Thursday, 26 November 2009



...and bouncing.

Kim Woodburn: testicle muncher

That's some quality retching right there.

The Twerp

Click here to read The Twerp. The text is jolly entertaining, but it's the ads that make it great.

Peaches is a fucktard

Braille Playboy

Seriously, it exists. Click here to see.

Domo Darko

Cute, yet dark.

Random tattoos

JuicyPips has featured before, but it's worth a revisit. It rocks.

21 accents

This is really quite impressive.

Toothpaste war face!

Click image to enlarge.


26/11/09 - Ecoranting

The environment. People have been banging on about this quite a lot recently. No doubt you’ve become rather evangelical about green behaviour to some degree, yes? Well done you.
Or rather, well done some of you. Others of you ought to be bloody ashamed of yourselves. You know what I see when I wander through this office? Wastage. Hypocrisy. An inability to fuse the realities of work with the realities of reality. Case in point: the standby situation. Now, there’s no way that you’d leave your TV at home on standby, would you? We’ve all heard the stories – leaving it on standby is basically the same as leaving it on all the time, etc. It costs you money, it uses energy unnecessarily and, most significantly, it’s become a total social taboo. If you went to somebody’s house and spotted that little red LED illuminated on their otherwise inert television, you would immediately judge them. And you’re right to do so. So how come this is entirely different in people’s minds to leaving your monitor on standby when you leave the office?
Strolling through the building first thing in the morning, it’s very, very obvious how many people leave their monitors on standby. To be honest, it’s pretty much everyone.

Worse than that, a lot of people leave their whole computers switched on, which uses a colossal amount of energy. For what, to save a few seconds of boot-up time in the morning? Absurd. Should I start naming names? OK, James Barnes, for example, recently told me he couldn’t even remember his password because he never, ever switches off his computer. (I suspect this is a lie, as computers lock themselves when inactive, but you get the point.) In fact, I won’t name any more names, I don’t want the angry mob to lose focus. Besides, he still owes me a fucking Tassimo.

On the whole, the environmental waters are always doomed to be muddied by ignorance. Look at the Toyota Prius, for example. Only a moron would buy one – they serve as an anti-status symbol, nothing more. For one thing, it has zero eco credibility. The batteries, for example, contain nickel from a mine that has ravaged its surroundings so significantly that NASA use it to test their lunar rovers. There are many, many plastics and complex materials in the Prius, and when you couple that with the fact that they have to be shipped to the UK from Japan (whilst various parts are made in other countries and have to be shipped to Japan first), it transpires that a UK Prius buyer would cause significantly less environmental impact if they bought a Land Rover.
All of this ‘let’s clean up cars and save the world’ business is absolute hogwash anyway. The world’s major emission issues come from shipping, aviation, power stations and livestock – the car is barely significant. With all factors taken into account, owning a cat will give you a larger carbon footprint than owning a car. (And the dust-to-dust footprint of a bicycle isn’t far off that of a car, so the cyclists can stop being so damn pious too.)

There’s a simple key to eco-responsibility: just think things through and don’t be a dick. Don’t eat so many bananas, they come from the other side of the world - have a nice English apple instead. Next time you think about flying to the Chicago office, remind yourself that the flight will produce the same carbon dioxide as an entire season of Formula One. Look at the ratio of recycling bags to landfill refuse bags that you end up leaving on the kerb – it should be 3:1 or better. Try and grow some of your own veg, even if you’ve only got a window box. Turn your heating down a bit and put a jumper on. When you cook in a saucepan, remember to put the lid on. Stop buying tampons and get yourself a Mooncup. Unplug your USB devices when you’re not using them. Don’t dry your clothes on radiators. Don’t leave the tap running while you’re brushing your teeth. Defrost your freezer. Turn your microwave off at the wall. And for fuck’s sake, turn things off when you leave the office. If you don’t, a dying polar bear will come to your house and claw your face off.

Man marries videogame character

Tuesday, 24 November 2009

Friday, 20 November 2009

8-bit filth

So wrong it has to be right.

Facebook Animations

Such a brilliant idea. Find photos that have been posted on Facebook that were clearly taken seconds apart, then merge them into a freaky animation. Genius!
Unfortunately, Blogger won't let me embed the animated gifs... so you'll have to click the image below to see! Trust me, it's worth it.

Samsung hockey viral thing

It's kind of shit, but for some reason I rather like it.

Animals with lightsabers

The clue's in the title, really. Click here.

Airbag prank

Cheeky little scamps.

Stormtroopers are people too

Click here for an amazing photoset showing what Stormtroopers get up to in their downtime.

One hell of a dance


This game is thoroughly addictive. Click the image to play...

This isn't just Christmas...

...this is ketamine Christmas.

Baby Kia

There's no way that kid'll get bullied for this later in life.

Click to enlarge


This is just superb.

Gaddafi: mental bastard

Click to enlarge

Pale is the new tan

Shitting hell. Click here for a terrifyingly endless supply of dickheads with fake tan issues.

Remi Gaillard as Batman

Arse attack

I'm not sure what's better - the Sun headline or the picture of Camilla bumming a child.

Click to enlarge

20/11/09 - The wives of Henry VIII

Henry VIII is a fascinating historical figure. Everyone knows who he was – six wives, bit of a tyrant, looked like a ginger Brian Blessed – but what about those numerous women? For the sake of expanding our minds a little on a Friday afternoon, let’s find out what the deal was with his various brides.

Catherine of Aragon
Henry’s first wife was a short, dumpy Spaniard who had previously been married to Arthur, Prince of Wales, before he died of sweating sickness. She married Henry VIII in 1509 when she was 23 and he was 17. They were married for twenty-four years – quite a long stint for a man everyone remembers as having a propensity to, ahem, chop and change – after which time Henry was getting a little peeved with her inability to produce a son. He tried to annul the marriage, but the pope wasn’t having any of it… so the king took it upon himself to assume supremacy over religious matters. This is basically why we have the Church of England, separate from papal authority. He got his own way (well, it was his religion now) and declared the marriage void.

Anne Boleyn
She was, depending on perspective, Henry’s mid-life crisis manifested as a hot piece of ass, or just a means to an end (i.e. producing a son and heir to the throne). Henry had started sniffing around in 1525, but she wasn’t all that up for it, partly because he’d already been shagging her sister, Mary Boleyn, behind Catherine’s back. He was pretty persistent though – there’s not many men who’d create a whole new Christian denomination in order to win the girl – and he finally convinced her to marry him in 1533. They were married by the Boleyn family chaplain who, funnily enough, had recently been appointed Archbishop of Canterbury. This pissed the pope off no end.
Poor Anne, she wasn’t very good at having kids either. After numerous miscarriages, Henry made up some spurious tales about her being incestuous and treasonous, and had her beheaded. Bit harsh.

Jane Seymour
She married Henry ten days after he’d had Anne Boleyn executed. She was pretty boring – her embroidery’s quite famous, but she didn’t seem to care about much else – although she did manage to produce a son for Henry (the future King Edward VI), which was what he’d been after the whole time. Unfortunately, Jane died very shortly after the birth. She was Henry’s favourite of his six wives, having given him a son, and he wore black for three months after she died. He didn’t remarry for another three years, and when he died he was buried beside her.

Anne of Cleves
Henry may have been devastated by Jane’s death, but mental bastards can’t mourn forever and in 1540 he married Anne of Cleves. He wasn’t actually that keen on the idea, but had been urged to do so by Thomas Cromwell as Henry and Anne were both descendents of Charlemagne and it seemed like a good idea. Henry was quite vocal about his disappointment when he met her (“she is nothing so fair as she hath been reported”), but he went through with it anyway. The union wasn’t consummated on the wedding night because, as he told Cromwell, “I liked her before not well, but now I like her much worse”. After five months he commanded her to leave the royal court, informing her by messenger that he’d changed his mind and would be annulling the marriage. Bit of a crap time for her, but she did get Richmond Palace and Hever Castle as part of the settlement, so it wasn’t all bad.

Catherine Howard
A matter of days after the annulment, Henry married Catherine Howard. She had been a lady-in-waiting to Anne of Cleves, and Henry’s wandering eyes clearly much preferred her. She was barely educated and quite stupid, but with rumours circulating that she may be pregnant with the king’s child, and the king himself approaching fifty and keen to father more sons, they were quickly married. As it turned out, she wasn’t pregnant and, although she was now fabulously wealthy, she didn’t enjoy married life and found Henry repulsive. (To be fair, by this point he weighed 21 stone and had a festering ulcer in his leg that had to be drained daily.) Rather foolishly, she started knocking about with Thomas Culpeper, one of the king’s courtiers. Culpeper was tortured in the Tower of London before being executed, while Catherine was beheaded for treason. Amazing that she didn’t see it coming.

Catherine Parr
The sixth and final one, Parr was no stranger to the wedding chapel; in fact, her four marriages give her the title ‘most married English Queen’.
After her first two husbands died, she was quite keen on marrying the 1st Baron Seymour of Sudeley, but Henry fancied her so she was obliged to accept his proposal. She did quite well out of it all though, and as queen had rather more control over Henry than any of his other wives. They disagreed over various religious issues, but he didn’t kill her because of it, which you have to take as a win. Having reunited him with the two daughters from his first marriage, he appointed Catherine regent while he went off to battle the French – a role in which she excelled.
Henry’s enormous obesity, gout and plethora of suppurating boils led to his death in 1547 at the age of 55. So… Catherine Parr wins. But Jane Seymour was still the best one.

PlaneStupid - Polar Bears ad

Friday, 13 November 2009

Mongolian Snail Racing

Life would be excrutiatingly dull without Weebl & Bob.

Haptic Cow

Admit it, you want one. All the fun of getting shoulder-deep in livestock, without the hassle of picking poo off your jumper.

Click image.

Making children cry for art

Scaring the fuck out of kids is an unusual career path. Still, you've got to play to your strengths.

Click the image to see the disturbing works of Joshua Hoffine. He's an odd one.

Fuggy Fuggy!

Loads more of that kind of thing here.

Cell size & scale

A very cool visualisation of how big some things are in comparison to some other things. Click the image to have a go.

Pigeon: Impossible

This kind of thing happens to me all the time.

Naptime. WTF?

This is so odd. You click on random things to make random things happen... but it isn't obvious why.
Click the image to see.

Social network stalking

It's tremendously easy.

Freedom Tray

An unintentionally hilarious site for a hilarious product. Click below and tell me you're not impressed...


A lovely twist on Tetris. (Caution: addictive.)

Click to play.

Stephen Fry - AQI

The man makes a strong point.

Sincere responses to spam

Well, it's something to do, isn't it?

Click image for plenty more.

Drunk bint on the tracks.

Jesus. That's a whole new level of drunk.

Two YouTube videos...

...and a motherfucking crossfader.
This is what the internet was made for.

(Click image to play.)


Elizabeth Lambert is a little charmer.

13/11/09 - Coco Pops

The Kellogg Company represents what is, I suspect, my earliest memory of disappointment. There was a TV ad that they ran when I was little and impressionable, some time around ’87 or ’88 I imagine, which showed Coco Pops to be a delicious and exciting breakfast treat. Not only that, but the slogan at the end of the ad was ‘Coco Pops – they make the milk go brown’. Exciting selling point, no?
Unfortunately, I misheard this. I was sure that they were saying ‘they make the milk go round’. I was convinced that the addition of milk to a bowlful of Coco Pops would initiate some form of spiralling whirlpool effect – a belief, I might add, that didn’t seem wholly far-fetched given the nature of the spinning bowl in the advert. Imagine my disappointment, then, at discovering that this physical phenomenon was nothing more than a figment of my imagination; having convinced my mother to buy a box of Coco Pops (for ‘convinced’ read ‘relentlessly nagged’), I just sat there staring at the bowl and steadfastly refused to eat them. I was sure that the spinning would happen at some point, so I didn’t dare disturb whatever milky jiggery-pokery was brewing beneath the surface.
I learned three things that day. One: it’s quite important to listen. Two: any product, no matter how excited you are about buying it, can (and probably will) disappoint you. Three: Coco Pops, left to soak for thirty minutes, are totally inedible.

They subsequently changed the slogan to ‘Coco Pops make the milk go chocolatey’.
If only they’d said that in the first place I’d have had a much happier childhood.

New for 2010 - the '93 Taurus

Ford Unveils New Car For Cash-Strapped Buyers: The 1993 Taurus

Twenties London... in colour!

A glorious stroll down memory lane.

The Matrix as silent film

An Eye For Annai

This is really rather sweet.

Friday, 6 November 2009

Simon Cowell's TV debut

Y'know, I've heard he still drives around in a red Fiat Uno.

We Are Douchebags

On The Moon no.17

A lovely new episode from Weebl - click image to view.


Fear the clowns!

Urban Earth - London

This is a great concept - I can't imagine how long it must have taken to create!

Click here for more cities.

Inflatable bag monsters

This is really cool. Using only plastic bags and sticky tape, Joshua Allen Harris uses New York subway exhaust vents to create snapshots of existence - you see a creature come to life, wibble about, then die. Superb.

Best. Costume. Ever.

Fucking idiot.

Click to enlarge

Black & WTF

The olden days were fucking odd. Click here.

YouTube condensed

How would you summarise YouTube to somebody who'd never seen it and didn't know what it was? Why, like this of course!

Stupid fuckers

Click to enlarge

06/11/09 - MRM

I watched this documentary on mechanically recovered meat this week. It was rank. Do you know what MRM is? Here, let me describe the process for you…

Jeremy is a farmer. He never really wanted to be a farmer. In fact, his life’s passion was to be a drummer. He fucking loves the drums. Throughout his entire childhood on the family farm he always had a pair of sticks in his back pocket; he’d bang out pounding rhythms on any available surface, much to the chagrin of his parents. They nurtured his gift as much as was possible because they loved him, although they had hidden concerns about the future of the farm. It wasn’t making that much money, you see – the relentless rise of quick ‘n’ easy megamarkets, as well as crushing pretty much every small independent store in the country, unscrupulously drove down supplier prices – Jeremy’s folks were making less and less money every year from their milk and corn yields. The situation was becoming increasingly hopeless and, not wanting to upset Jeremy by imparting their desperation to his tender ears, they also had drumming lessons to pay for. It was a pickle.

Going for broke, ma and pa decided to cash in their life insurance policies and invest in pigs. It seemed like the only way forward, the price of pork looking relatively stable. And lo, the gamble appeared to be paying off – there’s a lot of food available on a pig. Once you’ve carved it into tasty bits – chops, bacon and the like – and slightly less good quality bits – sausages, brawn etc – the fun just keeps going. Think you’ve picked every single bit of meat from a pig’s carcass? Think again. If you dump the slippery bones into a special powerful press, the remaining junk gets crushed under enormous pressure, allowing whatever gristle, tendons and spinal cords remain to shit out of the end. Of course, this isn’t proper meat and cannot be officially called it, so it’s referred to as ‘mechanically recovered meat’. That’s what hot dogs are made of. And chicken kievs.

The fortunes of the farm were turning. Fate seemed to be smiling down upon the happy trio. Disaster, however, as is its wont, struck harshly.
Bright and early one morning, while ma and pa were mucking out the pigs, they were disturbed by a creaking noise. Puzzled, they looked about them to determine from whence it came. Too late, they realised that the central support of the pig shed was bowing dangerously. They sprinted for the exit but, ankle-deep in faeces, they slipped in the muck and got a face full of roof. A sorry end for two ambitious and family-centric farmers.

Jeremy was inconsolable. He knew all too well that the pillar in question was his favourite drumming surface, its oaky timbre ringing out beautifully throughout the sheds. He held himself entirely responsible for the accident. His parents were dead, he had a whole bunch of pigs with no shelter from the elements… he had no choice but to give up his rock ‘n’ roll dreams, move the pigs into the farmhouse and try to rebuild the tatters of the farm.

So next time you pick up a hot dog, think of poor Jeremy, alone, penniless and surrounded by confused pigs.
(And also think of the fact that they’re full of eyelids and arseholes. Eurgh.)