There are some news stories that make me feel so sickened by the human race that I would rather be a tree with a dog peeing on it than a homo sapien.
In recent months, many of these stories have been about Jade Goody. Of course, her death was a sad event. It should have been a very private one, but this didn't stop several media outlets going bonkers about Goody's demise.
If there is a hell, I would like to think that there is a special place reserved for the editor of OK. This esteemed publication printed a "1981-2009" tribute issue about Goody before she succumbed to cervical cancer. Stay classy!
The lastest exercise in ghoulishness is a planned musical of Goody's short life. Max Clifford (who I am sure sleeps very well) is involved in this dirty little scheme - as is one of Jade's former business partners.
This cashing-in on a person's death makes me want to throw up in my mouth, no doubt. I am, however, very interested to see if the producers will put Jade's bullying and Jack Tweed's thuggery to music.
Will they also show the hoardes of hysterical parasites intruding on what should have been a time of mourining for Goody's family and friends? Maybe they'll include a scene or two about the media's dramatic change of opinion on Goody?
I'm sure that the show will be a West End smash - but then again, Mein Kampf was a best-seller.
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
Mr Pipes wants to see You...
TV is an excellent scapegoat for parents who are too lazy or incompetent to keep their children in line – so when those kids do something stupid, lack of parental communication never seems to enter the public’s minds.
Soon after the BBC showed the one-off drama Ghostwatch on Halloween in 1992, livid views complained about how their kids couldn’t sleep for weeks after the broadcast without having horrible nightmares. Others felt that they were duped into thinking that this fictional paranormal investigation was real.
The peak of the Ghostwatch controversy came when a mentally-handicapped teenager hung himself days after the show was broadcast, with his parents claiming that he was traumatised by programme.
The Beeb has never repeated the show.
With a documentary on this controversial TV drama in the works, why not take examine what all the fuss was about?
Ghostwatch centres on the disturbing goings-on in a terraced house in the suburb of Northolt. The Early family claim that their home is being terrorised by a hideous ghost that they call “Pipes”. TV legends Michael Parkinson and Mike “Smithy” Smith host the “live” studio broadcast, with Craig Charles and the unnervingly hot Sarah Greene at the scene of the haunting.
What fooled many viewers who missed the announcement and the writer’s credit at the beginning of the show was its authenticity. Using established presenters adds to the sense of reality – as does the fact that very little happens in the first half an hour or so.
When things start to happen, though, the sherbet really hits the fan. Squealing cats, pictures flying off walls, demonic voices and fleeting glimpses of a frightening figure will have you looking twice just to make sure you didn’t see something lurking outside the window.
Various callers give a taste of the house’s dark history, leaving you in no doubt that old Mr Pipes is one evil piece of work indeed.
What makes Ghostwatch all the more disturbing is fact that you rarely see Mr Pipes – the scares come from what you think you just saw. Even though it’s not as scary as it was the first time around, Ghostwatch will leave many viewers seriously creeped-out for a good while after the end credits have rolled. In fact, my younger sister made me stay in the room with her for a good half hour afterwards.
Scaring your siblings is fun.
You can find Ghostwatch on via most online retailers, and its well worth sticking into your DVD player.
To find out more about Ghostwatch: Behind the Curtains, go to:
ghostwatchbtc.blogspot.com
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Watch Late Night TV
If, like me, you are a jobless nobody with too much time on his hands after sending out CVs all day, switching on the idiot lantern can be a welcome escape.
Some might argue that prime time is the best time to get some viewing done. These people don't know how wrong they are. TV after midnight is a glorious thing.
You might be lucky enough to catch a repeat of Penn & Teller: Bullshit on the FX Channel. Bullshit is a hidden gem that sees the legendary illusionists debunk all the guff that is accepted in our society. Psychics, censors, UFO-ologists, new age medicine are among the junk that's rightly mocked in each "fair but biased" half hour.
Ok, so they were wrong about climate change and passive smoking, but the other stuff? Nailed especially the bloody dolphins.
My other favourite shows are ones that I find both morally repulsive (yes, I have morals) and utterly entertaining at the same time. GOD TV is the main source for scaremongering, money-grabbing crap on your Sky box. What looks like a Lego safari guide and his spirit wife introduce and present hours of mind-rotting filth that will no doubt leave you looking for a Bible and a box of matches.
If you're lucky, you'll find some of the greatest showman of our time plying their trade in an attempt to make God lots of money. He is all-knowing and all-powerful but he really needs your money, saints!
Pastor Benny Hinn and Peter Popoff are two of the finest practioners of the art of conning the innocent in the game today. Combining the pantomine of a ringmaster with fear-inducing sermons that Hitler would think were a bit much, these guys will "cure" you of anything from HIV to poor bank balance. Well, they say they can make you money if you give them a cash gift to "make a convenant with the Lord", but emptying accounts seems to be their most successful trick.
Channels such as Revelation and Genesis TV are slightly less strict in their preaching in the sense that Pol Pot was a bit nicer than Stalin. Yes, they'll say a cheering hello over a mug of tea and a copy of Daily Mail, but they still think the Baby Jesus is soing to smite all the Jews and gays come Judgement Day.
Why the Prince of Peace didn't change the name of his big dukeroo after Terminator 2 came out, I'll never know.
Of course, you might want to feel aroused yet extremely guilty by watching Babestation or a True Movie soft porn-fest afterwards. Just make sure you don't wipe yourself down with Leviticus 2:10 afterwards.
Some might argue that prime time is the best time to get some viewing done. These people don't know how wrong they are. TV after midnight is a glorious thing.
You might be lucky enough to catch a repeat of Penn & Teller: Bullshit on the FX Channel. Bullshit is a hidden gem that sees the legendary illusionists debunk all the guff that is accepted in our society. Psychics, censors, UFO-ologists, new age medicine are among the junk that's rightly mocked in each "fair but biased" half hour.
Ok, so they were wrong about climate change and passive smoking, but the other stuff? Nailed especially the bloody dolphins.
My other favourite shows are ones that I find both morally repulsive (yes, I have morals) and utterly entertaining at the same time. GOD TV is the main source for scaremongering, money-grabbing crap on your Sky box. What looks like a Lego safari guide and his spirit wife introduce and present hours of mind-rotting filth that will no doubt leave you looking for a Bible and a box of matches.
If you're lucky, you'll find some of the greatest showman of our time plying their trade in an attempt to make God lots of money. He is all-knowing and all-powerful but he really needs your money, saints!
Pastor Benny Hinn and Peter Popoff are two of the finest practioners of the art of conning the innocent in the game today. Combining the pantomine of a ringmaster with fear-inducing sermons that Hitler would think were a bit much, these guys will "cure" you of anything from HIV to poor bank balance. Well, they say they can make you money if you give them a cash gift to "make a convenant with the Lord", but emptying accounts seems to be their most successful trick.
Channels such as Revelation and Genesis TV are slightly less strict in their preaching in the sense that Pol Pot was a bit nicer than Stalin. Yes, they'll say a cheering hello over a mug of tea and a copy of Daily Mail, but they still think the Baby Jesus is soing to smite all the Jews and gays come Judgement Day.
Why the Prince of Peace didn't change the name of his big dukeroo after Terminator 2 came out, I'll never know.
Of course, you might want to feel aroused yet extremely guilty by watching Babestation or a True Movie soft porn-fest afterwards. Just make sure you don't wipe yourself down with Leviticus 2:10 afterwards.
Hug a Virgin Month
Britain's Got Talent!
I have a talent; a wonderful ability that sets me apart from a chuffing great chunk of the people of this septic isle.
I don't know if you will believe this, but Simon Cowell's evil powers cannot harm me.
The man who brought you that musical masterwork, Slam Jam by the WWF Superstars, is reaping the benefits of this country's sappy and predictable population. For a man born with Herman Munster's head, he's done ok.
I wish I could say that this was purely a British affliction, but it seems that the whole world has gone bonkers over the guy's latest victim/prospect. Susan Boyle has gone from being some woman who nobody cares to about to being some woman who no one will remember in a year in just a few short weeks.
The reaction to this talented lady has been just as predictable as it is laughable. The media would like us to believe that this is a brave new world for normal-looking people to break into showbiz; something that has never hsappened before. Yeah, and that Paul Potts was a good-looking bastard, wasn't he?
Not that the audience were expecting much from Boyle's audition for ITV Have No Ideas. After all, never in recorded history has there been an ugly virgin who could sing.
Then she sang.
Amanda Holden plugged in the Blub 5000, Piers Morgan almost made a facial expression and Cowell put his hands under his legs to stop himself doing a Mr Burns impression.
He couldn't hide the huge dollar signs in his eyes, however.
Some soppy music played in the background as viewers got a lecture about never laughing at a virgin before she opens her mouth and lo, a star was born.
Cue the aftermath...Screech machine Holden stopped playing to the gallery for a bit to have a sutble dig at this brand new sensation. Of course the woman shouldn't have a make-over, Amanda. Those middle-aged working class women shouldn't ever look there best in case you show up to patronise them.
The rest of the shows so far (from what I could bear to watch) have seen Ant & Dec be entertaining, while the rest remains a clip show of freaks and starry-eyed wannabes desperate for Cowell to take them under his cloak, sorry, wing.
Sign me up, Beelzebub - your son's nicking all the cash.
I have a talent; a wonderful ability that sets me apart from a chuffing great chunk of the people of this septic isle.
I don't know if you will believe this, but Simon Cowell's evil powers cannot harm me.
The man who brought you that musical masterwork, Slam Jam by the WWF Superstars, is reaping the benefits of this country's sappy and predictable population. For a man born with Herman Munster's head, he's done ok.
I wish I could say that this was purely a British affliction, but it seems that the whole world has gone bonkers over the guy's latest victim/prospect. Susan Boyle has gone from being some woman who nobody cares to about to being some woman who no one will remember in a year in just a few short weeks.
The reaction to this talented lady has been just as predictable as it is laughable. The media would like us to believe that this is a brave new world for normal-looking people to break into showbiz; something that has never hsappened before. Yeah, and that Paul Potts was a good-looking bastard, wasn't he?
Not that the audience were expecting much from Boyle's audition for ITV Have No Ideas. After all, never in recorded history has there been an ugly virgin who could sing.
Then she sang.
Amanda Holden plugged in the Blub 5000, Piers Morgan almost made a facial expression and Cowell put his hands under his legs to stop himself doing a Mr Burns impression.
He couldn't hide the huge dollar signs in his eyes, however.
Some soppy music played in the background as viewers got a lecture about never laughing at a virgin before she opens her mouth and lo, a star was born.
Cue the aftermath...Screech machine Holden stopped playing to the gallery for a bit to have a sutble dig at this brand new sensation. Of course the woman shouldn't have a make-over, Amanda. Those middle-aged working class women shouldn't ever look there best in case you show up to patronise them.
The rest of the shows so far (from what I could bear to watch) have seen Ant & Dec be entertaining, while the rest remains a clip show of freaks and starry-eyed wannabes desperate for Cowell to take them under his cloak, sorry, wing.
Sign me up, Beelzebub - your son's nicking all the cash.
Seriously?
As someone who often can't walk through a door without coming back and doing it again several times, I know a crazy and pointless activity when I see one.
If you believe in a talking snake, you'll be on my wavelength. Not that I think that aliens are sending me evil thoughts through my microwave or anything.
Hide the tin foil just in case...
Its seems to me that if you are spending huge chunks of your time on this planet worrying whether or not your ghost will get to do the electric slide with the Almighty one day, you could be doing something more valuable with your time.
Religion looks to me like a very ancient form of OCD - your do stuff that the rational part of your brain never would do in a million years, just in case. If someone in a robe and a natty pair of sandles told you to worship Neil the Ever-Loving Man-Fish or you will drown in the whirlpools of Lleh for all eternity, would you hand him some cash for the collection plate and arrange to meet on Sunday?
I would, but only if I'd not been taking my pills and even then, I'd think twice. What is it about religion that prevents it from the slightest bit of questioning?
Personally, I have more than enough on my plate trying not to upset my biro in case my parents die, without heaping the baby Jebus on for good measure.
If you believe in a talking snake, you'll be on my wavelength. Not that I think that aliens are sending me evil thoughts through my microwave or anything.
Hide the tin foil just in case...
Its seems to me that if you are spending huge chunks of your time on this planet worrying whether or not your ghost will get to do the electric slide with the Almighty one day, you could be doing something more valuable with your time.
Religion looks to me like a very ancient form of OCD - your do stuff that the rational part of your brain never would do in a million years, just in case. If someone in a robe and a natty pair of sandles told you to worship Neil the Ever-Loving Man-Fish or you will drown in the whirlpools of Lleh for all eternity, would you hand him some cash for the collection plate and arrange to meet on Sunday?
I would, but only if I'd not been taking my pills and even then, I'd think twice. What is it about religion that prevents it from the slightest bit of questioning?
Personally, I have more than enough on my plate trying not to upset my biro in case my parents die, without heaping the baby Jebus on for good measure.
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