser pocket for your wallet. You can't control everything you know? Just let it go. Let it all go. And drift away… away… away…)

#5 Trust your Inner Wisdom

Allow your inner wisdom to guide you in your choices. Trust yourself to place the perfect order for yourself one that states what you want and perhaps when you think you might want it delivered. But an order that strikes the right balance between action and allowing. You must allow the Universe to bring you your order, this means letting go of all anxiety and holding complete belief that the Cosmos will deliver for you, but at the same time being open, aware and ready to take the opportunities that the universe may bring you as part of its delivery. (Gee Note: So say, for example, you order a cute Dalmatian puppy. Then if the next day a giant anaconda that has recently ingested a Dalmatian puppy turns up on your doorstep it means that - BOOM - your cosmic order has arrived. And that your inner self really wanted an anaconda and not a stupid puppy after all. Either that or it means it's probably time to move away from that snake infested swamp where dogs keep on disappearing).

#6 You Deserve It

You deserve to have a wonderful life, believe it, live it. The universe is infinitely abundant and we all deserve our good. Accept that you deserve good things; if you cannot bring yourself to believe that you deserve good things, it becomes difficult to ask for them with an open and honest heart. Whilst the words of your Cosmic Order might say "I have a beautiful car!", your thoughts might be "I don't deserve it." ... that message is your true belief and that is what the Cosmos will deliver. When you place your order, know that you do deserve it. (Gee Note: Yeah! You're right. I do deserve nice things. That's why I'm breaking up with my fiancée and heading to LA right now. You hear me Jennifer Love Hewitt? I DESERVE YOU. No matter what that "court order" says. Court order schmourt order. I've got the entire freakin' universe on my side with this one. Your ass is mine,)

#7 Acknowledge Your Successes

Feel gratitude when your Orders are delivered, recognise the amazing power of the process. Even if you suspect that your delivery may just have been a coincidence, recognize also that what you requested WAS delivered. Recognising and rejoicing in your ordering success will serve to reinforce your belief and therefore the success of your future orders! (Gee Note: Wow. OK so guys, I really wanted a pizza and so I asked the universe for one. And then I went to another site and there was an advert for Pizza Hut! So I clicked on it and it said they delivered! Get it?!? Just like I was waiting for my pizza to be "delivered" by the universe! So I was like, "OMG this can't be real!!!" and I ordered a pizza from Pizza Hut and then 30 minutes there was this dude at my place with my pizza! This cosmic order thing is too awesome!!!!).

If you're still unsure (Gee Note: Although after that tour de force how could you be?) then there's some testimonials on the site that might just sway you once for all. Such as:

Thank you to the Cosmos!

I would like to thank the Cosmos for delivering some of my earlier orders - my grandchildren are much happier now & leading happy healthy lives.

(Gee Note: I presume her grandchildren were working down a mine but have now found employment on an oil rig. Thumbs up).

Course Results!

Would like to thank the Cosmos for the help my daughter received. She obtained the course she wanted with no problems at college despite her grades.

(Gee Note: Wait. What? "Despite her grades"? I'm not so sure you should be all that happy about this.)

I am touched....this really works...!

Thank you Dear Universe for granting me my wish.

I had ordered for a car parking space to be allotted to me in April. My delivery date was 1st June. After placing the order I completely forgot about it. And out of the blue, there was a vacant stilt available for me at reasonable expense.

I am Soooooo amazed and Sooooooooo very thankful to the universe. This has reaffirmed my faith in the Universe. Trust me....the universe... hears you.....actually.. :-)

(Gee Note: And the universe said "Dude. You think a car parking space is special? You should see this black hole I just created. Shit will blow your mind").

Sold yet? I know I am. In fact I'm placing my Cosmic Order right now. Of course I'm not going to tell you what it's for….

Oh go on then. As it's you. You see it's that time of year again when The Wales Blog Awards roll around. Now last year I entered this here web-ma-doogle in to the "Best Writing" category (Gee Note: Ironic I know) and, well, got overlooked because the entire competition is a sham! Either that or there are about a thousand better blogs in Wales than this one. Anyway this year I've entered it again. And this time I will succeed. In fact it's a lock I'll make the shortlist. Because I have something those other bloggers don't have. I have the power of the Cosmos with me,

It can't fail. Just ask TV's Noel Edmonds.

Don't be so gullible, McFly.

2011-08-08T15:44:00.000-07:00

A lot of news stories have gone unnoticed in the past month (Gee Note: Largely because the media went buck wild with the revelation that tabloid journalists would sell their own grandmothers to Somali pirates, especially if it meant a scoop and a slim chance of being able to snort cocaine with Z-list celebrities at The Hilton. Although to be fair it's hardly shocking. The chances of someone working for the News of The World being an amoral scumbag are about the same as water being wet). For example, if you've spent the past twenty years building a flux capacitor in your shed then you've probably wasted your life. Although on the other hand if you have no idea what a flux capacitor is it means you've never seen Back To The Future and you've definitely wasted your life.

The reason why building a flux capacitor would be a bad idea is that time travel is impossible. No really, it is. As in, trying to defend The Green Lantern movie impossible. And before you start calling me a square for killing your buzz, this isn't just me shouting my mouth off. Nuh uh Jack, this comes from one Du Shengwang, head of a team of physicists at Hong Kong University of Science and Technology.

Professor Du had become rather miffed by recent talk in certain scientific circles that maybe, just maybe, it would be possible to go all Doctor Who and start jumping around in time like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert. (Gee Note: Although travelling backwards in time can be achieved by simply having Superman fly around the Earth a couple of times causing the globe to start rotating in the opposite direction. This would totally reverse time, and not fling every man, woman, and child in to space with such force that you'd end up swallowing your own knees before you left the ground. Tsk. Scientists eh? You'd think they'd put down their Bunsen burners and watch a movie once in a while. Would save them a lot of time and effort). So with all the other scientists saying things like "Waddup. I am really thinking we could travel in time and shit". Du was like "Bitch please, y'all be trippin fo' sho'.". And, thinking a lot of people weren't taking his counter argument seriously enough, he decided to prove it.

You see it's all to do with whether or not light can travel faster than… er… light. More specifically it's whether or not a single photon, or unit of light, can travel faster than the accepted speed at which light itself travels. Confusing? You bet your ass it is. But as far as I've managed to work out (Gee Note: And I've legitimately spent all night trying to get my head around this, to the point where my eyes are bloodshot and I'm pretty sure I've been drinking out of a pot plant thinking it was coffee for the past hour) it's all to do with the special theory of relativity. Special relativity states that as a particle approaches the speed of light then time itself starts to become relative. Therefore if a particle could exceed the speed of light then it would start moving backwards in time if it was observed by something not travelling at the same speed. I think. Although I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure what my middle name is most of the time, so theoretical physics may be a step too far for yours truly.

But fear not dear reader, Professor Du is here. According to Discovery News Shengwang is about a trillion times better at this science stuff than I am and has proved that photons, by definition the particles that show off by painting stripes on their side and revving their engines, cannot themselves travel any faster than they already do. He and his research team accomplished this by passing a single photon through some group of laser-cooled rubidium atoms (Gee Note: Psshhht. We can all do that. If you really want to impress me science dude you’ll explain to me why unicorns went extinct). And in doing so extinguished the flames of the time travel dream forever.

Or did they?

Well maybe and maybe not. Because while photons may not be able to travel faster than light, other particles in the universe might, such as the hypothetical tachyons for example. Hell some would even argue that the entire universe is expanding at a rate that makes light look like a particularly lazy tortoise. Plus there’s always non-faster than light means with which to get your time related rocks off, such as wormholes and parallel universes. Time travel may be possible, even if it’s not the way we thought it would be.

Just ask Charlotte Anne Moberly and Eleanor Jourdain.

Charlotte Anne Moberly (via Wikipedia)

(Gee Note: OK. You can’t ask either of them. Because they’ve both been dead for over sixty years. Don’t worry though, I’ll fill you in on the details. I know. I really am too good to you guys.)

It was the year 1901, a wild and reckless time where deadly Panda bears trained in the ancient art of Karate roamed the streets of London (Gee Note: Not really). Meanwhile up in Oxford the Principal of St Hugh's College, one Charlotte Anne Moberly, was starting to become concerned about her ever increasing work load. Having been in charge of the all-women’s college for the past fifteen years she had seen the institution expand substantially, to the point where it had become obvious that she would require some help. And so she offered the role of Vice-Principal to renowned head mistress and text book author Eleanor Jourdain.

Which sounds just peachy. The problem was Moberly and Jourdain had never met each other before and as such it wasn't certain they would be able to work together in a professional manner. And so the two decided to spend some "getting to know you" time with each other. Jourdain owned an apartment in Paris (Gee Note: Oooo. La-di-dah your majesty.) and Moberly was invited to stay with her that Summer.

While there the pair took several trips to places that caught their fancy. One such jaunt, on 10 August 1901, was to the Palace of Versailles. Neither lady had been before, and both were excited about the prospect of visiting such a historically rich location (Gee Note: And they were also excited about the prospect of visiting the little shop on the way out and picking up an official "Palace of Versailles" pencil sharpener and a stick of rock). So they donned some nice hats, jumped on to a train, and headed to the Palace.

Reportedly neither lady thought much of the Palace itself. Now bear in mind the Palace of Versailles looks like this:

Palace of Versailles (via Wikipedia)

One can’t help but think that both of them were maybe setting the bar a wee bit high here. "Oh sure, it's a nice looking building I guess. But will it float? Can we turn it in to a really big canoe? And then race it against other big canoes in a race we shall call "Le Gran Canoe?" I don't think so. This might be a nice palace but it's a pretty rubbish canoe if you ask me". Regardless Moberly and Jourdain decided to have a mosey around the palatial grounds in the hope that the excursion wouldn't be a complete bust. It was at that point that Monsieur Sensible decided his work for the day was done and Monsieur Bat-shit-crazy took over the reins.

Having wandered around a bit it soon dawned on the women that they were lost, despite using a Baedeker guidebook (Gee Note: That'll teach them for not forking out for an iPhone). And at that point the entire universe lost all its mirth. Or according to Moberly "Everything suddenly looked unnatural, therefore unpleasant; even the trees seemed to become flat and lifeless, like wood worked in tapestry. There were no effects of light and shade, and no wind stirred the trees.". The pair passed by some men that looked like “very dignified officials, dressed in long greyish green coats with small three-cornered hats.". The ladies asked for directions and were advised by these snappy dressers to head straight on.

Continuing forward they reached the edge of a wood and saw a man sitting next to a garden kiosk. The man, wearing a large hat (Gee Note: Big fans of hats the French) and a long dark cloak was, according to Moberly, "most repulsive... its expression odious. His complexion was dark and rough.". Jourdain would add, "The man slowly turned his face, which was marked by smallpox; his complexion was very dark. The expression was evil and yet unseeing, and though I did not feel that he was looking particularly at us, I felt a repugnance to going past him.". Which, you know, is a bit harsh I guess. OK so the dude wasn't exactly Fabio, but there's no reason to be dicks about it. Even ugly people have feelings. Or so I have I've been told. I'm a hunk so I can't really relate to the ugglies. But I'm sure some of them are, like, really good at making little wooden figurines or something. Point is we're all special in our own way, even if ugly people are less special than - for example - lingerie models.

Eleanor Jourdain (via Wikipedia)

Moberly and Jourdain were starting to get a bit freaked out until they were saved by a man in a sombrero (Gee Note: Again with the f***ing hats!). As Moberly would later state he was "tall... with large dark eyes and crisp curling black hair.". Which, let's face it, sounds a bit like the beginning of a Match.Com profile. Sombrerolover90 is tall. He has large dark eyes and crisp curling black hair. He's looking for someone to share long walks on the beach with as well as quiet nights in and occasional trips to the zoo. Must be a non-smoker. And also not a raving lunatic. Unless they’re smoking hot and/or easy. In which case, whatever.

Thankfully Jimmy McLonelyhearts didn't try and impress the ladies with his favourite pick-up lines (Gee Note: Which is a shame because "Hey baby. You must be a General because you're making my Privates stand to attention." is a sure fire winner). Instead he simply pointed to the direction they should be heading. And so with haste Moberly and Jourdain made their way over a bridge and finally to the gardens in front of the palace.

There Moberly noticed a woman sketching on the grass, wearing a light summer dress and shady white hat on top of a bundle of fair hair. While Jourdain did not see this woman, the lady left such an impression on Moberly that days later she could recall her features vividly. Moberly would later become convinced that the person she saw that day was none other than Marie Antoinette.

Eventually colour returned to the world and Moberly and Jourdain joined up with a group of other visitors to complete the tour, And then they went back to the apartment in Paris and didn't discuss the incident for an entire week. Because that's how British people deal with stuff like this. Something crazy happens? It'll soon pass. In the meantime sit down, have a cup of tea, and complain about the weather and how Kit Kats aren't as nice as they used to be. After a while though Moberly was composing a letter to her sister about her trip to the palace and asked Jourdain if she thought it was haunted. "Hell yes!" was Jourdain's response (Gee Note: Or words to that effect. What am I? "Mister History"?), and so they decided to write separate accounts of what they saw and compare notes, while at the same time researching the history of the Palace of Versailles. They returned to the scene on a number of occasions, but were unable to retrace their steps. Several landmarks including cottages, the bridge, and the kiosk were missing. More importantly the grounds were choc-a-bloc full of people whenever they returned, as opposed to the very few souls they encountered on August 10.

Convinced that something completely out of the ordinary had happened to them Moberly and Jourdain decided to tell the world of their story. Realising that their tale might be a bit too wacky for their academic friends they released a book detailing their experience under the pseudonyms Elizabeth Morrison and Frances Lamont. Entitled “An Adventure” it was published in 1911 and caused quite the uproar. The reaction ranged from at best polite snickering to at worst outright cries of balderdash. These women are deluded, they said. They had obviously stumbled across a private party of some sort, said some. They perhaps had partaken in too much of the local vino, said others. And besides, they all agreed, there is not now nor has there ever been a bridge in that part of the Palace.

Which is all well and good. Except Moberly and Jourdain weren’t simpletons who if you told them the moon was made out of cheese would believe you without questioning it. They were two women who were both extensively educated and highly intelligent. The reason they didn’t put their own names on “An Adventure” was that they were well aware they would be met with ridicule. In fact it wasn’t until 1931 that their true identities were revealed, some seven years after Jourdain had passed away. Which would suggest that neither was actively looking for fame or notoriety.

Since then many modern day scholars have thrown their lot in to ring. Literary critic Terry Castle claims Moberly and Jourdain were involved in some kind of lesbian folie à deux (Gee Note: Which if I said it would be insensitive and crass, but because Terry Castle is a woman its fine I guess), while noted dandy Philippe Jullian says the whole thing was a soiree thrown by poet Robert de Montesquiou that Moberly and Jourdain accidentally stumbled upon.

Except Moberly and Jourdain checked the Palace records and found no evidence of any event or private gathering held on August 10 1901. And just because two women hang around together doesn’t make them lesbians any more than Ernie and Bert sharing a bed in Sesame Street makes them gay (Gee Note: This argument sounded much better in my head than it does typed out). Of course they may very well have been lovers. But it appears the only evidence supporting this claim is that they were both professional women who never married. And I’m pretty sure there’s a bit more to being a lesbian than simply lacking a husband. Of course the folie à deux theory fits better if Moberly and Jourdain were an item, as one could be more easily influenced by the other. But, oh I don’t know, there’s something about this idea that doesn’t quite wash. Shared delusions are a recognised psychic phenomenon, but Moberly and Jourdain were so shocked they didn’t even talk about for days on end. It wasn’t the case that one was egging the other on. Quite the opposite in fact.

So is it possible that Moberly and Jourdain travelled back in time to the days before the French monarchy lost their heads?

Well you scoff (Gee Note: Yes you do. I’m watching you right now through your webcam. Also, put some trousers on. Where were you born? In a zoo?) but there’s one very interesting thing to consider. Remember that bridge Moberly and Jourdain crossed, the one that never ever existed ever? Well it did exist. A map of the Palace grounds dated 1790 was discovered in 1903, showing a hitherto unknown bridge exactly where Moberly and Jourdain had described. 1790 of course being a full three years before Marie Antoinette was executed by revolutionaries.

It could also all be nonsense. A shared delusion, or a misunderstanding, or even a prank. After all time travel is impossible.

Just ask Professor Du.

If the Devil himself walked this earth, he'd surely be working in PR.

2011-07-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

A brief return of our occasional feature "Gee watches a Science Fiction television programme and give his opinion on it. Lots of people then email him to tell him he's wrong". This deals with the first two episodes of Torchwood: Miracle Day and contains spoilers. So if you haven’t seen the show and don’t want to know what happens your best bet is to close this browser window. And then destroy your computer. Hey, it's better safe than sorry right?

Generally speaking there's an established life cycle for a bad television show. They burst on to the scene, are quickly found wanting, and meet an abrupt demise when the twitchy broadcaster notices the viewing figures are dropping quicker than News Corp shares during a phone hacking scandal. Except for Torchwood.

Torchwood, much like its lead character Captain Jack Harkness, simply refuses to die.

Torchwood began life as a post watershed spin off of veteran family sci-fi show Doctor Who, airing on BBC 3. Russell T. Davies, the man behind the project, said in an interview with SFX "We can be a bit more visceral, more violent, and more sexual, if we want to. Though bear in mind that it's very teenage to indulge yourself in blood and gore, and Torchwood is going to be smarter than that.". Unfortunately Davies' only contribution to the initial two seasons was the very first episode, after which he handed the reigns over to Chris Chibnall. Chibnall, a man who is slowly carving out a niche as a piss poor sci-fi writer, decided to plough ahead with as much blood, gore and nookie as he could throw at the screen. And the result was a very adolescent and extremely unintelligent show. It became depressing viewing. Two episodes that summed it up perfectly were Day One and Cyberwoman. In a plot line that sounds like it was stolen from a late 1980's blue movie, Day One - and I swear I'm not making this up - features an alien that kills people via a lethal orgasm. And as stupid as that sounds it pales in comparison to Cyberwoman, where one of the lead characters keeps a cybernetic girlfriend locked in the basement until said sex toy goes bezerk and starts killing people. Simply put, the only way Torchwood could have been more "teenage" was if it sprouted acne and started listening to The Smiths.

A large part of the problem was that Torchwood suffered from an identity crisis. Its core plot line was that a five person team acted as the Earth's first and last line of defence against evil aliens rocking up and trying to kill us all. We were told that these people, Time traveller Capt. Jack Harkness, police officer Gwen Cooper, doctor Owen Harper, technology whiz kid Toshiko Sato, and jack-of-all-trades Ianto Jones, were the "best of the best" time and time again. Heck we even saw Harkness berating the British Prime Minister over the phone for allowing sensitive documents to be leaked And yet the characters themselves were written and portrayed not as professional alien ass kickers but as a bunch of amateurs with the emotional range of spoilt children. If they weren't shouting or screaming or sulking they were stealing extra-terrestrial devices to make them more appealing to the opposite sex. One started to hope that the little green men really would invade, because even if the aliens were only barely competent then they would easily wipe these histrionic losers from the face of the planet.

But they didn't and Torchwood survived. In fact it managed to make it all the way to BBC 1 - Auntie’s flagship channel. A special mini-series was commissioned, running for five consecutive nights. Reports suggested it was either designed to be a swan song for fans of the series or an experiment by the Beeb to see if "grown up" science fiction would fly on the main station. Russell T Davies was the man charged with bringing Torchwood to the mainstream. And, remarkably, he did an amazing job. This miniseries, titled Children Of The Earth, delivered on every aspect its predecessors had failed to. It was moving, funny, terrifying, at points gritty, at points lovely and warm. Most importantly it felt genuinely special; an indication of what Great British science fiction could be when all the pieces were put in the right place. Torchwood had grown up and become rather brilliant in the process.

Buoyed by this success Davies travelled across the pond to America, bringing Torchwood along for the ride. Starz network signed up and threw some money at it, and Davies retooled the show for an American audience. Characters that were killed off in the previous series were replaced by American counterparts, while still retaining the services of John Barrowman as Jack Harkness and Eve Myles as Gwen Cooper. With a proper budget for once and the man who had led it to success firmly installed at the driving seat the future looked bright for Torchwood.


Torchwood: Miracle Day logo

The news series started in the States earlier this month, with a six day delay before airing here in the UK. And it's come back bigger. And louder. And certainly prettier.

But, sadly, not better.

The concept itself is actually quite intriguing. All of a sudden everyone on Earth stops dying, the population explodes, and people start freaking out because in four months time we're all going to be shirtless and wrestling in mud over a left over packet of doughnuts. It really is a wonderful premise, allowing the show's creators to do all sorts of things with the nature of good versus evil. Are the people trying to save the Earth by taking away the human race's immortality truly good? Are those attempting to thwart them truly 'evil'? And just how thin is the line between those two opposing forces? It offers endless opportunity to explore what makes people tick when their natural instinct for survival becomes null and void, and examine the carnage that would ensue should folks start taking their endless supply of life for granted.

Alas Torchwood never bothers to address those questions, or any others for that matter. We're re-introduced to Gwen Cooper, who has started a new life for herself with her husband and their baby daughter in a remote part of Wales. For some reason she's become paranoid about people hunting her down, and somehow amassed a vast array of guns which she heads for whenever there's a knock at the front door. And she's quite correct in doing so, as not only are helicopters whizzing past suspiciously but sinister ramblers - yes ramblers - are beating a path to her house.

Now, why Gwen has become enemy number one for "stereotypical shadowy organisation" has yet to be explained. It sure as Betsy had nothing to do with what happened in the last series anyway, which saw the demise of Torchwood largely because Jack was a bit bummed out about killing his own grandson and losing all the other members of Torchwood apart from Gwen. It's also never really explained why she spends half the time unable to sleep because of the trauma of her time in Torchwood, and the rest of the time sulking because she can't go running around shagging her team mates and shooting aliens any longer. I mean you'd think it would be one or the other. Either you miss it, or it haunts you. Not both at the same time. At one point she and Jack have a ridiculous conversation on a plane where at first she complains that bad things happen when Jack is around, before scolding him for not turning up sooner. I guess the idea is to present Gwen as a tortured soul. But instead what we have a stroppy young lady who is never satisfied. I swear we’ve had two hours with this woman and she hasn’t cracked a smile once.

Also, by the time the helicopter starts trying to mow people down with machine guns the whole world is well aware that no one can actually die. So what the point of shooting them would be is anyone's guess. Seems like an awful waste of fuel and bullets to me. In fact it would make way more sense just to hire one person who was a dab hand with a lasso and rope them like cattle instead. Luckily for Gwen and Jack however this "shadowy organisation" is apparently run by idiots so all is well.

Torchwood. BBC 1. July 14 2011

The new characters don't fare much better either. Our hero for the US audience to sink its teeth in to is CIA agent Rex Matheson, portrayed by Mekhi Phifer of ER fame. And, well, Rex comes across as a complete tool. First he's happy that someone's wife has cancer because it potentially means he'll get a promotion. Then he acts as if a major security breach of the CIA's digital infrastructure is something not to be concerned about at all. Then he complains about driving across a toll bridge to get to Wales as if it's the craziest thing in the universe ever to happen to an American male. I mean sure, it's completely understandable that he would be unfamiliar with toll bridges. There's only ELEVEN of them in New York City alone. And then he arrests the very people who helped him escape a group of assassins trying to blow his brains out. In fact the only enjoyment to be found from Rex is when a large metal pole lodges itself in to his chest. But, of course, this being Miracle Day it only means we get to spend more time with him as he lies in bed moaning about how much pain he's in. If there's an award for "Most irritating new character in television" then this dickhead would be a shoe-in. Sure, anti-heroes are fashionable at the moment. Characters such as Dr. Gregory House and Raylan Givens aren’t nice people. But the difference is House and Givens are highly intelligent and extremely capable individuals who demand your respect. Rex Matheson demands to be pushed down an elevator shaft.

On the other end of the scale we have Bill Pullman. Pullman is one of the most underrated actors working in Hollywood today. Portraying child killer turned unlikely media celebrity Oswald Danes, he steals the show. Actually he doesn’t so much steal the show as obliterate everyone around him. He’s such a joy to watch that he illuminates proceedings whenever he is onscreen, and leaves a gaping void when he isn’t. Where it would be easy to ham it up as a moustache twirling baddie, Pullman puts in a tremendously chilling performance using nothing more than dead pan eyes and a staccato speech pattern. Unlikely to be recognised in any awards ceremony, Pullman has created the best television villain you’ll see all year. It’s just a shame it had to be on this particular show.

The rest of the cast is a mixed bag. Barrowman is fine, but you can’t help but yearn for the charming con man that Harkness used to be. Arlene Tur puts in a good turn as a hospital surgeon. Alexa Havins does the best she can with a wafer thin character that has a crush on Rex. Wayne Knight is wasted as a walking cliché. But really the major problem with Torchwood has nothing to do with the actors but its creative direction.

The reason why 24 worked so well is that Jack Bauer, as plagued by demons as he was, was an exceptional counter terrorism agent. But that didn’t mean the rest of his colleagues were complete muppets. There were several excellent agents who worked alongside him who simply weren’t quite at the level he was. The same thing applies with McNulty in The Wire, or Fitz in Cracker. The problem with Torchwood is that we’re supposed to believe that the entire CIA is either a collection of incompetent evil doers or a bunch of simple minded idiots, and that Harkness and Cooper are the only two people on Earth smart enough to work out what’s going on and skilled enough to take down a helicopter with a rocket launcher. It’s writing that’s designed to set these two apart as something special, but instead it destroys any sense of believability the programme may have had. It’s the same with Oswald Danes. We’re meant to accept that a child killer in Kentucky is let out of prison because a lethal injection doesn’t kill him and he threatens to sue to governor for wrongful imprisonment. Really? I mean, really? I would have thought that any politician shown to be soft on paedophilia in Kentucky would be signing his own death sentence. But no, the child killer gets released and no one, not one single person, raises an eyebrow let alone a political shit storm.

If you can ignore the annoying characters, insane plot devices, and sporadically lame dialogue (at one point a secondary character produces a syringe out of nowhere and proclaims “I knew diabetes would come in handy one day”. Urgh) then you may find a decent show somewhere in there. The sets look glossy, the pace is breezy, and one thing you can’t say is that Torchwood is boring.

But I’m not convinced enough people will do that for Torchwood to survive Miracle Day.

My swagger's in check.

2011-07-11T04:42:00.000-07:00

Something happens to you in your late twenties that no one warns you about. You get old.

Not in the sense that you're resigned to sensible slacks, a talk show on a Saturday night, and 10p off a packet of dusters becoming the highlight of your day. That's at least another ten year's down the line. (Gee Note: At least I hope it is. Put it this way, if in 12 months’ time you find me cackling with glee at Graham Norton showing a "funny" website about vegetables to Ross Kemp, you have my permission to back over me with a people carrier). However when you reach your late twenties, new things become terribly confusing.

Take Twitter for example. I have a Twitter account. A lot of my friends have Twitter accounts. But only a select few of us actually know how to use it properly. Oh sure, I can post a message about what I'm having for tea that night (Gee Note: 'Pork chops with peas for me' I'll tweet. I know. Fascinating right?). But compare that to people who Tweet things like "RT @pointless-drone -_- OMG! Beliebers rly r 4eva ;) NOOOOM!!!!!!!!" and I might as well be a caveman poking at an unplugged toasted sandwich maker with a stick while instructing the rest of the tribe to stand back in case it starts shooting lightening. I mean it's not that I don't like the syntax used to construct Tweets. I'm not some grammar-warrior who is campaigning to preserve the Queen's English (Gee Note: Shit anyone who's read this blog for more than 30 seconds will know I routinely don't write stuff good). No, the problem I have with it is that I don't have any f***ing idea what it means. It might as well be a foreign language. In sign. Conveyed by a Bullfrog.

If it was just social media that had me baffled then maybe I would write it off as just one of those things. After all there's lots of stuff in this world that goes over my head. Quantum physics. Car engines. Llamas. But even the things I used to enjoy have started to pass me by. I don't get why the Transformers movies are so successful, especially when you could film a six year old playing with Optimus Prime and Megatron toys for three hours and have a more coherent plot line. I don't get why Ryan Reynolds is in everything these days despite being an astonishingly bad actor. I don't get why people make television shows like Jersey Shore. I don't get why people watch television shows like Jersey Shore. I don't get why TV stations then make six more shows exactly like Jersey Shore. (Gee Note: It turns out Jersey Shore might actually be my Kryptonite).

And it's not just that. We have music as well. Now this isn't an “old person listens to modern music on the radio and complains that tunes were better in their day” type of deal. Largely because that in itself is a load of baloney. Pop music has always been generally a bit crap. For every "I Am The Walrus" there's "The Legend of Xanadu" by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich (Gee Note: Crazy name! Rubbish band!). For every great Smiths record there's Lionel Ritchie stalking a blind woman. For every Definitely Maybe there are all the other Oasis albums. Pop music is consistently awful with occasional sparks of brilliance, and has been since the dawn of time.

But earlier this month Cher Lloyd released a video for her new single "Swagger Jagger". In fact, here it is:

Cher Lloyd is a pretty big deal. A former ~~hostage~~ contestant on the X Factor, she has been described by everyone's favourite walking serpent Simon Cowell as the next global music superstar to come from the UK. (Gee Note: You know like… er… does Elton John count?). Which I think you’ll agree is great news. It’ll be good to have something we Brits can be proud of for a change, especially after aborted attempts at exporting Robbie Williams and others.

Except… WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!?

Why did the video director use leftover animation stills from A-Ha's Take On Me? Why is the bald guy wearing the blue top in the background dancing to a different record than everyone else? Why is Cher Lloyd wearing Louis XIV's hair? Why did they decide to make her up as either Pennywise the Clown or a Ganger from Doctor Who? And the song itself… I don't… I have no… why?

It's not that I don't like it. To form any sort of opinion on this would mean you've understood what the managers, stylists, record producers, and Cher herself were trying to achieve. And that's the problem. I don't understand it. I'm not even close to understanding it. This video makes me feel like I'm an extra-terrestrial who has stumbled across humans for the first time. But without the ray guns and ability to annoy farmers but stealing cows. Watching this video is a truly bewildering experience, one that only a good sit down and maybe a nice cup of tea can fix.

Another side effect of getting older is that you can no longer enjoy steaks and cakes for breakfast without it coming back to haunt you. Now I realise a lot of you reading this right now will picture me as some kind of muscular He-Man who rescues trapped puppies by day and wrestles alligators at night. But the truth is as I'm typing this right now my belly is approximately an inch over the lip of the desk. And I'm leaning back. There's no denying it kids. I'm out of shape.

Never fear though as CHAT IT’S FATE has the answer. CHAT is one of those dreadful magazines dedicated to harrowing real life stories such as "My husband got dragged behind a train for 5 days by accident and we never found his head. I miss him every day". Its sister title CHAT IT’S FATE does pretty much the same thing except with a 100% more psychics and witches. Yee-haw.

This month’s issue – issue 8 July 11 – features an agony aunt column with someone claiming to be a witch. Or as CHAT IT’S FATE puts it “Spells guru Kirsten Riddle welcomes you to her amazing, enchanting world”. Every month people write to her with problems and Ms. Riddle offers practical ways in which they can help themselves. Like this, for example.

Can you help me stick to a diet?
Fran, 35, High Wycombe.

To lose weight, you have to change your mind-set and radiate self-confidence. Try this simple ritual. Take an egg and roll it over your body, paying attention to any problem areas. Imagine the shell absorbing all the negative energy and unwanted fat. When you’ve finished, crack the egg on to a sheet of paper and say, ‘I let go to anything I no longer need. I’m free to be best version of me!’ See yourself as super-trim and gorgeous and focus on this when you’re tempted to eat biscuits.

(Gee Note: I haven’t made this up by the way. Methinks Florence needs to raise her game a bit).

Fantastic. I’m a fat man. I have eggs. Screw Fran, this could’ve been written for me. So I decided to put this advice to the test, and keep a diary of my progress. I know, I’m like Piers Morgan. Except I’m a human being and not an overgrown slug.

10:00 AM.

Headed in to the kitchen. Opened fridge door. Saw bacon.

10.32 AM

Finished bacon sandwich. Cursing myself for being so weak. This is why I need to rub an egg all over my body. Making a cup of tea and contemplating my next move.

10.45 AM

Opened fridge door again. Grabbed eggs and scurried away before the sirens that are sausages started to sing to me.

10:53 AM

Stared at the eggs for a bit. Thought about boiling one, thereby getting thin and having lunch at the same time. Checked instructions. Didn't say anything about boiling your egg. Decided against it. Didn't want to annoy witch.

10.57. AM

Took a deep breath and took off my T-Shirt. Started rubbing egg against myself. Was doing OK until I got to my chest and the egg broke. A piece of shell got caught under my right nipple. As I was trying to fish it out The Future-Ex Mrs. Davies walked in to the room. She enquired as to why I was trying to milk myself. I quickly said that I wasn't, but before I could explain she saw the yoke all over the carpet. Harsh words were exchanged. Have retreated to the kitchen to fetch a sponge.

11:16 AM

Floor scrubbed. Laid down some newspaper. Rubbed egg. Cracked over sheet of paper. Said lines out loud. Stood around for ten minutes. Nothing happened. Made The Future Ex-Mrs. Davies a cup of tea. She's not speaking to me.

14:38 PM

Just ate entire packet of Jaffa Cakes. Egg thing doesn't work.

So yeah, surprisingly the egg thing is a bust. Although maybe it’s me.

Maybe I’m just too old to understand it.

Keeping the British end up, sir.

2011-06-28T13:08:00.000-07:00

A while back I argued that the existence of a living breathing Brontosaurus bashing its way through the Congo is unlikely, given that a Brontosaurus is a bloody great big lizard and there was no hard evidence outside of random sightings from exhausted explorers. Here then is the flipside of that argument.

Meet the tribe living in Vale do Javari, part of the Amazon rainforest located in Brazil close to the border of Peru. Or, in fact, don't meet them at all. Because until last week, no one had any idea they even existed. Thanks to satellite photography the tribe were observed in small clearings in the jungle foliage larking about and attending to their daily business (Gee Note: By 'daily business' I mean hitting things with rocks. Not keeping a close eye on the way the markets are reacting to a stronger than expected Yen). Early images suggest the tribe consists of around 200 people all living in straw huts. Which means not only are they numerous enough to leave a substantial footprint on the surrounding environment via hunting and what not, they've also managed to construct buildings on the patch of earth they inhabit. And yet had it not been for a fluke occurrence where a satellite happened to point its camera at where they were standing at precisely the right moment, the rest of the world would have been none the wiser to their existence. Which begs the question, if 200 people can remain undetected in the jungle for thousands of years then what else is hiding in them there trees? It's pretty astonishing when you think about it.

photo via mirror.co.uk

Speaking of 200 people unexpectedly turning up, the local authorities in Leicester were recently forced to admit that they were unprepared should the Umbrella Corporation set up shop there and accidentally unleash a shed load of zombies on to the streets.

No really, they actually had to confess that should the walking dead rock up in the Midlands then the public was pretty much boned. You see it's all to do with a chap named Robert Ainsley. Mr. Ainsley, obviously a man with lot of spare time, decided to lodge a formal query via the Freedom of Information Act. He wrote:

Dear Leicester City Council,

Can you please let us know what provisions you have in place in the event of a zombie invasion? Having watched several films it is clear that preparation for such an event is poor and one that councils throughout the kingdom must prepare for.

Please provide any information you may have.

Yours faithfully,

Concerned Citizen

(Gee Note: I'm not sure this logic is all that sound. I mean life isn't really like the movies. For example, you know that bit from The Spy Who Loved Me where James Bond drives a Lotus in to the ocean and it turns in to a submarine? Well that doesn't work in real life. I know, hard to believe right? I was stunned when I found this out. In fact, even the guy who owned the Lotus was pretty surprised about his car just sinking to the sea bed when I tested it. I could hear him shouting even before I'd managed to swim back to the shore).

This prompted a lady named Lynn Wyeth to appear on local radio, stating that while there wasn't a specific plan in place for Zombies (Gee Note: Oh I get it. No plan for zombies huh? And yet I bet you've got one for vampires right? And werewolves? And those Bigfoot things? But not for zombies. You know what this is? Institutionalised racism. Yeah, that's right. Y'all be all kinds of racist against my undead brothers. Where's Zombie Martin Luther King when you need him?), certain aspects from other contingency plans could be implemented effectively should people start rising from their graves with a thirst for brains. Such as "running away" for example. Or "blowing up approaching enemies with a rocket launcher".

This then made the papers in one of those 'Serious news is boooooooring. Let's have a look at funny pictures of cats wearing glasses' sections near the back, and before you could say "You know what's going to happen. Some dude is going to create a group on Facebook inviting people to dress up as zombies and descend upon Leicester", some dude created a group on Facebook inviting people to dress up as zombies and descend upon Leicester. Which is why, a week after the story broke, over 150 people were involved in a "mass shuffle" from the town clock to the council offices before heading to the pub. Where they had a thoroughly good time drinking beer and scaring the bejesus out of passing stray dogs.

photo via metro.co.uk

The thing is, this isn't the first time authorities have been surprised by something unusual landing on their doorstep.

Take, if you will, the case of Robert Taylor.

The setting is bonnie Scotland, November 9 1979. Sixty year old Bob Taylor was a forester working for the Livingston Development Corporation. At around 10 am that morning Mr. Taylor approached an area called Dechmont Law, a picturesque hill some 700 yards from the village of Dechmont. Having been charged with a day’s work of checking the progress of some recently planted saplings in the surrounding forest, Taylor parked his truck on a side road off the M8 and took his dog with him the rest of the way on foot. Walking some 500 yards away from said truck he came across a clearing in the woods. Where upon all sorts of strange stuff started to happen.

As R To The Tizzle entered the clearing he was surprised to see a large black sphere approximately six metres in diameter, hovering in front of him just above the forest floor. "Och aye" he said "There be a strange wee globe floating aboot here" (Gee Note: If of course Robert Taylor was replaced by Mr. MacTout from The Family Ness). According to Taylor...

As I cleared the trees and entered the clearing I saw this object in front of me. It was about 30 feet high, but not as high as the trees. It was grey in colour although I got the impression that the top of the dome shape changed from grey to translucent continually. The top of the object was dome-shaped and had a flange around the middle on which were situated several antenna with objects similar to rotors on the top. There were also several round porthole type apertures on the dome shape above the flange. I do not know what the bottom of the object was like.

(Gee Note: 'Flange' is a funny word, isn't it?).

So Taylor did the sensible thing and ~~got the f*** out of there~~ approached the sphere cautiously, (Gee Note: OK. Here's the thing. I know different people react differently in extreme situations, and while I may run screaming like a six year old girl from a rustle in the bushes you may pull the branches back to reveal a cute little hedgehog or something. But how come in all of these tales involving stumbling across something creepy in the woods, no one ever approaches the woovy bezerk flying saucer with a big hefty branch in their hands for protection? You're in the woods for God's sake. There's branches everywhere. Why not just pick one up and be prepared to beat whatever is in front you in to submission should you need to? You'd think these people want to get eaten/ abducted). No sooner had he taken two or three steps forward when two smaller spheres descended from the beneath the larger one and rolled along the ground towards him. The lesser balls (Gee Note: Hur hur hur. 'Balls') were covered in spikes like sea mines, and would make "plopping" noises as they trundled around.

Displaying a level of fool hardiness that would put Frank Drebin to shame (Gee Note: By the way if you're curious as to what my favourite all time Police Squad joke is, it's the one that goes 'We're sorry to bother you at such a time like this, Mrs. Twice. We would have come earlier, but your husband wasn't dead then'. Amazing) Taylor still didn't bolt out of the trees as fast as his Scottish legs could carry him. Instead he decided to stick around and watch the show. And what a show it was. These balls came ready to party! If by 'party' you mean grabbing a hold of Robby and flinging him around like a rag doll that is.

Somehow the smaller spheres attached themselves to Taylor's trousers before releasing a gas that caused the Bobster to choke. Being pulled forward and struggling to breathe, Taylor fell down and hit his head hard on the forest floor, losing consciousness in the process. When he awoke he was (Gee Note: Not in Kansas anymore?) alone, save for his dog who was standing nearby none the worse for wear. Which is good I guess. Not because of the whole passing out brain trauma thing obviously. But because nobody likes a story where a dog gets harmed. Tends to upset folks. Especially old people and sentimental drunks. Anyway Taylor struggled to his feet and tried to call for help, at which point he discovered he was unable to speak. Scrambling back to his truck he tried to use the two way radio located on board, and then realised he'd lost his voice and promptly gave up on the idea. Instead he decided to drive home but either the car was stuck or it simply failed to start, depending on who you believe. Either way that meant Taylor and his dog had to walk home. Thankfully it was only a mile away and so the poor bastard gathered his senses as best he could and trudged on.

photo via ufocon.blogspot.com

When he arrived back home at half past eleven in the morning, an hour at least after he had arrived at Dechmont Law, Taylor's wife Mary expressed concern at his state. And not in a "It's 3am! Where have you been?!? Why do you smell of beer? And where the f*** did that horse come from?!?" kind of way. More in a "Oh my God! Who look like you've been mugged!" kind of way. Still unable to speak and pretty much in a state of shock Mary couldn't get much sense out of Bob, and assumed he had been attacked by a group of ne'er-do-wells. So she phoned the police and a doctor, both of which arrived at the house in double time.

Taylor was well known in the local community, and considered to be a serious man not prone to flights of fancy. As such the police took the matter seriously and, after Taylor had regained his composure, took him back to the site where he had encountered the UFO. There they found strange markings on the ground resembling the rungs of a ladder, which Robert claimed had not been there before the event took place. Along with the ladder rungs there were many smaller indentations dotted around, but without any scorch marks or other obvious tell-tale signs that might explain them. Believing something here was certainly out of the ordinary and worth investigating the police opened up the first and so far only official British criminal investigation involving a UFO.

So did PC Plod cowboy up and go and arrest himself a little green man? Well, umm, no. Not exactly. The investigation did conclude that the tracks could not have been made by any form of construction vehicle in the local area, as they were all accounted for and none of them matched the pattern left at Dechmont Law. The police also seized Robert Taylor’s trousers (Gee Note: They can take ma troosers, but they’ll never take ma freeeeeeeddddooooommm. Geddit?!? ‘Cos Taylor is Scottish, and Mel Gibson is Australian and… I… er… have no idea where I’m going with this) for forensic testing.

But that’s pretty much as far as it went. The giant flangy sphere never appeared again. And with very little to go on the police soon hit a dead end and listed the incident as a “common assault” based on the doctors description of Robert Taylor’s superficial injuries.

So what did exactly happen on that fateful day? Well several theories have been put forward over the years. Stuart Campbell suggests that Bob witnessed a mirage of Venus which brought on an epileptic fit that caused him to hallucinate. Which is a fine theory and would explain the loss of consciousness and the physical issues Taylor had directly after the event. Problem is Robert Taylor wasn’t epileptic. And he always maintained that what he saw was below tree level, which doesn’t help out the mirage aspect of the theory a whole heck of a lot. Other hypotheses include “ball lightening” which doesn’t quite match due to the lack of scorch marks found at the scene, and that the experienced forester Taylor ate those berries your mum would always tell you to stay away from as a kid and had quite the trippy acid-esque experience.

The truth is that none of the theories put forward fit all that well. And we can’t even use the stock “What a looney!” statement. Robert Taylor wasn’t a crazy kook. He was a nice, normal man who never sought publicity or gained financially from his tale. Instead he simply saw something surprising in the woods one day and told the police about it. Even if you were to label him Jock McCrazy then you’d be ignoring perhaps to most interesting piece of evidence in this entire case. You remember Bob’s trousers right? You know, the ones that were taken away for forensic testing? Well, guess what. The forensic examination revealed there were tears in the trousers consistent with implements that had pierced the fabric and attempted to lift Taylor in an upwards fashion.

And, when you think about it, is it so difficult to believe that Robert Taylor’s story was on the level, flanges an’ all? After all if there are unknown entities rummaging around the Amazon then...

Why can’t there be one in Dechmont Law?

Dear Florence.

2011-06-10T08:00:00.000-07:00

Hiya! My name’s Florence and I’m a psychic medium! I’m also a large semi-aquatic mammal weighing in excess of one and half tons! I’m so excited to be able to share my gift with you all once again. In fact, since my last column my inbox has gone crazy. I've had over four emails in the past month alone! One of them from the Prince of Nigeria himself! Sadly he has apparently got in to a spot of financial bother and wanted yours truly to give him a helping hand. Of course I had to reply back telling him that, as I'm a hippo, I don't actually have a bank account that he'd be able to store money in. But it was nice of him to think of me in his time of need, and that his grandmother wanted to me to tell him that his financial woes will soon pass!

Anyway I’m here to answer any questions you may have, with a little help from my (dead) friends! If you have a question, feel free mail it to me at mysticwonderhippo@gmail.com

Let’s dip in to the mailbag shall we?

Dear Florence,

My husband Peter passed away six months ago after being crushed by an unusually large turnip. His funeral was a small affair, but I was surprised to see his estranged brother Frank there paying his respects. The two had a falling out some years back about the correct way to tie shoelaces and hadn't spoken a word to each other since. Frank and I got to talking and we soon discovered that we had a lot in common (my dead husband for example). We kept in touch and were soon meeting for drinks or dinner on a weekly basis. Then a fortnight ago Frank and I spent the night together, and since then we've been inseparable, I'm really enjoying this relationship with Frank but I'm worried about Peter. I want to make sure he approves of Frank and me dating.

Margaret, Dudley-upon-Wetbury

Dear Margaret,

When our spirits make the great voyage to the other side, the loved ones we leave behind can feel lost and confused, and may find comfort in the strangest of places. Spirits understand this and are normally content that their partners or family members have found happiness without them. Except for Peter, who is rather miffed that you’ve been letting his brother bang you like a big bass drum! Especially considering Frank suffers from their family’s hereditary hairy back problem more than anyone! In fact his is so upset he has sworn revenge on both of you and is plotting to haunt both your houses until he drives you mad. My advice would be to give Peter time to calm down by taking a long trip abroad. Maybe get Frank to take you on that holiday to Egypt you could never convince Peter to go on?

Dear Florence,

Three weeks ago my wife left me for another man. Then my dog died. The bedsit I was staying at burnt to the ground. And I blew all my remaining money on a horse that I was told was dead cert, only for it fall over six seconds in to the race and break its leg. Then they shot the horse. Is there anything to look forward to on my horizon?

Simon, Parlington-On-Fessingstoke

Dear Simon,

Oh my! What a rough time you’ve been having! The last time I heard such a tale of woe was during the infamous mud drought of ’94. Not a fun time for us hippos let me tell you. Anyway, I have consulted my astral chart projections and found that to change your fortunes you must first change the way you look at things. Start thinking positively and positive things will happen! Instead of looking at glass as half empty, look at it as half full. Even if there’s nothing in it! Also try to learn how to relax more. A friend of mine told about an interesting plant that you can warm up and will make you feel calm and “floaty”. Apparently there’s a plentiful supply of it in the cities of Egypt, where it is sold on street corners by nice men. Maybe a trip is in order?

Dear Florence,

My pet snake Suzie recently died after a house guest mistook her for a neck tie. I was so angry I threw them out of my house and haven’t spoken to them since. Is it right to hold a grudge for what was an honest mistake? Also does Suzie have any regrets about her short amount of time here?

Dawn, Cardiff

Dear Dawn,

First off I can sense a lot of guilt in you over how Suzie carried over to the other side. Suzie wants to let you know that you shouldn’t feel guilty as she was pretty tired with life anyway! In fact only days before the accident Suzie had been eyeing up a bottle of Xanax and a case of wine as a potential way to end it all. If it wasn’t for her lack of hands preventing her from working the bottle opener properly she may very well have succeeded! As it happens it was her who decided to hang from the tie rack that day in the hope your house guest would make the mistake they did. She even starting hissing things like “I’m a tie”, and “Wouldn’t I compliment that shirt you’re wearing today?”. She says please don’t hold a grudge against your guest as it was what she wanted all along!

Suzie says her one major regret was never completing her lifelong dream of visiting interesting countries in alphabetical order, as she only made it as far as Denmark. Maybe a nice way of remembering Suzie would be to carry her ashes to the next country on the list? One that begins with “E”, and maybe has a big river and some Pyramids. She really likes those things!

If you have a question, if no-one else can help, and if you have way too much time on your hands why not drop Florence a line? She can be reached at mysticwonderhippo@gmail.com

Attaboy, Clarence.

2011-05-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

Hollywood stars just ain't what they used to be.

According to today's gossip rags the cream of the crop in the entertainment industry are, er, not so creamy. Arnold Schwarzenegger is a sex pest. Lindsey Lohan is in prison again. Tom Cruise is a lunatic. Mel Gibson is a racist. Charlie Sheen is… actually I have no idea what Charlie Sheen is (Gee Note: Outside of WINNING obviously. By the way, what does that even mean? I don't get it. Is it some sort of code? Like in those old black and white movies where Richard Attenborough would pick up a receiver and a crackly British voice would tell him the geese had flown north? Is that what Charlie Sheen is up to? Sending out coded messages to his army of mole-people who will eventually rise up and overthrow us? Only it will take a while because, well, they're mole-people and they don't move around all that quickly? Somebody needs to put a stop to this.). Hell last year even loveable comedy rogue Rip Torn got so wasted he broke in to a bank with a loaded firearm believing it was his house, and promptly fell asleep on the floor until the police arrived and arrested him. In fact not a day goes by without at least one celebrity making headlines having been caught driving a scooter high on glue while simultaneously having sex with a donkey. Or a prostitute. Or a donkey prostitute. One of those.

It wasn't always like this you understand. In fact outside of the odd one here and there A-listers used to be a rather dignified bunch of folks. Take James Stewart for example. Stewart was born in Indiana, Pennsylvania on May 20, and studied Architecture at Princeton University (Gee Note: NJ in the hizz-ouse y’all). After completing his studies he moved to L.A. and started to make a name for himself in the world of cinema. He became famous for portraying everyman characters in such classics as Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, It’s A Wonderful Life, Harvey, as well as edgier roles such as the voyeuristic L.B. Jeffries in Rear Window. In all he was nominated for an Oscar on five separate occasions, and managed to scoop the coveted award of Best Actor for his work in The Philadelphia Story.

Which would be pretty damn impressive by itself. But in 1941 the second Great War came knocking on America’s door and Stewart felt compelled to enlist. He couldn’t make the height or weight requirements to join the army and so instead ended up in the air force as a private. Over the next four years he rose to the rank of major and led twenty “official” flights in to enemy territory (Gee Note: Rumour has it he made three more than that at least, but for whatever reason they weren’t recorded properly. Which must be frustrating. I should know. I’ve beaten Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson in tug-of-war SIX times now, but because no one else was in the room and Rocky pretends he’s never heard of me you won’t find it anywhere in the record books. What’s wrong Rock? Scared of my raw awesome power are you?).

photo via wikipedia.

After the war ended Stewart remained in the military, joining the Air Force Reserves. He eventually retired as Brigadier General Stewart in 1968, having earned a Distinguished Service Medal, two Distinguished Flying Cross awards, and the Croix de Guerre. Despite his exemplary service record Stewart would rarely talk about his war time experiences in interviews, believing instead that he was simply doing his duty as an American citizen. Compare that to the recent Haiti earthquake appeal that swept Hollywood and the results are startling. During that particular charity drive stars left, right and centre were popping out of the woodwork to tell reporters how much money they were donating. I mean Christ, Sean Penn even "moved" there to "help out". (Gee Note: Along with his personal photographer. And his stylist. Oh and an easy access route back to L.A. of course). In contrast James Stewart went off to fight Nazis just because he thought it was the right thing to do, and didn't even bother to use the publicity it would generate to boost his movie career.

See what I mean? James Stewart simply towers over today's poor excuse for cinema icons. In fact the only way he could be more awesome is if he, oh I don't know, once smuggled a Yeti's hand out of India in order to verify its authenticity or something.

Yeah. He did that too.

Allow me to explain. It all starts with a man named Tom Slick (Gee Note: Who sounds like a chap who wears a large black moustache and stars in many a 1970's blue movie. "Never fear ladies" he'll say "My name is Tom Slick and I'm here to fix that no good plumbing of yours") Slick, born in 1916, was an heir to a Texas oil business. As such Tommy had a ton of disposal income and way too much time on his hands. Rather than do what I would do in such a situation (Gee Note: Namely sitting on the sofa with no clothes on laughing about how rich I am, while rubbing wads of cash against my naked body), Slick decided he would put his time and money to good use. He learnt to fly. He tried his hand at inventing and was the founder of the Southwest Research Institute. He campaigned for world peace and even wrote a book about it entitled "Permanent Peace: A Check and Balance Plan". And then he decided to become an adventurer.

Slick wasn't content to be just any little rich boy with a compass and a trust fund, one who would head out to the jungle for two or three hours before being air lifted to the nearest penthouse suite. Oh no siree. Thomas wanted the full, balls-out, wildman of the woods experience, including sleeping on leaf covered floors and eating caterpillar dung to survive. More importantly, Slick was determined to bag himself a monster. He spent years trying to track the likes of Nessie, Bigfoot, and The Trinity Alps Giant Salamander, all with varying degrees of success. However, by far his greatest accomplishment was his quest to find Bigfoot's Asian cousin, The Yeti.

Slick took many expeditions to Nepal searching for the Abominable Snowman. On one of his first in 1957 he heard about a Buddhist monastery in Pangboche that claimed to have a genuine-to-goodness Yeti’s hand lying around somewhere. Two years later Slick approached the monastery and enquired if he could study the specimen. “Ummm yeah alright” said the monks. Tom and a member of the expedition named Peter Byrne were then presented with what looked like a large skeletal hand preserved in a piece of cloth.

The hand looked the part due to its size and structure, but both Slick and Byrne were wary. Only six years earlier the infamous Piltdown Man, the alleged fossilized remains of a previously unknown early human, had been exposed as a combination of a modern human’s skull with an orang-utan’s jawbone. Concerned that he too may be looking at a similar hoax our man from Texas was desperate to have the hand thoroughly examined.

Fascinated by this discovery but frustrated by the lack of necessary equipment available in Nepal, Slick put forward a request to take a sample of the hand out of the country for further study. To which the monks responded “Are you f***ing crazy? No way buddy” (Gee Note: It turns out that monks have worse potty mouths than sailors.). Slick pleaded with them to change their minds but the monks wouldn’t budge. “Not a chance Jack” they said. “The hand stays with us”.

photo via wikipedia.

So, Byrne and Slick put their heads together and came up with the only sensible solution. They decided they would steal the hand.

Not all of it you understand. Just enough to run a couple of tests. And with a plan in place, Byrne was allowed to look at the Yeti digits one last time. On this occasion however he swapped some parts out with human finger bones and gave it back to monks while whistling and trying to avoid eye contact. Then Slick and Byrne legged it like they were Scooby-Doo and Shaggy coming face to face with a caretaker dressed up us a ghost. (Gee Note: By the way did you know that Shaggy's real first name is "Norville"? Welcome to my world of AMAZING FACTS).

Arriving in India, Byrne soon realised they had a problem. Namely "What the Hell do we do now?". Even though this was the late 50's airport security was no joke, especially in India where things like human rights and the law were, shall we say, more like guidelines than actual rules as far as the authorities were concerned. So they called upon the one man who they could rely on.

On the back of a unicorn and with his shirt open (Gee Note: Not really) James Stewart arrived to save the day. Stewart, who just happened to be in India at the time with his wife, was a good friend of Slick’s. Largely because they were both flying enthusiasts and Slick was rich enough to hang around with movie stars. Byrne and Slick convinced Stewart to help them smuggle the bones out of India, and Stewart came up with the idea of hiding them in and amongst his wife’s underwear. The idea being that no security guard on earth would dream of asking James Stewart if he could have a quick look through his wife’s knickers.

It worked like a charm, and Stewart was allowed to board the plane without incident. After arriving in London, James duly delivered the Pangboche Hand back to Byrne and went off to on his merry way to train air force pilots and make brilliant pieces of cinema. Byrne wanted to confirm that the hand was worth all this trouble after all and enlisted the help of William Charles Osman Hill, a well respected Primatologist at London University. Hill was given some fragments of the specimen only to conclude that the origin of the relic was almost certainly human. However a year later Hill had convinced himself that he’d missed something and resumed his study of the hand. This time he concluded that while it represented features that were very close to human, the most likely match would be a Neanderthal.

Amazingly the hand was then largely ignored by the scientific community, possibly because it was pinched from a bunch of peace loving holy dudes. In fact this entire story was forgotten about until Loren Coleman unearthed it while researching a book on Tom Slick. Coleman treated such a fantastical story with cynicism, until both Byrne and Stewart himself confirmed it was true. And then in 1991 the television show Unsolved Mysteries obtained some samples of the hand from George Agogino, another member of Slick’s party. After rigorous testing it was concluded that these samples were “similar to but not human” and could only be defined as “near human” (Gee Note: You mean, like the cast of “Jersey Shore”?)

Sadly that’s where the story crashes to a halt. The samples provided by Byrne and Agogino have long since been lost, and what remained of the hand was stolen from the Pangboche monastery in the mid-90’s. Rumour has it the hand now rests in the possession of a private collector (Gee Note: Rumour also has it that Wales international footballer Ryan Giggs has... er... nevermind).

So we may now never know whether the Pangboche Hand was that of a real Yeti, or whether it was a clever hoax. But there is one thing I think we can safely say for certain.

James Stewart was a much better example of a Hollywood star than what we have now.

Monsters Inc. Pixar. 2001

Judgement Day - Live

2011-05-21T05:30:00.000-07:00

The end is nigh.

Or, you know, not.

Meet Harold Camping. Camping, 89, is the head of the Family Radio Church and has recently made headlines around the world claiming today is the start of the rapture. For those not familiar with the concept of the rapture, it’s the part of the Bible which goes "And the Lord said 'Eckie thump! I've made a right tits up of this and no mistake! Well there's only one thing to do. Rip it all up and start all over again. Now where did I put my safety goggles?'." According to Camping an earthquake will travel across the world at 6pm local time where ever you live, one of such magnitude it'll make the recent Japanese tremor look like a fat kid shaking a snow globe. At that point the dead will rise and all sorts of horrible crap will continue to happen until the Earth finally goes cablooey on October 21st.

photo via familyradio.com

On the other hand, it might not happen at all. Still not to miss out on potentially one of the biggest stories ever I've decided to do a live blog covering the events of the day in realtime. I know. I'm amazing. I'm like Clark Kent or something.

12:48 21/05/2011

Just woke up. New Zealand isn't covered in rubble despite the fact that 6pm for them was several hours ago, nor are zombies shuffling across the landscape like Frodo Baggins. In fact Auckland reports business as usual. (Gee Note: "These sheep won't herd themselves!" said Jack McStereotype). Apparently there was an earthquake that hit Christmas Island at around 6.31pm local time (Gee Note: Ironic because Christ is the son of God and Christmas is named… well you can see where I'm going with this) but came in at a measly 2.5 on the scale. According to them in the know, this kind of thing happens all the time. It's not uncommon to have 30 to 40 earthquakes measuring more that 2.5 worldwide every day, say the boffins. So as it stands right now the prediction of the end of the world is looking mighty silly. Which is good. There's an episode of Doctor Who on tonight that I really want to see.

13:42 21/05/2011

Huh. Reports are stating that Harry made the same prediction in 1994 by using some wacky way of adding up all the numbers in the Bible together. When that didn't come true he blamed the whole fiasco on a "mathematical error". I'm not one to judge but maybe he should think about investing in a scientific calculator? They really are marvellous. They have words like "sin", "cos", and "tan" on them. Plus, TT, which looks a bit like the pillars in Stonehenge. I have no idea what any of those things do but they all look jolly clever.

13:51 21/05/2011

Of course, the last time I actually used a scientific calculator was in school. By the way has anyone ever used Pythagoras' theorem in a practical way? Oh sure it's all sorts of showy offy smart. But if you can be arsed to measure two sides of a triangle why not just cut to the chase and measure the third one? Doesn't make sense not to.

14:26 21/05/2011

You know Arnold ~~Swarchz~~ Schwarzenegger is probably the only person on the planet who would be preeeety relieved if the world ended today.

http://www.mirror.co.uk/celebs/news/2011/05/21/arnold-schwarzenegger-love-child-no2-cheat-facing-claims-he-has-second-secret-tot-115875-23146063/

14:52 21/05/2011

A lot of news websites are leading with the headline "World fails to end". Which is a bit like going with "Ducks aren't likely to make good nuclear scientists".

15:00 21/05/2011

Tenuous end of the world analogy part 1: Taken from the http://www.thescore.ie

"AMID ALL OF the laughter and pooh-poohing, there always remained a hardcore element of devout worshippers who maintained that 21 May 2011 would be a date of some significance.

For those Leinster rugby fans who have made the pilgrimage to Cardiff’s Millennium Stadium, the hope is that today will not signify the end of days which Harold Camping and his followers have predicted but the dawn of a bright new era."

15:10 21/05/2011

Tenuous end of the world analogy part 2: Taken from http://www.nypost.com/

It’s pure R.A.pture for knuckleballer

The end of the world will have to wait, as far as R.A. Dickey is concerned.

After a horrid stretch, the knuckleballer last night regained his 2010 form, helping the Mets draw first blood in this year’s Subway Series.

15:34 21/05/2011

Someone somewhere right now is shouting "I told you so" while standing next to a Mayan Calender.

16:18 21/05/2011

"End of World Confessions" is a topic trending on Twitter at the moment. Sadly most of those are along the lines of "I love Justin Bieber!!!". Suddenly the destruction of the earth has its good points.

16:39 21/05/2011

Harold Camping's website http://www.familyradio.com/ hasn't been updated yet. I think a short message along the lines of "Aaaah. GOTCHA!!!!" would suffice.

17:01 21/05/2011

Me: "Ooo. It's the end of the world in France right now. I wonder how they're dealing with it?"

A-typical 70's British sitcom: "Probably eating cheese and surrendering".

17:08 21/05/2011

Amazing get rich quick scheme part 1: http://eternal-earthbound-pets.com/

You've committed your life to Jesus. You know you're saved. But when the Rapture comes what's to become of your loving pets who are left behind? Eternal Earth-Bound Pets takes that burden off your mind.

We are a group of dedicated animal lovers, and atheists. Each
Eternal Earth-Bound Pet representative is a confirmed atheist, and as such will still be here on Earth after you've received your reward. Our network of animal activists are committed to step in when you step up to Jesus.

We are currently active in 26 states, employing 40 pet rescuers. Our representatives have been screened to ensure that they are atheists, animal lovers, are moral / ethical with no criminal background, have the ability and desire to rescue your pet and the means to retrieve them and ensure their care for your pet's natural life.

Unfortunately at this time we are not equipped to accommodate all species and must limit our services to dogs, cats, birds, rabbits, and small caged mammals. [Please note: we can now offer rescue services for horses, camels, llamas and donkeys in NH,VT, ID and MT ]

(Gee Note: OK. One question. Who the f*** keeps a camel as a pet?)

17:41 21/05/2011

Less than twenty minutes to go until a tremendous force flings the dead from their graves like they were Lindsey Lohan trying to enter a VIP room.

17:59 21/05/2011

Currently standing in a doorway just in case. It's the best thing to do during an earthquake. I saw it on the telly once. "How to look good surviving the apocalypse".

18:01 21/05/2011

Remember that scene from The Dark Knight when The Joker tries to blow up the hospital? You know the bit where he presses the button on the remote and nothing happens? Well, either God has Joker's remote or this whole doomsday thing is a dud.

19:03 21/05/2011

It's been over an hour now and not so much as the slightest tremor. Which means that unless something completely bezerk happens the world is safe for now. And depending on how you look at it, this mess can be viewed in a couple of ways. Staunch atheists can celebrate in the knowledge that there is no God. Believers can relax in the knowledge that God exists, and that he's a sort of mellow chap and not a globe destroying lunatic after all. The rest of us, the great undecided, can look at today as a new dawn. The first day of the rest of our lives. So do something different and wonderful today if you can, even if it's only the tiniest thing. Me, I'm going down the pub to share a beer or two with friends, some I haven't seen in too long.

If you were one of those that was convinced judgement day would land today then please, for the love of all that is Holy, don't be too down about this afternoon's lack of zombies and what not.

After all, it's not the end of the world.

They may be drinkers, Robin, but they're still human beings.

2011-04-27T11:36:00.000-07:00

I'm not an anti-royalist. I just want to get that clear from the start. I'm pretty sure they're all nice enough people, and they do some good things with charities and what not. It's just, as an average British citizen who does average British citizeny things (Gee Note: Which means drinking warm beer and living in a castle if you believe Yahoo Answers), the Royal family generally has no impact on my day to day life. Yes the Queen's face is on the piece of paper I hand over to the barman to get my room temperature pint of bitter, and at many a sporting event you hear a crowd of people imploring the maker above to rescue the poor lass. But really, if somehow the Royal family ceased to exist tomorrow I probably wouldn't bat an eyelid. Unless they all turned in to Werewolves or 9 ft tall reptilian aliens or something. At that point I'm locking myself in the basement with a crossbow and a can of spam.

So it goes without saying that I don't think about the Windsors all that often. They're like music in an elevator I guess. They're in the background somewhere, but they make so little noise and are so fantastically dull that they're hardly worth paying attention to. Except for this week. This week the Royal family has been a pain in the arse.

It's all to do with Prince William and his rapidly receding hairline (Gee Note: No really. Have you seen that thing? I've lost money on greyhounds that moved slower than that).Young Wills will one day be crowned King of this great nation, providing a piano doesn't fall on his head or something. And seeing as this is real life and not a Tom & Jerry cartoon, that's quite unlikely. This coming Friday the prince will marry his long term squeeze Kate Middleton in a ceremony at Westminster Abbey. So yeah. Good for them. I mean if it was me and I had their money I'd have probably gone to Vegas and had the best wedding involving strippers and pirates ever. But each to their own I guess.

Here's the thing. Even though their both better looking and undoubtedly better people than I am, I really don't care about the Royal Wedding.

It's not that I wish them ill fortune or anything. In fact I hope they have a long and happy marriage. Or at the least a quick divorce should things go pear shaped. But I have as much enthusiasm for their pending nuptials as I do for any other two people I have never met. People get married all the time. In fact I myself would be married right now if we hadn't have had a baby instead (Gee Note: Not that it's an either/or choice you understand. It's just that, well, I'm not really what you would call "A Planner" and the idea of having to organise a wedding and the arrival of a baby girl would have made my head explode. By the way for those of you keeping score, my daughter is the most awesome thing in the universe. Yeah that's right. Move over "that museum which has the great big mechanical Tyrannosaur". You just got bumped down the list buddy). Seriously it's not that big of a deal.

Unless you happen to pick up a newspaper and watch television here in the U.K. Then all of a sudden it becomes a very big deal, especially over the past seven days or so. With such fervour has it been reported on by all and sundry you would swear the event was being staged on a glass palace on the surface of Mars.

photo via rdujour.com

Not a day, not one single day, has gone by recently without the airwaves and print journals being flooded with articles on the Royal Wedding. Sadly however, there's nothing to report because… IT'S JUST A F***ING WEDDING. I mean really, the only thing you can say at this point is "It's Tuesday 7.22 am and as of this moment the marriage of Prince William and Kate Middleton is still going ahead.". That's it. There is nothing else to announce. Nada. Zip. And so instead we've been stampeded upon by opinion piece followed by bloody opinion piece fluffed out with the most ridiculous twaddle. Sample headlines include:

"What will they be wearing?" (Gee Note: Answer - Clothes. Probably nice ones)

"Who will be conducting the ceremony?" (Gee Note: Answer - Some dude)

"Who will be attending?" (Gee Note: Answer - Family, friends, and the occasional celeb like Elton John. Yeah I know. I can't remember the last time he was relevant either).

"Can you look like Kate Middleton without spending a lot of money?" (Gee Note: Answer - No).

"What does the man on the street think about the big day?" (Gee Note: Answer - AAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!)

“Do you want to know everything about William and Kate?” (Gee Note: Answer - What, you mean like when they pork and stuff? Not really. Unless they do something weird, like dress up as dinosaurs. Even then I'm pretty sure I can live without it).

And on and on it goes, slowly driving you insane with the inane drivel that a 24 hour news cycle generates when nothing is happening. Amazingly, people get sucked in to the tedious mash and start believing it's a big deal. I had a conversation with a woman today in which I mentioned I didn't get what all the fuss about and her reply was "Oh. But he's a Prince. It's like a fairy tale". Well no. No it isn't. Unless one of them is cursed by a witch and has to marry the other one or they'll turn in to a giant salamander while being chased by a crazy old man who makes shotguns out of pastry, this couldn't be anything less like a fairy tale.

The worst thing about all of this is that the genuinely intriguing news stories have been buried under a slush pile of fruit cake and confetti. For example, in news you may have missed the first time around, did you know that JFK was shot because he started asking too many questions about extra terrestrials?

(Gee Note: Yep. Bet you didn't see that one coming did you? For I am Gareth, King of the segues. All ye lesser segue makers bow down before me.)

This juicy little blighter was picked up by The Daily ~~Fail~~ Mail, a newspaper so ridiculous in it's right wing agenda it makes Fox News look fair and balanced. Occasionally The Mail will abandon their seemingly life-long mission of scaring pensioners by telling them that foreigners are moving in down the road and as a result house prices are going down, and instead throw in something completely bonkers. More often than not these will be along the lines of "Boy, 6, wins chess tournament while sleeping", or "Brave humpback whale saves woman's bag from being stolen". But once in a blue moon they go for a big one, such was the case on April 19 this year.

“WAS JFK KILLED BECAUSE OF HIS INTEREST IN ALIENS?” screamed the headline.

“No!” screamed the readers.

But wait, don't throw the paper down and pick up something more respectable just yet (Gee Note: Like a copy of JUGGS magazine for example). There's wild speculation and gigantic leaps of logic to be had in them there column inches.

According to the esteemed organ:

An uncovered letter written by John F Kennedy to the head of the CIA shows that the president demanded to be shown highly confidential documents about UFOs 10 days before his assassination.

The secret memo is one of two letters written by JFK asking for information about the paranormal on November 12 1963, which have been released by the CIA for the first time.

Wow! Hear that my friend? That's the sound of your reality being EXPLODED beeyotches!! Your bible is wrong. Everything you believe in is a lie. Jim Corr was right dammit. Or David Icke. One of those bastards who howl at the moon at any rate. Your mind is being used by overlords intent on doing something nefarious with it. Exactly what that is nobody seems to know for sure. But they're doing it I tells you. They're hiding free energy from us. They're hiding aliens from us. THEY MURDERED JOHN F. KENNEDY.

Moving along...

Huh? You want to see the actual memo? Why? Didn't you hear? The President was killed by CIA operatives because he was on to them hiding Little Green Men in obscure military bases in Nevada. Why aren't you calling the police? Wait. They're probably in on it too. Shit. I know. Throw up the Bat signal. Get Adam West on the case. Not only will he defeat the evil doers, but he'll teach his young ward a valuable lesson along the way.

Fine. Have it your way. Here then is the “smoking memo” (Gee Note: See what I did there? I took the phrase “smoking gun” and replaced the word “gun” with “memo”. I know. I'm like some kind of word play magician).

Hmmmm.

OK it might come out as pretty small so I'll break it down for you.

“Hey CIA guys. J to the Fizzle here. Listen you know those UFOs that farmers in Idaho keep talking about? Well anyway could you send any files we have on those my way ASAP? A couple of flying saucers have been seen in Russia recently and you know how twitchy those communists get. We don't need ol' Nikolai Warski reaching for that red button do we?!? LOL. Anyway I want to have something to show them should they start pointing the finger at us. So be a star and pop those over. Oh and any statuesque brunettes you might have in the office. You see the missus is out of town for a couple of days and... nevermind.

Cheers m'dears

Jack.”

The Mail goes on to say.

The president’s interest in UFOs shortly before his death is likely to fuel conspiracy theories about his assassination, according to AOL News.

Alien researchers say the latest documents, released to Mr Lester by the CIA, add weight to the suggestion that the president could have been shot to stop him discovering the truth about UFOs.

OK, let's think about this for a moment. President Kennedy requests that the CIA send him files regarding UFO activity. The CIA gets spooked (Gee Note: GEDDITT?!?!?) because they've been secretly hunting/hiding/selling pebbles claiming they're rare earth resources to Aliens. JFK blindly asks about gathering some information on the UFO phenomenon and rather than, oh I don't know, get an intern to make something up under the pretence of a training exercise or simply hand over the files that don't contain such phrases as “then we gave the aliens the codes to our national defence grid in exchange for some Cuban cigars” they decide to shoot him in the face. He even gave them three months to work on it. If the best they can come up with is “blow his chuffin' head off” then I'm not sure the CIA are crack operatives we think they are. I mean I can't imagine that it didn't come up in the meeting.

“So it's settled then. We will kill the President of the United States of America”.

“Hang on a minute fellas. I've just had an idea. What if we lie to him instead?”

“Well, I'm sorry Chad. I've already picked up the phone and starting dialling Killers 'R' Us. It hasn't connected yet but, still, Diane is making clam chowder tonight and it's just not the same cold.”

Look I'm not saying that there isn't some sort of conspiracy surrounding the assassination of JFK. I'm not saying that there is either. But I can almost guarantee that John Fitzgerald Kennedy was not killed because of this memo. Nobody, not even a group of shadowy spies, is that psychopathic. However the problem with the whole “third gunman” syndrome is that a subsection of society are so desperate to believe that someone other than Lee Harvey Oswald pulled the trigger that they'll jump on anything that even remotely resembles proof. You only have to look at the comments section under the article's online version to see that. It's like a flame war extravaganza.

And you can't really blame them. The whole situation to me is best summed up by an episode of the hit Sci-Fi television show Quantum Leap. Sam Beckett leaps in to the body of Oswald a few days before the President is killed, and muses that the reason why people created a conspiracy theory was because otherwise those same people would be forced to accept that the American ideal of democracy and freedom can be turned completely on its head by one man with a rifle.

Maybe it was a single soul who killed JFK. Maybe it was a thousand. But it wasn't because the President of The United States asked for some files to be sent to him about UFOs and the CIA hit the panic button. The world doesn't work like that. No matter how much you want it to.

Anyway I'm off to celebrate the Royal Wedding in my own way. Namely sitting on my sofa in my underpants, drinking rum, and listening to the Sex Pistols at ear bleed volume. Because until those Aliens turn up, there really isn't anything worth talking about.

And you should know that everyone runs from Shere Khan.

2011-04-14T14:10:00.000-07:00

Television shows are strange creatures. Living and dying by how popular they are they tread a fine line between trying to be innovative, and trying not to alienate an audience by being too unfamiliar. Stray too far in to the former territory and you'll be branded as "weird", too far in to latter and it'll be "boring". As such television shows are always trying to find unique selling points, something that distinguishes them from the herd without turning off viewers in droves. Probably the most basic and yet amazingly effective example of this is "Jeopardy!" which is for all intents and purposes a run of the mill quiz show. Except that, unlike standard Q&A routines employed by similar programmes, contestants on "Jeopardy!" must provide an answer in the form of a question. It's only a simple deviation and yet it has made "Jeopardy!" phenomenally successful, the show having picked up a record 29 Daytime Emmy Awards since 1984.

Which brings us to The Beast Hunter on National Geographic, and it's host Pat Spain. (Gee Note: Or The Beast Man as it's known in the UK, due to copy-write reasons. Which I'm guessing is news to this guy:)

The show itself is a simple enough concept. Woovy bezerk animal is supposedly kicking around somewhere. Pat is dispatched with a camera crew and tasked with launching an investigation in to the wee beastie. And yet it turns out that Spain himself is an incredibly rare find, one that would make a television producer weep with delight. Looking a-bit-but-not-really-like Justin Timberlake he's articulate, youthful, and enthusiastic with genuine scientific chops to back up his camera friendly attributes. He's also the great nephew of a certain Charles Fort. Yes that Charles Fort. Godfather of all things wacky and wonderful. The man who put unexplained phenomena on the map. Seriously, the only way Pat Spain could be any better as far as the TV execs are concerned is if he was also made from cocaine and rainbows.

Before the show aired in the States, Pat was interviewed by a host of publications and crypto-friendly websites. One of which, Weirld.com, asked how the show differed from others such as the now defunct "MonsterQuest".

Spain responded with: I feel like a lot of these shows rely on the "we just don't know" factor, quick camera turns and "what was that?" Blair Witch style stuff. It's a quest for an animal without doing the upfront work. I'm not saying it specifically about Monster Quest but a lot of these shows really bother me, like when it’s a diurnal animal and they go out with night vision cameras, looking for it at night, And they don't call it by the correct regional name. What's different about our show is that we're doing an initial reconnaissance mission. We’re saying "Should science look closer at this creature? Is their real evidence that this is there?". On the investigations we were doing, if we stumbled across something it would be great but we didn't go out with collecting kits. This is more about learning the plausibility of this creature.

Which sounds A-OK as far as I'm concerned. Indeed one of my major criticisms of the last ever MonsterQuest episode was that, despite the fascinating story of the Gable Film hoax and Steve Cook getting verbally bitch slapped by Linda Godfrey, the majority of the show was devoted to three lunatics wondering around the woods trying to find a werewolf by looking at poo and random indentations on the ground. In fact if I never see another night vision sequence featuring someone loudly whispering that they can hear something moving just off camera again I'll be a happy chappy.

Sadly the first episode of The Beast Hunter doesn't quite live up to that ideal.

It's not that it's a bad show you understand. But after all is said done it's no more scientific than jumping up and down while flapping your arms to see if you can fly (Gee Note: C'mon. We've all done it. Hell I give it a bash every fortnight just in case I'm like a super cool mutant with magic flying powers or something. So far, no, it hasn't worked. But it will one day. People think I'm crazy, but I'll show them. And when I'm flying around and racing pigeons I'll be all like "Who's crazy now huh?" And then I'll laugh "Hahahahahahahahahaaaa!". And then a Swedish supermodel will want to do the sex with me. You just wait. I'll prove you all wrong). Despite it's best intentions The Beast Hunter is more about entertainment than about a legit search for cryptids.

For example the first episode is all about the search for Orang Pendek, a ground dwelling bipedal primate around 4 ft tall said to inhabit the forests of Sumatra (Gee Note: If it helps picture Orang Pendek as I do, a drunken homeless midget). The Orang Pendek is one of those cryptids that a lot of people think might actually exist, despite the fact that there's little or no evidence to support it. This is probably due to the fact that unlike Bigfoot or Nessie, Penny is not a Wookie nor is it a bloody great big lizard fish. Instead it's a wee monkey that just happens to walk upright, and inhabits the notoriously unfriendly Sumatran Woods.

It kicks off with Spain strolling through a local market and asking natives about the creature with a simple "Orang Pendek?". Alas part of the problem with using the "correct regional name" is that Orang Pendek literally translates as "short man", which leads to much confusion as to why this pasty foreigner is trawling the stalls looking for someone with a small penis.

Dick jokes aside, the market is a bust as far as first hand information goes. And so Spain meets up with Debbie Martyr, a woman who claims to have seen the creature with her very own eyes. She provides a detailed description of the animal and even points out the closest match to its fur colour on a chart Pat carries around with him (Gee Note: NERD!!!). However Spain, citing the lack of hard evidence and the unenthusiastic response from the folks at the market, isn't entirely convinced that the creature exists. So to find out once and for all Spain ~~chops down all the trees in the area forcing the bastard out in the open~~ goes and talks to the local Shaman. "If anyone would know if Orang Pendek really is out there" he says, "it's him".

Hold up. What?

OK. Let's see if I can get this straight. In this seriously scientific venture for seriously scientific people the decision was made to search for an unknown animal based entirely on the word of a Witch Doctor (Gee Note: Hey Witch Doctor give us the magic words! Alright. You go ooo ee oo ah ah. Ting tang walla-walla bing bang. Allllright! Man I love that record. Largely because playing it at an obscenely loud volume and jumping around like an idiot annoys The Future Ex-Mrs. Davies quite a bit. It's the little things in life that please me). I mean, you know, I'm not sure that groundwork would stand up to rigorous examination when presented to room full of boffins. Not that I don't think the world wouldn't be a better place if the scientific community wasn't a little loser in that regards. Testing schmesting I say. People should just come up with a theory, gather a room full of clowns, give them numbers and get them to fight to death. If the last clown standing is a 5 or higher, the theory stands and will be taught in schools forever more. Any lower and it's back to drawing board for you Mr. Science-Guy.

Eventually, after watching the Shaman do a dance with some sticks, Spain quizzes the enlightened one on the existence of the Orang Pendek. "Dude. The Orang Pendek is, like, totally real man. I've absolutely connected to it with my mind powers, even though I've never seen one" says the Shaman (Gee Note: Or words to that affect. I lost my notes with the Shaman bit on it if I'm honest. Luckily my photographic memory never lets me down. Otherwise I'd probably end up looking rather foolish). Oblivious to the blatant contradiction of stating "I feel like a lot of these shows… [are] a quest for an animal without doing the upfront work." and asking the Shaman "Have you been able to spiritually connect with an Orang Pendek?" as some sort of proof of existence, Spain gives a hearty clap of his hands and heads off to the woods in search of a big surprise.

Taking with him a handful of ~~slaves~~ helpers and a British wildlife photographer as a guide, Pat heads in to the dense forest hoping to track down the elusive ape. Noting that his guide - a chap by the name of Jeremy Holden - had once photographed a rabbit in this region that was previously believed to be extinct, Spain hypothesizes that it is indeed possible that a small creature could live amongst the trees and go undetected for centuries. And it's not hard to see why, as most of the remaining footage involves Spain forcing his way through dense foliage, falling over, getting back up, swearing, and falling over again. It's a bit like watching a Buster Keaton movie, if of course Buster Keaton had a pierced ear and dropped the F-bomb like a sailor.

As such hard facts are difficult to find. At one point Holden finds a tree branch covered in moss except for a small patch in the middle, and claims that Orang Pendek probably used it as leverage to navigate the trees. Spain, releasing his inner six year old schoolgirl, grabs the branch himself and almost squeals with delight. "The missing moss could be where Orang Pendek placed it's hand!" he says excitedly. Which, sure, I guess that could be the case. But then the moss could also have been licked clean by a stranded, starving donkey. (Gee Note: Ah the lesser spotted Moss Eating Donkey. A curious creature indeed.) Compelling evidence it was not.

Deciding to knock things up a notch, and once again contradicting his previous statement, Spain and his crew choose to spend the night outdoors, complete with the now obligatory night vision footage. Setting up a series of camera-traps and moseying through the wild, we're treated to "Blair Witch style stuff" as Pat wanders in to a clearing, freezes, turns to the camera and whispers loudly "I can hear… there's something moving behind those trees!". Even spookier, a bunch of gibbons start hooting and hollering in the distance as Holden explains "Gibbons aren't nocturnal. That means that something must have alarmed them. They wouldn't be like that at this time of night normally". Cue a series of quick camera shots as Spain worries about the possibility of being attacked by a tiger.

Fortunately Pat manages to avoid being munched by Shere Khan and his pals and lives to search another day. Unfortunately the camera traps pick up no images of unknown animals and the hunt for Orang Pendek ends with nothing tangible found. Still, as Spain himself puts it in a passionate summing up "We don't have the time or the resources to search for this creature" (Gee Note: Which begs the question "Why have I just spent an hour watching you do just that if there was never any chance of you finding the sodding thing? Man, I haven't felt this ripped off since I bought that ticket to watch Michael Jackson at the 02 arena in 2009. There I was standing in the middle of London by myself. No Michael. No supporting acts. In fact I was the only person in the entire building. Waste of goddam money if you ask me."), "but if someone like Jeremy was given the right financial backing, there's no doubt in my mind he would find the Orang Pendek".

So ends the first episode of The Beast Hunter and despite it's problems, it actually makes for some terrific viewing. This is in no small part due to Mr. Spain himself, which is surprising to say the least. You see when the show first started and Pat came in to view I immediately hated him. "Bah," I said to myself "This guy has obviously only been chosen to front this show because he's a scientist who doesn't look like a mangled troll. In fact I would go so far as to say he's quite handsome. If you like that sort of thing that is. I mean, sure, I'm way better looking than he is. But I could see how he might get the odd girl here and there. Anyway I bet he's rubbish.".

But the truth is Pat Spain is charming, knowledgeable, and a legit knowledge geek, and within ten minutes he'd won me over. Much like Prof. Brian Cox, he's one of those people that makes you wish you spent less time in school staring out of the window. He makes fumbling around a remote and dangerous jungle for an animal that probably doesn't exist seem fun and exciting, without ever degrading in to the macho bullshit that dogs programmes such as Destination Truth. And as it stands The Beast Hunter is a thoroughly fine piece of entertainment.

Just don't call it “science”.

Florence The Mystic Wonder Hippo.

2011-04-01T14:39:00.000-07:00

Hiya! My name’s Florence and I’m a psychic medium! I’m also a large semi-aquatic mammal weighing in excess of one and half tons! I’m so excited that I’ve been given an opportunity to share my gift with you. In fact when I was told I would be doing a guest spot on “I Saw Elvis In The Woods” I nearly snorted mud all over the hippo in front of me. Which I’m sure would have made them very grumpy!

Ever since I discovered that I could contact the spirit world I’ve been trying to think of ways to help people. That’s when I decided to charge people a small fee for telling them their grandmother is proud of them. Seeing the joy in people’s faces on receiving such news makes it all worth it. That and the 50 pounds for half an hour’s work!

Anyway I’m here to answer any questions you may have, with a little help from my (dead) friends! If you have a question, feel free to leave a comment or mail it to me at mysticwonderhippo@gmail.com

Let’s dip in to the mailbag shall we?

Dear Florence,

I am a middle aged woman who recently started dating an older man. He’s kind and gentle and really gets me. Also our love life is amazing! The only problem is I think he wants something more while I’m quite happy where we are. I really like him but I’m afraid I might lose him if I tell him I’m not ready for anything serious. I also don’t want to be pressured in to doing something I won't be comfortable with. What should I do?

Leslie, Wathington-On-Kettle

Dear Leslie,

I have spoken to spirit and they’ve confirmed what I already suspected. Your man is nothing more than a psychopathic killer, intent on harvesting your organs under the pretence of a romantic weekend away! My advice would be to get out while you can! Or better yet perform a citizen’s arrest and use the reward money to do something you’ve always wanted. Maybe that trip to Egypt you’ve talked about for years!

Dear Florence,

I’m a stay at home mum with a teenage son. Recently he’s been acting strangely, dressing all in black, telling me to “suck it”, writing poetry about how rubbish the world is. He used to be such a bright and bubbly little boy! Is this just an adolescent acting out, or is something more sinister going on? Is my son possessed?

Charlene, Basingcake-upon-Summat

Dear Charlene,

Your son isn’t possessed, nor is this just a result of those pesky teenage hormones. After consulting with mystical energies it has been revealed to me that your son is dabbling in dark magical practices. I don’t mean to alarm you but this can be very dangerous. Not just to him but also for those close to him. My advice would be to make a cup of weak green tea, sit your son down, and have a nice long chat about it. Make sure you calmly explain how what he is doing may seem “cool” and “groovy” but it will surely end in disaster! If that doesn’t work then there really is no hope for the boy. In which case, instead of dealing with the headache of having a Warlock son, sell him as a slave to Somali pirates and put the money towards that holiday in Egypt you’ve been dreaming about!

Dear Florence,

I have a pet hamster named Steve. Normally Steve would love nothing more than to be let out of his cage and run for his life as I chase him around the living room with the hoover. Recently however Steve has become very lethargic, and the other day it took me over two hours to extract his paw from the nozzle. Is Steve ill or in pain? Should I take him to the vet?

Barry, Cardiff

Dear Barry,

Having psychically contacted Steve the first thing he wanted you to know is that he loves you very much. Also that the new carpet cleaner you have makes his nose itch. Secondly Steve is perfectly fine physically. Mentally it’s a completely different story! Alas Steve is in what you would refer to as a “funk”. The novel he’s been working on hasn’t panned out the way he wanted, and even his daily routine of desperately avoiding death by suction has failed to lift his gloom. Rather than take him to the vet maybe you should try brightening his mood. Play some uplifting music around the house! Place some colourful flowers or balloons near his cage! A little TLC and before you know it Steve will be as right as mud. Maybe a change of scenery would do the trick? Steve suggests a warmer climate with a big river and some pyramids.

If you have a question, if no-one else can help, and if you have way too much time on your hands why not drop Florence a line? She can be reached at mysticwonderhippo@gmail.com

In Okinawa, all Miyagi know two things: fish and karate.

2011-03-30T18:48:00.000-07:00

Well now. It’s been a while hasn’t it? Sorry about that. There’s a lot of stuff to catch up on. Such as DC Comics shutting down the entire comments section of its website after an argument about who would win a foot race between Superman and The Flash got out of hand (Gee Note: No really. Insane isn’t it? Imagine getting bent out of shape about something like that. Especially when everyone knows The Flash would leave Kal-El’s Kryptonian ass in the dust. Anyone who thinks otherwise is just a GODDAM FRICKIN’ MORON!!!!!1!!!!1!). Bigfoot was caught on video again, the fame hungry whore that he is. A monster was seen in Lake Windermere that could have been a Plesiosaur or a car tire depending on which newspaper you read. I became a father to a healthy baby girl who has a smile that melts her daddy’s heart. Oh and the Apocalypse started.

Well it did according to our old friend Maggador.

It’s been a while since we checked in with Maggy. For the uninitiated, Edward Alexander – AKA Maggador IX-777 – announced himself to the world two years ago with a series of YouTube videos in which he claimed to be an alien. Despite the fact that he looked an awful lot like a bonkers Scandinavian and not really like a little green man, Mr. Alexander generated quite the online following. In the following two years Eddie has distanced himself from the whole “extra-terrestrial” thing and has instead promoted himself as a spiritual leader of sorts, raging against The Illuminati and imploring his brothers and sisters to join a mystical revolution. Which I think is a massive shame. I mean crazy alien guy with a monkey was all sorts of entertaining. Weird beardy guy telling you they’re all out to get you? No. Not so much.

Anyway earlier this month Eddie took to Facebook to unleash his latest battle cry. Wanna see it? Sure you do. Wanna see me make snarky comments as we go? You do? Well shucks, if you insist…

AND SO IT BEGINS - AS IT ENDS: THE COMING TIMES (Gee Note: Which is better than the working title “Dear Idiots”).

We are living in very critical times. Only the ones winning be battle between good and evil will reveal the outcome. (Gee Note: Suck it News Of The World. No scoops for you).

As of now, there is a lot of pressure and forces from the Negative entities, as they are pushing towards major destructions and disasters. (Gee Note: Positive entities are pushing towards free bacon sandwiches for all and for The Rock to lay a beating on John Cena at Wrestlemania. Or World peace. I don’t know. I’ve read a lot today and I get confused as to which bit came from where).

Like I have earlier prophesized, we now see that: Great destruction with Earthquakes, Volcanoes, Tsunamis, Climate Changes, Coming Ice Age, Solar Flares on the way, Change in Earth’s axis and position in the sky, Pole Shifts, both magnetically and geologically. And the Super moon coming now, March 19, which could further affect the state of the world and events here. (Gee Note: Or it could just lead to a lot of people going “Oooh doesn’t the moon look super tonight?” on social networking sites. Speaking of which, in my absence both Charlie Sheen and Rebecca Black became huge stars on Twitter. Jesus people. I leave you alone for two minutes.)

What is likely to come now, is first of all more Earthquakes, in USA as well very soon, more Tsunamis and storms, increased solar flares and the destructions that will drag along, effects of the moon on earth, and effects of a celestial body getting closer to earth that can cause great changes – possibly a binary star, a brown dwarf. (Gee Note: Or a giant fiery duck. Why not? Makes about as much sense as the other two).

What we see is the effects of the spiritual war, the cause behind all this, many negative entities trying to make all these horrible actions and events take place, but also there are good out there, entities working against the negative energies, trying to balance it all back. (Gee Note: The negative entities are led by a chap named Palpatine who can fire lightning bolts out of his hands. The positive entities are led by a 19 year old kid who is being aided by a small, green, walnut faced rabbit who talks kinda funny, the ghost of Alec Guinness, and a bunch of teddy bears with anger management issues. Place your bets now folks).

Some losses are to be expected, many will die, and this is needed due to a major overpulation (Gee Note: Say what now?) that will just get worse. This is the natures way of cleansing, people experiencing the negative events first hand are for the most part already chosen in the way that they have unresolved karmic debt to balance out. (Gee Note: Oh will we ever be free of this global debt crisis? First I can’t get a mortgage and now I’m going to die a horrible death with flames and shit. Bloody bankers. Arseholes the lot of them).

We are all responsible for what happens to us, we cannot blame it on others we are in control of our own lives (Gee Note: This is getting dangerously close to turning in to an advert for a new shampoo. I swear you're about to see Maggy running along a beach in slow motion while the voice over says "Live your life the way you want to"). The way you live your life, determines the outcome for you. Those whom will be safe, deserved to be safe, just as those whom perish, deserve to perish, in the greater schemes of this battle.

Hard times will be ahead for many – quite many. In the coming months, starting this month, it will escalate and get much worse. (Gee Note: You’re not kidding. A new season of Dancing With The Stars has just started and we’ll be stuck with it until the summer it seems. Now I love Ralph Macchio as much as the next man but, c’mon now, there’s a reason Mister Miyagi never forced him to dress up in a sparkly jacket and fox trot across his kitchen as a cheap alternative to hiring a cleaner).

But even in the horror (Gee Note: *whispers* The horror), and that which seems terrifying , there is a blessing.

The blessing is that once the major fire have swept upon us, those whom are to die have died, and those whom are to survive have survived, we are much more balanced. (Gee Note: Unless you happen to be Mother Teresa and you’re on a see-saw with Hermann Goering at the time of the great cleansing. I mean, I’m guessing one of them isn’t making it out of it alive. Yeah that’s right. Take that you tea-towel wearing harlot).

Negative energies will be decreased, and positive energies increased. The good always triumph the bad, and the bad will always loose in the end, since they are already on a path leading them to their own destruction. (Gee Note: Tsk. That’s what you get for buying the cheapest SatNav in the store.)

The few surviving, are those deserving so. The ones to perish, deserve so. This is not because the survivors are “better” or the dying are “worse”, it is simply a spiritual measure selecting the ones whom are more appropriate to continue the great work of rebuilding humanity in pure ways, with as little perversation (Gee Note: Perversation? Is that… you know I’m not sure that’s actually a word) and evil as possible, remove the ignorant, and let those whom understand and will work for the greater good survive. (Gee Note: Hang on, we’re talking about repopulating the human race and you’re saying rather than look after those of us with important skill sets or high intelligence, the powers that be will ignore them in favour of someone who thinks the f***ing world is carried on the back of a giant turtle or something. I don’t think you’ve got this right).

Rid yourself of negative karma, cleanse yourself, forgive yourself for all that you have done to others (Gee Note: You know I’ve been racked with guilt about the time I accidentally ran over that old lady and then buried her body in the woods to avoid a jail sentence. But you’re right. I should just let it go. Everyone makes mistakes don't they? What am I? A saint?), and accept that they forgive you in turn, and you will be fine. Just know that you can be what you should have been, a great contribution to the strength of the world and how to help yourself and others on the new path ahead.

Forgive, release and let go. And you are on your way toward the better half of survivors, protected by divine means, by your own subconscious mind and manifesting powers, and your heart of love and compassion (Gee Note: Also if you can unblock a sink, that’ll be handy).

Fear not – Get up and do something for yourself and your brethrens. (Gee Note: Like sending me your credit card details so I can go and buy a speedboat, for example).

We shall move on, we shall win the battle, we shall conquer and take back what is ours. (Gee Note: Freeeeeeeeeeeeeedoooooommmmmmmm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Down with tyranny, Dethrone the false Kings. (Gee Note: Rodney, Larry, Don, Burger, Kong. You’re all at the top of the list you overlord bastards you).

I have seen the Past, I see the Present, I saw the Future. (Gee Note: And at some point I learnt how to be all kinds of wizard with my grammatical tenses. This playa can play homes.)

May these words go with you. (Gee Note: You know, like a stalker).

-Maggador

So there we go. The end is nigh. And if you become a hippy and maybe send Maggador some money so he can continue to spread the good word, you might be saved. Or not. Whatever. The point isn’t whether or not the world is going to end. The point is that, thanks to our little bundle of joy, I took two months off from this kind of thing and have come back to find that it’s still as awesome as its always been.

I don’t know why, but that makes me very happy.

I'm not alone. Tell me you feel it too.

2011-02-03T14:47:00.000-08:00

International rap star and hip hop mogul Sean “~~Puffy~~ Diddy the Magic Dragony” Combs is being sued for a trillion dollars. The reason? Well according to an article published on Radar Online, it’s not because the music loving universe has banded together and decided to put a stop to his lousy output of records once and for all. Instead a 31 year old woman named Valerie Turks has filed a suit against him, Kim Porter, and Rodney King (Gee Note: Yes. That Rodney King) claiming they were responsible for the 9/11 attacks. She is quoted as saying that Combs “Went through Kim Porter and Rodney King and knocked down the World Trade Center and then they all came and knocked my children down. Set me up to be on disability and disabled my baby. He put my baby in a wheelchair. I won a lot of money at the casino in Mississippi and Sean P Diddy Combs has my chip to my money. I want my chip please help me. It's well worth over 100 zillions of dollars.". Which is, of course, amazingly crazy. However Diddy can take solace in the fact that he’s not the only musician in recent weeks to be linked with a 9/11 conspiracy.

Meet Jim Corr. Corr was born in Dundalk, Ireland on July 31 1964. In the mid 90’s Jim and his sisters Andrea, Sharon, and Caroline, became rather famous in parts of Europe and elsewhere in the world as a folk/rock group called (Gee Note: Wait for it.) “The Corrs”. By the time the year 2000 had rolled around they had amassed five number one albums in their native Ireland, two of which were also chart toppers in the UK, and numerous top ten singles around the globe.

Their success relied on two main factors. One their music was so inoffensive that surgeons were reportedly using it as a cheap alternative to induce general anaesthesia (Gee Note: OK. Not really. But their music is incredibly dull. It’s like the sonic version of a Merchant-Ivory film), giving the radio stations in Europe an alternative to loud mouthed Mancunians and smart arsed pseudo Cockneys. Secondly Andrea, Caroline and Sharon were all strikingly beautiful in a high cheek boned, dark haired, Irish kind of way. Newspapers and magazines practically salivated over the three of them, while every other week glamour rags would publish articles about how you too could look like one of The Corrs. For it’s part Ireland, which as a nation is phenomenally proud of any act that springs from its shores, collectively bought their records in such numbers it was like the second coming of The Beatles. At the height of their success stand up comedian Ardal O’Hanlon quipped “It seems that everyone in Ireland knows one of The Corrs. Sadly the one I know is Jim”.

Alas that gag still works today, albeit for slightly different reasons.

After 2000 the band’s popularity dwindled, mainly due to the sudden realisation that their music was God awful. Indeed during the great British pop music nostalgia wave from 2006 onwards, a time in which the careers of Take That, The Spice Girls, BoyZone, and others were re-launched with varying degrees of success, The Corrs record label hoped to cash in with a compilation album of some of their best known tunes. Called “The Works” (Gee Note: A more accurate title would have been “A three disk snooze-a-thon of all the songs you tried to avoid the first time around”.) it was released solely in Ireland and the UK. Where in both cases it sold so few copies it failed to chart.

With Andrea’s solo career crashing and burning - reduced to picking up the occasional stage acting role here and there - and the rest having disappeared all together, that seemed to be the final note of The Corrs legacy. Another wildly successful pop band, like Steps or Blue in the UK, that were unceremoniously dumped once the music industry realised their power over the brainless single buying masses had waned.

So it was strange then that Jim Corr was booked to appear on Ireland’s leading chat show “The Late Late Show” on 21 January this year, a good decade after his star had faded. I mean, sure, Ireland isn’t overrun with international celebrities. But there’s usually enough of them floating around to fill up the LLS. For example here’s a clip from the show during Pat Kenny’s run as host in 2008.

In this instance you had popular British comedian Jimmy Carr, a well respected stage actor/director Michael Colgan, and freakin’ Dumbledore. That’s not that bad a line up when you think about it. Heck, The Daily Show can go months without getting guests of that calibre on.

Which again begs the question, just what the deuce was Jim Corr doing on the Late Late show less than two weeks ago? I mean it’s a bit like Jay Leno conducting a two hour Tonight Show special interview with Chris Kirkpatrick (Gee Note: Who was the chunky one from *NSYNC if your curious. Remember him? No. Neither did I) completely out of the blue.

Well it turns out dear Jim has been causing a lot of waves himself recently. Most notably by claiming that 9/11 was an inside job. That’s right ladies and gentlemen. You may remember him as the bloke who used to stand behind those three pretty ladies who used to sing about rainbows or something, but tonight Jim Corr is… A CONSPIRACY THEORIST. (Gee Note: Cue dramatic music).

Apparently this all started in 2008 or there abouts, when Jim launched his own personal website JimCorr.com. Now normally a former celebrities space on the internet is dedicated to such things as which supermarket you can see them opening this coming weekend, and where you can “exclusively” download their latest project because no real retailer will stock it.

Jim’s was a wee bit different however. Rather than talking about how wonderful it was to be in Garbageville judging the local large turnip competition, Jim decided he was going to make a difference. He was going to tell the world about all of its evils. Namely a secretive organisation known as the New World Order hell bent on dominating the globe like it was a teenage girl and they were Roman Polanski.

(Gee Note: For those not in the know the New World Order are a collection of powerful families and executives who wish to control everything that happens for reasons that aren’t entirely ever made clear. They’re a bit like Lex Luthor from the Superman comics. Except they’re not all bald. And they’ve never been portrayed by Gene Hackman on the big screen. And some of them are bloody great big shape-shifting reptiles. So not really like Lex Luthor at all when you think about it).

According to Jim:

I invite you to come with me on a journey, so we can attempt to get closer to what is really going on in the world today behind the movie that's presented to us via the television set. My intention is not to sow fear, but understanding. For fear has been used as an effective tool to manipulate, divide, control and suppress people for long enough. It is essential that we awaken ourselves and our fellow men and women up to what's actually going on in this world today, so as then, we can all move forward in a positive direction. As you will discover with a little research, the lies we’ve been told relating to for instance the current wars being played out in the middle east go way beyond the “Weapons of Mass Destruction” lies.

This becomes evident when one studies 9/11. Indeed that event is the nexus doorway into the bigger picture, being the push towards global governance, the formation of an elite run totalitarian One World Government with the subjugated masses underneath.

Fake terror and phoney environmentalism are being used, to trick you into giving up more and more of your civil liberties, as we are being incrementally herded into a One World Government Dictatorship.
The light at the end of the tunnel is that millions upon millions of people are waking up to this unfolding Orwellian nightmarish agenda which will be averted once we collectively waken up! (Gee Note: You know I'm not sure "waken up" is the correct way to put it but, sure, I get what your saying. If you want to get rich quick, try selling alarm clocks door to door. It's a cash cow baby).

Now “They out 2 get us!!!1!!!” websites are ten-a-penny, and as they go Jim’s is pretty run-of-the-mill. 9/11 was a black flag operation. The media doesn’t report the real truth. Debunkers are a bunch of meanies. Etc, etc. The difference of course is that most of the time these websites are run by unknown, not very telegenic, weirdo's. Not former international pop stars. Which is where The Late Late Show comes in. Apparently Jim was fronting a conference in Dublin called “The Truth Agenda” that weekend, where like minded fringe thinkers and crackpots can gather and belly-ache about bastards making their life miserable to their hearts content.

Here then is the now infamous interview.

Two things are notable here. One Jim does himself no favours what so ever. Bleating “I want to talk about the financial crisis” again and again while dressed in Woody Harrelson’s hand-me-downs doesn’t endear one to many folks. Secondly when even Lord Christopher Monckton and his crazy ass eyes won’t agree with you, you know your in trouble. Monckton (Gee Note: Who is the deputy leader of the political party UKIP. You know how they say a starving dog is one step away from becoming a wolf? Well UKIP is a bad haircut away from being a full blown neo-nazi establishment), lest we forget, once wrote an article for Time magazine on how to deal with AIDS. "There is only one way to stop AIDS. That is to screen the entire population regularly and to quarantine all carriers of the disease for life. Every member of the population should be blood-tested every month ... all those found to be infected with the virus, even if only as carriers, should be isolated compulsorily, immediately, and permanently.". And while we’re at it, why don't we tie a large stone to their legs and throw them in to a lake to see if they float? I mean, Jesus.

Still, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Lord Monckton doesn’t agree with Jim. It doesn’t matter the American in the audience thought he was talking a load of old bollocks. It doesn’t matter that I think Jim is barking mad. Because as Jim himself puts it:

You will meet people as I do occasionally who are unable to grasp the reality of what's going on. You may even meet them amongst family and friends but don't get frustrated. It is understandably inconceivable for some people to contemplate that some governments at the behest of their globalist puppeteers could be staging terrorist attacks against their own populations, particularly for people whose reality doesn't extend beyond the television set, which is being used highly effectively sometimes as a Weapon of Mass Deception.

So Jim’ll keep going, even though his appearance on The Late Late Show was a PR disaster. Because really it wasn’t a PR disaster at all.

That’s just what they want you to think.

Bring me Solo and the Wookiee. They will all suffer for this outrage.

2011-02-03T10:46:00.000-08:00

Floating around the net earlier today I found this little gem on ITN’s website.

Oh come on now.

OK let’s take all this in for a moment. What we have here is two videos reportedly showing the same event on January 28 2011. The setting for this scenario is above the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, the sight where it is believed the prophet Mohammed (Gee Note: Picture not found) ascended to heaven to kick back and have a good old pray with Jesus, Abraham and Moses before returning to Earth.

The cliff notes are, a glowing orb appears in the skyline and slowly descends towards the holy landmark. Eventually it settles and hovers for a bit, before a huge flash of light erupts and it zooms off in to the upper atmosphere. One of the videos shows a series of red dots appearing in the night sky like Christmas lights after the object has disappeared from view.

Now almost immediately this should be a flashing alert on anyone’s hoax radar. Largely due to two things, the heavily religious background and the UFO moving like a goddam firework. Except a lot of people appear to be taking it seriously. Including the above report from ITN, one of the UK’s largest news outlets.

The problem is I don’t buy it. Any of it. Largely because the first video is obviously a load of old bobbins.

You see the thing is (Gee Note: And bear with me on this) I’m a massive Star Wars fan. I always have been. Ever since I was a little kid sitting in my parents front room watching a plucky Luke Skywalker defeat the odds by besting a giant slavering alien monster, I’ve been hooked. When I was about ten years old Return of The Jedi was probably my favourite film ever. Now that I’m older it’s still ranks in my top ten of all time but has been leap frogged by the darker and edgier Empire Strikes Back. And that’s part of the reason I love them. There’s something for everyone in there. Ten year old me loved them for one reason, adult me loves them for completely different reasons.

But when the The Phantom Menace arrived I was disappointed. And for all the talk of midi-chlorians, Jar Jar Binks, and Jake Lloyd one thing stood out to me above all else as to the reason why. It didn’t feel real. The universe it was set in wasn’t convincing. And for me it was to do with the over reliance of CGI (Gee Notes: Or, depending on the era in which you first saw a motion picture, special effects. Or trick photography. Or witchcraft.).

So, with that in mind, here’s that first video by itself:

The first time I saw it there was something that bothered me and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. In fact it took another three viewings before it finally clicked. From about the 0:58 second mark a wall comes in to view in the foreground. The problem is the foreground images and the background images are ever so slightly out of sync with each other, meaning that one was superimposed on the other. The video is of such poor quality though that it’s difficult to pick up and identify on the initial viewing even if in the back of your mind it’s niggling away.

Of course I would love to demonstrate this by making an additional video to prove the point. But I’m about as technically minded as Genghis Kahn staring at a fridge. Thankfully here’s one someone else made earlier.

I mean even if you ignore the bleedingly obvious questions such as “Hang on a minute. If there was a bloody great big light in the sky how come nobody reported it to the police? How come if there was a sacred site supposedly with an unknown aircraft hovering over it rather ominously, why weren’t there any fighter jets scrambled?” then you can’t really argue with the fact that, if the video was on the level, the perspective of the wall and the horizon should change in unison.

Now in addition to these two videos we also have almost identical scenes allegedly recorded on January 15 2011 in Moscow. Of course these videos may have absolutely nothing to do with each other but they’re similar enough to raise eyebrows. Could it be that we’re under threat of invasion from little green men?

Well, no. Not really. When something like this happens it’s usually a sure sign of some kind of viral marketing campaign rather than anything else. Especially when all three Youtube accounts used to host these videos have nothing else posted on them. Remember those ”news” reports about a giant skeleton that had been washed up on the shores of India by a tsunami a couple of years back? Well a ton of people got excited by that, until it was revealed to be an advert for a video game. I wouldn’t be surprised if this turns out to be something like that.

Which is fine I guess. I mean hoaxers will always be hoaxers. And for some reason marketing men and women are still convinced that getting people excited with one idea only to deliver something completely different will entice folks rather than piss them off. Despite both of these practices being a bit dubious, neither are the real problem.

No the real problem is that this made the national news in the UK without anyone actually looking at the video and, you know, possibly thinking that it might be dubious enough not to include on a serious news website. When it takes all of ten minutes to cast doubt over its content, less time than it would have taken to edit the video and record the voiceover, it begs the question “Does anyone in the media these days actually do their jobs properly anymore?”.

But then I guess the tale of a strange UFO hovering in the skies over Jerusalem is a better story than hoax dupes serious news organisation. Even if it isn’t true.

Height is in the eye of the beholder.

2011-01-23T10:09:00.000-08:00

(Gee Note: Hello. The link for Educate-Yourself.Org and the inspiration for this post was supplied by J. Thomas of The Caffeine Curve. So be a dear and pop over there to leave a nice comment. Or don't. Whatever. I can't force you to I guess. But you should know that this isn't like the movies pal. Mavericks like you don't make it very far in this business. If you don't want to play be the rules then the powers that be will find someone else who will. You mark my words).

You can't trust the internet.

For example have a look at this video.

It's description claims it's a blooper from "Casanova Video Dating Service". But it's not. It's actually the work of a comedy sketch group called "Selected Hilarity" made at some point during 2007. Even if it wasn't clearly labelled as such the prat fall at the end would be a dead give-away that it was staged. Never the less a lot of people on Youtube are convinced it's genuine and that Steven Morris really is a loser in love with anger management issues.

Now bare all that in mind when considering the following. This statement was, until recently , hosted on SaveThePlanetProtest.com.

The Discovery Channel MUST broadcast to the world their commitment to save the planet and to do the following IMMEDIATELY:

1. The Discovery Channel and it's affiliate channels MUST have daily television programs at prime time slots based on Daniel Quinn's "My Ishmael" pages 207-212 where solutions to save the planet would be done in the same way as the Industrial Revolution was done, by people building on each other's inventive ideas. Focus must be given on how people can live WITHOUT giving birth to more filthy human children since those new additions continue pollution and are pollution. A game show format contest would be in order. Perhaps also forums of leading scientists who understand and agree with the Malthus-Darwin science and the problem of human overpopulation. Do both. Do all until something WORKS and the natural world starts improving and human civilization building STOPS and is reversed! MAKE IT INTERESTING SO PEOPLE WATCH AND APPLY SOLUTIONS!!!!

2. All programs on Discovery Health-TLC must stop encouraging the birth of any more parasitic human infants and the false heroics behind those actions. In those programs' places, programs encouraging human sterilization and infertility must be pushed. All former pro-birth programs must now push in the direction of stopping human birth, not encouraging it.

3. All programs promoting War and the technology behind those must cease. There is no sense in advertising weapons of mass-destruction anymore. Instead, talk about ways to disassemble civilization and concentrate the message in finding SOLUTIONS to solving global military mechanized conflict. Again, solutions solutions instead of just repeating the same old wars with newer weapons. Also, keep out the fraudulent peace movements. They are liars and fakes and had no real intention of ending the wars. ALL OF THEM ARE FAKE! On one hand, they claim they want the wars to end, on the other, they are demanding the human population increase. World War II had 2 Billion humans and after that war, the people decided that tripling the population would assure peace. WTF??? STUPIDITY! MORE HUMANS EQUALS MORE WAR!

4. Civilization must be exposed for the filth it is. That, and all its disgusting religious-cultural roots and greed. Broadcast this message until the pollution in the planet is reversed and the human population goes down! This is your obligation. If you think it isn't, then get hell off the planet! Breathe Oil! It is the moral obligation of everyone living otherwise what good are they??

(Gee Note: The list of demands has been edited because it goes on forever and, really, there's only so much crazy I can take at any one time).

11. You're also going to find solutions for unemployment and housing. All these unemployed people makes me think the US is headed toward more war.

Humans are the most destructive, filthy, pollutive creatures around and are wrecking what's left of the planet with their false morals and breeding culture.

For every human born, ACRES of wildlife forests must be turned into farmland in order to feed that new addition over the course of 60 to 100 YEARS of that new human's lifespan! THIS IS AT THE EXPENSE OF THE FOREST CREATURES!!!! All human procreation and farming must cease!

It is the responsiblity of everyone to preserve the planet they live on by not breeding any more children who will continue their filthy practices. Children represent FUTURE catastrophic pollution whereas their parents are current pollution. NO MORE BABIES! Population growth is a real crisis. Even one child born in the US will use 30 to a thousand times more resources than a Third World child. It's like a couple are having 30 babies even though it's just one! If the US goes in this direction maybe other countries will too!

Also, war must be halted. Not because it's morally wrong, but because of the catastrophic environmental damage modern weapons cause to other creatures. FIND SOLUTIONS JUST LIKE THE BOOK SAYS! Humans are supposed to be inventive. INVENT, DAMN YOU!!

The world needs TV shows that DEVELOP solutions to the problems that humans are causing, not stupify the people into destroying the world. Not encouraging them to breed more environmentally harmful humans.

Saving the environment and the remaning species diversity of the planet is now your mindset. Nothing is more important than saving them. The Lions, Tigers, Giraffes, Elephants, Froggies, Turtles, Apes, Raccoons, Beetles, Ants, Sharks, Bears, and, of course, the Squirrels.

(Gee Note: Well of course. I mean the squirrel thing goes without saying really.)

Now a shrewd eye would look at this and probably come to the conclusion that it was the concoction of a satirical rogue, composed purely to illustrate the insanity of Eco-terrorists. The use of phrases such as "INVENT, DAMN YOU!!!", "Froggies", and the fact that the rant is largely directed at the Discovery Channel, (Gee Note: Which, let's face it isn't exactly the most evil corporation in the world. Creepy maybe, especially that guy off Mythbusters who always wears a beret. But not balls out, moustache sporting, cloak wearing, cackling at lightening evil) would suggest that this is nothing more than a well constructed parody.

However, this is not case. Indeed the chap who wrote this was called James Lee. If that name sounds familiar it's because on September 1 2010 Lee stormed the Discovery Communications building in Maryland armed with two starter pistols and with a bomb strapped to his chest. Taking three people hostage, Lee was eventually shot and killed by police after a four hour stand-off.

The point is, as far as the internet goes you never can tell. Anyone who has looked at any message board for more than three minutes will be aware of the existence of trolls (Gee Note: For the benefit of my dad, "trolls" are people who post contrary or obtuse opinions on online forums just to get a reaction out of other users. They're not big hairy things that live under bridges and eat goats.). Indeed, stating something you don't personally hold to be true just for the hell of it is actually a common practice on the world wide web. Which brings us to the website Educate-Yourself.Org. You see, when it comes to something like Educate-Yourself.Org, it's actually quite difficult to tell if it's on the level or not.

It all kicks off sensibly enough. "Educate-Yourself.org is a free educational forum dedicated to the dissemination of accurate information in the use of natural, non-pharmaceutical medicines and alternative healing therapies in the treatment of disease conditions." (Gee Note: Hmm. OK Jack. Alternative medicine. Not my bag but, you know, whatever. A friend of mine once told me that they had cured their snoring by sticking a special candle in their ear and lighting it. No really. If it wasn't for the fact that I'm convinced I'd accidentally set fire to my hair I'd try it myself.) But then it takes a dramatic turn.

"Free Energy, Earth Changes, and the growing reality of Big Brother are also explored since survival itself in the very near future may well depend on self acquired skills to face the growing threats of bioterrorism, emerging diseases, and the continuing abridgement of constitutional liberties." (Gee Note: And people laughed when I spent $800 on that bright yellow Hazmat suit. Well it just goes to show who the “crazy” one really is, doesn't it? How else am I supposed to protect myself from bioterrorism? A tin foil hat can only do so much, you know. Also the colour brings out my eyes. Hey, there's no law saying you can't avoid the apocalypse and look positively fierce at the same time. Rawr.).

The thing is, if Eudcate-Yourself.Org is genuine then it stands to reason that whoever wrote it is batshit crazy. I mean they find conspiracies everywhere. Paying for drugs? Well that's because the pharmaceutical companies won't tell you about the free ways you can cure yourself. (Gee Note: Such as the section that says "Germany's 90 year old Dr Joanna Budwig, nominated 6 times for the Nobel Prize, has made the most remarkable discovery of them all! After 30 years of research, she has found that 2 simple food items: 1. Flax Seed Oil (cold-pressed, unprocessed) and 2. Low Fat Cottage Cheese will CURE or prevent many forms of cancers and a long list of other degenerative disease including cardiovascular diseases and skin diseases!". Which of course sounds impressive, except for the fact that A) Her name is Johanna not Joanna. B) The treatment above has never been clinically proven to be of any benefit when fighting cancer. And C) The list of nominations for a Nobel Prize are never announced publicly, and the nominees are never informed they are being considered. So, really, anyone could claim they've been nominated for one. In fact I've been short listed for the Nobel Prize for being Awesome seventeen time in a row. Suck on that Budwig).

And it continues in much the same vain. Still putting gas in your car? Well that's because the evil oil barons are forcing you to buy their resources off them when you could simply use tap water instead (Gee Note: Which you can't really but nevermind). Concerned over the possibility of terrorist attacks in the wake of 9/11? Well don't be, as 9/11 was an inside job orchestrated by "the Zionists" anyway. Live near a cell phone tower? Well you might want to think about moving as that cell phone tower is actually used to transmit radio waves directly in to your brain by shadowy government agents obsessed with controlling your mind.

In fact the entire section devoted to mind control might be my favourite part. Largely because it starts out with "The topic of mind control is elaborate, multifaceted, and multi layered. For the casual reader, it can quickly become numbing, overwhelming the senses and creating a desire to exit the topic, but avoiding this subject is the most foolish thing you could possibly do since your only chance of surviving this hideous and insidious enslavement agenda, which today threatens virtually all of humanity, is to understand how it functions and take steps to reduce your vulnerability". (Gee Note: See? How awesome is that? I should start out every post I write with something similar. "What you're about to read may initially come across as unfunny and poorly written. But it's actually a brilliant piece that will change your life for the better. It's important you treat it as such because if you don't then a bloody great big dragon will come from the sky and urinate all over your front door. And then point and laugh. And then take a photo on his iPhone and send it to all his dragon friends, who will text back things like "LOL" and "OMFG hahahahaha". Just think how embarrassed you'd be, knowing that a bunch of dragons are mocking you).

So now that you've been instructed to ignore how ludicrous it is and carry on reading regardless, the article continues. "The first phase of government mind control development grew out of the old occult techniques which required the victim to be exposed to massive psychological and physical trauma, usually beginning in infancy, in order to cause the psyche to shatter into a thousand alter personalities which can then be separately programmed to perform any function (or job) that the programmer wishes to"install". Each alter personality created is separate and distinct from the front personality. The 'front personality' is unaware of the existence or activities of the alter personalities. Alter personalities can be brought to the surface by programmers or handlers using special codes, usually stored in a laptop computer. The victim of mind control can also be affected by specific sounds, words, or actions known as triggers. "

"The second phase of mind control development was refined at an underground base below Fort Hero on Montauk , Long Island (New York) and is referred to as the Montauk Project. The earliest adolescent victims of Montauk style programming, so called Montauk Boys, were programmed using trauma-based techniques, but that method was eventually abandoned in favor of an all-electronic induction process which could be "installed" in a matter of days (or even hours) instead of the many years that it took to complete trauma-based methods."

OK, for a start I think you're confusing "Mind Control" with the now defunct television show "Dollhouse". In real life it turns out you can't tap your fingers on a keyboard and turn a sweet old lady in to a bezerk, slathering, hockey mask wearing serial killer. Secondly forcing children to watch a puppy being shot in the face several times in a row will almost certainly leave them traumatised, but it is no more likely to create split personalties any more than it will inspire said child to become an astronaut. Thirdly, just by saying there's an underground base in Montauk dedicated to messing with people's heads doesn't automatically make it true. It's a bit like walking around telling people that Jennifer Love Hewitt and I have been involved in a heavy whirlwind romance for the past three months. I mean, sure, we're both young and attractive. And we both like sushi. But really there's nothing going on between us. Largely because she won't return my phone calls and keeps changing her number. That and the restraining order.

Now you would think that such sweeping statements would require hard evidence to back them up. Which, I guess, is why the case of Brice Taylor is cited. According to Educate-Yourself...

“Brice Taylor is the pseudonym for Susan Ford... who (under the influence of mind control) was used as a sex slave and message (or drug) courier for every president from Kennedy to Clinton and was Henry Kissinger's personal secretary/human computer (file storage and retrieval) for over 19 years. Her 'owner/handler' was comedian Bob Hope and she was 'loaned out' to many famous and well known entertainment personalities in order to oblige them to be beholding to and manipulated by Hope and his Illuminati pals so they could be used as "worker bees' to help usher in the Luciferian, New World Order.”

Hang on. Wait. What? Bob Hope? The Bob Hope? Popular golf loving comedian Bob Hope? Hired out the same woman to every U.S. President between Kennedy and Clinton for them to do the sex with? Which presumably would include Ronald Reagan? The man who once called Princess Diana "Princess David" while he was toasting her, and who claimed Margaret Thatcher was "The best man in England"? The very same Ronald Reagan who once said "facts are stupid things"? And this man was supposed to be able to keep this deep and dark conspiracy a secret? I don't know about you but I see a fatal flaw in this plan. Also Taylor was allegedly born in 1953, which would have made her 8 years old during Kennedy's first year in office. Now think about that for two seconds. Nobody, not one single person amongst the entire White House staff, would have noticed an eight year old with lifeless eyes hanging around day after day for no reason at all. Also why the hell would JFK want to sexually abuse a eight year old girl? After all the man was allegedly making the beast with two backs with Marilyn Monroe. And Edith Campbell. And Mary Pinchot Meyer. And Gunilla Von Post. And he was married to Jackie O. Plus he was President for two years before getting his head blown off by Lee Harvey Oswald. And now we learn that he was also messing around with slave girls whose brains had been scrambled. Where the hell did the man find the time? I can barely squeeze in making and eating a bacon sandwich most days, let alone anything else. And I don't run an economic super-power.

It's OK though. Kennedy (Gee Note: Or “The sick peodo bastard” as The UK Sun newspaper would probaby call him if they picked up this story, before presenting the reader with a topless picture of “Trixy, 17” and commenting on what lovely knockers she has) got what was coming to him thanks to Oswald, who in this light I suppose is some sort of pro-freedom anti-slavery hero. Except, well, no. Not so much. Because as the article explains, “Ted Bundy, the 'Son of Sam' serial killer David Berkowitz, Oswald, Timothy McVeigh, the Columbine shooters, Chapman, Sirhan Sirhan, etc. were mind controlled individuals who were programmed to perform these killings”.

Right. I'll be honest with you. I'm completely f***ing lost. Why would somebody be programmed to kill John F. Kennedy if he was part of the sodding plot anyway? In fact, why would anyone be programmed to kill other people in the first place? I mean, Jesus, what's the end-game here? It doesn't make sense. It would be one thing if these people where sent on highly secret missions to assassinate foreign leaders or something. But to be conditioned to kill regular citizens for no good reason what so ever is, well, it's mind-boggling.

And that's the thing about Educate-Yourself.Org. For all it's bluster and bombast, and for all it's claims of bad men doing bad things, there's never any hard evidence or logic behind it. It's always something along the lines of “Televisions are actually remotely controlled by a group of highly intelligent midgets, who use hidden cameras in the screens to spy on you!”, without ever going in to details about how or why they would do this outside of the stock answer of, “because they're evil”. Which, as anyone over the age of five who has studied history will tell you, is an answer likely to get you a grade “F” come school test time.

Which leads me to believe that it must certainly be a joke. A well considered pastiche of all the barking followers of David Icke and such. Because despite it's authoritative tone all it does is throw around some wild accusations that are about as reliable as Lindsay Lohan promising she'll stay away from the nightclubs this time. Not one single conspiracy theory put forward here is made to look even remotely plausable. I mean sure you could argue that, as I'm not a fan of conspiracy theories to begin with, then I'm pre-disposed to discredit them anyway. But I can't even do that because there's actually nothing to discredit. Zip. Nadda. Instead what you have is words randomely thrown together like "Government... assault on civil liberties... HAARP... mind control... Illuminati... what they don't want you to know" all left hanging out there like leaves in the wind, seperated from reality.This website doesn't so much expose the truth as present a radically fictionalized version of it.

And that alone makes me think it can't possibly be written by someone who genuinely believes what they type. It's not a genuine call to arms against enslavement by nefarious overlords, anymore than the frustrated video dater is a genuine sad sack looking for a date.

I mean it couldn't really be real, could it?

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit drinking.

2010-12-31T14:02:00.000-08:00

Hello. It's the start of a New Year. And so what better way to celebrate than by looking back at some of the stories that have intrigued us over the past 12 months? Well a better way would be to watch a bunch of Polar Bears playing soccer to the sound of "Eye Of Tiger" obviously. Except I'm not sure that's ever really happened and if it has I don't know where to find video footage of it. So this is what you get.

I Believe In Danny Dyer.

As a professional cockney and the man who single handedly keeps the low budget film industry alive, Danny Dyer is the sort of chap who often looks to broaden his horizons. As such he remarkably became the poster boy for British ufologists this January after his star turn on I Believe In UFOs. First aired on BBC 3 in January it showed Dyer turning his hand to a bit of investigative journalism. When that failed he joined a cult, got stoned off his box, and said the word "fackin'" a lot in what turned out to be the most bizarrely fascinating 45 minutes of television of the year.

If at first you don't succeed…

Towards the end of the year Mickey Rourke announced he was "committed" to portraying rugby legend Gareth "Alfie" Thomas on the big screen. Rourke believes that Thomas, the world's only openly gay active professional sportsman, and his story would be a perfect follow up to The Wrestler. The film for which failed to win an Oscar largely because he's Mickey Rourke and a bit of a mess.

Winston Churchill was a big fat liar. Or maybe not.

August arrived and duly brought with it a new batch of Government files that used to be classified but now, no, not so much. Amongst them was a report about how Winston Churchill ordered the cover up of a UFO sighting by the Royal Air Force so as to avoid "mass panic". The allegations involving Churchill were made by the grandson of one his personal bodyguards. Apparently the bodyguard overheard the ol' bulldog discussing how such a sighting could damage the British public's faith in religion, and told his family about it. Fifty years later his grandson wrote a letter to the MoD questioning the incident. In unrelated news, Brad Pitt is actually an overgrown toad who was taught to fit in amongst humans by a crazy scientist and a catholic nun. It's true. My friend's, aunt's, step daughter's, hair dresser's, boyfriend's, colleague's, mother once read about it in a Japanese newspaper. Of course it was all hushed up by the Illuminati but they can't keep us down forever. Some day the people will be set free from your oppression, you overgrown lizard bastards.

U. F. Oh?

China is a strange place. For example, when a UFO rocked up in skies above Hangzhou in July, the authorities took it seriously and closed an entire airport, re-routing all incoming flights and grounding any planes about to take off. As opposed to what would have happened here in the West, where the authorities would have claimed it was a trick of the light, then a weather balloon, before finally settling on "What UFO? Man you crazy. You wanna lay off the sauce a little bit, don't you think? Hey Charlie, this dude here thinks he saw a flying saucer! No I'm not shtting you…".

Tsk. China eh? What a weird country.

$$$pooky!

In February a chap named Kevin Horkin, who happens to be the Director of Parallel Management - a company that specialises in promoting psychics in what has to be the lowest rung on the ladder of showbiz - produced a photo which he claimed was a ghost he'd snapped at Gwrych Castle. Was it real? Was it fake? Would falsifying evidence of the existence of spirits somehow help Horkin's business, which lest we forget is a PUBLIC RELATIONS FIRM FOR MEDIUMS? Enquiring minds demanded to know. Alas The Sun, who picked up the story and ran with it, didn't bother to answer any of those questions. Instead they put all their efforts in to thinking up a witty headline. The result? SCREAMY WINDOW. Well done lads! The drinks are on the house!

In Memoriam

2010 was a year when many great people passed away. Here are but a few.

Leslie Nielson – He who single handedly proved that subtlety was the true path to comedy.

Norman Wisdom – Rubber faced genius.

Blake Edwards – Cinema legend.

Lynn Redgrave -Theatrical Aristocracy

Corin Redgrave – Ditto

Tsutomu Yamaguchi – Survived two atomic bombs and yet 2010 bested him. Hell of a year.

Teddy Pendergrass – Classy soul singer who was caught “associating” with a transvestite and paralysed on the same night. Death was probably a walk in the park compared to that.

Jean Simmons – Classic English rose with thorns.

J. D. Salinger – Author of “The Catcher In The Rye”. Recluse. Bonkers. He'll be missed.

Alexander McQueen – Fashion designer responsible for Lady Gaga's wardrobe and therefore her reason for existence.

Dick Francis – Champion jockey whose wife wrote some books that my dad likes.

Corey Haim – Ah where to start? The Lost Boys. Where to end? The Lost Boys. God's speed Corey.

Peter Graves - “Joey, do you like movies about gladiators?”

Malcolm McLaren – Once managed The Sex Pistols. Was able to turn that in to a career long after they disbanded.

Gary Coleman – Really? I don't have to explain this right? It's Gary Coleman for chrissakes. It amazes me he doesn't have a national holiday already.

Dennis Hopper – Actor and director who kick started a revolution in Hollywood with Easy Rider.

Alex Higgins – Controversial snooker player who was blessed with such natural talent it didn't matter if he was sober or not.

Tony Curtis – Never won an Oscar. Proof that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences gets it wrong more often than it gets it right.

That was the Sheik that was.

In April Iranian cleric Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi announced that the recent wave of earthquakes suffered in the region was all the fault of women flashing their ankles in public. "Many women who do not dress modestly lead young men astray and spread adultery in society which increases earthquakes. There is no other solution but to take refuge in religion and to adapt our lives to Islam's moral codes." he said. "Viva Las Vegas!" my friend Simon said, before spending a week in the gambling capital of the world, and then a further two weeks getting treated for a venereal disease. Still at least a building didn't fall on top of him.

Ringo wants to sing more.

The Soccer World Cup in the summer will be forever remembered for two things. One, Diego Maradona's reaction when a newspaper reporter asked him if he was gay. And secondly, Paul the Octopus. Using psychic powers in a way that would make Uri Geller go green with envy, Paul successfully predicted all of Germany's World Cup results as well as the outcome of the final. Which of course meant that Paul became a media sensation. Alas the fame went to Paul's head and after the final of the World Cup he spent the next three months partying with Slash from Guns And Roses and snorting cocaine off the back of crabs. In October Paul was found dead in a hotel room in Munich after an emergency call was placed from on of the seven prostitutes he had hired that night. Or he passed away peacefully in his tank. I forget which one. Anyway the moral of this story is "Just Say No Kids".

Blondes have more fun.

There were very few extraordinary cryptozoology stories this year. However one that fit the bill was the tale of Tim Peeler. As reported by WCNC, the North Carolina native was kicking around his home one day when he was disturbed by an unusual grunting noise. He went outside to investigate he was confronted by a creature that was "10 feet tall with beautiful hair, yellowish hair, and a yellow beard.". Peeler then proceeded to do what he does whenever he finds something "beautiful". He got a big stick and poked at it until it ran away. After that he called 911 and asked the all important question of "Would I get in to trouble if I shot and killed this beast?" to which the operator replied "Dude. It's a blonde bigfoot. How the f*** should I know?". Well OK, not really. Turns out NC's police department is a lot more professional than that. But, you know, their University mascot is a Dorset sheep with it's horns painted so I really wouldn't put anything past them.

Dog-gone sad.

In March the very last episode of MonsterQuest aired, and to be fair it went out with a bang. While most of the show was pointless filler material following three half-baked crackpots wandering around in the woods for no real reason, the finale delivered a shocking twist. During an interview, conducted by werewolf historian Linda Godfrey, Steve Cook admitted that the “Gable Film” footage had been staged all along. Indeed that thing charging at the camera wasn't a werewolf, but instead a bearded fellow wearing a blanket named Mike.

The thing is, even though the Cook confession was one heck of a scoop, it's a shame that it was the most memorable moment of MonsterQuest's last ever episode. What should have been a huge celebration about hunting for cryptids, and a lasting memorial to those who toil in the field of cryptozoology, it instead turned in to a swell of anger at a radio host who, let's face it, came across as a complete dick.

By the way, during the fallout I ripped in to Cook on here after he'd tried to justify his actions online. Much to my surprise Linda Godfrey herself mentioned it on her own blog. And even more surprising, she was quite complimentary about it. On a personal level that mention alone remains one of the highlights of my year and her kind words were a wonderful thing. Although how she came across I Saw Elvis in the first place I have no idea. Seriously I know people who solely write post-it-notes who have more of an online presence than I have.

Speaking of which...

It's been a crazy old year as far as yours truly is concerned. I got engaged. Then I found out I'm about to become a father (Gee Note: Due February 4th folks. So be prepared for the gushy “isn't life AMAZING” post around that time. You have been warned). And I just want to say that to anyone who's enjoyed something they've read on here over the past twelve months, thank you. It means a Hell of a lot.

And to those of you who haven't, why not come back in 2011? It won't be any better but, hey, it can't get any worse can it?

Man was in the forest.

2010-12-30T12:34:00.000-08:00

Now I don't usually start out these posts in a bad mood but today is a special occasion.

F*** the snow.

Actually that's a bit unfair. Snow is great. No really it is. It's fun to walk in, you can build stuff like snowmen, and if you have a stick and nothing better to do you can write rude words in it. Snow's brilliant really.

But f*** the compacted snow on the pavements that turns in to ice and makes every sodding journey out of my house a hazardous trial.

You see, I'm a big guy. I'm 6'5'' and I weigh somewhere around 260lbs, most of that distributed firmly around my waistline (Gee Note: It's amazing my career as a male model never took off when you think about it). I'm also pretty rubbish when it comes to things most people take for granted. Like maintaining one's balance. Seriously I suck at that. I've never been able to ride a bike, Or rollerskate. And as far as surfing goes, forget about it. You might as well try getting a space hopper to ride the waves. Damn thing's got a better chance of staying on a board than I have.

So it's safe to say that I'm no good when it comes to mounds of ice on the roads. "But just how pathetic are you?" I hear you cry. Well you know that bit in Bambi where Thumper's on the frozen lake and is all "Hey Bam-bizzle! Why don't you get your deer ass out here and give us a triple axel homie?" (Gee Note: You'll be amazed to know I don't have a copy of "Bambi" to hand and so I'm quoting from memory here. I know. I'm like a mind wizard or something). And then Bambi heads out on the lake and ends up spread eagled, face down in some frozen water. Well that's me. I'm like a big, bearded, Bambi. Except I only have two legs. And I don't have a tail. And I'm not best friends with a hyperactive rabbit and a creepy skunk that will most likely grow up to be a sex offender. So not really like Bambi at all when you think about it.

What makes it worse is that I'm the only one who seems to struggle with this. Today alone I've seen many a teenager (Gee Note: Or as I like to call them, "Bastards") skidding along and laughing without a care in the world, showing off to impress their peers. Now if it was just them I would write it off as the follies of youth, and console myself with the knowledge that at some point one of them will fall over and break their jaw.

But it's not just them. Everybody, and I mean everybody, is managing to walk over this bloody death-trap apart from me. The elderly folks down at the Salvation Army Centre across the way are practically dancing a jig on it (Gee Note: Possibly proving that God really is on their side). Hell even The Future Ex-Mrs. Davies is doing fine. The. Future. Ex. Mrs. Davies. A woman who is, at the time of writing, 8 months pregnant (Gee Note: It should be noted that she looks amazing. And I am in no way saying that because her hormones are going bezerk at the moment, and I'm afraid that one day I'm going to wake up to find that all my shoes have been cut in to little bits). Yet despite that she's practically skipping around like a child.

Even now as I'm typing this I can see an old woman shuffle past our window uphill. I swear she's mocking me.

So it goes without saying that for the past three days I've been cooped up inside my house. And, I'll be honest with you, it's slowly driving me crazy (Gee Note: No outside and all day time television make Gareth a very miserable boy). It's not that I'm the most outdoorsy fellow around. In fact give me a choice between sitting down with a sandwich or climbing a hill to get a spectacular view, I'll inevitably choose the sandwich (Gee Note: Unless of course the view is of the finalists of the "Miss Bikini-A-Thon 2011" contest. And even then it depends on what’s in the sandwich. For example, if it's a watercress sandwich then I'm-a gonna climb that hill. On the other hand if it's bacon then a rocket ship wouldn't get me up there. Bacon always wins). And what's bothering me isn't the fact that I'm consigned to my sofa for the foreseeable future. Because, let's face it, that's probably what I'd be doing anyway. It's the uneasy sense that I can't go out even if I wanted to. I don't know why but it doesn't sit well with me.

So seeing that, as that great philosopher of our times Sammy Cahn once put it, "the weather outside is frightful", I've been trying to come up with things to occupy my time (Gee Note: Sammy Cahn was the guy who wrote "Let it snow" if you're curious. By the way Sammy had to change his name twice to avoid confusion with other people. First with comic Sammy Cohen and later with lyricist Gus Kahn. Which must have been annoying. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if he felt like this

Yes the entire paragraph was just an excuse to post that video. Merry Christmas)

Thankfully the Devil's Playground that is the World Wide Web has come to the rescue. You see over the past few weeks the information super-highway has been dominated by one subject. And strangely enough it has nothing to with a fat jolly man and his sweat shop of midgets.

Yes siree, the internetz have gone positively batty about aliens recently. It's to be expected I guess. Much like the summer months, the end of the year tends to be a wee bit slow as far as "proper" news goes and, unless someone goes mental and decides to hold the entire cast of Glee hostage at gunpoint until they promise to never again do what ever the Hell it is they do (Gee Note: I'm not condoning such an act you understand. Just saying it's an option), then we usually end up with an honest to goodness mini silly season.

As such media outlets try and find "alternative" stories to fill space with. Even the BBC has got in on the act, producing a remarkably open minded piece about extra terrestrial life and why we haven't made contact yet (Gee Note: Even more remarkable when you consider that four months ago they allowed Dragons Den presenter, and the walking embodiment of "Oh where do I know him from?", Evan Davis publish an article online about how he doesn't believe in UFOs and how he got reeeaaaalllly bored looking in the woods for some once). Basically it presented the age old question of "Where the clucking ducks is everyone else?" and concluded the following.

Either A) We are in fact alone in the universe. Which is highly unlikely as, you know, space is a pretty big place. Or B) We are not alone in the universe, it's just Johnny Klingon isn't using radio waves as a form of communication. Or C) We aren't actually living creatures, instead we are a computer generated collection of conscious bots developed and run by our descendants for research purposes. In the simulation, of course, we are the subject and so therefore aliens do not exist in the programme (Gee Note: No really. That's a theory put forward by Nick Bostrom, a professor of philosophy at Oxford University. Which just goes to prove my theory correct that you can be as mad as toast, but as long as you have a couple of degrees to back you up then people will listen to whatever you say. If, on the other hand, you're a manual labourer from Dudley with no teeth then the chances are everyone will ignore you. Which is why I've decided to go back to school and complete a PhD in, oh I don't know, knitting or something. That way when I tell people that I've taught a whale to play Bob Dylan songs on the banjo folks will listen. Shit, I'll be a millionaire by the time they work out it's not true).

Following this we had the release of New Zealand's UFO files. Now New Zealand is a beautiful country filled with crazy people, and has an air force that is the equivalent of me pretending to fly toy planes in the bath (Gee Note: What? All the cool people do that. I've heard Samuel L. Jackson has a little plastic submarine as well. Which he calls "Lil' Muthaf***a". Maybe. I don't know. Shut up.). So it's no surprise that they don't use their limited resources to investigate reports of flying saucers. Still they do make a record when ever someone calls them to complain that some people from the stars have landed their spaceship in their back garden, and as such the document weighs in at some 2000 pages. The contents of which range from the mundane (Gee Note: Lights far away. Could have been aliens. Could also have been a tractor on a hill) to the amazingly balmy (Gee Note: Giant extra terrestrials who spout wisdom such as telling us what happens to us when we die. Apparently upon snuffing it our souls ascend as hydrogen atoms. "You will remain in hydrogen form for 150 years", says Biggy McSpaceman "Then it will change to sodium". Then add some chlorine and, hey presto, you can be used as seasoning for someone's chicken dinner. That's science kids.) making sure that aliens were in the headlines for another day.

Proving that this seasonal Martian frenzy could also be topical, message boards and blogs almost exploded when WikiLeaks founder and professional government baiter Julian Assange was arrested in the UK after his… er… own Wiki leaked (Gee Note: Ba Boom Cha). It all started when, after the latest batch of classified cable communications were released, Assange was quoted as saying "It is worth noting that in yet-to-be-published parts of the cablegate archive there are indeed references to UFOs". Now the fact that these "references" are more than likely going to be along the lines of "Dear Jim. I looked up in to the sky last night and thought I saw a UFO. But then I realised it was actually your mum. Because she's so fat. Your pal Mikhail" than anything else, it didn't stop believers going in to overdrive on their keyboards. And before you could say "Wait. What?" the following story appeared online.

A new report circulating in the Kremlin today prepared for President Medvedev by Russian Space Forces (VKS) 45th Division of Space Control says that an upcoming WikiLeaks release of secret US cables details that the Americans have been “engaged” since 2004 in a “war” against UFO’s based on or near the Continent of Antarctica, particularly the Southern Ocean. According to this report, the United States went to its highest alert level on June 10, 2004 after a massive fleet of UFO’s “suddenly emerged” from the Southern Ocean and approached Guadalajara, Mexico barely 1,600 kilometers (1,000 miles) from the American border. Prior to reaching the US border, however, this massive UFO fleet is said in this report to have “dimensionally returned” to their Southern Ocean “home base”.

The article was published by the relatively unknown EU Times, who claim to use reliable sources. But then I claim to be an astronaut who was thrown out of NASA for being too handsome when I'm in a bar I know I'll never go back to so, you know.

Another rumour doing the rounds was one about "Three Giant UFOs Heading Towards Earth" (Gee Note: Dun dun dun duuuuuuunnnnnnnn). The amazing thing about this is that it's actually a couple of months old. It first came to light in September, when copy and paste merchants the world over posted this on their web-ma-thingys.

Recent light has been shed on the reason that the SETI (Search For Extraterrestrial Intelligence) project has been cancelled by the government. It seems that something was starting to happen. According to my sources the government black project boys have taken over some of the antennas and are now processing signals for the exclusive use of the United States Navy. The government seems to be highly upset that more than one very large object is fast approaching Earth.

Of course eagle eyed readers will notice that the SETI project wasn't cancelled by the government, largely because the government doesn't actually fund SETI in the first place. In fact you have to go all the way back to 1992 to find the last meaningful contribution the US made to SETI in an official capacity. The blurb goes on to explain that at the current rate these "large objects" will arrive here sometime in the middle of December 2012 and, adding all that together, what we have is an obvious attempt to hoodwink folks in to thinking all those Mayan Prophecy Doomsdayers might actually know what they are talking about. As opposed to just being a bunch of smelly hippies who should really know better at their age.

Somehow though the same piece of fluff managed to rear its ugly head again in late December, thanks to some clever engineering on the scribes part. Gone was the blatantly false information about SETI, replaced with… blatantly false information about SETI. Hoorah. Here's version two taken from The Examiner online.

E.T. does not need to phone home anymore, someone, or something is on it’s way to earth.

SETI Astrophysicist Craig Kasnov ( not to be confused with Craig Kasnoff ) has announced the approach to the Earth of 3 very large, very fast moving objects. The length of the “flying saucers” is in the range of tens of kilometers. Landing, according to calculations of scientists, should be in mid-December 2012. Date coincides with the end of the Mayan calendar.

Craig Kasnoff is not an astrophysicist, and is no longer associated with SETI, but at least he actually exists. Craig Kasnov, on the other hand, doesn't. At all. In any shape or form. Oh sure, there may be a couple of dudes here and there with the name "Craig Kasnov". But are any of them a top astrophysicist dedicating themselves to finding little green men? No. No they aren't. Honestly, you might as well have started the story with "Elusive super spy James Bond believes the Earth is pretty much boned because Harry Stamper told him he saw, like, 5 gazillion spaceships armed with death rays and dressed up to look like big sharks or something". I mean really if you are going to make stuff up, at least try and be responsible enough to use the tried and tested "a source close to SETI claims". Say what you will about the ~~Jennifer Anniston Weekly~~ The National Enquirer but they avoid getting sued on a weekly basis because of that very reason.

Speaking of Doomsday, Bugarach is the place to be when the four horseman come riding over the horizon. Or not if you believe Mayor Jean-Pierre Delord. You see Mr. Delord is a bit panicky at the thought of December 21st 2012. Not because he thinks that Armageddon will hit us like Hugh Jackman trying to make a dramatic stage entrance. But because a lot of New Agers are convinced that should the heavens open and rain down a monsoon of fire, then Bugarach is going to be just tickety boo.

The reason? Well according to the Daily Telegraph:

Bugarach, population 189, is a peaceful farming village in the Aude region, southwestern France and sits at the foot of the Pic de Bugarach, the highest mountain in the Corbières wine-growing area. But in the past few months, the quiet village has been inundated by groups of esoteric outsiders who believe the peak is an "alien garage". According to them, extraterrestrials are quietly waiting in a massive cavity beneath the rock for the world to end, at which point they will leave, taking, it is hoped, a lucky few humans with them.

Hence ol' Jean-Pierre is a wee bit concerned that should a throng of people holding signs saying “Take me with you. But leave the missus. She never really understood me anyway.” decide to descend upon Bugarach en masse then chaos would ensue. Although it's a bit difficult to nail down exactly why the Pic de Bugarach should generate so much interest in alien loving circles. There are, of course, rumours that the Nazis and Mossad have both conducted digs at the site. That and President François Mitterrand was once flown by helicopter to the summit of the mountain for reasons that were never disclosed. Oh and a chap who once lived there claimed to have heard a spacecraft humming from under the surface of the rock. But outside of those slim pickings there's not much more than conjecture and heresay.

Still this hasn't calmed Delord any. “This is no laughing matter,” he's quoted as saying. "If tomorrow 10,000 people turn up, as a village of 200 people we will not be able to cope. I have informed the regional authorities of our concerns and want the army to be at hand if necessary come December 2012."

Mind, maybe he'll get lucky and the army won't be needed to keep the David Icke wannabes away.

After all on December 21st 2012, there's a chance it might snow.

Mother always taught me: "Never eat singing food."

2010-12-09T15:04:00.000-08:00

Evolution (Gee Note: If you believe in it that is. If you don't, well that's cool I guess. I don't believe in Ryan Seacrest. I'm still waiting for the day when he falls apart live on national television and reveals a puppeteer from Jim Henson's Creature Shop working him from underneath. One day my friends. One day. By the way Christmas is coming up, which means I get to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol again. Yes deep down I am still six years old.) doesn't always make sense.

Take, if you will, the Terrible Hairy Fly (Gee Note: Coincidentally "Terrible Hairy Fly" would also be my ring name if I ever achieve my life long dream of becoming a Mexican wrestler). Recently rediscovered after a 62 year gap it is, well, kinda rubbish. For a start it can't actually fly, having wings that are… not really wings. They're more like pointless limbs sprouting out of it's back than anything else. In addition our creepy crawly friend is practically blind, likes making love in bat faeces, and looks like Bernie Ecclestone after seven rounds with a mugger.

So the question is, at what point in the cycle of natural selection does a fly think "You know what? This flying thing is overrated. I mean sure it helps me find food and evade predators. But, really, nobody's ever been made happier by flying. So to hell with it. I'm going to stay right here by this flying rodent poo and watch the ladies go by."? It's pretty crazy when you think about it.

Speaking of which, ever hear the one about the Mokele-Mbembe, the dinosaur in the Congo?

Meet Abbé Lievain Bonaventure. Abbé was a French missionary kicking around the Congo River in the mid 1700's, and in 1776 he published a book about his life there. Most of it consists of Bonaventure describing various plants found in the region, or how the natives were lovely/complete bastards. However in one passage Abbé describes wandering through the jungle one day only to stumble upon something quite remarkable. Namely (Gee Note: President Obama's birth certificate? GEDDIT?!?! Because he's in Africa. Ah ha ha ha. Ah ha ha. Ha. Man I should, like, write a sitcom or something) a set of giant footprints, unlike any he had ever seen before. According to our boy in black the animal that left them "must have been monstrous: the marks of the claws were noted on the ground, and these formed a print about three feet in circumference."

Fast forward 134 years and enter Carl Hagenbeck. Hagenbeck, born in Hamburg in 1844, was the son of a fishmonger. As a way of generating some extra cash his father would occasionally deal in exotic animals, and it was because of this Hagenbeck junior found himself in possession of a couple of seals and a polar bear at the age of 14 (Gee Note: No really. That was Papa's way of spoiling the kid. Now I can understand the seals. I mean they're kinda harmless and look a bit like a non threatening version of Ja Rule. But a f***ing Polar Bear?! That's not a responsible gift to give to a child surely? It would be like Saddam Hussein handing a nuclear warhead to Uday Hussein on his 12th birthday. "Your mother said I was spoiling you. But I saw it in the Argos catalogue and I couldn't resist. Nothing is too good for my boy! Now I've kept the receipt so if you don't like the colour we can change it". Madness I tell you).

This started a life long obsession with young Carl, who went on to collect various beasties like they were Pokemon (Gee Note: Pokemon's still a thing with the kids right? Huh? What the hell is a "Ben 10"?). In fact Hagenbeck became a real life Kraven The Hunter, capturing and transporting the world's craziest creatures for display in zoos all across Europe. He even managed to strike up a professional relationship with one P. T. Barnum, to whom he supplied many a strange and rare attraction for folks to view at a price.

Anyway to cut a long story short, in 1909 Hagenbeck published his autobiography "Beasts and Men". The book, guaranteed to be wildly popular to begin with, soon started making headlines around the world. Thanks in no small part to the claim that something rather large and unusual was stomping it's way through Zaire. According to Carl, various tribesmen and animal experts familiar with the area had told him of a creature there that was "half elephant, half dragon" (Gee Note: And we shall call it a "Dragant". Although it's not to be confused with Drag-Ant, a wildly popular stage act within the gay insect community). Indeed naturalist Joseph Menges reported to him that it was "some kind of dinosaur, seemingly akin to the brontosaurs."

And with that the legend of "Mokele-Mbembe", the Sauropod of the African jungle that time forgot, was born.

It became a bit of a media sensation, leading to stories printed all across North America and Europe in the daily newspapers. Which is remarkable considering that the only evidence for this monster was "some dude told another dude who then wrote it down". Still it ignited the imagination and passion of many a brave explorer, and off they trotted to the Congo to find themselves a rootin' tootin' dinosawwwwr.

These expeditions were met with varying degrees of success. In 1919 a 32 man expedition organised by the Smithsonian Institution in Washington D.C. ended in tragedy. A train carrying the team to supposedly diplodocus infested waters crashed, killing four outright and seriously wounding many more. Conversely, legendary cryptozoologist Ivan T. Sanderson claimed to have spotted the elusive target on a trip to Cameroon in 1932, describing the creature's head as nearly the size of a hippo itself. "I don't know what we saw, but the animal, the monster, burned itself into my retinas. It looked like something that ought to have been dead millions of years ago. As a scientist, I should have been happy, of course, but this encounter was so frightening, so nasty that I never want to see it again." When he asked his guides what in the blue hell had just happened they replied "m'koo m'bemboo".

However despite the numerous attempts to catch a glimpse of this notorious beast, hard facts were tough to come by. Indeed, outside of the tales told by locals and the occasional roar head off in the distance, "Mokey" left very little physical evidence in it's wake. (Gee Note: Which considering it's supposed to be the size of an armoured truck, is quite the accomplishment. I mean there are professional spies who leave more of a trail than this thing. Actually, thinking about it, that would make one hell of television series. "Dino-Spy: The Cold War Files". Throw in a brontosaurus wearing a dinner jacket and an evil Russian T-Rex with a monocle and you've got yourself a hit show. Seriously, I've got half a mind to pitch this to the BBC).

That was until 1987 and Dr. Roy P Mackel's book "A Living Dinosaur?" hit the shelves. Dr Mackal was a former Marine in WWII, who later became Professor of Zoology at the University of Chicago. (Gee Note: Which I can totally relate to because I am also a delicious mixture of brains and brawn). An avid advocate of cryptozoology, Mackal himself had journeyed to the Congo on two separate occasions. And while he never managed to spot the Mokele-Mbembe, he did collect numerous statements from first hand witnesses. These he collated and, with his own narration, transformed them in to "A Living Dinosaur?". The most striking thing was the similarity of these reports. As Mackal himself puts it:

The witnesses described animals that were 15 to 30 feet long, mostly head, neck and tail. The head was distinctly snake-like, a long thin tail, and a body approximating the size of an elephant, or at least that of a hippopotamus. The legs are short, with the hind legs possessing three claws. The animals are a reddish brown in color, and have a rooster-like frill running from the top of the head down the back of the neck.

About 300 pages in Roy mentions a letter he had received from someone named Atelier Yvan Ridel, before reprinting the letter in full.

A member, as you are yourself, of the J.N.E. (Writers-journalists for Nature and Ecology), I am a professional photographer and passionate amateur naturalist. This explains why I photograph, as the occasions arise just about every animal (wild ones, especially), that I counter -- from the smallest to the largest.

(Gee Note: Man that sounds like good hobby. Better than mine anyway, which involves eating an entire tub of ice cream and watching reality television shows. That counts as a hobby right?).

Ridel helpfully supplied a photograph with the letter, this one to be precise.

This is how I happened to have taken the slide I have enclosed (a duplicate), showing the footprint of what I believed at the time (1966) to be a hippopotamus, without even realizing that the foot that had made it had only 3 toes. But, not thinking that far, I didn't believe it could be anything else, so filed the negative and scarcely thought of it again.

I ought to mention that this photo was taken in August or September of 1966 in the Congo (Brazza) on a steep river bank and that the animal's tracks lead out of a mass of reeds, crossed a little beach area and descended into the water.

Now we're talking.

You see anecdotes of woovy bezerk monsters are all well good, but they're tough to believe without something else to back them up. For example, when I was growing up every kid in my class was convinced that if you went in to the bathroom at night, turned off all of the lights and said the words "Bloody Mary" three times in to a mirror, a ghost would turn up and rip your eyes out. But just because everyone said it would happen didn't make it true (Gee Note: Although I'll be buggered if I'm going to try it. I mean I really like my eyes. They help me see things. Like flowers. And mountains. And Monster Trucks on the telly. Eyes are pretty goddam awesome in that regard). It's the same in this case. Except "Bloody Mary" is a bloody great big lizard. And she doesn't rip your eyes out. And she might not be a "she". So it's not really the same at all when you think about it.

But it doesn't end there, oh no siree. In 1983 zoologist Marcellin Agnanga visited the area known as Lake Tele, a veritable hot spot for dino sightings. While there he claims to have seen the fabled creature from a stones throw away. According to Agnanga it had a small head, a long neck, and a large broad back (Gee Note: Sounds like my ex. Hey-oh.), and luckily Agnanga had his video camera with him. Unluckily Marcellin was to home movies what Rise Of The Robots was to videogames, and he either left the lens cap on or forgot to set the camera to record at a distance, depending on who you believe.

Leave it to the Japanese to go one better then. In 1992 a documentary crew from the land of the rising sun were filming some 2nd unit footage from a small plane flying over Lake Tele. While in the air the camerman noticed a disturbance from the water below. He proceeded to record the following action.

Now this video has generated a great deal of debate. "It's a dinosaur!" say some. "Rubbish. It's a person in a row boat!" say others. "It's an elephant going for a swim!" yet more people cry. In the end it's just too grainy to truly decipher. It could be a be a Brontosaurus. It could also be a bird with a long neck. Like an emu. (Gee Note: Or Naomi Campbell, if one of the contestants on hit 80's tv gameshow Family Fortunes are to be believed. For those not in the know, FF eventually became notorious for the idiotic and often bizarre answers the players would blurt out. Such as - Q: Name something that makes you scream. A: A squirrel, and - Q: Name a number you have to memorise. A: Seven. In retrospect it really is no wonder that host Les Dennis had a breakdown on national television in 2002. I mean sure, the fact that his wife was being banged like a big bass drum by another guy may also have played some part in that. But considering what his working life consisted of it's amazing he managed to hold it together for as long as he did).

Since then there have been numerous visits to the region in search of "Denver" (Gee Note: Did you know that "Denver The Last Dinosaur" only had one series? It turns out that a guitar playing aptosaur who can, for reasons that are not entirely made clear, travel through time isn't all that bankable. Hmmm. I may have to rethink my Dino-Spy series. Maybe throw in something for the male 18-34 demographic. A stegosaurus in a bikini perhaps? Yes. That's it. She can be a professional surfer/kung fu expert who also happens to be a stegosaurus. This can't fail!). Alas all of them have come back pretty much empty handed, except for the usual stories from pygmies about a giant reptile splashing around in lakes, eating shrubs, and picking fights with hippos.

So I guess the question is, what are the chances that a living fossil is tearing around the dark continent? Well, honestly, it appears to be pretty slim.

Now before we start, some people reading this will have undoubtedly heard of the Coelacanth. If you haven't then I'll try and explain as briefly as possible, The Coelacanth is a fish that was thought to have been extinct for approximately 65 million years. That was until one was found swimming around quite happily off the coast of South Africa in 1938. It has become the poster child for misguided creationists all over the globe who have apparently taken on the "Dinosaur in the Congo" crusade as a way of proving that God really created the universe. Why they do this I have no idea. I mean even if it's true it doesn't really prove God exists. Just that one giant lizard is reeeaalllly good at hiding.

But people often point to the Coelacanth and go “See? Scientists schmientists. They don't know everything. Look at this primitive and, let's face it, really ugly fish. They thought it didn't exist. But it does. You can poke it if you don't believe me. Go on. Poke the fish. Poke it. Hmmm. I can't help but notice you're not poking the fish. Listen buddy, we didn't drive all the way to SeaWorld for you to just stare. So just poke the f***ing thing and we'll move on.”. Except that argument is all kinds of mental when you think about it.

For a start we know more about the surface of the Moon than we do about the sea floor, and Coelacanth can live some 700m beneath the surface. Also they're dark blue, hide in caves all day, and can only be found in waters which have a temperature between 14°c and 22°c. With the ocean covering two-thirds of the Earth trying to find a Coelacanth is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Except, and here's the key bit, nobody was actually looking for one. Until 1938 it hadn't entered anyone's head that a Coelacanth might actually still be swimming about somewhere. Now it is true that the Coelacanth disappeared from the fossil record since the Cretaceous period. But all that can tell you is that the fossil record is incomplete and should really be used as a rough guide.

Basically what it boils down to is this. Let's say, conservatively, that the Mokele-Mbembe is about the size of an elephant. And let's say, generously, the area it inhabits is about the size of Florida. In 90 years of searching, and with all the technological advances we've made in that time, we haven't come close to finding anything. Outside of eye witness reports, we've had the grand total of one photo of a footprint and one shaky video.

Of course the argument is that the Congo is ridiculously difficult to travel to and once there it's quite an ordeal to get from one spot to the next. But with hippos and elephants both on the endangered species list, and with numbers of each steadily dwindling, we can still find plenty of wildlife programmes capturing these animals in their native habitat. Not to be able to find a lizard of similar size even after 90 years of trying just doesn't make sense, especially after the first thing anyone on an expedition does is grill the pygmies as to where exactly this thing is.

But then, on the flip side of the coin, evolution doesn't always make sense. Just ask the Terrible Hairy Fly.

Just when I thought I was out... they pull me back in.

2010-11-12T15:34:00.000-08:00

There's an advert on the box at the moment for Match.Com, an internet dating site. Basically it features two people, an impossibly good looking man and woman, knocking around in a music store. Then for reasons known only to himself the man picks up a guitar and starts to sing. In a butt clenchingly twee way the woman soon joins in.

Man: I like old movies.
Woman: Like Godfather 3.
Man: They say it's not the best one.
Woman: But that's just me.

They then smile knowingly and, thank Christ, the advert comes to a screeching halt before we are treated to the spectacle of them heading off to teddy bear land and wallowing in an overbearing sea of saccharine, dewy-eyed, nonsense.

Now this advert bothers me on a number of levels. For a start. The Godfather Part III is an unbelievably awful film with an indecipherable plot (Gee Note: Seriously. It's about corrupt monks or something. I don't know. If I'm honest I gave up caring halfway through), a collection of terrible performances, and a running time that would make Orson Welles cringe. It is the worst case of going to the well one too many times. and also happens to represent the official point where Francis Ford Coppola jumped the shark. After this cinematic monstrosity Frankie FC treated us to such wonders as Jack, The Rainmaker, and Youth Without Youth, all of which should be used as a form of torture on suspected terrorists.

So yeah, "Godfather 3" is a bad movie. Bad enough that no one with half a brain would take the time to sing a stupidly cheery song about it. Also, it isn't really that old. Metropolis is old. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is old. Nosferatu is old. The Godfather Part III was released in 1990 which means either Dullard McSingsong is confusing it with another movie entirely, or they have the attention span of a gnat. Which in turn means the message of this advert isn't "Come to Match.Com and meet your perfect partner". Instead it's "Come to Match.Com, and meet someone as stupid as you are". And that's not really a great sales technique, whatever anyone tells you.

Which is why when it comes to matters of the heart and other such important things, I don't leave it up to those chancers at Match.Com. No way Jose, I put my faith in Tara the online psychic.

You guys remember Tara right? No? You sure? She used to be a pretty regular feature on this 'ere web-ma-log. Well for those who don't, a while ago I signed up for an online tarot card reading, and since then Tara has been bombarding me with amazingly crazy emails designed to get me to send her my money. I reposted a couple here and then, thinking it had run it’s course, blocked her mails from arriving in my inbox.

Anyway at the back end of last week one of those blighters managed to sneak through and, rather than delete it straight away, I decided to read it for old time's sake. And then I laughed. And then I decided to repost it here. I know, I know. Really. There's no need to thank me.

***************************************************************************************************************************

Gareth,

Late last night I was stretched out peacefully on my couch, thinking of you (Gee Note: Really? Aw shucks. You'll make me blush) and a few other people (Gee Note: Wait. What? Other people? OTHER PEOPLE?!?!? You… you Jezebel, you. My mother warned me about women like you. And also that you shouldn't stick a fork in to a toaster no matter how much you think it deserves it. Sound advice really.) who recently asked for my help, when suddenly something very strange happened.

I can’t explain why, but I felt an irresistible impulse to enter into telepathic contact with you as soon as possible, Gareth. (Gee Note: That's OK. I get irresistible impulses all the time. Although to be fair mine are more along the lines of "make bacon sandwich" or " wear hat". Not "mind rape someone". But then each to their own I guess).

I sat down at my worktable and did a psychic session for you. Contact was established almost immediately, and the visions I had about the way your life is unfolding were incredibly clear. (Gee Note: That's what you get when you upgrade to HD. That and an urge to watch boring sporting events on the telly just because you can now see them in crystal clear detail. Seriously the other day I ended up watching lawn bowling for seven straight hours. Lawn bowling. For seven hours. It's like I skipped middle age and went straight in to the "retired and really have nothing better to do" phase).

It was like watching a movie of your life! (Gee Note: Wow, what a belting movie that would be. I can see the promotional pitch now "It was a time of heroes. It was a time of war. It was a time when one man decided to sit on his fat ass all day long and watch old people roll balls on some grass for no good reason". Also do I get any input on casting? Because if I do I demand that Warwick Davis play me and that The Future-Ex Mrs. Davies is played by Jennifer Love Hewitt. The screen will simply fizzle with chemistry).

I could see all the difficulties you’ve been dealing with, all the bad news you’ve been getting, all the disappointments and delays you’ve had to face in the most important areas of your life. I clearly saw the bad choices you made, the errors you committed in the past that today are forcing you to deprive yourself of almost everything, and count every penny. (Gee Note: What the f*** lady? "Bad choices"? OK, admittedly investing the family fortune in a 5,000,000 pairs of clown shoes didn't exactly return a windfall straight away. But when Lady Gaga wears some to the VMA’s and they become a hot fashion item, we'll see who's laughing then).

But I can say with great certainty that for you, Gareth, the end of the tunnel is near. This is an important moment in your life. You could obtain everything your heart desires. (Gee Note: Mmmm. Bacon).

I have to warn you, Gareth. The harmful environment you’re in now could still bring bad luck, and annihilate the enormous potential that is being offered to you now. You have to get rid of the harmful presence blocking your Destiny once and for all. It’s been opposing your happiness for a long time now, and I’m sure you’ve noticed it. (Gee Note: Oh noes. A harmful presence blocking my density. What would George McFly do? Well, he'd punch someone in the mouth obviously. So that's what I'm going to do. Punch the next person I see in the mouth. Problem solved).

A while ago you were on the verge of solving most of your problems, but despite your efforts things turned against you. I can tell you that it was your psychic enemy, trying to make things even worse for you. (Gee Note: "A psychic enemy"? You do know I'm not a member of the X-Men right? Not that I haven't tried you understand. I even bought myself a full body spandex suit and a cape to wear while fighting crime. Alas the first time I wore it I caught my foot on my front doorstep, which caused me to fall over and scrape my knee. I decided to give up after that point. Super heroes who exclaim loudly "But it really realllllly hurts!" with tears in their eyes are less than impressive it turns out.).

Among the people you know, someone is very bitter towards you, and is sending you a lot of very negative thoughts, full of rancour and pessimism, jealousy and bad luck. (Gee Note: Sigh. I can't imagine why. I mean you wouldn't believe the number of times I've told people not to hate me because I'm beautiful).

A case like yours requires exceptional measures. I’m going to tell you about a secret that will enable you to put an end to your problems and turn things completely in your favor:

The Secret of the "Hand of Power" (Gee Note: Not to be confused with "The Foot of Danger". Which looks like a perfectly normal foot until you feed it after midnight. Then it becomes a right bastard).

I have decided, Gareth, to perform the Hand of Power Ritual for you. (Gee Note: You know the last time I paid a woman to do something with her hand for me was… er… nevermind).

The ceremony belongs to an ancient tradition, and its secret has been kept in my family for generations. The Ritual is transmitted only after long initiation and much effort. My grandfather taught it to me, and showed me many times, and in very concrete ways, how it could really transform the lives of people in trouble. (Gee Note: My grandfather taught me how to putt golf balls. Because, you know, he wasn't bonkers).

Those who have already benefited from the Hand of Power Ritual have all seen their most pressing problems resolved, even those they’d given up hope on. These people were often in very desperate situations. (Gee Note: "Dear Tara. My name is John and I'm stuck on a raft in the middle of pacific ocean. All my shipmates have been eaten by sharks and I can see their fins circling me as we speak. Could you be a dear and perform a hand of thingy ritual for me. Or alternatively, ALERT THE F***ING COASTGUARD!!! Regards. John". Speaking of which did you know that Dick Van Dyke was once rescued at sea by a group of porpoises? No really. Just like Adam West's Batman. Except Van Dyke wasn't tied up with a young boy dressed in tights at the time. At least not according to the stern letter I got from his lawyers when I self published my book "Dick Van Dyke: What you didn't know". ).

Since my initiation I’ve helped many people, most of whom were in a more precarious and complex situation than you’re in now. I did it by performing the Hand of Power Ritual on their behalf. Almost all of them were surprised to see a "miracle" take place in their lives: in less than a month, their terrible problems had been transformed into incredible happiness. (Gee Note: Almost all of them huh? You mean there were some not surprised by a miracle happening in their life? Now as far as I can work out that means one of two things. Either a miracle didn't happen in the first place. Or it happened to someone for whom a miracle is no big thing. Which, unless you happen to be Jesus, is probably unlikely. Although thinking about it, it would be pretty great if Jesus and Tara had a Miracle-Off. Hell put them in a ring, throw in a couple of card carrying women, add some pyrotechnics, and I'd definitely buy that Pay Per View).

What you need to do now is very simple. When you finish reading, place your left hand on your computer screen to trigger the Hand of Power.

Now we’re getting to the heart of the secret! (Gee Note: Shit just got REAL!) Here’s what’s going to happen: keeping your left hand flat against the computer screen, you’re going to ask that your three most cherished wishes be granted. (Gee Note: Wish number one. Can I take my hand off the screen now please? I'm in a library and guy sitting opposite is looking at me funny).

First Wish: Think hard about how much money you’d need to solve your immediate problems. Visualize what you’d do once you have it. (Gee Note: Hire a mariachi band to play music whenever I walk into a room.)

Second Wish: Concentrate on your love life. According to your situation (either as part of a couple or on your own) imagine yourself finding true love, or seeing your relationship drastically improve. Feel the happiness it brings you, and know that the skies over your future are clear. (Gee Note: Hmm. Now that I think about it, The Future-Ex Mrs. Davies could do with wearing less clothes around the house. I mean sure it's cold in the evenings now, but is that really an excuse not to wear a bikini to the dinner table? What do you mean you feel warmer in your jumper? Well la-di-dah your majesty.)

Third Wish: Concentrate on a flow of Luck entering your life. See yourself playing money games where you keep winning huge jackpots. Then visualize yourself spending your winnings on things that give you pleasure. (Gee Note: If I was a recovering gambling addict, I'm pretty sure this advice wouldn't help).

Through the psychic connection between your hand and the computer screen, I’ll be able to pick up your personal vibrations, charged with all the things that are dearest to your heart. Then, when I perform the Hand of Power Ritual on your behalf, your vibrations will enable me to have extremely precise "psychic flashes", revealing the crucial events in your future in startling detail. (Gee Note: You know the last time I paid a woman to pick up my personal vibrations I was... er... nevermind).

Think what your life will be like when you’re able to attract Luck like honey attracts a bee, without even having to do anything special! (Gee Note: Erm. Honey doesn't attract bees. Flowers do. Honey attracts Grizzly Bears. Easy mistake to make though. I've often put out a jam jar out on a warm summer's day to catch bees only to find a bloody great big deadly predator stuck in it).

Although it seems so simple, it will mark the beginning of your new life, and a lead to a180 degree turn in your fortunes. You’ll find the answers you’ve been seeking for so long in vain, and the things you have to do to finally become the person of your dreams: a person who is incredibly Lucky and profoundly happy. (Gee Note: And also a famous rapper. Because I've got great rhymes. No really. “Yo man I'm like a cyclone. I've got an internal skeleton made out of bone”. I'm just waiting for my big break. Simon Cowell should totally sign me up)

Don’t hesitate. Your happiness is there, waiting for you, and the sooner you answer me, the sooner you’ll taste it. I’ll be waiting to hear from you, Gareth. (Gee Note: You know when you have one of those awkward first dates? Ones where you've had a horrible time and the other person goes “you're going to call me right?”, and you go “Oh yeah. Sure I will” when deep down you know that you'd rather call a baboon with a flatulence problem? Well... sure I'll be in touch Tara).

Tara

Medium

***************************************************************************************************************************

And there you have it. Now you may think that placing your hand on the screen and wishing for your life to turn around is crazy. And you're right. It is.

But, really, is it any crazier that trying to impress people by singing about rubbish films?

What do you expect us to use man, harsh language?

2010-11-03T13:13:00.000-07:00

There's a lot of things that annoy me. For example, when you dunk a biscuit in to a cup of tea and it breaks in half, leaving a gunky mess at the bottom of the mug. Or people who wear beanie hats indoors. Or that weather presenter on the Welsh national news who finishes his broadcasts by winking at the camera. Or Glenn Beck. Or pigeons. The list goes on and on.

But I honestly never thought I would get annoyed with Cryptomundo.

Now I'm not what you would call a "gamer". Oh sure, I play video games occasionally. And for the most part I enjoy it. But I would say that of all the things I do with my spare time, playing video games would come a distant fourth behind watching television, reading, and sitting down. (Gee Note: Actually it would come fifth if you count "scratching" as an activity).

Part of the problem is I'm not very good at them. There was a time that I was exceedingly competent with a joypad in my hands, around the time of the NES and the Master System in fact. Back then I was nowt but knee high to grasshopper and I, like most of my friends, would spend hours at a time devoted to the flickering images of Mario and Sonic stuttering from left to right. But then I hit my late teens, found other virtues to pursue (Gee Note: Namely girls and beer, neither of which was particularly successful) and by the time I started playing again in my early twenties the entire scene had moved on. For a start video games had become far more complex. Gone were the days of breezily running through a multicoloured landscape jumping on the heads of walking mushrooms. Instead the video game market had become dominated by grimy first person shooters. You'd assume the role of some gun totting bad ass and head off to take on evil Nazis, or blood thirsty aliens, or evil blood thirsty Nazi aliens. Games now revolved around being able to aim accurately, move stealthily, and pull the trigger at a seconds notice.

The thing is none of that has ever struck me as all that much fun. And it's not that I'm opposed to the idea of running around and shooting things. In fact one of my favourite games of the modern era, Mass Effect 2, is basically just that. In Mass Effect you go to a new planet, have a natter with some folks with blue skin, and before you know it your blasting your way through wave after wave of bad guys. Which is great. But Mass Effect differs from most games in that you don't have to treat the combat sections like they're a real life war. In contrast Halo, which has a similar premise to Mass Effect, leaves me cold despite it's universal acclaim amongst the gaming community. Partly because my experience of playing Halo is me running around desperately firing bullets left right and centre, only to find out some sneaky bastard has crept up behind me and is steadily unloading their ammunition in to the back of my neck.

This isn't to say that people who enjoy these video games are somehow misguided. They're not. In fact if I was any good at them I would probably love these games as much the next man. But because I'm pretty much useless when it comes to "circle strafing" and throwing grenades at moving targets, it means I end up looking for other things to occupy my console disk drives. Games like Civilization Revolutions where you have to build a city and stop other world renowned leaders (Gee Note: Including a strangely aggressive Gandhi. No really. A typical conversation with Gandhi in Civ Rev goes something like "Hey Gandhi. How's it going?" "Give me your gold!!!" "I'm sorry Gandhi. I have no gold to give you." "WHAT?!?!? F*** YOU BUDDY!! THIS MEANS WAR!!!!!") from taking it over. Or Heavy Rain, which is kind of a murder mystery with French voice actors pretending to be American and failing miserably (Gee Note: "But Scott don't you realize? Zis could 'elp us find ze killer!").

Or, more to the point, Red Dead Redemption.

Red Dead Redemption is,a cowboy action-adventure. Developed by Rockstar, the people responsible for the Grand Theft Auto games, RDR is set in a fictional Wild West where men are men, women are women, and animals are a good way of generating some cash by hunting them for their pelts. Anyone who has ever played a Grand Theft Auto game will instantly be comfortable with the mechanics. You jump on a horse, ride your way to a place marked out on your map, where upon a cut scene kicks in to move plot along. After that you complete the objective set out in front of you, which generally speaking is "ride over there and shoot those people", before moving on to the next thing. RDR differs from it's predecessors in one key aspect however. While the various incarnations of GTA were often juvenile and tawdry, RDR is a grown up and thoughtful game. Of course it still has a collection of buffoons to gawk at, a grave robber and an elderly work shy farm hand for example, but overall it tells a charming, tragic, and occasionally beautiful story.

Recently an add on for the game became available online. Coinciding with Halloween the developers released the "Undead Nightmare" downloadable pack, a separate mission from the main game in which zombies are unleashed on to the playing field causing havoc in the process. Designed to be a way to refresh the game for players who had already completed the original, "Undead Nightmare" brings with it a host of new features. You can catch and tame the four horses of the apocalypse, ride about on a unicorn, get attacked by a chupacabra, and fire a bullet at a demonic looking goat.

It also features a side mission which has upset some people. The reason? Well if you take a trip to the game area known as the tall trees you're given the chance to hunt some Sasquatch.
Learning of this Craig Woolheater of Cryptomundo published the following video found on Youtube,

Above it he added the following the following statement.

"I am not a gamer and find this somewhat offensive…"

This was then followed by a series of comments underneath from regular readers of Cryptomundo. These included…

"I find it HIGHLY offensive."

"I am a gamer. Have been for a long time. This is not only offensive, but pathetic."

"Disgraceful. Whatever happened to social responsibility and a respect for nature? This game will only appeal to violent morons. This is as bad as the rod and gun club in BC who use sasquatch targets for practice." (Gee Note: One. I've played this game I'm not violent. A moron maybe. But I have weak girl arms and don't really enjoy pain so I tend to avoid any kind of physical activity, fighting included. Two. There's a gun club that uses Sasquatch targets for practice? That's just… confusing.)

Finally some slightly saner voices joined the discussion, and the conversation degenerated in to a very dull debate about whether or not video games are evil. "YES!!!" shouted some people. "NO!!!!" cried others. And all the while everyone missed the point like English soccer players taking penalties.

You see this is what happens when something is taken out of context. It would be like watching one scene from "Aliens" where Sigourney Weaver is running away from a giant slathering extra terrestrial and saying "Oh my God. This movie totally presents women as feeble and spineless.". Well no, if you watch the rest of the rest of the movie it turns out the woman not only succeeds where a bunch of hardened male soldiers fail, but also kicks some serious ass in doing so. But if you only watch that one scene, you'll probably come to the conclusion that either Sigourney gets munched by the raging monster or she gets rescued by some handsome hunk in a tight t-shirt.

Red Dead Redemption is many things. In some ways, such as the use of the Wilhelm scream, it's an affectionate love letter to the Western genre. In others it's a fun action romp in which you get to test your skill by hitting moving targets. But the storyline of the game has one major thematic element that dwarfs everything else. Simply put it's the evil that men do. Even more simply put, people are generally dicks.

Take the game's protagonist, John Marston. Marston is a nice guy. A former gang member who used to kill people as soon as look at them, he fell in love, settled down, and started a family. Refreshingly for a story about a bad man made good, you never see him racked with guilt over his past deeds. In these times where the tortured hero struggling against personal demons has become a tired cliché, Marston is unique because he views his past almost philosophically. Running with a posse, killing innocent folk, robbing banks and stores, whatever he did Marston genuinely believes he is now a different person from the one who committed those crimes.

The problem is Marston is incredibly naïve. He left his life on the run to become a farmer, only to find out he wasn't very good at it. And after his family are kidnapped, Marston is forced by a corrupt law-man to hunt down his former comrades or risk losing his wife and son. This leads him on a quest where, time after time, his good nature is taken advantage of. Whether it be a down on his luck drunk trying to avoid his debts, a two bit hustler selling snake oil, or Mexican general trying to hold on to his lofty position, the universe of Red Dead Redemption is filled with back stabbing shysters.

Betrayal is the name of the game here. The first time we see Marston he gets shot by a friend and left for dead. By the time we leave him he's battling an entire army because he's been screwed yet again. Despite the odd ray of sunshine here and there not much changes for our man.

The reason I bring this up is that the controversial "Bigfoot murdering" fits in perfectly with this scenario. Marston isn't hunting the Sasquatch because he enjoys killing things. Marston is hunting the Sasquatch because he's been duped in to thinking it's a threat by another character desperate to acquire the animal's fur. In essence John is a tragic character, doomed to commit an act of violence against a harmless creature because he is trying to do the right thing.

And really, it amazes me how anyone could find that offensive. It's not even if Bigfoot is presented as a crazed beast prepared to tear humans limb from limb. All the Sasquatches featured run away as soon as you approach them, and the last one even explains calmly that his people are non threatening while bemoaning the loss of his kind. If anything the message here isn't "Hey! It's fun to kill Sasquatches!". Instead it's "Yeah it's fun to shoot things. No one is denying that. But really, don't blow away Bigfoot just because you can. It's kind of a douche move.".

It wouldn't be so bad if the good people of Cryptomundo weren't used to being on the receiving end of this type of thing. By it's very nature people who are proponents of something like cryptozoology are often scoffed at, much in the same way that ufologists are. By simply saying "I believe there might be large undiscovered creatures in the world somewhere." or "I believe there might be aircraft in our skies that shouldn't be there" certain sections of the community will instantly disregard anything you say and label you a loony.

For example last night I watched an episode of "Solving History with Olly Steeds". Steeds, a British journalist and explorer, had decided to tackle the Nazca lines. According to the TV guide the episode would look at various theories including whether the lines were made for ceremonial purposes, whether they were used as an astrological guide, or whether they were made by aliens. "Awesome" thinks I. "A really good investigative piece about the pros and cons of the various theories sounds fascinating". Except it wasn't. In fact the part of the programme devoted to the extra terrestrial theory was given a measly thirty seconds, and was summed up by Steeds saying something along the lines of "I can see how some people would think that these lines look like runways for alien spacecraft. But that theory assumes the Nazca wouldn't have the intelligence to make the lines themselves. Which I find rather insulting.". For the rest of the show Steeds spent his time getting high (Gee Note: No really he did. On the premise that "this is what the Nazca would have done". I'm surprised he didn't go the whole hog and rent out a hotel room, fill it with prostitutes, and claim it was "what they did back in the day". When in Peru, Olly-boy. When in Peru.) and presenting an opinion that is not universally accepted as if it was stone cold fact.

And it made me furious because at no point have I ever read an "alternative" theory about the Nazca lines that starts with "Yo Nazca so dumb when they hear it's chilly outside they go get a bowl." Because nobody has ever brought up the question of if could they make the lines. I mean if they can build pyramids then I'm pretty sure they could draw in some dirt. The question has always been why would they? What purpose would it possibly serve? Why design a complex picture of a monkey or a shark if no one is ever going to see it? Now a lot of very intelligent people have come up with a lot of evidence to support the idea that they were designed by beings not of this world (Gee Note: Admittedly a few nutters have also joined in the "It was aliens!" chorus. You take the rough with the smooth I guess). To ignore their work just because you happen to think it's a load of codswallop is, well, just plain wrong when you're trying to "Solve History".

Put it this way. Anyone who has read this blog for more than three minutes will probably know that I hate conspiracy theories. Actually that's not true. I don't hate the ones that make sense. Have Western governments in the past lied about the existence of UFOs? Well yeah, they almost certainly have. Are those UFOs of alien origin? I… I don't know. I'd like to think they were. But considering the USA and Russia were looking at each other with twitching eyelids and beads of sweat dripping from their foreheads for over four decades, I'm guessing most of the famous UFO reports from that era were military devices taken out for test runs.

But things like the 9/11 conspiracy I can't stand. However just because I can't stand them doesn't mean I haven't done my research. In fact it's looking up and debating the various questions about the legitimacy of the terrorists attacks that has formed the strength of my opinion.

Which is why it's frustrating that Cryptomundo should take a different stance. Rather than open up a valid conversation about whether Bigfoot's depiction in the game offsets any negative impact about encouraging players to hunt a sasquatch, or whether Rockstar the company has made a misstep when trying to present an obviously emotional story of a sentient being losing it's loved ones, we instead get “I know nothing about this. But I hate it”. It's amazingly closed minded.

And considering it's a website about animals mainstream science doesn't recognise as real, Cryptomundo is the last place you'd expect to find closed mindedness.