Fantastic - my review of the piss-poor Saw has been posted on the IMDb.
Archive for November, 2004
Do New Zealand police have no sense of humour? How can they possibly claim there was “nothing amusing” about having a jar of pickled kittens thrown at them?
Compare and contrast:
“The United States criticised Russia for congratulating Mr Yanukovych before the final result was declared.”
BBC Q&A: Ukraine poll crisis
“In the early morning hours of November 8, Fox News Channel declared that the pivotal state of Florida had gone for George W. Bush. At 2:16 a.m. Fox announced that the Texas governor had won the state, thus securing the 271 electoral votes needed to win the presidential election. The other television networks followed suit in a matter of minutes. The call was subsequently withdrawn, and to date the Florida outcome remains undecided.”
How Bush’s man at Fox News worked to shape the outcome of the US election
A woman in the US claims that the Virgin Mary appeared to her in a piece of toast. Indeed, so profoundly moved was she by the sight of the mother of Christ rising from her toaster that she promptly flogged the sacred relic for $28,000 on eBay.
Blogrot never realised that the dull clung! of the toaster could so easily become a resounding ker-ching!, and will be paying close attention to anything that pops out of the blogrot Russell Hobbs in future for signs of divine tampering. Come to think of it, I could swear my crumpet started weeping milk this morning, right after I dropped it in my cornflakes.
Joking aside, blogrot is aghast at the effrontery of these scam merchants claiming to see religious symbols in everyday objects in search of a quick buck. Don’t they know that too much of this sort of thing can only besmirch the sanctity of proper miracles, such as the cinnamon bun that looks like Mother Teresa?
George Bush has waded into a crowd in Santiago to “rescue” one of his secret service goons, the Guardian reports. The phrase “action hero” seems a touch hyperbolic for grabbing a bloke’s sleeve, especially when you compare him to our very own have-a-go Privy Councillor, the Rt Hon “Two Jabs” Prescott. What a guy!
There’s a lesson in here somewhere - probably about not pissing off people with guns. I love the fact that he hung it on his bar wall “in the style of a hunting trophy”. That shows real class.
I wonder if he was using Google’s “feeling lucky” feature at the time?
The Incredibles hit UK cinemas today and at 3:15 this afternoon the whole family was there in force to see it. We loved it! There are much better film reviewers on the web than blogrot, but suffice to say that visually it was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, including any of Pixar’s previous films. And it’s not all just visuals: as you’d expect from a writer/director previously involved with The Simpsons, it’s buzzing with sly wit, and so full of tiny visual details that we’ll still be noticing new ones on the umpteenth viewing of the DVD.
Equally enjoyable, albeit on a smaller scale, was the accompanying short film Boundin’. I’ll never… now don’t take this the wrong way, mind… I’ll never look at a freshly shorn lamb in the same way again.
Along with John Prescott sentences that last right through breakfast and half way to work, and the occasional giggling fits by Charlotte Green, one of the great pleasures of Radio 4’s Today programme is listening to the voices and imagining what’s going on behind the scenes. After years of dedication I think I’ve got it all pretty well visualised by now (except for the colour of the rubber glove James Naughtie wears on his knob, but I’m working on that).
Anyway, John Humphrys has lifted the lid just slightly in an entertaining article in today’s Guardian. The gem of the story is the revelation that he was once so hung over he forgot which politician he was interviewing.
No news on the rubber glove, unfortunately.
JUST BAN IT! OR DON’T BAN IT! I DON’T CARE ANY MORE! NOBODY DOES! NOT EVEN THE FOXES OR THE TELEGRAPH READERS! JUST FOR CHRIST’S SAKE STOP FANNYING ABOUT!!!!!
Honestly now, which would you prefer: a huge dead tree that will take up half the living room, put a hole in the ceiling, start smelling by the 23rd and shed needles to every corner of the house… or one of these?
Go on, the kids will never know the difference.
British politics is a duller (although perhaps saner) place now that Boris Johnson has been sacked from the Tory front bench. It’s only with this story breaking that I discovered with huge surprise that Boris is married (for now at least) with four children. I’m not surprised at him being a family man per se, I just can’t imagine him remembering that many names on a daily basis. The school run in the Johnson household must be great fun (”Uh… you there.. yes, whatsit… um… yes, and your sister… oh, brother is it?… well then, him too… yes, good good…”).
Still, where one door closes for poor old Boris, another opens, albeit by the tiniest of cracks. The Guardian reports 500-1 odds on Boris becoming the next James Bond.
Just think about that for a minute.
Blogrot is therefore proud to pioneer the Boris for Bond campaign. All you have to do is visit the MGM feedback site, set the Subject to “James Bond” and then paste in the following message:
Dear Mr Chubby Brocolli
Please make Boris Johnson (MP for Henley-on-Thames) the new James Bond. He is ideally equipped for the role for a number of reasons:
1. He’s got a posh voice.
2. He’s got a proven reputation as a ladies’ man (see today’s Sunday papers for details).
3. He has recent experience of working for an establishment organisation so shadowy and remote from the public eye that most people doubt it truly exists.
4. Unlike Connery, he has his own hair.
Yours sincerely,
[Your name here]
Onwards and upwards, brothers. For Boris!
For a moment this morning (obviously while I was still half asleep) I had a madcap idea to make this a blog of novelty spins on the chicken v. egg debate. Then I realised I could only think of two, so it would be a pretty crap blog (as opposed to… oh never mind). One was the last scene of Chicken Run (where the two rats debate what they’d need to start their own chicken farm), and the other was the witticism “a chicken is just an egg’s way of making more eggs“.
Don’t ask why I lie thinking of these things in the early hours of the morning. Just pity my family.
…by visiting a random page from the Wikipedia.
I’m now better informed on such diverse topics as Xenon hexafluoroplatinate, Welsh actor Stanley Baker and the Holy Foreskin of Christ.
When I was little, one of my favourite toys was Panda. Here’s Panda:
Panda now belongs to one of my daughters, Lauren. And Panda has a problem: Lauren insists he’s a girl.
Now obviously, you and I can see from the picture that Panda’s a boy, but Lauren won’t have it. Worse still, the power of suggestion is working strongly on Panda, who not only refuses to answer the question “Panda, are you a boy?” (he just stares straight ahead… it’s heartbreaking…) but has recently been seen wearing spangly hairbands on his ears.
If anyone out there has any suggestions of how to deal with a highly confused panda, please post a comment and make a difference. I’ll tell you one thing, though: it’s no wonder they can’t get the buggers to mate.