Which feature do you miss most?

Tuesday 31 March 2009

One-Shot (31/03/09)

Today saw my pop-punk listening spree reach the Descendents' Everything Sucks. It was the first I'd heard it (or any of its 15 tracks) in years. Why? Beats me. It's more fun than ever.

Also...

Headline from a parallel dimension:

Bored brain escapes skull.

Out is where I am.

Monday 30 March 2009

One-Shot (30/03/09)

Bob Mould rules.

Sunday 29 March 2009

One-Shot (29/03/09)

The second season of '30 Rock', thus far, is definitely not as good as the first.

Saturday 28 March 2009

Inevitable Northern Ireland Victory Comment

What was that I was saying just hours ago? Oh yes, "into them!" Well boys and girls, into them we went...

Northern Ireland - 3, Poland - 2.

For those of you perhaps unfamiliar with sports, allow me to translate:

Northern Ireland defeat Poland. Poland are defeated by Northern Ireland. At the hands of Northern Ireland, Poland taste defeat.

In glorious Belfast sunshine, Nigel Worthington's Green and White Army showed great courage to see off the frequently uninspired and unsportsmanlike Poles. As I write, we are top of Group 3. It's as fantastic as it is unexpected. Yes, it's likely to change very quickly, but, right now, that doesn't matter. It's time to savor the moment. It's time to celebrate the commitment of Feeney, the class of Evans, and an unexpectedly attacking performance. Well done, lads. Well done.

Let's all do the bouncy.

One-Shot (28/03/09)

Belfast sunshine (no, that's not a typo) looks set to bathe tonight's Northern Ireland vs. Poland match at Windsor Park. Some of it, anyway. I'm not letting the weather fool me about our prospects. I feel more or less the same way now as I did in September '07. The same sense of overwhelming, Light Brigadeian futility hangs in the air. This is the part where I say "C'mon, the Ulstermen! Let's smoke some Pole!" Then, I rephrase that, for obvious reasons, and go with simply 'C'mon, the Ulstermen!"

N.B. Best wishes also go to to Scotland, England, Wales, and of course the Republic against Bulgaria.

EDIT - Mere moments after posting this, I got the following text from the Bro who is fortunate enough to have a ticket for the game:

"Poles wrecking the place app. Boys safely in the shrine. Bring them on!"

That's the spirit. Into them!

Friday 27 March 2009

One-Shot (27/03/09)

If you find yourself tempted - even for a second - to watch In The Name of The King: A Dungeon Siege Tale, don't.

Thursday 26 March 2009

One-Shot (26/03/09)

I don't trust myself to leave this post 'til after slumber. My predominantly pissy mood means you know it makes sense. Now, watch the appeal of this series flat-line once again as I regale you with yet more FIFA tales. On Tuesday night, I played Dave in a a trio of online showdowns. The first and final clashes were enjoyable, but the second bested all. The game: Derry City (Ireland) vs F.C. Vaduz (Switzerland).

Can you guess my team?

Person/s, I cannot stress enough the magnificence of this encounter. If you need your life re-affirmed, get it done. There's, truly, nothing like the sight of two One-Star rated teams hacking the sportsmanship out of one another while goalkeepers try to score and defenders run the ball into their own net. I haven't laughed so much since Bill Hader.

Wednesday 25 March 2009

One-Shot (25/03/09)

A moratorium on ecology and oceanic metaphors means famine for singer-songwriters.

22 - Out of Step (wth the "Blogosphere")

"Who reads these things anyway?" A fair question. If you've ever reflected on the process of blogging, you've likely thought as much. And with good cause. You don't need me to tell you there's a lot of shit out there (making this sentence a complete waste.) But even on a site like CHUD (home to the catalytic question) blogs are the gap-toothed siblings of regular articles.

Why? The immediate answer is: blogs are stream of consciousness lite and, as such, deserve what they get. If a representative sample of blogs bore out this theory, that'd be fine. But the level of attention paid to blogs both noteworthy and otherwise suggests they are a cut above glorified Twitterings.* So how did it come to this? How did blogging become worse than the redheaded stepchild of prose. Self-important loudmouth arseholes befucked the form.

Worse still, there's method to their bullshit. There are three kinds of blogs:

  1. The Popular - Your Hipster Runoff's and your Magic Molly's. Prolific, visually arresting blogs with numerous readers. They are prominent, generating as many hits from chance encounters as by reputation. Generally, well written.
  2. The Obscure - Your Skronked's, random Blogger offerings. Often, though not exclusively, well maintained blogs with a specific focus (advertising an independent artist or business, for example.) Fairly well written, on the whole.
  3. The Anonymous - Your random Tumblr blogs. Mostly over or under-maintained diary blogs with little to no accessibility to anyone unfamiliar with the writer IRL. Writing quality ranges from passable to rabies.
Affected profundity plagues blogging. It's obvious from the abundance of laboured, aching twee. Autumnal palettes and "arty" fonts and a smorgasbord of other bland, meaningless shite are rampant. Perusing such blogs is getting an eye rub from a headbutt; reading them is daring to accept a balloon from a shady clown. As your eyes scan the words, you understand that the dead have more to say. At least, they might not have to rely on their politician/writer heroes to speak for them.** On this evidence, calling shenanigans might even be applauded. The same cannot be said, however, for blanketing a whole body with ignorant assumptions.

Not for the first time, I feel out of step. I recoil from such "cool" blogs, while others borrow their gimmicks and mediocrity multiplies. The proliferation of their kind places me (and, by extension, this blog) in the minority. In a way, I'm OK with that. I don't want the morally vacuous arseholes who inflict these blogs on the world to read this. But as someone who actively seeks out (and enjoys the search) for writers worth reading, I increasingly feel like the alternative music rep wading through scores of crimes to find something fresh.

At the risk of sounding like a ganch, I'm under no illusion about the fluctuating quality of my own posts. This isn't a plea for validation or to solicit more readers. For many people, blogging is little more than an extension of social networking attention-seeking. And that's fair enough. Have at it, folks. But I won't stand for an all-encompassing brush tarring bloggers as "irrelevant" when there are exceptions as potent as Nick Nunziata, the aforementioned Allison Weiss, and this blog's own Christophe.

I read blogs. The quality and quantity of comments found for these blogs suggests I'm not alone. There's gold to be found. This lazy generalization shit will not stand.

* Yes, I am aware that this isn't the term.
** I love a good quote, but these cats are taking the piss.

--

Ian Pratt cares a lot.

Tuesday 24 March 2009

One-Shot (24/03/09)

The fancying of Jenny Owen Youngs by me is unsurprising. She's even snugger alongside Laura Veirs, Joanna Newsom, and Allison Weiss on "Ian's Sexiest Alternative Lady List"* than the average tee shirt at a Foals gig. There's the nautical imagery (sample EP title Led to the Sea), the thrift shop aesthetic (on both the art and image front), and Guardian-friendly post-post modernism (intentional mispellings ahoy.) And how could I forget the adorable, milky waif backing it all up? With my head up my ass, presumably, cos Youngs is notably, effortlessly gorgeous.

I'm reserving final judgment until a representative body of work has been sampled, though what I've heard is decent. As with so many "lo-fi" artists, decency may just be the problem. If I want decent, I'll listen to current Foo Fighters. If I want Foo Fighters, I'll listen to everything up to and including There Is Nothing Left to Lose. However, I'm hoping that a song like "Fuck Was I" is proof I've judged Youngs's decency a little too quickly and not pandering to the Top Shop set.

* An adjunct of the oft-promised, still happening overall Sexiest List.

Monday 23 March 2009

One-Shot (23/03/09)

TV show of the moment - 'The Office' (U.S.)

Sunday 22 March 2009

One-Shot (22/03/09)

Watching the Sunday Supplement the day after United get beat is akin to putting one's wang into a roaring flame.* The results are inevitable. Of course, United are in crisis. Of course, every Sunday rag is milking the teat of our defeat 'til the nipple is rawer than the eponymous deal. Liverpool were on the march, even before Villa bent over. According to the back-page swill peddlers, anyway. They would say that.

A resurgent Scouse now find themselves within a point of the Champions at the top of the table. There are no pills this bitter. Though, watching the White Pele (Wayne Rooney, non Shirts folks) dismissed over a disgusting regulation remains the low-light of the weekend. This is a weekend that saw the frustration of Rangers' latest dropped points compounded by Celtic following suit. Well done to Big Kyle Lafferty for that sweet nutmeg, all the same.

This is the part where I jest about no-one caring and the "debate" over whether or not I will continue to write on sport will reemerge. No more. From this day forward, I am adding football to the "untouchables" list. Alongside such classics as patriotism, Irish politics, and various PlayStation 3 matters, it will continue to menace your interest. Without compromise, without readers, and without shame. Thank you, goodnight.

N.B. The Sexiest List is taking longer than expected. Did John Carpenter rush The Thing? No. Pre-production lasted almost a year on that little doozy. Am I comparing myself to golden age Carpenter? No. Will my compendium do for Sexiest Lists what Carpenter did for remakes? Hope that we get to find out. If you don't, there's a very real chance no-one else will.

* I promised, didn't I?

Saturday 21 March 2009

One-Shot (21/03/09)

This is a great day for Ireland. There's not been much for us to celebrate lately, so the importance of today's events cannot be understated. Winning a Grand Slam should - and will - be celebrated, not just as a sporting triumph, but as proof that together we are capable of greatness. Well done, lads. It's a great day to be Irish.

Friday 20 March 2009

One-Shot (20/03/09)

Call of Duty: World At War is hard as balls on Hardened.* Shocking, right? You know Treyarch are taking the piss when cover is anything but and enemy bullets are swift and plentiful. A challenge is fun but nuts to that. I wasn't really in the mood to play it after waiting for the latest lengthy download to finish, anyway. That's the truth, not an excuse. See if you can guess what I did instead:

  1. Caught up on Sky+'d 'Gilmore Girls.'
  2. Wept.
  3. Whacked FIFA 09 in.
If you answered No. 3... congratulations; you "know da score." Speaking of which, how about me coming from two-nil down to win 3-2 on penalties against that American guy? Oh, that's right. No-one cares (though, Big Zlatan's 25 odd yard free kick was different gravy.) How many football or football game related posts will it take to make the non-sportos reading care? Subscribe and find out!**

* No, no boner jokes. Not today.
** Dare you stay away when knob jokes will surely return. No, you daren't.

Thursday 19 March 2009

Wednesday 18 March 2009

One-Shot (18/03/09)

Missing: One Contributor. A handsome, witty gentleman. Answers to the name Christophe. He was last seen on this blog too long ago. If found, please return to active duty.

Yours faithfully,
Ian

Tuesday 17 March 2009

One-Shot (17/03/09)

Yesterday's One-Shot represented something of a milestone. Since December, one hundred Grandiloquent Vagaries & Other Miscellany have beset the Internet. Can you believe it? That's a century of irreverence. Well, if you think we missed our own centennial... you're right. Enter this belated celebration. Woo and, indeed, hoo. Thank you for your continued support and patience.*

Lá Fhéile Phádraig, everyone!

*Rest assured, the Sexiest List is under construction - long, meticulous construction.

Monday 16 March 2009

One-Shot (16/03/09)

Una is the hottest Saturday, despite her less than sunny demeanour.* Frankie and Mollie apologists feel free to bust my balls* in the comments section below.

* It returns!

One-Shot (15/03/09)

Fear not, dear reader. I haven't fell out with you for not making with the "talk about football more" style comments (yet.) No, yesterday's One-Shot arrives today due to a technological debacle. Apologies for the delay, in the highly unlikely event that its absence was felt. It won't be worth the wait.

Michael Biehn's mustache in The Abyss is nothing less than King-like. Anyone - myself included - to ever rule out growing one should be reminded of its greatness immediately.

See?

Saturday 14 March 2009

One-Shot (14/03/09)

Tony Todd is immense in '24.' That's your lot for today, folks. Unless people start weighing in with comments to the effect of "more football, please", this is what happens.

Friday 13 March 2009

One-Shot (13/03/09)

What to do when you wish to write about football (again) when it will repel readers like the Irish League repels excellence? Exploit today's potential for horror, making it a macabre One-Shot double feature!* That's not at all predictable. Two things I say I will do but probably won't:

  1. Forego my prior plans to buy Resident Evil 5 cold by downloading the demo first (PlayStation Network, how I love thee.) Thanks for planting the seed, Chris!
  2. Watch Friday the 13th (1980) like I meant to do this time last month, thereby freeing up space on the Sky+ box.
What? Like you've never watched Halloween on Halloween, My Bloody Valentine on Valentine's Day, or Mayday!** on May Day?!

* And do it anyway. Go on, United!
** I hereby call "dibs." Back off, Roth.

Thursday 12 March 2009

One-Shot (12/03/09)

While my briefly mentioned horror project remains in suspended animation, I continue to enjoy the work of friends. If that sounds "mopey", it's unintentional (for I am a man and, as such, do not mope.) David, like Daniel before him, underlines the need for the finger to be revealed and pots to be vacated or shat in. For this I am grateful. That said:

Welcome to Lee Carvallo's Writing Challenge!

I am Carvallo. Please, select a story.

...

You have selected "generic paranormal mystery." Might I suggest, "Cronenbergian body horror?"

...

You have re-selected "generic paranormal mystery."

Press x, to write.

...

Script is in... wastebasket. Would you like to play again?

...

You have selected "hurm..."

Wednesday 11 March 2009

One-Shot (11/03/09)

Ian's One-Shot. March11th, 2009: Late with post. Watching United triumph, humble "Special One." Don't tell me they deserved win. The accumulated filth of his ignorance and poor sportsmanship foamed up about the waists of every cheat and over-rated player. They looked up and shouted "any chance?" And United whispered "no."

Tuesday 10 March 2009

21 - Review: Watchmen

Rejoice, non-existent reader. Here's a break from the shame and political apathy that has beshitted this blog since Sunday. I won't demean us both by including a redundant plot description. That task has harmed keyboards the world over quite enough. What follows is more.... Ian. If you want pseudo-film school bullshit, go read the average movie site's forum. Oh yeah, and there are spoilers.

* * *

The Dark Knight is more divisive than Marmite and anal sex combined. Bat-fans have wasted no time inaugurating it into the modern classic pantheon. To them, it's a masterpiece. To others, it's a fine if over-rated crime picture. Like an internet argument, no understanding has been reached. However, in Watchmen, the opposition have their Chewbacca defense. It and T.D.K. both recast familiar stories in genre garb. Both succeed, but only the former deserves Godfather level acclaim.

The complexity and ambition of Watchmen is dazzling. In 2009, uninitiated teens lured in by the promise of fetish gear and ultraviolence are in for a mindfuck of 2001 proportions. Plenty of reviews have been written for fans of the source material. Thousands of words contextualize director Zack Snyder's achievement in the wake of the projects troubled history. Their rightful place is in the pub. Such matters have little bearing on the actual quality or otherwise of this adaptation.

Watching Watchmen feels like talking to a loudmouth. If you don't adjust yourself, communication breaks down. The first act doesn't help. If not slow, it's confidently paced. There are introductions and reminiscences where biffpowzap action is to be expected. Snyder and writers David Hayter & Alex Tse hue closely to the G.N. This will dictate whether you get comfy or throw the head up and leave. Yes, what's been on the page for decades and what's on film now are very different. Nonetheless, there's little chance that anyone unimpressed by the comic will enjoy this.

The greatest strength of the film is that it is faithful to but not imprisoned by its roots. Despite its length, the narrative rarely sags. Frequent chatting never derails the forward momentum and intrigue. The sense of creeping dread so prominent in the comic is missing. Dr Strangelove style Nixon moments can't compensate for the raw power of blood dripping down a doomsday clock face. Although this and similar elements are translated in other ways, they are problems only to fans and don't hurt the movie. It works fine, as it is. But it also could have been so much better. A consummate understanding of the themes at work make the many dialogue-driven scenes just as engaging as the action based set-pieces. And when the kiddiewinks are (still) laughing at the blue knob, a moral-panic or two will have more than a few nerves wracked.

Anyone dreading a speed-ramp gougefest can uncover their eyes. With the alley/prison battles, Snyder's hand is subtler and more accomplished than ever. It's as stylized as 300, but restrained. The much lauded title sequence is sublime, a perfect blend of exposition and flair yet less arch than a walk-and-talk. Time and place is cock-solid throughout; at times, the music is a little overbearing but its as undeserving of titters as Dr Manhattan's blue langer* or Rorschach's stunningly prejudicial kills. If you're gonna play in the 20th century pop-culture ballpark, why not fill your boots?

The principals are uniformly excellent. As Rorschach and Dr. Manhattan respectively, Jackie Earle Hayley and Billy Crudup demand the loudest applause. Collectively, they take intimidatingly revered roles and make them look easy. Hayley's Rorschach, like Alan Moore's original icon, is a battering ram. He's Wayne Rooney in a trilby and inkblot mask. His speech and actions are clipped. Whether dousing a prisoner to death with boiling chip fat or snarling at the moral vacuum around him, he is sheer economy. Conversely, Crudup handles Manhattan's obtuse ruminations comfortably. He's possibly even more chilling than Rorschach; he doesn't just dispatch people, he destroys them. No hang-up, no second-thought. Both actors also deserve extra credit for their portrayals of the men behind their alter-egos.

Perhaps the greatest triumph, though, is a less glamorous role. As Dan Dreiberg a.k.a. Nite Owl II, Patrick Wilson distinguishes himself as a character actor par excellence. His work here completes a hat-trick of outstanding performances he started in Hard Candy and continued in Little Children. Wilson is the Michael Carrick** of the piece. While his cohorts draw oohs and ahhs, he lends the ensemble a crucially important bridge between the fantastic and the everyday. He's the most accessible figure for Joe Soap, but far from one himself. His cold feet in the face of the law and his own desires is that of a man who fears falling off a horse after years out of the saddle. In overcoming this hurdle, he provides the closest thing the movie offers to a fist-punching moment (though the flame-thrower orgasm was a bit much.) We laugh and cry with him in a way we never do with the others. Having someone do this heavy lifting buys enough goodwill for the daring, unfashionable work going on elsewhere.

I could go on. Hundreds of aborted words yearn to extol the wonders of Jeffrey Dean Morgan's Comedian (movie bastard of the year) and the underrated Malin Ackerman bringing an extra dimension to Laurie, for example. There are also countless grace notes that work without prior knowledge but are sure to get geeks hotter than Carla Gugino. With so much to commend, there are still nits, and this is the time when review law decrees I should pick them. The running time isn't a "problem" on its own steam. It's an inevitability with so much of the book translated to the screen. However, that and the diminished Armageddon threat mentioned above consistently hinder urgency. This will doubtless annoy fans less than the uninitiated but it remains undeniable.

While most of the Antarctic climax is excellent, the destruction of New York is inferior to the original. This Akira style wipeout feels like watching an ITV cut of Pulp Fiction. Jules without "motherfucker" in his arsenal is about as potent as a blue cock without a corresponding scrote-sack.*** That said, Zack Snyder has achieved what many misguided and unambitious people once deemed impossible: he made Watchmen. Better still, he did it with aplomb. It's everything an adaptation should be - faithful yet engaging and fresh.


* Problem with the phallic imagery? Tough.
** Problem with the United analogies? Tougher.
*** See *.

Watch it: now.
Don't watch it: to get a First in Denying Yourself Life's Pleasures 101.
Ranking: 8.5 (Colonel)

--

Ian Pratt got hungry waiting. Helped himself to some beans. Hope you don't mind.

One-Shot (10/03/09)

Fuck sake. To paraphrase the latest CHUD Show's opening salvo, my life in Northern Ireland is like a treasure map where the x marks the shit.

Monday 9 March 2009

One-Shot (09/03/09): Belfast Picture Tour, Part 4


Would you know this was taken behind student lines?

Sunday 8 March 2009

One-Shot (08/03/09)

Last night, I stuck two fingers up to my cold by going to see Watchmen with Neil. Under normal circumstances, this post would've been a straightforward gush over the movie, why the wait was worth it, and how me not getting to play Rorschach was, ultimately, for the best. At the very least, it would've been a big thank you to everyone who voted yes in the Sexiest poll. Then I got home and heard the news. I spent a large portion of Friday evening discussing the finer points of "The Irish Question" with Christophe, so the timing couldn't have been worse. A decade with some good work undone in an instant, the cautious optimism held until moments before extinguished, one man's desire to leave his homeland strengthened.

Before Watchmen, we got the trailer for Fifty Dead Men Walking. If you haven't read this, the flick is the biopic of Martin McGartland, an IRA operative turned British informant. Me and Neil made the inevitable jokes about the movie. It was an easy target. The use of 'Alternative Ulster', the bit where the cop said "Where are yiz goin lads?", the treatment of our blood-soaked past as the backdrop for a "pulse-pounding thriller" or whatever the blurbs said. The ability to laugh through despair comes pretty easy to us here.

Time was, yesterday's tragedy would've been behind me pretty quickly. That's what years of unfortunate practice yields. The wound still feels too raw to see things clearly, but I'm less sure, this time. I keep thinking about it, feeling sorry for the families, wishing for the embarrassment and heartache to end. Moreover, I get the impression this level of apathy might extend beyond my door.

I know I go on a bit about home - sometimes with tongue firmly in cheek - but that's what patriots do. I make no apologies for that. One line from last night stands out more than anything regarding the events at Massereene; "An attack on one is an attack on all of us." Some of us would do well to keep that in mind.

Saturday 7 March 2009

One-Shot (07/03/09): Belfast Picture Tour, Part 3


Staying on the Dublin Road, I give you the Movie House. As the picture indicates, that is literally it's name. That's not why it's my default cinema, though (proximity to Auntie Annie's is, naturally, a benefit.) Why then is such an unremarkable cinema my first choice? The answer is twofold:

  1. It carries many memories of a better time.
  2. It isn't Yorkgate.
Yorkgate (or City Side as it's recently been re-branded) is a hole. It's clientele are predominantly wreckage of human condition. After the incessant laughter of a group of giggling teens ruined The Mist, I vowed never again to tred its sticky floors. Giggling teens are one thing when they're laughing at the destruction of their own in a horror flick, and quite another when they're the shell-suit shysters indiginous to North Belfast, wholly incapable of understanding Darabontian excellence. The newly arrived Odeon is impressive but steep. Unless the movie in question demands particularly technocratic treatment, I'm willing to pump yet more credits into the Movie House's coffers.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna check out tonight's Watchmen availability at the Odeon. No Watchmen for sick Ian? Cold, I laugh at thee.

Friday 6 March 2009

One-Shot (06/03/09)

This pleases me. Yes, I'm a fan. That said, it's a pretty sweet trailer, whatever your views on the franchise are. It looks like an unabashedly loud, snazzy summer flick. That'll always turn off some, granted. But if you have any stock whatsoever in the humble popcorn movie, this demands your nerdgasm. For my money, it succeeds. Much of this footage has been around for a while and it certainly isn't the first time I've seen it. Unlike most of the trailers for this summer's forthcoming tent-poles, I could watch this over and over again. After years of patience-sapping banality, someone grabbed Star Trek by the nuts and dragged it weeping into relevance, once more. Kudos, J.J. Kudos.

Thursday 5 March 2009

One-Shot (05/03/09): Belfast Picture Tour, Part 2


Auntie Annie's is my favourite Belfast pub. It's on the Dublin Road, out of the way of pram-wielding numpties, yet just a short walk from everything you need. None of that matters in a watering hole, though, if it's a tip-head inside. It isn't. Auntie Annie's is the Naomi Watts of Belfast pubs. It's charming, elegant, and uniquely memorable.

It's certainly given me some fantastic memories. Plenty of head-shakers too, but that's my fault. During my staunch no-drink days, it was a club house of sorts for the extended web of friends, acquaintances, and ne'er do wells I came of age with. Watching local miscreants make a racket with a teenage sweetheart by your side never felt so essential. The sign upstairs read "you can't go home again."

Wednesday 4 March 2009

One-Shot (04/03/09): Belfast Picture Tour, Part 1


Rather than pass comment on what films I watched yesterday (the end of the great Carlito's Way, 1408 in all its underwhelming entirety), and my continued online antics on FIFA 09 (Derry City aren't bad at all), I'm finally kick-starting this long-held idea for a series. It's all in the name: Belfast City through the eyes of Ian. Some snaps may be accompanied by text, some (like the one above) speak for themselves. Not that it'll stop me commenting.

I'll not say Belfast is short on writers, but - on this evidence - it's easy to feel alone. Ideas on what the symbolic significance of those dumpsters might be are welcome below. Alone, incidentally, isn't something I'd recommend being in Garfield Street come nightfall. Sure, it's got a cuddly name, and it's just off Royal Avenue, mere seconds away from some of the most trafficed areas in the city centre. But what lurks in this shaded enclave post shutter-time is best left unknown. Or so I was told around the time I frequented it on the way home from work. Yeah, I'm "hard."*

That's St. Anne's Cathedral (Church of Ireland) looking resplendent as ever, in the distant Donegall Street. As for the graffiti, if you hope it's Teenage Mutant Ninja Aliens, you're not alone.

*Not like that.

Tuesday 3 March 2009

One-Shot (03/03/09)

I won't try to explain, I'll just alert you to it and let you judge for yourself.

Monday 2 March 2009

One-Shot (02/03/09)

There's less than a week left to decide whether or not I inflict- I mean impart - my All-Time 25 Sexiest List. Until yesterday, the polls were most reassuring. Make no mistake people, Crunchy Peanut Butter is evil. It's terrorism; it's bigotry; it's everyone who owns the Scouting For Girls album. We as a people must do everything in our power to stop a force so unrelentingly fiendish from completing its power-grab.

Make it happen like Mary Elizabeth Winstead. Thank you.

Sunday 1 March 2009

One-Shot (01/03/09)

Yesterday was a pissing post and today has its genes. Sources of solace and strength crumble before it; the capacity to give a rats ass threatens to follow. It thrusts throbbing wrongness into the soul, spins it around, withdraws, and repeats. This is the sound of lame.