Archive for September, 2010

I’m Still Here

September 19, 2010

Hip hop enthusiasts! Put down your uzis and stop spelling letters with your fingers! There’s a hot new sound busting up the aural spectrum. Forget your Marky Mark, your Shabba Ranks and your MC Handpump. All of the real rap fans are grooving to a whole new scene. If you like your rhymez [sic] sick and your beatz [sic-er] dope, get down to your local record shop and ask for the latest ‘Joaquin Phoenix’ single. You can trust me, or my name isn’t Timothy Westwood, the famous rap historian. But if my word isn’t enough, check this out:

‘Rap-Scallionz, a rap’ by Joaquin Phoenix

The sweaty breath of sorrow

The mutton chops of madness

The swollen popsicle of motherly love.

I am a son of a tough bitch,

Popped out like a leathery parcel

From a mad dog’s vagina.

Boingle boingle boingle.

The Rap-Scallionz are descending on St Petersberg.

“And whoosh,

And whoosh”

He cried.

“Even God’s bidet

Could never rinse

My sins


Joaquin Phoenix, who put on 40 kg for his role in 'I'm still here', with his pocket-sized buddy, Pascal Diddy.

Sex and the City 2

September 17, 2010

Holy Overkill! It's your special day!

M’lady. An infinitude of lavendiferous blessings to you on this most special of days, when you are to pledge your troth to your hairy big-dicked brute of a bridegroom. As you stand, glowing in the lilywhite rapture of your wedding-dress, while the plainer womenfolk nip at the fluffwork with loving, sisterly pincers, allow me, your humble servant, to convey the well-wishes of the guests:

From Hindustan, the Rajah of Bombay has sent you the soul of a tortoise, embossed with the golden teardrops of a dying wizard.

From Bedfordshire, the Guild of Orphans has sent you a packet of Monster Munch and a balloon. Enclosed within the balloon (which cost them a year’s gruel money), was a petit-parcel of parchment, on which was written “we love yoo Carry”. Bless their little dirty faces.

From the Republic of Texas, President Houston has sent you a Cherokee Sooth-Sayer and with it a note in which he expressed, in his characteristically rambunctious fashion, disappointment that you had declined to be his First Lady (cf. Sex and the City, Season 2). What a rascal, eh M’Lady?

From Libya, Colonel Gadafi has sent you an exploding muff. They do things differently there.

Your good friend Charlotte has sent you a Latvian baby.

The enchanting Miss Miranda has sent you a Fraggle Stick. I’ll put it with the others, shall I?

Samantha has sent you a rude pun. Tee hee. She is incorrigible.

Unfortunately, your standard-issue gay friend sent you the same pun, but he did include a receipt so you can take it back to the shop and replace it.

…oh my m’lady. You look like a cross between Greta Garbo, Princess Diana and the Virgin Mary. I could cry. I really could.