Tuesday, 31 March 2009

hecklerspray at the BAFTAs

Love this. Red carpet action is presumably a lot easier if a) you know who the people are, b) they're likely to talk to you and c) you give a toss.

Chad's Letters

Chad Bradley is, quite simply, a legend. Behold his letter to Walkers, and their slightly baffled response (click to enlarge):

There's loads more here.

Monday, 30 March 2009

World's best dive - disorder in the court

This is just superb - the fact that the woman waits for a good four or five seconds before wailing like a banshee and slowling tumbling to the ground is idiotic perfection.
Click the image to view the clip.

Friday, 27 March 2009

Vern Fonk - advertising genius

Not really sure what to make of this, but the fact that it's a real ad for a real company is satisfaction enough.

The Clarkson toilet anti-climax

Oh, how we laughed when we heard some kids had trapped Jeremy Clarkson in a portable toilet. Oh, the crushing disappointment when we Googled it and found that it was shite.
Here's the clip. Don't get your hopes up.

My Little Pony in 'quite cool' shocker

It's slightly embarrassing to admit, but these My Little Ponies are quite cool aren't they? Kinda pricey though...

The Milk - Gargoyles Hatch

I love this, it's fucking weird.

Church sign generator

I've spent a little more time than is healthy playing with this.

Girl faints on live TV

The heartlessly indifferent reaction of the guy on the left is ace.

27/03/09 - Anniversary Juice

Hello. Welcome to JuicyPips. Pour yourself a nice hot chaise longue, sit yourself down on a comfy cup of tea and revel in a few minutes of pointless rambling.

What did you think of last week’s Pips? A bit too me me me? Yeah? Well sod you, it’s all about me this week too. You know why? Because next Tuesday, March 31st, will be my third anniversary of working in my unusual and loosely-defined job. I thought it might be a good opportunity to get cheerfully retrospective (and then get pissed, probably).

JuicyPips is, as those of you who’ve worked with me for a long time will know, older than my tenure. It used to be put together by the charmingly random Fern Powell, a woman composed of sunshine, candy canes and fluffy kittens, but she let me have it when she left. Someone needed to look after it.
In the early days it had many of the same features that it has today – lookalikes, YouTube stuff, funny links, etc – but none of the massive blurby intro. Some say it was better that way… but those people are wrong.
And so the machine lumbers relentlessly onward.

I knew nothing about advertising when I joined here. I still don’t really, but I’ve got quite good at pretending – you just need to constantly overuse phrases like ‘moving forward’, ‘value-added’, ‘industry standard’, ‘multimedia strategy’, ‘scalability’, ‘at the end of the day’ and ‘literally’ – it doesn’t seem to matter which words you stuff in between these, as long as you get the core clichés right.
Quite a lot of advertising seems to be based around having the right haircut – there’s a definite social strata based around cranial topiary. In the upper echelons, hairstyles are largely irrelevant. On the bottom rungs, where I tend to hang out, hair is also not really a priority. Throughout the middle, however, it appears to be very important to ensure that your hair is impeccable at all times. This could explain why our building has so many mirrors, and from having seen other agencies’ offices we’re not alone in this. Comb your hair to get ahead, that's the key.

So what’s happened while I’ve been here? Well, you know, this and that. Here’s a round up of the last three years:
- In my second week here I got very drunk on Friday lunchtime, forgot to come back to work, walked a certain PA back to the office like a wheelbarrow at about 5 o’clock, and was told that this sort of behaviour was ‘inappropriate’. I've since learned that it isn't.
- I was advised that the office dress code was ‘smart casual’, but I started turning up in hoodies anyway. Now loads of people do it. I’m a jumper maverick. You don’t have to thank me, just pay it forward.
- I once stole the MD’s Porsche and parked it where he couldn’t find it.

That’s it. Three things have happened in three years, and it’s only the last point that could actually serve as an anecdote.

Still, I like to think I make a difference. There’s all kinds of intrigue and mystery bubbling away under the surface. Let’s face it though, JuicyPips is the only thing you can name off the top of your head, right? And there’s only about thirty-odd of you that read that. Given that it takes me most of Friday to put together (plus all of the gathering that goes on through the week), I’m spending around 20% of my time entertaining 7.5% of the staff. Cushy, no?

It’s not all roses though. There’s one person here – I won’t say who, but he’s very senior – who has totally ignored me when I’ve held a door open for him on no less than three separate occasions. Sorry, am I your fucking doorman? Honestly. This behaviour will not stand. I have a plan for him.
Also, something happened this week that really crystallised a concern that I’d been thinking about for some time.
We had a fire drill on Tuesday. In my capacity as a fire warden, I was patrolling the floor to ensure that everybody was leaving, and was astonished to find that people were getting into the lift. (I mean seriously, how stupid is that? It’s almost worth me setting fire to the building for real so they can see how truly terrifying it would be to find themselves sealed in an aluminium sarcophagus, the flames licking at their feet and igniting the copious gases pouring forth from their terrified prolapsing rectums.) ‘You can’t use the lift,’ I called out, ‘it’s a fire drill!’
They turned as one to look at me, smirked to themselves, and wordlessly got in the lift anyway.
See, that’s the sort of respect I’ve managed to build up here over the past 36 months. Pretty much none. Being the class clown is clearly doing me no favours.

I don’t worry about it too much though. I get to send out weekly all-staffers with the word ‘fuck’ in them, and that’s pretty much all I want from life.

Thursday, 26 March 2009

WWF Earth Hour 2009

Join in with something massive and meaningful. It'll make you feel good.

Wangs in, Balls and Bottoms out

Britain's Cocks are disappearing. There were 3200-odd people named Cock in the 1880s, now the figure is a quarter of that. Death and Balls are also in decline, while the Shufflebottom and lesser-spotted Gotobed are almost without trace. Daft and Smellie have gone for a burton, yet nothing is accelerating faster than the Wang - at least that's some comfort.
Read more here.

This man's name is Balls. Scary, isn't he?

Wednesday, 25 March 2009

Banned Family Guy - Stewie Griffin's list

Well... banned from the TV broadcast anyway - it's on the DVD. But still, worth another click here.

An American Trilogy - Elvis is in the building

Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to produce this Elvis-themed menu - I really fancy The Impossible Bream.

Click the image to see the full menu.

Swedish magazine published as tattoo

There will only be one copy of issue 3 of Swedish magazine Tare Lugnt - they've decided to 'publish' it as a tattoo. Quite an extreme concept - you wonder what they might be planning for issue 4...

Tuesday, 24 March 2009

Gilbert Atomic Energy Lab

This is the coolest chemistry set that any child has ever been lucky enough to own. Produced from 1951 to 1952, it contained a geiger counter, four types of uranium ore, an electroscope, a deionizer - the perfect gizmo toolkit for an age obsessed with nuclear potential. They command crazy money now - more info here.

60ft willy

There's something marvellously inspired about clandestinely climbing onto your parents roof, painting a massive penis on it and then buggering off to Brazil before they find out. Rory McInnes - we salute you. And your massive cock.

Red Dwarf returns!

Tune into Dave (where else?!) on April 10th for the much-anticipated return of the boys from the Jupiter Mining Corporation ship Red Dwarf - let's hope it'll be as glorious and life-changingly brilliant as the first six series (and not faintly disappointing, like the seventh and eighth...)
Click here for a little message from Lister, and below for another from Kryten.

Monday, 23 March 2009

Streetview sightseeing

Google Streetview is awesome, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Ignore the kneejerk idiots who say it's an invasion of privacy - it's no more than you'd see by walking down the street and looking at stuff with your eyes. It also allows you to obsessively trawl through miles of footage looking for funny things that have been captured... or you can just click here and let other people find it all for you. Marvellous.

I Heart Guts!

Ever wanted a cuddly lung or a nice cosy pancreas to snuggle up to? You can fulfil all of your kidney-stroking fantasies at I Heart Guts.
Sadly the uterus has been recalled as a choking hazard... but if you're choking on the uterus, you're probably doing it wrong.

Insect Lab

What do you get if you combine dead insects with bits of old watches? Er, this.

Thursday, 19 March 2009

Improv Everywhere - Subway art gallery

The latest tomfoolery from Improv Everywhere.

One day...

...all computers will be like this.

Obama Fingers

These look really appetising, don't they?
The manufacturers are apparently entirely oblivious to any possible racist overtones of the product. Either way, it's nice to see the Obama merchandise wagon rolling relentlessly onward.

Accidental admission of bestiality

See this girl? She's a naughty girl. And she got caught in the stupidest possible way.
Click her picture to see what she did.

Bring on the wall!

Reagan vs Winton. Odd.

Awesome bike

A beautifully-worded listing. Click the image to view.

Rapping flight attendant

He's actually quite good.

19/03/09 - Car stuff

Right, this week’s JuicyPips is about cars. More specifically, my cars. Don’t groan, it was bound to happen sooner or later… I’ve held off for nearly three years, so you’ll just have to lump it.
Why suddenly leap onto this subject now after biting my tongue for so long? Well, I’m fully aware of how boring I get when I talk about car stuff, but I really haven’t had time to cobble together a decent Juicy narrative this week so I thought I’d just bang on about something I know.

The obsession – I think that’s a fair word for it – started at a very young age. The earliest family Christmas memory I have is being asked what I wanted as a present when I was small enough to be crawling about the floor in a romper suit. My reply was an enthusiastic ‘I want two cars and one road!’. It was all downhill from there really. A couple of Christmases later I got the Mighty Metros Scalextric set (shortly to be followed by Night Stages [the one with the mkIII XR3is with the working headlights]) and I subsequently became obsessed with Airfix kits. Yes, I was that spoddy little nipper in the toy shop asking whether they had a C10 Skyline in a size bigger than 1:32 scale or if the GT40 came with Gulf decals. I always had sticky fingers as a boy, but for very different reasons to most of my peers.

Further compounding my propensity to inspect the minutiae of every car in the vicinity was my dad’s habit of exclusively buying interesting cars throughout my childhood. We were never forced to suffer the indignity of being shipped about in a shapeless repmobile or wheezy shoppingbox – he may not have had the money to buy tantalising new exotica, but he had an eye for old cars that could combine reliability and driveability. Even now he rolls in a ’74 Citroen DS, but as a nipper there was an ’82 Saab 900 Turbo, an ’84 Alfa 33, an ’80 Cortina V6, an ’83 Citroën CX, an ’82 Austin Princess, all sorts. Think Vauxhall Cavaliers are dull? With the later ones you’d be right, but check out the mkI – how cool is that? Tobacco brown with Rostyles and chrome, yum.

So you see, none of this is my fault. I’ve been led into this by the culture with which I was surrounded as a little ‘un. My pa, my uncles, their friends, everyone fixed their own cars and everyone knew the difference between a camshaft, a driveshaft, a crankshaft, a layshaft and a propshaft. If you didn’t learn fast, you didn’t know what anyone was talking about. A Saturday family outing would be to Thruxton or Lydden Hill or Brands Hatch. Sunday afternoon was Formula One time. It was written in stone. I was to be a car person.

I excitedly bought my first car at the age of sixteen. (I tried to secure a freebie at the age of thirteen – the family Saab had cracked its block while we were visiting friends, and said friends had sold us a yellow Morris Marina to get us home. I really wanted to keep it, but I wasn’t allowed. Hmph.) Me and my friends all passed our tests around the same time, and we were all clamouring for little hatchbacks of the 1.0/1.1 ilk, which was all we could insure. And for me, it had to be a Nova, little chav that I was.
Interesting fact – a one-litre Nova can do over 100mph with four people in it. But it will only do it once (on a very long hill, with a tailwind) and then there’ll be oil everywhere. But then you get to learn how to change a head gasket, so it’s not all bad.

I’ve just realised how dull I’m being, sorry. I do tend to get into a bit of a whimsical rhythm. I’ll spare you the details of that incredibly rusty Nova and the thirty cars I’ve had in the decade since - let’s just have the highlights and the lessons learned…

Lesson number one – taught by my first Capri. Now here’s a piece of useful advice for you; if you’ve never driven a rear wheel drive car before, then a lairy 2.8-litre Capri with a race-spec engine and 181bhp is a scary place to start. Even more so if you’ve got a mate to drive you half way across the country, it’s lashing down with rain, it’s nearly midnight, and the back end tries to overtake you on the first roundabout you get to. At that age and with that much power, you have to learn about controlling oversteer pretty quickly. And the first time it takes you by surprise, you will poo yourself.

Lesson number two – front wheel drive doesn’t mean wrong wheel drive, no matter what Americans, Australians and classic Ford enthusiasts will tell you. The Peugeot 205 GTi (of which I’ve had four) is easily the most fun car to be driving down a narrow and twisty country lane that you know really well – it tests you as much as you test it and the whole experience is sublime. Also remember - having lots of power is nowhere near as important as having a good power-to-weight ratio.

Lesson number three – don’t scare your parents. I had a 1974 BMW 2002 Touring in full road rally spec with an Alpina engine (click here and here) and I loved it very much. My folks came to visit and I took my dad out for a spin. I hadn’t actually got round to buying a harness for the passenger side – I never had any passengers – so it was probably a bit scarier than it needed to be. I did drive quite fast. He was a bit white when he got out, my mum completely refused to come out in it after that. Even after I installed a harness.

Lesson number four – try not to get too attached to a scene. I’m a classic Ford man through and through, and I really enjoyed owning this, this, this, this, this, this (it’s an RS1800 so it counts as a classic), this (again, it’s an RS2000 so it counts), this (well, not so much that one actually, it was a bit crap), this (my second car, my first classic Ford) and this. However, spiralling prices of classics mean that I can’t afford the mkII Escort RS2000 or mkII Capri 3.0 V6 that I really want, plus there are too many other cars to own. It’d be selfish to limit myself, the cars would be upset. Hence why I’ve also dabbled with Fiat, Honda, Volvo, Vauxhall, Citroën, Peugeot. Renault, BMW, Mazda and Volkswagen. It’s all about variety, you see. Be careful if you do buy a Volvo though - trust me, it could be the most amazing car in the world, people will still say 'You drive a Volvo? How dull.' People are just like that.

Lesson number five – don't buy loads and loads of cars when you're young. It'll put you in shitloads of debt that you'll never have a hope of paying off.

Let me conclude with my favourite driving story.
A friend of mine used to have a ’73 Mercedes 450 SLC . He bought it with a couple of mates at an auction with the intention of selling it on, but then couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. It was so beautiful, you see, and it had a stonking great 4.5-litre V8. It ending up sitting in his garage for ages. Then it was in someone else’s garage for ages. Then it was in my garage for ages. Then it went back to his. Eventually it became obvious that he’d have to get rid of it, so we hauled it out into the open and tried to get it roadworthy again. Being a Merc, it didn’t take a lot of effort to coax it into life.
So he and I went out for a spin down some country lanes.
All was well for a while, until the car decided that it wanted to kill us. The throttle jammed itself fully open and the auto ‘box locked itself into drive. This scared us quite a lot – a massive gnarly V8 makes a hell of a noise when it’s bouncing off the rev limiter, and braking had very little effect as we were effectively accelerating as hard as was physically possible.
After a mile or two of rapidly fishtailing round a series of increasingly tight corners, we reached a stretch of open flat road. My friend, who was driving, ripped off his seatbelt and dove headfirst into the footwell. I wasn’t quite sure what he was up to. He emerged moments later with half of the accelerator pedal in his hand and a mixture of triumph and bewilderment on his face. Between the two of us, we managed to force the gear lever into neutral and come to a halt, the engine still angrily redlining. As we sat there worrying about the level of urine that was now in our pants, the gearbox decided to slip itself into drive again, launching us towards the horizon at full tilt and leaving two incredibly long black streaks on the tarmac. Squirting yet more widdle into our sodden undergarments, we managed to force it back into neutral and, by blipping the throttle, it mercifully unstuck itself. This picture was taken a few minutes later when we’d managed to quell the shakes a bit. You wouldn’t know it was such a bastard just by looking at it, would you?
We did not, of course, divulge this adventure to the man who bought it...

Bad tattoo

I'm sure his intentions were noble enough, but check out the terrible quality of this rubbish tattoo. It looks like a child drew it.
Perhaps spending all my time watching Miami Ink has raised my expectations somewhat...

(click to enlarge)

Mouth Off iPhone app

It's not so much the app itself that's impressive, but the cheerfully half-arsed presentation of it that makes it a win for me.

Wednesday, 18 March 2009


Enjoy those animations you see while a site is loading? There's a whole world of them here - click the image to see.

Disney definition of 'cute'

Tuesday, 17 March 2009

Twouble with Twitters

Fat fuckers

Un-ruddy-believable. '(The benefits) we receive barely put food on the table... we deserve more'. Jesus Christ, if you didn't eat so fucking much you'd need a lot less of our tax money to live on, you greedy bastards. It's not a 'genetic condition', you just don't know how to put down your fork. Honestly, some people.
Click here and here for the full despicable horror.

Bathtub IV

This time-lapse video is just sublime.

Bathtub IV from Keith Loutit on Vimeo.

Stuff that looks like other stuff

Click here for plenty more...

Daily Mail hitlist

A catch-all book to irritate your local PC nazi on every level possible...

Via b3ta (Jimbotfu)

Extreme sheep

Hot shepherd action, courtesy of Samsung and the Baa-studs.

Friday, 13 March 2009

Heavy Metal Girl

Click the image below to play Heavy Metal Girl - classic nineties-style platform coolness.

'Coldplay' and 'entertaining' in the same sentence

There's a lot to dislike about Coldplay, but you can't deny the genius of this video. It's amazing.

Seriously, WTF?

You know when you find a picture that's so random you just can't think of an explanation for it? Here's a whole site full of 'em.

Guaranteed victory...

...assuming your Jenga opponent allows weaponry, that is.

Turtles make cute sex noises

Ultimate Crab Battle

Click the image below to play a game that will change your life. It rocks on so many levels.

Give the man an Oscar

The video title says it all. Amazing.

13/03/09 - Chicago, etc

Howdy y'all. I wrote this week's JuicyPips while I was tired and it wasn't very good (it was about old game shows, tackling such thorny issues as: wasn't it grossly unfair for two Blockbusters contestants to compete against one person; who would win in a fight between Roy Walker and Henry Kelly; could Gordon Burns actually do the physical bit in the Krypton Factor himself; in the Crystal Maze where they had to grab the gold and silver tickets inside that perspex box, why didn't they just scoop them up from the corners at the bottom; why did Pat Sharpe ride his motorbike for about five feet at the start of Funhouse; didn't Wipeout have an implausibly high number of Hot Spots; did we ever get to see Graham in Blind Date; why did the contestants on Family Fortunes get progressively chavvier every year, and so on), so I deleted it and cobbled together this old rubbish instead. "Enjoy".

We’re going to take a look at the city of Chicago this week. Listed below, for your delectation and intrigue, are a series of facts about the Windy City that you may not know…

Founded in 1833 by Pawnee Indians, ‘Chicago’ means ‘the little nook behind the kitchen door where the Hoover lives’ – the fact that they lived in teepees and the mechanical vacuum cleaner wasn’t to be invented for another 35 years just shows how incredibly prescient the Pawnee were.

The Sears Tower, the tallest building in the Americas at the time of construction, isn’t actually named after Sears, Roebuck & Company as most people believe. It is in fact so named due to the nature of it being so incredibly hot. The structure consists of pure volcanic dolomite, a material of such thermal efficiency that it still retains a heat of over five hundred degrees Celsius some 36 years since construction. Touching the walls with your naked skin will result in extraordinary burns, yet be a painless experience because of the high temperatures involved – you’ll effectively be searing in your juices, much like flash-frying a steak. Mmm, that’s good wounding.

The official mascot of Chicago is the spacehopper. Every April 1st, the people of the city gather together in Millennium Park to observe the annual spacehopper races that take place between the fire department (on orange spacehoppers) and the city police (on blue ones). An event to rival the magnitude of the Oxford-Cambridge boat race, the bouncy dash ensures a healthy rivalry between the emergency services and a dangerous shortfall in community support while the event takes place. Magical!

The city’s transport infrastructure centres around the L Train. Many assume that this name comes from ‘Elevated Train’, but they’re wrong. It is in fact named for the Mexican superhero that created it, El Traino Loco. Crazy drunk he may have been, but boy did he know a thing or two about constructing effective mass-transit systems when he wasn’t rescuing wailing maidens from Chupacabras.

As well as ‘The Windy City’ and ‘Chi-Town’, Chicago is also known to the locals as ‘The City of Concealed Tubers’. A mayoral decree of the late 1890s banned the public carriage of potatoes and the like, meaning that restaurants and grocers had to have them clandestinely delivered under the guise of other produce, while citizens were required to develop ingenious systems for conveying them to their homes. Although the decree was abandoned in the early twentieth century, it is still customary for Chicagoans to wear a spud holster or spunta gabardine beneath their clothes.

The city’s sports teams are as follows:
Baseball – Chicago Cubs, Chicago White Sox
Football – Chicago Bears
Basketball – Chicago Bulls
Ice Hockey – Chicago Blackhawks
Polo – Chicago Knobblers
Tiddlywinks – Chicago Pesticides
Dodgeball – Chicago Iron Pyrites
Curling – Chicago Ren & Stimpies
Fencing – Chicago Chickenstuffers
Soccer – Chicago Enemas

Chicago makes a mockery of the concept of twinning by having a frankly ridiculous twenty-seven sister cities, two of which are in China and one of which is Birmingham.

In Chicago it is legal to marry a boat, as long as you do it under a bridge where Jesus can’t see you.

‘Chicago’ is an anagram of ‘Go, chica!’ – the official slogan of the Mexican women’s national soccer team.

Actually, now I think about it, only one of those points is true. See if you can guess which…

In hindsight I think I should probably have stuck with the game show thing, it was much better. Or maybe something about Comic Relief? Sod it, too late now.

Medals for gaming veterans

These are so cool.

Uphill subway

There's only one underground rail network in Israel - and it isn't afraid of hills.

Farts are funny

Village without streets

Very pretty. More here.

Robots need love too

Thursday, 12 March 2009


Pandas are mental - look!

Brand Aid

All your favourites in one room...

...unfortunately it's got Michael fucking Winner in it. Ah well. I expect the Peperami Animal and the Honey Monster gave him a good shoeing in the car park afterwards.

Friday, 6 March 2009

qwerty drums

This qwerty drum set is really cool. Click here to play... just don't keep clicking 'v' over and over again, you filth.

Hairy Mail

'The world's first web-based back-hair messaging system'. Handy.
Click here to have a go.


Subtlety can go hang - what stronger message can there be to bankers than 'give us back our fucking money, you cunts'?

I love the unpleasantly objectionable policeman at the end. What a pro.

Fuck You, Penguin

An absolute work of genius - click here to view the blog.

A sample post:

I see you eyeing me, Armadillo, and I have to say I don't care for it. It's not that weird for me to be interested, YOU ARE AN ARMADILLO IN A BUCKET. Did you think this kind of thing would go unchallenged? The truth of the matter is, armadillos should never be in buckets. We've all seen you out there rolling yourself into a ball, digging holes, and dancing on the internet. An armadillo has to do what an armadillo has to do. But there's no reason you should pop out of that bucket, with your little nose and your big ears and those paws and give me a big stink eye, like, "Yeah, that's right, I'm an armadillo, and I'm inside your fucking bucket." All I have to say is you better get right out of that bucket, Armadillo, and get the HELL out of my face. Your days of weird-looking intimidation are semi-over, Armadillo.
Wonderfully strange.

06/03/09 - Fast Food

Apropos of nothing, let’s have a little think about fast food...

My personal favourite UK fast food chain is Wimpy. I don’t particularly like the food, or indeed anything about them, but I really enjoy the oddness of their business strategy. I’m not entirely sure what Wimpy is for in the twenty-first century – they’ve steadfastly refused to move with the times and I applaud them for it. It was always the last possible place you’d want to end up as a kid when you heard your dad saying he fancied a burger – there’s nothing cool about eating fast food with proper cutlery on a china plate, surrounded by the same décor you’d find in your grandma’s bathroom. The fact that they cooked your meal to order instead of just having it waiting for you on greasy racks was a source of constant mirth. (Do they still do this? Are they even still in business? Couldn’t give a toss.) They’ll always have a special place in my heart because of one brilliantly ill-conceived product in the late nineties: we used to stroll past the Wimpy on the way to school and draw endless amusement from a dish which was effectively a round saveloy in a bap. The name? Why, it was the Big Bender in a Bun. Inspired.

There are, as I’m sure you are aware, other burger chains. McDonald’s would inevitably be the most special for many of you – I used to get tremendously excited as a child when we were allowed to dine Chez McDo, partly because it seemed all American-y like in the movies (this was before the world went to shit and everything started to look like everything else, of course) and partly because it was a brand name you’d actually heard of. ‘I went to McDonald’s last night’ sounds so much better than ‘I went to Generic Low-Rent High Street Burger Outlet Type A’. I also have two very clear memories of happy happenings at the golden arches: 1) relentlessly walking through the 24 hour drive-thru in car formation in the early hours of the morning as a drunken teenager, and 2) the early-noughties French McDonald’s promotion in which each week featured a different burger themed on various regions of France. I enjoyed my Alsatian Burger very much.
You could argue that Burger King make better burgers (c’mon, they’re flame-grilled and they’re bigger) and that their fries are far superior, but that’s missing the point. Give a kid a box of crayons and ask them to draw a fast food logo, they’ll hand you a yellow M.

Chinese food is the best compromise if you want to have stodgy, greasy scran but want to pretend you’re being classy. A weekly Friday night Chinese throughout my youth explains my robust physique, as well as my skills in navigating my way around a Chinese menu. (Obviously, the essentials are special fried rice, beef chow mein, lemon chicken, sweet & sour pork balls, deep-fried shredded chilli beef, chicken and cashewnuts, kung po chicken, prawn toast, prawn crackers and crispy duck – anything else is a bonus.) It interests me that, like finding a good pub, you have to put a lot of effort into finding a good local Chinese takeaway. Every now and then you find a genuinely impressive one – the Chinatown in Broomfield, for example, or the New Tong Fung in Redhill – but for the most part they always taste exactly the same, and mildly unsatisfactory with it. You need to do your homework.

Pizza – I can take it or leave it, really. Don’t get me wrong, I love a proper actual handmade pizza from a proper actual handmade pizza-making restaurant, but your average fast food pizza was ruined for me by a special offer of which I took a little too much advantage as a student. Ken’s Kebabs & Speedy Pizza, Albert Road, Southsea. A short stumble from the union bar, it was on the route home and you could get a 15" meat feast for a fiver. I must have eaten literally hundreds of them while I was at uni. Things have never been the same since. It also makes me suspicious that they’re always ready remarkably quickly, regardless of which toppings you specify. I suspect witchcraft is involved.

Never really got interested in kebabs either. Sure, I’ve been to my fair share of kebab shops, but I don’t see the point of ordering a pitta full of vegetables when you could go for the much more delicious and fulfilling doner meat/chips/burger sauce combo. It’s super-tasty and you drop less of it – what’s not to like? Plus, kebabs hold the inherent danger of unexpectedly happening upon an errant birdeye pepper and being forced to make a mess of your shirt in an effort to expunge it. Risky.

Curry is an interesting area. It’s a noble and delicate blend of intriguing and playful flavours, and it’s been entirely ruined by the sort of wankers that you always find dining in curry houses. The level of investigation necessary for securing a good Chinese applies also to the quest for quality Indian food – there’s the same situation where you have widespread uniformity and occasional genius (try the Chutney in Wandsworth, the Gulaab in Redhill or the Shapla in Whitstable), but I’m nowhere near as adventurous as I should be. A well-prepared chicken tikka masala will keep me happy. The drunken loutish idiots at the adjacent tables, however, will not. I don’t care about football, how pissed you were last night or that bird you shagged, so I think I’ll opt for the takeaway option, thanks.

Chicken is a dangerous area. A friend of mine once went on a date with a girl who was, er, rather common (I’m not a class warrior, but it was obvious that he was after her for her knockers rather than her sparkling wit), and on posing the question of a dinner venue, she immediately requested a visit to KFC. That’s what you find there – aspirational morons. It’s a shame really, because KFC chicken is delicious… you just can’t ever go there because it’s always full of dumbasses, melters, slopids and dullards. Your best bet is Chicken Cottage – it’s marginally better than the myriad crappy South London one-offs with questionable names (Dallas Fried Chicken et al), and you get the assumed prestige of being in a chain. Try the big one in Tooting – there hasn’t been a shooting there for ages, it’s super.

The poncey sandwich market is one that concerns me a little. I’d take a Quiznos over a Subway any day, but everything of this ilk raises certain questions. Yes, they’re tasty and all, but you’re effectively just paying about seven quid for a sandwich - it doesn’t sit well with me. Where’s the naughty escapism in chowing down on something your mum could have wrapped up in tin foil for you? That’s not fast food, that’s having a sensible little ham sarnie with a healthy handful of lettuce. No fun at all. If you want to have something delicious but also expensive that won’t make your heart fall out, you should go to Yo! Sushi, it’s much better. (Although it is frighteningly easy to spend all your money there without realising.)

Being British, it’s very important to have a strong handle on what constitutes good fish and chips. Every chippy is different (don’t listen to Northerners claiming that theirs are better just because they get ‘scraps’, that’s a rubbish argument), and some are rather more gourmet-ish than others. Try living next door to Brady’s – delicious, but you fear for your personal financial liquidity. But what if you’re not that big a fan of fish? You can’t go wrong with a saveloy, a jumbo battered sausage and a huge bag of chips – slather them in enough salt to induce an immediate heart attack and (if your chippy’s a good ‘un) that delicious pickled onion vinegar and you’ll be a happy chappie.

I’ve forgotten what point I was intending to make with all this, sorry. All I’ve done is make myself really hungry. Ah well.

Wednesday, 4 March 2009

Sky Sports filth

Made a poor decision to do what, sorry...?

'A love that never grows extinct'

I.J.P.E.F.F.W.A. stands, somewhat inevitably, for International Jurassic Park Erotic Fan-Fiction Writers Association. It's exactly as strange as it sounds - take a look here.

I particularly enjoyed the banner ad at the top: 'You have won a fucking MegaDrive!'

Tuesday, 3 March 2009

Gail Trimble - quick 'n' dirty

Questions are definitely getting easier.

Flight 1549 reconstruction

This reconstruction of the Hudson River landing features the actual radio contact - it's remarkable how calm everyone remains.

Monday, 2 March 2009

Sleepwalking dog

What's funnier - the unconscious scampering or the headfirst pelt into the wall...?

Daily Mail gives you cancer

According to the Daily Mail, red wine gives you cancer. Facebook gives you cancer. Soup gives you cancer. Oral sex gives you cancer. Cheery bunch, aren't they? Click here for a full scaremongering rundown.

Morph flashmob

A very sweet memorial to Tony Hart - a flashmob of Morphs outside the Tate Modern. Click here to see more.

Stop-motion Fritzl musical

There are so many things about 'Under The Floor' that aren't right.