Grand Canyon: Proof of Massive Rock Men

Wii Games

With the advent of the Nintendo Wii, games have taken on a new dimension of interactivity. Simple hand gestures are transformed into gracious movements on screen, allowing you to be immersed in a game like never before.

Well, that was the plan; most Wii games are shit. This is mainly due to the developer's inability to think of a good use for the control system, or the poor application of said system when they do.

In an effort to improve the weak lineup for the Wii, I have thought long and hard about how this unique console could be best utilised. I have devised several games that, to me, would be perfectly suited for the heightened interactivity that this console has to offer. See what you think...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NintenDoherty

1 player, Remote + nunchuk required. Custom attachment: syringe.

This is a winning idea, so much so that I can't believe that someone hasn't thought of it before. You play Babyshambles vocalist and celebrity drug dustbin Pete Doherty, and your quest is to continue to get high whilst staying a) out of the newspapers, b) out of jail, c) alive.

The Wii remote could be used adequately to simulate the action of chopping up a line of coke, and with the syringe attachement you could easily mimic the action of shooting up heroin; you could even use the cable for the nunchuk as a torniquet!

Play safe though kids - misjudge the hit and the game is over!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wii School

2 players, remote required.

Ah, school days. The humble school provides the perfect setting for a whole host of Wii-related madness.

Using the remote in a sawing motion, you must try and best your friends by making the most impressive weapon in CDT, and then employing the resulting shuriken (because it was always shuriken everybody made) forcibly on the closest gimp's face. The finer your weapon, the more accurate and powerful it will be, leading to more points.

Another task could be seeing who can scratch 'Mr Brookes is a wanker' into their desk the most legibly in an alloted time. The possibilities are endless!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beat the Wiife!

1 player, remote + nunchuk required.

Since Stella Artois has become commonly available, wife beating has ceased to be the sole preserve of Northerners - now everyone is at it! You're ripped to the tits on firewater and your wife hasn't cooked your dinner - you do the maths.

Gripping the Wii remote tight, you must rain down blows on your other half. Each blow scores, with extra points given for style and imagination. Household items come into play; you can burn her with the iron, crack a broomstick over her head, scald her with a pot of boiling water, push her down the stairs... all with just a few deft flicks of the remote! Domestic violence has never been so fun!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wii Toss

1-4 players, remote required.

Invite your friends and family round for a masturbation frenzy! See who can spaff the quickest by shaking the remote in an up-and-down fashion whilst lewd hentai images flash up on the screen! A surefire winner!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, those are just a few ideas of mine. As you can see, the possibilities of this new console haven't even begun to be tapped. I must leave now as the nurse is here with my medication.

CRITE

The Felch Test

...along with the walnut dash, the chrome gearstick and the ABS, one feature of the new Ian Cherry 1.4 LX that has been attracting much attention is the 'Auto-Felch' setting. It's been the subject of mixed reviews from public and critics alike; the main point of contention being 'Is there a need for this on a standard 1.4 LX Ian Cherry'. We've road tested this feature and here is the definitive lowdown...

The Auto-Felch is easy enough to use; simply flip open the gearstick cap to reveal a shiny pink button. Press this button and the felching begins. Initial impressions were that the felching was firm but not too engaging, but luckily those clever engineers over at TWATCARS have tailored Ian Cherry with a fully user-customizable felching experience. Pushing the gearstick from 1st to 5th whilst holding the pink button down changes the felch-force from one of 5 levels, whilst putting it into reverse actually reinserts the jizz up your back passage - useful if you want to prolong the felching session.

For the road test I decided on a gentle canter round Silverstone. Rounding Copse Corner I engaged the Auto Felch at level 1. A mildly pleasant felching experience ensued, but I know this little baby has a lot more to offer!!! After negotiating a few corners, chicanes, etc. I built up some speed on the long straight and made the mistake that a lot of the test subjects made with the Ian Cherry - I got carried away and kicked it straight into 5. This setting is not for the feint of heart I can tell you! Rounding Stowe Corner whilst a hydraulic pump is brutally removing ejaculate from your barking spider is no mean feat and I must say, despite my years of experience, I failed. I careered head long into a tire wall, breaking my nose, jaw and cheekbones on the airbag which turned out to be a breeze block (an odd safety feature), which is where the road test ended.

So, the Ian Cherry provides a pleasant felching experience, but one that shouldn't be taken lightly.

The Clapping Gavins: A band Review

Occasionally, I do some work for a music magazine reviewing bands and that. Here is one of a reviews that which i have done.





Who: The Clapping Gavins

Where: London's BumFun Nightclub

Why: For the Rock of it!

When my editor asked me to go to 'the big smoke' for to do a review of The Clapping Gavin's live show, I said "what?" and he asked me again and I said "OK".

Currently on a regional tour, they are almost literally playing live to promote their new album. Called 'Hermetistics' it has been released on the band's own 'Girth' label, and has caused quite a media stir; dubbed in turn "Godawful earache material" by the NME, "Painfully Inadequate" by Kerrang!, and "Absolute Fucking Dross" by Record Collector, it is a collection of musical whimsies, recollections and 24 minute improvised theremin solos and unbearably pretentious new age Britrock served on a bed of experimental Jazz.

I arrived at the venue early, in order to swap a few words with Blythe Chappaquidick, the band's Frontman (though he prefers the term 'Frothman'), violinist, singer and self-publicist:

"We wanted to create something new that hasn't been heard before by anyone ever. Not even us" he says, sipping porridge out of a German Army helmet. Even when he drinks he likes to stay on the cutting edge.

I asked him to give me a rundown on the line-up. "At the moment, we have the sextuplets taking turns on bass, Tam-Tam on skin-flute, me on violins, words, poetry, sex and howitzer, and my four year old niece stroking a cat's back with a rod of amber. We leave the drums empty as a statement, and instead get Jix our drummer to create a percussive effect by catapulting crockery into the face of a horse, recording it, cutting it and playing it over a telephone through the P.A." (at this point he pauses to snort up a rack of finest 'Columbian Itching Powder'). "We place the horse at the merch desk during shows and get people to write their contact details on her for our mailshots".

Jokingly punching me really hard in the face, Blythe gets up; "Fuck off out of it - I've got a visual masterpiece to paint" he quips, and then elbow-drops me in-between the shoulders and walks backstage. I get the feeling this is gonna be a great night...


Six hours later and five people have arrived, making the tiny venue nauseatingly packed, with all of them fighting to get further from the action; "Good evening London"
wheezes Blythe as Jix starts up a powerful horse-plate-catapult rythm - and there's a surprise - rather than the usual telephone setup, the Gavins have decided to make the horse-drums live which, though it looks fantastic, dramatically slows down the songs due to the fact that they keep having to reload the catapult and revive the horse.

Blythe is leaping and whirling and howling like a frog/dervish/banshee combo, sweat pouring from the big bag of sweat that he had carried onto the stage and then burst: Jix dances expressively in between shooting the horse and the sextuplets take it in turn to pluck and slap at a pint of bass - Scary stuff!

I was in ecstasy thoughout the show - shortly after the music started, Blythe's niece got a bit carried away with the amber and managed to launch an electrified cat at 70mph into the side of my head, knocking me into a coma and landing me in hospital.

People have since asked me why I'm bothering to write a review of a show which I didn't really get to see (or hear properly due to the fact that the human brain cannot process music played at such a low rate), and I just tell them one thing; "don't fuck with the 'claps man - just go and see them - they will blow your tiny mind"

"They will blow your tiny mind"

Wym Wember Jan '07

Interesting Natura-Facts

Nature. The world is full of it; from the bottom of the deepest trench, to the top of the shallowest trench, the world is full of nature. Here are some interesting facts about it!

• Did you know: The Emperor Penguin is the gayest animal on earth? Even gayer than the Barbary Ape!

• Were you aware that: The humble Cockle, found on many of our Great British beaches, has the most piercing shriek in Southern England - even more piercing than that of a split child! It is so piercing that only glaziers can hear it, and only then if they are wearing canvas. The most piercing shriek on earth is possessed by the Common Mountain-Crab, which is so fierce that you can only listen to it when you are on the moon and all pissed up.

• You may or may not be interested to learn that the: Oiliest fucker in the whole of nature is the Fox Wasp, examples of which have been able to be seen to be able to worm their way out of tricky situations that they themselves put themselves in, themselves, approximately 100 million times a second!

• You are almost certainly well surprised: that: I am hundreds of thousands of times the size of an ordinary ant, yet it can steal and lift up an entire picnic, and the people who are having it, without them noticing. I'm pretty big and I can't do that! They get the blanket to stay straight and everything!

• Guess what?: Mice live half of their lives in the future - the first half! The other half is spent rutting and fucking about in tube stations, or getting given cancer and that.

• Apparently: The oldest living creature is Gaylord the Clam, a major tourist attraction at Swansea Zoo, who according to his rings (like what are in a tree) is around 490 Tri$$$$ion years of age! Owner Tristram Mulcahey claims that he had to spend three whole hours trying to keep the clam still while he counted Gaylord's rings, but was still uncertain after he got to seven. He gave 490 Tri$$$$ion as a rough 'guesstimate'. Good enough for us Tristram!

• I'll tell you something interesting - did: you know that the Hump-Backed Turkey is the creator of several useful things that we humans use every day; the Trowel, Reverse-Cowgirl, The Happy Mondays, Scat, Crop-Rotation, Tit-Suction, Mercy, Hangman, Anal, Chips, Rock-and-Roll and Clitoral Hood Piercing.

• You wouldn't credit it, but: The Piping Shrike is the most apathetic bird in the skies. It gives so little of a fuck about anything, that you could go up to it and snap it's mum's beak right in front of it and it would just look at you with a weary scowl and sigh, before turning back to it's laptop to watch online executions and wonder about why it is no longer even shocked at it all anymore.

• Why didn't you know, that: The Sea Otter, as well as using tummy stones to bust open shellfish, also uses Gall-stones to smash open cash machines?

• That's it for the now. I have to get back to work - these kids won't murder themselves!

CONFESSIONS...

Sometimes it's cathartic to get those little things off of your chests, and where better to do it than on the entirely anonymous internet, where people may read it and smile in recognition when they have done something which is the same as the thing that you have written.

Here goes!

I once hammered a cork into a chocolate fountain because I was jealous of the children who were enjoying it. The resulting build up of pressure and explosion killed 5.

I sniggered behind my hand at the way a pig walked.

I once bought a Robbie Williams cassette single and done a shit on it, not because I didnt like it, but because I really needed a shit. I wiped my dot on a Miles Davis 7", and washed my hands with an Anthrax 'best of' compilation.

I murdered a crow because it looked askance at my hampton.



I once voted for a tramp.

I grafittied the West Wing of the White House - in white paint!

I stamped on a fish.

I have been known to turn the air blue when I dont get what I want!

I wiped sperm on a Matador's favourite hat. It wasnt my sperm, and it wasnt his hat!



I fell over in a shop and didnt pay for it. When the shop person came to help me up, I got up really quickly, gave them the fingers and ran off.

I wrote in to the producers of my favourite program and demanded that they cancel it, just because my mate Roy liked it too, and we had just had an argument about David Bowie.

I paid someone to shoot Roy.

I pissed in Roy's open grave.



I framed Roy's mother for the murder, and she got injected with something that made her die. When she was buried I pissed in her open grave too. Twice.

Before she was buried, I cut off one of her fingers, and when I got home I stuck it up my bum and had a wank over Business Lunch.

I swore a lot more when I was unemployed.

When I was unemployed, I used to go to the job centre and write my name down and they gave me money! I never corrected them on this, and to this day I haven't paid them back.

I got my favourite rugby team to gang-rape a priest.

I dug up Roy and his Mum and put them in a position where they looked like they were having a sex over a headstone, and then I called all of their relatives and told them that someone had vandalised their headstones. When they all got there I took photographs of their reactions, and once developed I drew moustaches on their faces.

I buggered them both before they were put back.

I often take a sweet or two from the pick-and-mix at Sainsbury's and eat them whilst shopping.

I did a shit in my friend's bath and blamed it on his older sister.

I havent used anywhere near enough apostrophes in this post, because I FUCKING HATE THEM.



I ruined my own mother's chances of a better life. According to her.

The Gentleman's Field Guide - Excerpt 2

'The Weaker Sex and their Handling'

The female of the species is a bizarre and oft misunderstood creature. Herein lies a guide to assist the wary gentleman through the pitfalls and social faux-pas that could result in their mis-treatment.




Situation:

Female attempting to alight from carriage.

Possible problematic occurrence:

Embarrassing display of flesh - possibly blinding the lower classes, giggling, 'Gadding about', a painful tumble due to skirts entanglement, arousal of gentlemanly urges necessitating quick marriage.

Preventative measure:

Do not allow her to leave her abode, sir!

Result:

The contentment of all.


Situation:

Female desirous of 'The Vote'

Possible problematic occurrence:

The dissolution of this Great Empire.

Preventative measure:

Thrashing.

Result:

Quiescence.


Situation:

After supper, sat next to female in Drawing-Room during parlour games, Gentlemanly passions exerted.

Possible problematic occurrence:

Over-exertion, unwarranted enthusiasm, heightened sense of competitiveness with other Gentlemen, engorgement of a variety of genital members.

Preventative measure:

Seperation of the sexes to opposite sides of the room - this should encourage Gentlemen to side with each other against the ladies.

Result:

Engorgement of members and arousal of passions restricted to menfolk due to victory over weaker sex, which can be alleviated over brandy and cigars in polite male company once females have retired-abed.


Situation:

Securing the services of a 'lady' of negotiable affections.

Possible problematic occurrence:

Securing these services in the first place can be a problem; there have oft been times when queues of red-faced gentlemen could be seen shuffling about near taverns of ill-repute, nervously attempting to avoid each other's gaze and explaining that they are only there to pick up and beat their wayward, drunken manservants.

Preventative measure:

Throw a penny in the nearest poor-pit, and whomsoever emerges victorious from the resulting scrum may act as your go-between and hire her for you. In most cases, the person hired shall be a relative of theirs.

Result:

Satisfaction of masculine passions via 'e-jaculation'. Swift, bloody murder and dissection on a London backstreet will ensure that natural female 'chattering' will not occur; thus your reputation shall remain intact.



Situation:

Death of Wife from fashionable ague (Tuberculosis tends to be the current vogue)

Possible problematic occurrence:

Bachelorhood leading to depravity.

Preventative measure:

Marry mistress.


Result:

Wedded bliss.


I refer you to the first excerpt from 'The Gentleman's Field Guide, which can be found located in the excellent periodical Close But No Cigar for further reading.

The Maltese Kraken - Part 1

I sat back in my chair and put my feet up on the battered desk. Pulling my lighter from my breast pocket, I lit up a coffin nail and tried to remember the last time I was offered a case that would let me bring home enough money to buy food.
After a while, the heat had turned the coffin nail red hot and I spat it into an ashtray, the smell of near-molten iron permeating the thick, thick fug of despair, lost love and shattered dreams in the room.
I decided to throw myself into what little work I could do. Rifling through my files, I noticed that there were way too many bills and money demands tucked into various cases, mostly the unfulfilled expense claims and gambling debts I was prone to rack up whilst working on a case. No doubt I had put them there when I was drunk in order to avoid the truth about the amount of debt I was in.
My desk phone rang out in the silence and I span round, cat-like, ready to pounce if it meant the chance of getting a case. I dashed to the desk and picked it up, putting on my best gravel voice.
"Timmerton Spuncy, Private Investigations. Hold Please"
I put whoever it was on hold because I felt it added an air of professionalism; if I was putting people on hold then I was busy, and if I was busy I was good, and if I was good then they would hire me, and if they hired me I could maybe pay off some debts. Possibly do some gambling and drinking and that. Get all pissed up.
"Timmerton Spuncy, Private Investigations. Thank you for holding, how may I help?"
"SPUNCY!"
Great. It was the Chief. The last thing I needed right now was my ex-boss calling me and hollering down the phone like an enraged starling. Murtaugh was the roughest, toughest, meanest son of a bitch in showbusiness. He was even worse in the police force.
"Hello Murtaugh... How's the crime business?"
"SPUN..."
The phone went dead. This could be bad. Real bad. The last time Murtaugh called me he managed to let slip that there was a rat in the department working for one of the big families, and that his life could be in danger. Quite why he would call me if a bad situation arose was at that moment beyond me. He was my ex-boss because when I was a cop I used to get so drunk that I would habitually piss through his letter box and flash my genitals at his kids. I once put a dogshit in a box and wrapped it up in wrapping paper, sent it to his house by courier. Probably shouldn't have signed my name on it.
The phone rang again.
"Timmerton Spuncy, Private Investigations"
"Sorry about that Spuncy, I managed to cut myself off by hitting the disconnect button with my cheekbone"
"Thats OK Murtaugh. Is everything alright?"
"Of course it is, why wouldnt it be?
"I was thinking that the rat had got to you, one of the families was maybe after your blood"
Murtaugh grunted.
"Rat? Families? Spuncy, this is Herefordshire not Washington D.C.! We dont have crime families, or rats for that matter! Although, we did have a sparrow that flew in and got caught in the net curtains at home, and a dog got into the playground at my kid's school and everyone stopped doing their work and was looking out of the classroom windows at it. That ever happen to you?"
"I think it did once Murtaugh, it was a Border Collie, and it done a shit in the field and bit Duncan Wright"
My head started to thump with the rythm of my beating heart; dark spots flashed in front of my eyes. My past was something I didnt want to let anyone know about - even myself, and I had already let too much slip.
"I... I'm sorry Spuncy... I know what talking about your past does to you..."
"It's OK chief... So why did you call? What happened to the rat? The last time you called you told me your life was in danger"
"Thats the whole point Spuncy. It wasn't me. Someone is calling people all over this crazy town and pretending to be me. I was calling because at first I thought it was you, but then I realised that you were probably too goddamn shit-thick or pissed to do something like that. Plus, your voice is all like, gravelly, and mine is all like, squeaky and that"
He had a point. A good point.
"Get to the point Murtaugh"
"The point Spuncy, is that this is too sensitive to be handled internally - I can't have this investigated by any of the guys in here. This thing goes all the way to the top, and even the Mayor is starting to sweat. I need you to look into it"
"You saying you want to hire me Murtaugh?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying Spuncy. Get over to my office and we'll work out the details [click]"
He hung up on me without even saying goodbye. See what I mean when I tell you how mean and rough and tough and that he was? All he said was [click].
So. A case. It was about time. Sure it was dirty, and definitely dangerous, the pay would stink and I could end up dead, but a case was a case, and I was harder up than a diamond on a clifftop.
I realised that now would be a good time to clean and oil my weapon - the last thing you need in a tough situation is a weapon so clogged up and dirty that it backfires on you - so I got up, went to the basin and scrubbed it with a wire brush. I then laid it on an old rag and polished it with gun oil. When it was clean I tucked it into my belt and went back into my office to sort out my old files. My penis had never felt so clean.
Little did I know then but it was about to get dirty. Real dirty.


TUNE IN SOON FOR THE NEXT THRILLING INSTALLMENT OF "THE MALTESE KRAKEN".