Just remember, most British people hold the French in disdain. They came over in 1066, killed our rightful king, Harold, and gave us new words for pig and cow. There’s also the delightful dichotomy of the French Surrender Monkeys and the fabulous and brave French Resistance.
He built a machine specifically to Fart at France. Across the English Channel (or la Manche, the sleeve, which is what the French call it) which is where only 22 miles of water separate us from the French.
I’ve just found the ideal vehicle for riding out the zombie apocalypse…
However…
The Terra Wind can be custom designed to fit virtually any decor with floor plans, entertainment systems, elcetronics, cabintry, floor coverings, furniture, paint, and graphics that can be tailored to suit individual needs.
Price is dependent on the options choosen. The Terra Wind shown is approximately $1.2 million.
Damn, it was looking so good too. But that price is for teak cabinets, marble floor and a whirlpool bath/shower combo. Maybe I could get a cheaper one…
(originally posted on 5 May 2008. Replacing the videos, due to Vox closure, and updating because of – fuck it – two deaths.)
Break up songs. Ambiguous, QotD, ambiguous.
Songs about the heartbreak of losing love?
Songs about how much of a bitch she was, the shit he did, how it ain’t your fault?
Songs that say Fuck You to the pain?
Surely, dear god, you did not want me to pick the five songs that I wanted to be playing, in the background, of that plush restaurant. You know, the one you took me to, and I was all excited because I thought it was gonna be, like, down on one knee ring-time and the waiter took our orders and we had champagne – champagne! – and then you told me it wasn’t me, it was you, and you needed space, and a little time to think and don’t cry and don’t be upset…
In no particular order, here are five six songs I feel cover the spectrum of break up.
Oh Amy. You have had the voice of an angel and the habits of – well, bad ones.
You went back to what you knew So far removed from all that we went through And I tread a troubled track My odds are stacked I’ll go back to black
A troubled track indeed. I hope you survives to make more records of angst and pain. Well, damn. I still miss the fact no more music from Ms Winehouse.
I like Mike Skinner. He can write some real stonking good music.
Then he turns out this beautiful ballad about when love ends, when She says goodbye.
Dry your eyes mate I know it’s hard to take but her mind has been made up There’s plenty more fish in the sea Dry your eyes mate I know you want to make her see how much this pain hurts But you’ve got to walk away now It’s over
Oddly, in the video the person delivering this homily is his dog.
He says I need a little time. And she says Piss off.
Or words to that effect.
I’ve had a little time to find the truth
Now I’ve had a little room to check what’s wrong
I’ve had a little time and I still love you
I’ve had a little
You had a little time and you had a little fun
Didn’t you, didn’t you
While you had yours do you think I had none
Do you, do you
The freedom that you wanted bad
Is yours for good I hope you’re glad
A twist in the tail. A satisfying one.
A Fuck You song with real attitude.
Tell that boy to leave. Right now. And don’t pull any punches, either – he’ll just get the wrong idea.
To the left
To the left
Everything you own in the box to the left
In the closet that’s my stuff
Yes if I bought it nigga please don’t touch
And keep talking that mess, that’s fine
But could you walk and talk at the same time
And it’s my my name that is on that Jag
So remove your bags
Let me call you a cab.
Whitney, Whitney. If only you could follow had followed your own advice.
It’s not right but it’s OK I’m gonna make it anyway Pack your bags up and leave Don’t you dare come running back to me It’s not right but it’s OK I’m gonna make it anyway Close the door behind you Leave your key I’d rather be alone than unhappy
(yes, I know that’s a Thunderpuss remix. No, I have no idea why they are called Thunderpuss. They just are, And, fuck, Whitney can could sing when she wanted to)
And how could I end a post on Break Up Songs without this one. The classic. One New Years Eve, in a crowded pub, this came on and, with very little hesitation, every woman there stood and sang along. Solidarity. This is the song you play when you have just split with him, and you and your girl friends are sitting there, eating the comfort food of choice, drinking cheap wine, and calling him a bastard.
With reference to the recent QotD – what album/s do you have that you thing “Whoa – how many years” when you realise how old it is?
For me it’s Jagged Little Pill – has it really been 11 17 years since we first heard this?*
I mean, I know Dark Side of the Moon is old, so when I realise it was released in 1973 (and I bought it new, goddam it!) it seems right. But it feels as though it was only last year that the lyrics from almost every song on Jagged wove themselves into my brain and I was playing the CD two or three times every days for months.
And the damning thing is, I just went to check the release date. And I saw 1995. And I thought, Hey that’s not that … oh. Yes it is!
The Icelandic Phallological Museum is probably the only museum in the world to contain a collection of phallic specimens belonging to all the various types of mammal found in a single country.
Phallology is an ancient science which, until recent years, has received very little attention in Iceland, except as a borderline field of study in other academic disciplines such as history, art, psychology, literature and other artistic fields like music and ballet. .
Now, thanks to The Icelandic Phallological Museum, it is finally possible for individuals to undertake serious study into the field of phallology in an organized, scientific fashion. .
In addition to the biological section of the museum, visitors can view the collection of about one hundred artistic oddments and other practical utensils related to the museum´s chosen theme. ..
In a new study, researchers used microscopes to peer inside affected ants and see how the infection progresses. The team found that the growing fungus slowly fills the ant’s body and head, causing muscles to waste away and muscle fibers to spread apart.
It takes about three to nine days from initial infection for the ants to become completely zombified, the team found. At first, the infected ants go about their normal business, residing in their nests, interacting with other ants, and even feeding.
Read the whole article to be completely freaked. I have read stories like this – scary to find art on the way to becoming reality…
Do you remember your first flight? Where did you go? Why? Submitted by Laurel.
My first flight. London to Bangkok via Moscow flying Aeroflot.
It was 1976. I was 21 and travelling with Little David, who I had been going out with for four years (ever since he rescued me and my possessions from the Scientologists at East Grinstead – but that's a story for another time). 1976, for those of us who remember was a "What A Scorcher" summer (sorry, came over all Sun newspaper-y then, don't know why!). London when hot is unbearable. So we fled the country on Our Round The World Trip. Currency regulatons also meant we could only take £150 out of the coutry with us.
So, with a packpack and £150 each, we set off to explore the world. Arrived Heathrow, checked our bags, then they checked our hand luggage. The flight attendants were memorable in themselves – one was small and delicate and pretty, while the other looked as though she could have been a Russian athlete specialising in Toss The Hammer, or Sling the Shot. Huge does not cover someone as meaty as this lady was. It was she who insisted we all sit at the front of the plane. It was she who refused to help when the zip on my jeans burst.
Flying into Moscow was amazing. I had a window seat and all I could see, for about an hour, was dark green forest interspersed with sparkly blue lakes. Amazing and beautiful. Why do I doubt it is still llike that? It looked pristine and gorgeous.
Waiting at Moscow for our onward flight meant sitting in the barest departure lounge I have ever seen since. The few shops were shut, and the few Russians around were mostly looking askance at a group of young Americans or Canadians (look, I cannot tell the difference over a distance of – oh my god I have just realised – 30 years, ok), some of who had guitars they were playing, and all of whom were singing.
When they called our flight, I was first in the queue. I wanted away from the boring concrete jungle I was trapped in. Got to the desk and say "Bookmole British". Now this was in the days of the deep maroon passport with gold lettering on – very distinctive. Oh no. No Passport for Me. No Passport for Little David either. They had guns and they had them pointed at us. If I say I was shitting myself, I am not exaggerating. I am English and this was 30 years ago – I had never seen a gun in real life and had not expected to get one pointed at me here, of all places. And here was looking more and more like a bad place to have a gun pointed at you.
It was not until three more people from the flight had no passports that the Russion Security decided to check the tiny detail of Are These The Correct Passports for This Flight – thankfully, it appeared I was not going to spend the next few years of my life in a Russian prison.
Arrived at Bangkok tired, dirty and excited to be in such a different part of the world.
And it wasn't until I later, as I went through my handbag (which had been checked at Heathrow, Moscow and Bangkok airports) that I wondered – What is in that film canister?
Nearly shit myself again when I realised it contained a one-ounce lump of cannabis resin, black and potent stuff, which I had meant to give to a friend before I left, but had just forgotten about. Forgotten completely. Which was lucky for me – that prison cell in Moscow was oh so much nearer than I had thought at the time.
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