Disordered Thoughts and Curmudgeonly Ramblings
The local press has recently taken to referring to home methamphetamine operations as “clan” (short for “clandestine”) labs.
I’m sorry, but I just can’t hear that phrase without envisaging the operators dressed in pointed white hoods, baking up their cold pills over a burning cross…
ACTOR and musician Davy Jones, who gained fame with the 1960s band The Monkees, has died in Florida at the age of 66.
A representative for Jones confirmed that he died on Wednesday morning of a heart attack in Indiantown, Florida.
I am a freak. I have hands and I have feet, and if you saw me you’d faint, you’d be petrified, mummified, turned into stone or a pillar of salt!
It’s “Cuss-toe-dez” and “A-star-tez” thank you very much!
I was listening to a couple of 40k podcasts over the weekend (it’s kind of taken over my brain at the moment – don’t panic, it’ll burn itself out after a while), specifically 40k Radio and the Independent Characters. Both were very informative and entertaining and I’ll probably be adding them to my podcast-roll permanently – however there was just one little thing that got my teeth on edge…
Someone (I can’t ever remember which podcast they were on, let alone which of the participants) mentioned that they were considering building an Adeptus Custodes army. This is a fine idea and would look damned awesome on the table top, the problem was that they kept calling the Custodes “Cus-toads”. CUS-TOADS!!
Emperor on a Mobility-Scooter! What next? Calling the Space Marines “Ass-tarts”?
This is what happens when an entire nation takes perfectly serviceable words like “colour” and “realise” and spells them the way they’re actually pronounced! LINGUISTIC ANARCHY!!! đŸ˜‰
The Dead Eyes Opened. The Dead Eyes Opened. The Dead Eyes Opened. The Dead Eyes Opened.
Ever since I first encountered the Severed Head’s classic proto-techno track Dead Eyes Opened as a teenager I’ve wondered if the narration was cut from the whole cloth or if it referred to a real murder…
Today, after many attempts over the years, I finally figured it out.
The spoken work component is from a radio broadcast of crime writer Edgar Lustgarten reading his account of what was known as the Crumbles Murder in which one Patrick Mahon murdered his mistress Emily Kaye in a beach cabin near Eastbourne, Sussex in 1924.
So there we go. One mystery down, so many to go…
Please consider… (special, 25th anniversary edition)
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| Leman Russ | Lemon Ruski |
My good friend Mel is dancing…
Doo-doo-doo-doo,
Yeah yeah yeah yeah-eah,
Yemen and his Igor photo me,
I’m on the phone, yous can each foresee,
Cool me down,
Rinse a mouse in front of me,
(front of me)
So that’s the way I felt then wa-ah-ah,
So we can eat a Hilton, la la la,
You’re so mean,
See there the melody,
Oh-wow-o-wow-ow,
Dance on the oars,
Cat fight in a handbag,
Yours, only yours,
A walrus tickle dance bed,
It’s no lie,
Lisa in the crown said,
Meh, anyhow,
Me china Mel dancin’
Oo-oo-oo-wow-o-wow,
Oo-oo-oo-wow-o-wow-ow-ow,
Oo-oo-oo-wow-o-wow,
Oo-oo-oo-wow-o-wow-ow-ow,
Me I’m flocking home giving up for stoats,
As I’m coming down I slip the ropes,
Cool me down,
The TARDIS taking over yeah,
(oh-wow-ow-wow-ow)
So that’s the way I felt then, wa-ah-ah,
So we can eat a Hilton, la-la-la,
You’re so mean,
See there the melody,
So come on,
Dance on the oars,
Cat fight in a handbag,
Yours, only yours,
A walrus tickle dance bed,
It’s no lie,
Lisa in the crown said,
Meh, anyhow,
Me china Mel dancin’
Dance on the oars,
Cat fight in a handbag,
Yours, only yours,
A walrus tickle dance bed,
It’s no lie,
Lisa in the crown said,
Meh, anyhow,
Me china Mel dancin’
Oo-oo-oo-wow-o-wow,
Oo-oo-oo-wow-o-wow-ow-ow,
Oo-oo-oo-wow-o-wow,
Oo-oo-oo-wow-o-wow-ow-ow,
So come on,
Dance on the oars,
Cat fight in a handbag,
Yours, only yours,
A walrus tickle dance bed,
It’s no lie,
Lisa in the crown said,
Meh, anyhow,
Me china Mel dancin’
Dance on the oars,
Cat fight in a handbag,
Yours, only yours,
A walrus tickle dance bed,
It’s no lie,
Lisa in the crown said,
Meh, anyhow,
Me china Mel dancin’
Apathy is sad.
I have a list of things to do as long as my arm, but can’t seem to get motivated to do any of them.
I just sit around surfing the net and watching TV.
I think it’s some kind of psychological hangover from my failed holiday – the brutal come down from all excitement and anticipation, combined with anxiety about the amount of money I’ve lost.
I hope I’ll snap out of it soon, but in the meantime you’ll all have to forgive me for being a dull, inactive, inattentive bastard.
Currently there’s a thread up on a board I frequent where people are sharing music via the wonder of YouTube. While perusing said thread I came across this piece by Nick Drake (who’s Nick Drake? Shame on you!)
While listening to it I couldn’t help thinking it sounded familiar. Then I realised why…
Now, maybe it’s just my tin ear. And maybe it’s difficult to construct a melancholy song around a descending scale without sounding like every other melancholy song constructed around a descending scale. And maybe it’s a tribute from Sarah Blasko to Nick Drake. But it really does seem a bit too close to me.
Say it ain’t so Sarah!
Good lord! Powerhouse is 75 years old!
Well done Mr Scott!
