MAYBE I’M EXAGGERATING…

…but you have to forgive my shameless glee as smug turns to squirm and I gloat at the stammering excuses of Cameron and his heartless, hopeless, and contemptible crew. I’m determined to enjoy myself while I can because I already sense a dangerous temptation streaking the horizon. Do the French elections, the protests across Europe and even about-turns by previously conservative indicate the world may finally be waking to the realization that the global economy will not be healed by punitive austerity and the victimization of the underprivileged? And the dangerous temptation? The last time I was lured into bringing my hopes and energy to the voting process was for the Obama election and that disappointment was enough to move me back to the UK.

Click here for Sam Cooke

The secret word is Revel

THE FROZDICK FAMILY

When Sophia Frozdick renounced material possessions, her only compromise was hold on to her bucket. 

THE 100TH EDITION OF DOC’S PAPERBACK CLASSICS

And in it’s honour we attempt to present something a little more elevated that the usual pulp, tat, trash, and lesbians, but don’t worry, kids, they’ll all be back before you know it.  

"NO, MY DEAR, THERE ISN’T LIFE ON MARS"

Click here for the Ran-Dells

GRATUITOUS TRACI

“CAN YOU TELL ME WHERE WE'RE HEADIN’? LINCOLN COUNTY ROAD OR ARMAGEDDON?”

All too frequently this mortal coil presents itself as a conveyor belt of choices. Drink or drive, rant or rave, poem or polemic, wastrel or worker, wolf or whore, stoic or stoned, pilgrim or pistoleer, fucked or favoured, fear or Fender, barroom or barricade, deacon or dog-boy, chaos or conformity, hawk or handsaw, seer or songbird, carrion or carry-on, foreman, follower or maybe fool? Or serf or surfer, referee or renegade, mistress or miscreant, Saracen or slave, harm or harmony, hero or villain? Should we find ourselves driven to the random and overused refuge of Ecclesiastes 3:1 and that ancient need to believe that for everything there is a season, and a time to every wretched purpose under the heaven? A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to kill, and a time to heal? Wither points the complexity of signposts for souls without roadmaps. Weep or laugh; mourn or dance; rend or sew; keep silence or speak; embrace or refrain from embracing. A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace; it never ceases.

Clock here for Bob

The secret word is Please

THE CROSSROADS, OF COURSE, NARROWS IT ALL DOWN TO A BINARY PREFERENCE

Click here for Robert Johnson.

AND EVEN IN THESE HARD TIMES CAREER CHOICES ARE POSSIBLE

MEANWHILE EEL FLOGGING IS A COMMON PERVERSION AMONG MERMAIDS

MARILYN SEZ...

“In that case I’ll stay on the beach.”

STEPHEN KING IS MIGHTILY PISSED OFF

We all know Stephen King. He’s sold a shit-load of books and it’s made him real rich. Unlike most of the rich, though, he still has a conscience.

“I’ve known rich people, and why not, since I’m one of them? The majority would rather douse their dicks with lighter fluid, strike a match, and dance around singing “Disco Inferno” than pay one more cent in taxes to Uncle Sugar. It’s true that some rich folks put at least some of their tax savings into charitable contributions. My wife and I give away roughly $4 million a year to libraries, local fire departments that need updated lifesaving equipment (Jaws of Life tools are always a popular request), schools, and a scattering of organizations that underwrite the arts. Warren Buffett does the same; so does Bill Gates; so does Steven Spielberg; so do the Koch brothers; so did the late Steve Jobs. All fine as far as it goes, but it doesn’t go far enough. What charitable 1 percenters can’t do is assume responsibility—America’s national responsibilities: the care of its sick and its poor, the education of its young, the repair of its failing infrastructure, the repayment of its staggering war debts. Charity from the rich can’t fix global warming or lower the price of gasoline by one single red penny. That kind of salvation does not come from Mark Zuckerberg or Steve Ballmer saying, “OK, I’ll write a $2 million bonus check to the IRS.” That annoying responsibility stuff comes from three words that are anathema to the Tea Partiers: United American citizenry.” Click here for more

Click here for Bowie

The secret word is Equality  

DO WHAT THE RICH FOLKS TELL YOU OR…

BUT…

THAT’S RIGHT, EVERYWHERE!

SPACE OPERA

IT COULD ALL END IN TEARS

I have never been a fan of the Olympic Games. It’s always struck me as an extremely overblown exercise in physical jingoism that leans uncomfortably towards hale and hearty fascism of the kind that was all too obvious when Hitler got his hands on the games in 1936. It’s not that I want to see them stopped. If folks who like that sort of thing want to go off on their own somewhere and run and jump and throw stuff, it don’t have problem as long as they don’t preempt too much of my TV content. When, however, the situation is so out of hand that – in the supposed name of national and Olympic security – the army needs to mount SAM missiles on the roof of a block of flats in the ultra dense borough of Tower Hamlets and more in Blackheath and Epping Forest, I really feel the urge to hold up a hand and cry “hold on a fucking minute.” Okay if so you cancelled the games because a bunch of jihadists decided to plant a DIY nuke or fly a 9/11-style suicide aircraft into the proceedings, a loud wail would go up about how the terrorists had won. As far as I’m concerned, losing the Olympics is a small price to pay if it spares us being incinerated or irradiated, but as I’ve already said, I find Olympics nothing more that an irritating nuisance and wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if they were called off. It might also be cause for some serious and much needed historical examination of why groups all across the planet are so damned keen on blowing us up in the first place.  

Click here for The Pretenders

The secret word is Fatwa

THE FROZDICK FAMILY

Zenobia Frozdick and her three friends were available for freelance executions. 

THIS IN FROM CORNWALL...

SUNDAY BREAKFAST (A day delayed)

When did I last drink champagne naked? How long ago was it that I took no account of once and future toxicity and was so bacchanal Bolinger blatant as to engage with the reckless dance wanton for the waste of the wasted and exposed to the exposure, under the eyes of the underworld and the morlock malice of exuberant two piece depravity? When, I wonder, did the foam last flow so sparkling and in unashamed streams of brief and transient undressed diamante on all the tides of conspicuous consumption among the nouveau mansions of gunmen and the implausible breasts of their gilded girls, their conspiring coke whores, and commissioned concubines? Do I even remember? How long, Lord, just tell me how long it has been since the words on the screen brought encouragement when comprehensible and the news from the battlefront served as more than just another revolver in the hand of a drunken cowboy too long at a feast to which he was never invited? Must we forever tread warily when the rash move would to throw clothes and caution to the four winds and more, in a fierce and feral quest for a deeper and less constrained satisfaction, when a coursing and unconstrained exuberance would be infinitely more pleasurable that a dreary care for what may follow? Although follow it must. Of that I am more than aware and – to a degree – able in truth to answer many of my own questions. The craving is to unlearn the lesson, and if I should fall upon my sword in the process I can only pray that it will be sufficiently sharp to kill with no pain.

Click here for The Trip (again the whole damn movie)        

The secret word is Indulgence

Bert Weedon – RIP 

MARILYN SEZ…

“I have not only drunk champagne naked but I’ve drunk champagne naked in the company of the President, his brother, and the EBE alien envoy from Zeta Reticuli.” 

THE ELVIS GAME

Before stumbled across this rare item the course of my routine web floundering, I was unaware such a thing ever existed. Although I freely admit it looks wholly Colonel Parker cheesy, it would probably be worth a bloody fortune if you owned one in mint or even reasonable condition. And I’m talking Sotheby’s not eBay.    

Click here for another kind of Elvis game 

BUT REMEMBER…