Wednesday, January 31, 2007


Panic on the streets of... Arggghhhhhh!!!

So Levy was nicked when he returned to the police station as part of his bail terms. Now that is class, isn't it? Yates of the Yard stays exactly where he is and his lordship comes to him. No early morning starts, no sore shoulder from busting down doors... lovely stuff.

Of course, it was a very different matter in Birmingham where early door kicking parties were very much the done thing this morning. We hear now that nine people have been arrested as part of these terror raids with Sky reporting a plot to behead a British Muslim serviceman. Many amateur conspiracy theorists are saying how very convenient it is the very morning after Levy's arrest.

Well, the amateurs would say that... we pro's see things a little differently.

I think you'll find that these terror raids were a normal part of an ongoinging investigation carried out by Police and security services; well it says so here anyway.

The real news is elsewhere.

The death of Sidney Sheldon?
R'n'B singer Brandy sued by the family of someone who died in a car crash she initiated.
Aardman split from Dreamworks.

Here is the real hand of Government spin. For decades now the British government has been controlling the World's entertainment business in order to divert attention from their nefarious doings. Want proof? Fine.

On the 5th August 1966 the British Government released 'Revolver' an album written and recorded in Whitehall by senior civil servants and attributed to The Beatles. Is it a coincidence that only three days before on the 2nd the Spanish Government had forbidden British military flights from overflying Spain?

How about this?

October 9th 1975 - The British Government, led by Harold Wilson, create Saturday Night Live and broadcast it across America. This first show, presented by George Carlin, distracts the the UK from the explosion, two days previous, of a bomb outside Green Park Station. The IRA responds by piloting it's own sketched-based comedy show which failed to get commisioned by the BBC.

What more proof do you people need? It's all there. Check if you don't believe me!



So you wanted more proof after all, eh? Well here you go! The Beautiful South have split after 19 years. Coincidence? Don't be ridiculous.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007


Closer than you think

So Levy has been arrested for a second time. It just keeps getting closer doesn't it? Christ I hope I don't get fingered in all this. Well not by the police anyway.


Competition time

If anyone can come up with a piece of news less interesting that the news that The Police are reforming for the Grammy awards I will personally play the rusty trombone on Sting until one of us passes out.


You love me! You really love me!

"Thank you, thank you. Please sit down. Please.
(Pause as audience takes it's seat)
Thank you so much for this award; it means such a great deal. When I was a little boy growing up on our farm in Rhodesia, I would summon our slaves around me and would tell them I would one day be a huge film star, a towering presence on the stage, and be the author of a top-selling novel. The servants would shuffle around and communicate to one another in their own language, occasionally spitting towards me as a sign of respect. They loved me, but not as much as the members of the academy who voted for me to win this prize.
(More applause).
Whilst clearly this award is solely for me and my own efforts I would like to point out that I am moderately assisted in my endeavours by some skilled technicians who make me look moderately better than I already am. I am, of course, talking about my hairdresser. I look lustrous and thick and that is down to you Gianni, wherever you are.
(Gentle applause)
Thank you. There are those that say "Awards mean nothing. They are trinkets for fools who crave acceptance because they are dead inside." Those people have never one an award. I have and I think it's the greatest thing that will ever happen to me. Mind you, I thought that when I took part in that orgy with Sophia Loren but that is a distant second now. Oh! I see the band leader revving up; I better be quick. Let me just say that if this means half as much to you as it does to me then it probably means twice as much to those watching as it could ever mean to those of us in the room. I think Oscar Wilde put it best. Good night."

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Monday, January 29, 2007


Fatherly advise

If you are ever given the opportunity to strike a Hollywood legend, take it. These instances are fleeting, some would say rare, and if ignored will be lost forever to the winds of time like your late wife's ashes when you drop the urn during a misjudged illustration of circus skills (her mother was not impressed). Anyway, if an A-lister offers you his or her chin, crack it. I didn't and I regret it to this day.

Kirk Douglas had been a friend by association since he had lent David (Niven) his yacht 'The Laughing Bustard'. David, his wife Hjördis and I took a whistle stop tour around the Carribean during the Summer of 1956. It was a joyful two weeks of stolen moments beneath the blue sky as Nivers and I crept into each others arms and hearts. Upon our return to Los Angeles we were met by the angry face of Kirk Douglas.

Apparently some snot-faced little shit down Grenada way had spotted a shifty looking gentleman moving packages of what he described as "heroin" onto 'The Bustard' and had informed the constabulary. The matter was reported to the LA police who paid Mr Douglas a visit and questioned him about his movements. Kirk was livid and had marched down to the harbour to confront us.

He pinioned Nivers to a boathouse wall and demanded an explanation; the man was uncontrollable. As he spat his abuse at poor David his inviting chin bobbed up and down. I could easily reach it and knock him clean out. I would be a hero. A hero. Alas I did not strike out but merely slunk off to drown my sorrows.

I always regretted not hitting Kirk. His combination of good looks, acting talent, genuine charm and a moral conscience made him insufferably smug. David, of course, had nothing to do with any heroin and he was very alarmed by the altercation at the boatyard. Two years ago I got a second chance to strike Kirk Douglas and knew I couldn't not take it. He was being lifted out of a chair by a nurse when I went past him in a car I had hired for a visit to Hollywood and the surrounds. I stopped the car immediately and quick as a flash had my driver smack him to the ground. Hurrah! My foe was finally vanquished.

I did very well out of the heroin as well.

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Read this from the BBC:

"The world's oldest person, Emma Faust Tillman, has died in the US aged 114.
Mrs Tillman, the daughter of former slaves, died "peacefully" on Sunday night, said an official at a nursing home in Hartford, Connecticut.

She only became the world's oldest person last week, after the death of a 115-year-old man in Puerto Rico, the Guinness Book of World Records said."

The World's two oldest people die within a week of each other and no one is in the least suspicious. Something smells very fishy here... of course it could be Mrs Tilman.


Tired... so tired.

Hello kiddies,

What's cooking? I'm ever so tired today. Really very fatigued. Now some of you might think you know why; you might say, "Oh! Mr Goodballoon, you live such a hectic lifestyle which such rich and fabulous friends that you're probably tired because you've done lots of cocaine to ease the effects of all the champagne you've quoffed. Your immune system and body-clock are probably in tatters."

You'd be right.

I'm in Los Angeles, California! Oh yeah! I spent the night partying at the Screen Actor's Guild awards. What an event that is; it's the equivilent of The South Bank Show awards and the Variety Club Awards all rolled into one. The big winner was Helen Mirren but I can't help but feel a little sorry for her at these occasions. Every time she wins a gong she has to kiss that dreadful husband of hers. He's no Rod Morgan, I can tell you.

Dame Helen is a woman who could turn even my cancerous old pate. Chesty and sexy and saucy and lovely and scrummy like a lovely, scrummy, chesty, sexy plate of saucy sausages. I think. I never know how to describe women. What should one compliment? The fanny (that's English for vagina)? A man is a much easier thing to say nice things about... watch and learn:

Clint Eastwood is a true gentleman. He is intelligent, interesting, inscrutable and other I words. His performances in High Plains Drifter, Dirty Harry and Star Wars make him one of the World's great film stars. He's a dab-hand behind the camera too. His penis is nearly three inches thick at the base. Mmmmmm.


Friday, January 26, 2007



If I'd known then what I know now I might have paid more attention to Rod Stewart.

A Creme Egg omelette is not quite as creamy as one would expect.

There's nowt so queer as gay folk.

Boredom is the brain's way of letting you know that it's bored.

According to Wet, Wet, Wet "The saddest thing I've ever seen on my TV screen, Was a dying man who died for his dream". The saddest thing I've ever seen on my TV screen was Wet, Wet, Wet.

By making you buy the Daily Mail, God is telling you that it's time to die. Painfully.


John Reid hasn't a chance

Take a look at this man's face:

Have you ever seen a more trustworthy face? If that man commited a murder and they had a line-up it would be populated by seven Father Christmases and him, and he'd walk away a free man.

He is Rod Morgan and he has just resigned as the head of the Youth Justice Board of England and Wales. In a 'Newsnight' interview he says that the youth justice system, like the adult justice system, has been swamped by minor cases that had previously been dealt with informally. He points at a 26% increase in the number of young people and children that have entered the system in the last three years. It is yet more pressure on the laughable Dr John "toughboy" Reid.

Look at Rod's face again. Look at him. Look at him. Mmmmmmmmmmmm...


Cash for computers

This cash for honours investigation is a very interesting affair. It's taking all kinds of twists and turns as it creeps toward the Prime Minister's office. Here is a follow up piece of information rearding the "second computer system" story form last night... all a bit beyond me really. I write this blog on paper with a borrowed pencil and get children to type it for me. They love me and would do anything for me Goodballoon is a prathead!!!

E-maily Lotus Notey thing c/o Guido Fawkes

Thursday, January 25, 2007


Quick question

If you were the producer of a popular reality television programme that had run into a little bit of difficulty over racist comments by one of your contributors, would you:

a) Stand by your decision to select said candidate saying that his or her opinions are representative of a section of society.

b) Scrap the series so as not to cause any more offence to the viewing public.

c) Stage and shoot new sequences with a black crew member posing as a candidate, then edit them into your remaining programmes in order to make it look like said contestant learns from the experience and changes their mind.

I know what I would do, but then again I'm not a TV big-nob so what do I know?


This may be bollocks...

...but if it isn't then the end of the Blair-era may be a very large step closer.

Here is the link!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Stuff it all in your A

It is astonishing just how boring humping and snorting can be. I've been so wealthy and so debauched for so long that I can't remember the last time I was truly excited... oh, hold on! It was 1987 and I'd just given Drew Barrymore her first line of cocaine. There's nothing like seeing a child star corrupted before your very eyes to quicken the heart and gladden the soul. Anyway, that's all I ever did with Drew; I'm not a complete pervert you know.

Ricky Gervais' strange website (it seems official and unofficial all at the same time, and not in a good way) is reporting that the American version of The Office could be about to earn him and Stephen Merchant $245,000,000 each. Apparently that is what Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld made when 'Seinfeld' was syndicated. I don't know what to say. Look at that number again. Go on, I'll wait. What are you thinking? Does it rhyme with "fucking hell"? Thought so.

It's good to see that finally the Catholic Church and the Anglican Church had found an area where they can get along, where they see eye-to-eye. I'm talking of their glorious union in the face of increasing rights for gay people. If only homo's had been around when The Troubles were kicking off, eh? Everyone could have warmed their cockles on the glorious site of a gaylord being shot through the kneecap rather than the horrible sectarianism we've been putting up with all these years. As long as it wasn't me. They could have had Nivers; he could have been a martyr, like Jesus.

Speaking of which...

The Sun has been crapping on like a big crap dispenser (Vernon Kaye) about Tom Cruise purportedly being a Christ figure to The Church of Scientology. A source close to Cruise (Cruise) said,

“Tom has been told he is Scientology’s Christ-like figure. Like Christ, he’s been criticised for his views. But future generations will realise he was right.”

Does that mean we get a crucifixion?

Wednesday, January 24, 2007


Sign on

This blog is famous for not being viewed by anyone. Hold on... This blog is not famous for not being viewed by anyone. No one looks at it, no one reads it, no one even realises that it isn't being written by a computer programmed to accurately type the way a Down's syndromed chimp might and yet! Someone left a comment!

After I pasted the letter from the lad down in Guantanamo Bay (is that how you spell it?) into the paunch a young lady called Sara left a comment which you can see for yourself if you scroll down. One of the things she has done is start an online petition to get this lad released and looked after. So far, as of 11.30 on Wednesday night there are eight signatures. I know that the two of you reading this have very little to do so take a stroll here and lend your name to the thing. I know it probably won't do anything, but it's worth a punt for thirty seconds of your time.

Plus it'll make you feel better about all the wanking.


Joy of joys

To make up for my sub-A level rant earlier, here's a funny video. Hurrah!


Awww... bless.

So Little Bush did his thang last night. Exciting, no? I think there is some difficulty here at the deep end of the Atlantic understanding what in God's name is going on with the State of the Union address. The President stalks out and tells Congress (I believe) what's been going down, what will go down and if going down is due to be outlawed. He tells them the Union is strong and er... I don't get it. I understand that it's one of those things that has to be done but does anyone really give a shit? Its like the Queen's speech at the State Opening of Parliament; no one bar a few politicians and their hangers-on (I'm looking at you Nick Robinson) give a shit what is said 'cos it almost never resembles anything we see in reality or anything likely to happen.

The State of the Union is even more ridiculous because America doesn't really look very united from outside it's borders. Fifty-something different states all with differing laws, ages of consent and everything else. It's a fucking nutjob of a place that is nigh-on impossible to govern, but hey! It's not my nutjob, so what do I matter.

Georgey-Boy asked for a chance to get things right in Iraq, which is quite funny. I can't bothered to explain why. He also said:

"Many in this chamber understand that America must not fail in Iraq - because you understand that the consequences of failure would be grievous and far reaching."

I like this line. I like the little bit of flattery at the beginning; it's the Presidential equivilent of saying "A clever girl like you doesn't need me to explain..." I can imagine the rows of self-important pricks getting all swoony and batting their eyelids. He then says the bit about failure and being grievious and far-reaching. Magic.

30,000 civilians dead in 2006. 3,000 US servicemen dead. 120 UK servicemen dead. The London bombings. The Madrid bombings. All because we invaded Iraq. All because Bush and his buddies are bad men. All because Blair wanted to be a great man. All because people still voted for The Labour Party at the last election. All because we gave these politicians the benefit of the doubt.

Jesus we're stupid.

Iraq Bodycount website

Tuesday, January 23, 2007


Those nominations in full...

Fucksy, fucksy, fucksy! Ignored again! Oh, Danny Dyer! How I feel your pain. I cannot believe that they've passed up your diabolical mockney schtick once more. When will they learn? Oh the humanity!

So, other than Danny who else will be drowning their Holly-sorrows in a bucket of high-class coke and low-class whores this evening? Well it's good news for Martin Scorsese who can once again turn up at the five hour do only to see Clint Eastwood whip the award out from under his nose for the second time. Also nominated in the Best Director category is Paul Greengrass for United 93. United 93 is not, however, nominated for Best Film. Queer.

Best actor is a mixed-race bag. Two black chaps, two white chaps and Peter O'Toole who has been dead for 15 months.

Best actress is the same list as last year.

It looks like the Jews are still to let Mel Gibson off the hook as Acapulco only got a make-up nomination. It won't win. That award will go to whoever can make Penelope Cruz not look like a duck.

Take a look at the list of nominations here and marvel at how the two screenplay categories are right at the bottom of the page below EVERYTHING!

Why don't they award the screenwriters a shit and be done with it?

Friday, January 19, 2007


I love this so much...

This is a comment from the jump the shark website (find it yourself); taken from the thread on the (astoundingly good) American version of The Office which, inevitably, became a Anti-Britain/Anti-US turd toss. Enjoy:

"this show never jumped anything. And how dare british people compare their garbage humor to american humor. Not only are americans funnier but we are better looking...let's face it british humor is terrible, they still hang on benny hill for savior (PUKE) and hate to say it but british people are disturbing looking, example- Austin Powers. Here is an invention it is called personal hygiene. Dwight is maybe the funniest character on tv...he kills me every second i see him on tv, and steve carrell is hilarious. And pam if you read this cocoa loves you- tbone for life."

You're clever enough for me not to have to go into a deep line-by-line analysis of this but things to look out for include:

- The complete lack of capital letters.
- The confusion of fictional Englishman Austin Powers for a real Englishman.
- "tbone for life."


You can't say that!

Isaiah Washington can't get a break.
"Isaiah who?" you say.
"Isaiah Washington," I repeat. "He plays one of the lead roles in the television programme 'Grey's Anatomy. It's not very good."
"What's gone on?" you utter, entirely ignorant of the man's existence or his supposed bad luck.
"I'll tell you," I say. "He was alleged to have referred to co-star TR Knight as a 'faggot', a claim he has steadfastly denied."
"Well, in denying that he called Mr knight a 'faggot' he used the word 'faggot'. He has now been attacked by various groups such as the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation for using the word to deny using the word. He has since apologised."
"Mr Goodballoon, at the risk of you talking for any longer, I must ask 'What is your point?'" you cry.
"Well, I think it's a bit rum for a man to be criticised for using a word that he is denying having used in a wholly separate context. It a got me thinking about the current use of some words..."
"I'm sorry, I must be leaving." You say departing.
"Very well, I shall turn this conversation into a soliloquy:
I have noticed, of late, a most worrying trend,
Amongst them and us, foe and friend.
Our newscasters report, Too much party line,
Taking word for word, All of the time.
Escalations and surges, Insurgents and death,
One must look between the lines, whilst meeting the press."

God, that was tiring. Anyway, what I was trying to say was that the way language is being used on television and in the press at the moment has caused me concern. The term 'insurgent' is used constantly for those opposing the US-led forces in Iraq. Now, whilst the term is correct it carries with it an entirely different set of meanings than the word 'revolutionary' which a great many people, (particularly in the USA) revel in. We call them 'insurgents' 'cos they aren't us and if they aren't us then they must be the bad guy, right?

We also have the case where a few sections of the press refer to Bush's escalation in Iraq as a 'surge'. A 'surge' is not a military term; if you are raising troop numbers by 20,000 that is an escalation. Like in Vietnam.

One other strange connection of words I heard this morning was the phrase (repeated ad infinitum) 'multicultural, tolerant society'. Again, I see the point; we are a nation whose ambition is to reach a stage where, provided you break no laws, you are free to behave as you wish. The strange aspect of this was that it was being used to refer to people of an ethnic minority and, as such, the idea of 'tolerating' seemed strangely old fashioned and not a little offensive. It creates a picture of 'putting up with' rather than embracing, welcoming or, dare I say it, assuming other ideas and traditions.

I hope I have shown through my sloppy spelling, diabolical grammer and split-infinitives, is that our language is a precise, poetic, evolving creation that can dazzle and inspire. As an evolutionary body it is constantly adapting to it's everyday uses so when we put up with the inane ramblings and second-rate minds of those we find on Sky News, Breakfast or ITV as a whole, we allow a little piece of that language to die and a new less articulate piece to spring up. Don't put up with it. If you do, they win; their point will be made without their having to make it themselves and then you'll feel like a right bunch of retards.

Can I say that?

Thursday, January 18, 2007


A letter from Peter Hain


Thanks for taking this moment to spend some time with me in order for me to fully... er... explain something I need to get off of my chest.

The more observant of you may remember that, a short while ago, I took part in a vote in Parliament to aid the Americans in a pre-emptive attack on Iraq. The number-crunchers out there will possibly also remember that I was a member of the cabinet that put the issue to Parliament in the first place. Whilst I stick by the decision to, quite irrationally, assist the Americans in their noble, murderous crusade it has now become clear to me that the American's brave actions, and therefore ours, were entirely misguided and have opened a Pandora's box of bloodshed and mayhem that will take all of our children's lifetimes to put right.

Many of you, unlike us in cabinet or the comedian Ben Elton, were quite aware that the intelligence we had invented was quite nonsensical. You saw through it as we should have done. You realised it was false and highly improbable. You marched in your hundreds of thousands against it and the war whilst we warned of Mr Hussain's potential lethality. We were very, very silly. Everybody who was in cabinet at the time (barring ex-Foreign Minister Robin Cook) believed every bloody word of it. God bless us, we were dopey, weren't we? Sorry about that.

With the impending Deputy Leadership contest in the Labour Party it has come time for me and other mercenary, turncoat ministers like me to try to appear more human, more intelligent, more loving than the others. I hope that by pointing at the Americans and shouting "Spaz!" I have put enough light between myself and the other candidates so that those of you eligible to vote for me will do so in your hundreds.

That's all. Thanks a lot for reading this and please remember it was the Americans that made us do it. We didn't want to. Honest.

Lots of love,

Peter x


He should be thankful they gave him two buckets

From a letter in the LA Times from Jumah al-Dossari, a prisoner at Guantanamo Bay:

"I am writing from the darkness of the U.S. detention camp at Guantanamo in the hope that I can make our voices heard by the world. My hand quivers as I hold the pen.

In January 2002, I was picked up in Pakistan, blindfolded, shackled, drugged and loaded onto a plane flown to Cuba. When we got off the plane in Guantanamo, we did not know where we were. They took us to Camp X-Ray and locked us in cages with two buckets — one empty and one filled with water. We were to urinate in one and wash in the other.

At Guantanamo, soldiers have assaulted me, placed me in solitary confinement, threatened to kill me, threatened to kill my daughter and told me I will stay in Cuba for the rest of my life. They have deprived me of sleep, forced me to listen to extremely loud music and shined intense lights in my face. They have placed me in cold rooms for hours without food, drink or the ability to go to the bathroom or wash for prayers. They have wrapped me in the Israeli flag and told me there is a holy war between the Cross and the Star of David on one hand and the Crescent on the other. They have beaten me unconscious.

What I write here is not what my imagination fancies or my insanity dictates. These are verifiable facts witnessed by other detainees, representatives of the Red Cross, interrogators and translators.

During the first few years at Guantanamo, I was interrogated many times. My interrogators told me that they wanted me to admit that I am from Al Qaeda and that I was involved in the terrorist attacks on the United States. I told them that I have no connection to what they described. I am not a member of Al Qaeda. I did not encourage anyone to go fight for Al Qaeda. Al Qaeda and Osama bin Laden have done nothing but kill and denigrate a religion. I never fought, and I never carried a weapon. I like the United States, and I am not an enemy. I have lived in the United States, and I wanted to become a citizen.

I know that the soldiers who did bad things to me represent themselves, not the United States. And I have to say that not all American soldiers stationed in Cuba tortured us or mistreated us. There were soldiers who treated us very humanely. Some even cried when they witnessed our dire conditions. Once, in Camp Delta, a soldier apologized to me and offered me hot chocolate and cookies. When I thanked him, he said, "I do not need you to thank me." I include this because I do not want readers to think that I fault all Americans.

But, why, after five years, is there no conclusion to the situation at Guantanamo? For how long will fathers, mothers, wives, siblings and children cry for their imprisoned loved ones? For how long will my daughter have to ask about my return? The answers can only be found with the fair-minded people of America.

I would rather die than stay here forever, and I have tried to commit suicide many times. The purpose of Guantanamo is to destroy people, and I have been destroyed. I am hopeless because our voices are not heard from the depths of the detention center.

If I die, please remember that there was a human being named Jumah at Guantanamo whose beliefs, dignity and humanity were abused. Please remember that there are hundreds of detainees at Guantanamo suffering the same misfortune. They have not been charged with any crimes. They have not been accused of taking any action against the United States.

Show the world the letters I gave you. Let the world read them. Let the world know the agony of the detainees in Cuba."



Toby Young vomited out 1,500 words for The Guardian on Tuesday about Victoria and David Beckham's move to Los Angeles. Amongst his various pieces of advice for the couple was this golden nugget:

"Never read the trade press in public

It's a well-known piece of Los Angeles lore that you can always spot the out-of-towners because they're the ones reading Variety and the Hollywood Reporter in public. Out-of-towners are under the impression that the trades carry all sorts of interesting information about showbusiness - stock quotes, reviews, box-office figures, etc - and that reading them in public will make them look like keen-eyed industry veterans.

The only reason people actually employed in the entertainment business read the trades is to find out how much their competitors are being paid. That's why people read them in private - because discovering this information is nearly always accompanied by a string of expletives."

In what way is that sackful of shite going to help anyone? Clearly it will have zero effect on Mr and Mrs Beckham as they go about their lives earning ludicrous amounts of money by playing football and shopping, the likelihood of my moving to LA and attempting to become a bigshot is getting slimmer by the minute as I drink and shit my way to mid-life mediocrity, and I should imagine that The Guardian only loses readers by putting the pug-nosed, shiny-pated, fat-cheeked, no-mark, heavily-hyphonated face of Toby "shitting" Young on it's byline.

I could be wrong though.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007


Award me an award for this tired award thing

Well, here we are at the beginning of the "awards season" (named after Awas the Greek god of self-congratulation) and what better way to show our joy at this special time than to give out a few awards of our own. So without further ado I give you...

The Goodballoon Awards 2007 (although primarily they will be looking at events of 2006)

First up, the red carpet!
Delivered at 3.14 by two men from Allied carpets this pillarbox red delight is a real sight for sore eyes. She is 15 feet wide and a punishing 23 feet long making her easily the biggest rug this side of Terry Wogan (boom boom). Christ! I'm sorry.

First award tonight is for Best use of hypnotism to make people think your film is better than it is. The nominations are:

Little Miss Sunshine

And the winner is... Borat. The panel congratulated the makers of the film on their ability to convince people that they were watching something new rather than an 80 minute edition of Sascha Baron Cohen's television programme. Well done.

Next up: Best keeping an eye on the horizon award.
This special award is given by the panel to the person or persons that they believe has given the greatest amount of thought on what the future may hold and how they may improve it. The nominations are:

Apple, inc - For their iPhone
Al Gore - For his environmental film 'An unfortunate series of events involving carbon emissions.'
Tony Blair - For the Blair Foundation

And the winner is... Tony Blair. Mr Blair has spent a great deal of time considering how to salvage something from the disaster that is his premiership of the United Kingdom. Having been jointly responsible (along with every other prick who voted for him in and his party in the last General Election) for 35,000 deaths last year Mr Blair has decided to start a charitible foundation like Bill Clinton's in order to make us like him again. Wealthy businessmen; expect a tap on the shoulder from Mikey Levy sometime in the next year.

Time for one more award before the end of part one and that is The worst band there has ever been. The nominations for this are...

The Red Hot Chilli Peppers.

see you after the break.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007



There is a place in Britain where nothing happens. There is a place in every town in England where no bad deed is reported. There is a place in your home where nothing more serious than Andy Murray's latest graceful exit from a tournament is discussed. Where is this place? Whence is this wonderous spot where the World outside ceases to exist and where only the cosiest, loveliest news will doodle-do? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Breakfast on BBC1.

For the love of God have you ever seen anything quite so inane in your entire miserable, mugger-dodging life? Smug, overpaid and overfed (I'm looking at you Declan)presenter-clones all out-Buerking each other to try and be the most tearsoaked and lovelorn.

It is 12.23pm at the moment and their web-page features a winter fuel campaign for the elderly, something about Britain's disappearing high streets and one of fat Declan's things on ISAs. THAT IS NOT NEWS. THAT IS BLUE PETER FOR CARING SIXTH-FORMERS. And if I see one more trumped-up advert for a BBC programme disguised as a news item I will shit myself or someone very close to me.

The front-page of today's Guardian carried an interesting story about a rift between MI6 boss Sir John Scarlett (you remember him) and the Government, and in particular Blair and Goldsmith. The piece included pieces of information that, if proven to be true could mean that Goldsmith misrepresented himself to the House of Lords and would put Blair in yet another difficult position. Any mention on the BBC's morning news programme after 8.00am? My eye, there was. Instead we got their resident sports-prick to pretend to fall over a hurdle for ten minutes. Twat.

It makes me angry each and every morning and yet I continue to tune in. Why? Because it's the BBC. Let that sink in. The BBC. That used to mean more than an interview with an ex-cricketer who hasn't won a pro-celebrity ballroom dancing competition.

As you can tell I am not a fan. It makes me angry, but I'll tell you what makes me angrier: I'll bet Dermot Murnaghan still calls himself a journalist. He's not fit to lick Jon Snow's high heels (and that's another story you won't see tomorrow morning).



"Karma Police,
Arrest this man,
He talks in maths."

Which can be unbelievably distracting when you can't get an algebraic equation to rationalise. Bastard.

Saturday, January 13, 2007


I'm with this guy...

Friday, January 12, 2007


My time as a star!

I have, from time to time to thyme, flirted with a certain bitch-slut mistress called Madame Celebrity. As anyone who has been on Big Brother, The X Factor or Crimewatch will attest it is not always the blow-job, smack party that it's cracked up to be.
In the mid 1980's I had a medium-sized part in a Hollywood movie which paid a great deal of money for the old rope I had on offer (and offer it I did). Alas, I realised far too late that part of the Devil deal I entered into meant doing the publicity circuit to 'plug' the film. One of the final stops on our tour de farce (clever, oui?) was on David Letterman's programme. Here is a transcript:

My second guest tonight is... well he's a wonderful actor. A really great British actor from... er... London. He's starring in this great new movie that's out in theaters next week. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Jasper Goodballoon.

Goodballoon walks out to some applause and a dinner-jazz version of 99 Red balloons.

Jasper, welcome to the show.

Thank you for having me.

Now your in this... let me get this straight... you're in this movie 'Curtis and Bing', is that right?

Yes. I play Dr. Lancifer, the kindly old professor who helps young Curtis and his dog bing to defeat the evil Mr. Humbles. It's a...

Now, let me get this straight, you are a professor. Is that right?

In the film.

Yes. Of course.(Pause) Are you a professor in real life?

No, I'm an actor and socialite.

Socialite. Like a Communist.

No. I hate Communists.

A whoop comes from the audience. Jasper, unused to American symbols of celebration and agreement, takes this as a sign of aggression.

What? What's wrong with you people?

They were showing their appreciation.

Of what?

At the fact that you are not a fan of Communism.

Goodballoon (nervous):

So the film 'Curtis and Bing'...

Yes. It's an exciting action-adventure with...

Do we have a clip?

Sorry, I hadn't finished.

Letterman (mock English accent):
Yeeewww haaarrrdddn'ttt feennissshhheddddd?

What are you doing?

Letterman (mock English):
Woottt aarrrrreeee yeeeewww dduuuiiiinnnggg?

Try this in that accent: You.




Easy one. "A"



Letterman (quietly):
What is this? A bit?

What are you whispering to me? Leave me alone you gap-toothed prat! God, this is too much.

Letterman gives a nervous laugh. He reaches over and sniffs the mug that is in front of Jasper

Letterman (calling off):
Okay, can we have more water than whisky next time.

Is that it? Is that the best you can do? Stuck without eight writers and a cue-card, are you? Jesus! You don't get this with Russell Harty. He's always a pr*ck. You need a team of fifteen producers to do it.

Okay. We're going to go to an ad whilst we try to squeeze some of the juice out of Mr Goodballoon. Don't go away.


The interview finished there and I was shoved out of their studio.

Upon release my part had been cut to almost nothing. My sole remaining line was "Curtis, you are wise beyond your years. As are you Bing."

I am not allowed into America during election years.



When you have been involved in Government lies at the highest level, and who amongst us can say we haven't, then certain developments can cause no amount of consternation. One such cloud on the horizon is this website:

It appears that a cabal of crazed loons wants to release all of the secret goings on of Government and big business so that you, the general public (or the "firewood" as you are known on Whitehall) can see for yourself what we've been up to.

I find the whole idea terrifying; the prospect of you discovering that it was MI6 and the CIA who assasinated John Lennon, or that the Tsunami of two years ago was caused by the US Navy as a show of strength to the 'axis of evil' states, or even that I personally decided the time of the 9/11 attacks to make best use of morning news coverage, is absolutely appalling.

Looking back, I can't help but feel that this post may not have worked as I would have hoped.

Thursday, January 11, 2007





Joe Eszterhas, screenwriter of Basic Instinct, Sliver and Showgirls to name but three tit-taculars, has written a tell-all tale on Hollywood. The book's title is:

'The Devil's guide to Hollywood: The screenwriter as God!'

Catchy, no?

I was intrigued by what this book could offer so I turned to the trusty Amazon review section. "Oh no!" I cried. It isn't very good, well at least not according to Jon Agee:

"This is not a book, but a collection of quotes, tidbits, random thoughts and praise of the author. It is not cohesive. It has no direction, despite the promises of the misleading chapter titles. It is self-indulgent. Unless you are a screenwriter or intrigued of all things Hollywood, you will not finish it."


Wednesday, January 10, 2007


Well, yes...

From today's Guardian:

"A Christian snuff movie that links blood with salvation

Substitute the Mayan temples for Jewish ones and Mel Gibson's latest film is as anti-semitic as The Passion of the Christ"

Brilliant! This makes an enormous amount of sense. Taking the theory to it's logical conclusion, if you substitute my nuts for swiss cheese then I'm a fucking fondue. Thank you The vicar of Putney.


Saddam RIP

I'd like to add my reaction to the hanging of a man who, at one time or another, I've called friend. Old Saddam has made his mistakes over the years; no one wanted the kurds dead less than he did, but an uprising is an uprising (or insurgency as we're calling it these days) and you can't allow these things to stand. He was found guilty of causing the deaths of 148 people... how many of us can say, hand on heart, that our own actions haven't had similar outcomes? The CEOs of most train operating companies would be delighted with figures like that. What do we expect from a tyrant? Thank you notes and bank holidays? The position comes with a job description and Saddam filled the position with honour. I do not think he should have hung.

However, I am completely in favour with the manner in which he was hung. Lively, exciting, bit of banter with the audience... marvellous. So glad my cameraman caught it all so clearly.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007


Good advice

Hello Betsey?

How are you? Good New Year and that? I should surely hope so. I began 2007 as I had finished 2006 (obviously) by having my heart restarted by a deeply troubled homosexual called Martin who has spent his life purposefully avoiding the perfectly natural male genitalia to mouth collision his body craves. Shame. Anyway, it was a blast and much of the pain has subsided so I'll just continue like it didn't happen.

I haven't got much else to tell... the health service in this country remains an absolute joy. I'm not being sarcastic, I love it. Who wouldn't? Disease, degradation, dysentry; it's all so Crimean. Martin aside, Florence Nightingale was most definitely missing, although Dr Hamilton was a marvellous Scotch woman (she may have been a male but I couldn't see beyond the end of my hallucinatory jam-gun. I assume it was a hallucination; I haven't been to an NHS hospital for a while and I don't know if they give you jam-guns as standard). I'd really just like to give my thanks to everyone for making my eyebrow lift as exciting as could be.

I'll come up with something a little more au current anon,


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