How to Save a Billion Dollars…

tiger_apology

So let’s say (hypothetically speaking of course) I’m a well loved billionaire. I sleep my way through a quarter of a deck of cards worth of women while my beautiful wife is at home with the kids. I make a silly error and the whole world finds out that I’m not as squeaky clean as I put myself out to be. Now all of a sudden the media turns on me, my wife threatens to leave (and any Judge is likely to whip my a** with child support), advertisers are afraid of my name and in a nutshell my world starts crumbling down.

I try to lay low for a while but that only allows rumours to spin out of control so I then try to go into therapy but thanks to all the celebrities that have spoilt that avenue as a panacea, it doesn’t help. So now I realize that I’m on a downward spiral and unless I do something soon I’ll be so damaged that I’m gonna be googling charity shops and ramen recipes. So I get together with my PR team and we come up with a plan to save my bank account and my image and make me marketable again.

I stand up in front of selected journalists for fifteen minutes, shed a tear at certain points and try my hardest to keep a humble look on my face. After this I take no questions and give no interviews, I’ve learnt my lesson already and can’t screw things up right now. This isn’t really hard to do since all I have to keep in mind is the money I could stand to lose from my lucrative contracts with General Motors, Titleist, General Mills, American Express, Accenture, and Nike. I kinda regret that I didn’t speak up sooner and put an end to this before things got out of hand.

So now that I’ve done some damage control and crisis management, hopefully people will feel sorry for me and embrace me again. I’ll lay low for a while and then be back on my ‘game’ again.

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Blair Shows No Remorse, Bin Laden Augurs More Conflict, Jedward Achieve Success, Alex Reid Wins BB, and Music Continues to Die Slow and Painful Death…

Osama bin Laden prophesies more conflict. Alex Reid wins Big Brother. Jedward hit No.2 in the singles charts. It’s the end of civilisation as we know it. Run for the hills; get down to your private bunkers, and forsake this mad, doomed world. The four horsemen are galloping into town, even as we speak…

Alexandra Burke is bad enough, but how in Hades did those Evil Irish Twins convince people to BUY their track? I’ll admit to a soft spot for the original Vanilla Ice version of ‘Ice, Ice Baby’, but this new version (which monstrously includes elements of the original original Queen song) is the most tasteless, talentless piece of bantha fodder this side of Jabba the Hutt’s faecal discharges. Clearly the dregs of the music buying population are at their all-time lowest standard of judgement; Cheryl Cole could fart into an amplifier and it’d be guaranteed the No.1 spot, at this point.

And have all these people failed to notice that the Evil Irish Twins don’t actually DO anything on the track, other than jump up and down a lot? Vanilla Ice is the only half-talented thing in the entire affair.

As for Cowell’s cynical shepherding together of ‘artists’ (translation: a collection of X-Factor contestants, plus the senile and overrated Rod Stewart) to rape and pillage a classic piece of music (specifically, REM’s ‘Everybody Hurts’)… I’ll bite my tongue on that one, on account of it being a fundraiser for the Haitian relief efforts.

So, anyway, that covers the ongoing slow and painful death of the music industry…

Popular culture in general continues to march to the rythmless beat of Katie Price’s drum. Quite why Alex Reid won Big Brother is something of a mystery (all he did, as far as I could see, was get naked a lot and sound stupid); but the great Jordan, never one to miss a trick or a profit, promptly married him (in a quick and ‘quiet’ ceremony – which, needless to say, also included photographers from a celebrity magazine). That bandwagon got to her so phenomenally quickly, it must have been drawn by the same lions that drew Mark Antony’s chariot.

Seriously, Katie Price and Simon Cowell should surely join forces; they’d be unstoppable. They could own and run the entire mainstream media within a year, tops.

As for the Iraq inquiry and Tony Blair’s recent grilling; why is everyone so shocked or disappointed that he didn’t ‘apologise’ for the invasion of Iraq? Why would he apologise for something he felt was the right decision? And, regardless of whether he was right or wrong, why would you WANT someone to apologise for doing what they BELIEVED to be right?

Another very popular world figure is has just recently released his latest video message to the West. Bin Laden has indicated that there’ll be no peace until there is first peace in Palestine. There’ll be no peace, then…

Well, not unless someone goes back through time to the First World War and prevents the British government from stealing someone’s country and giving it to someone else – and all on the basis of a few Biblical passages. Though, of course, we wouldn’t want to get mixed up in temporal complications and predestination paradoxes. Anyone who watches Star Trek knows full well that it’s unwise to mess with the past.

Of course, given considerable evidence that Osama bin Laden has actually been dead for about seven years, one has to wonder who that fellow is who keeps recording these messages.

If Bin Laden truly is long deceased, then the real threat to our civilisation remains Simon Cowell and Katie Price…

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How RATM Stole Christmas. Plus Dracula Rocks, and American Movie Star Converts Katie Price’s Gigolo Cagefighter to the Lord Jesus (Amen)…

The snow’s come and gone, and what a lovely gift it was… apart from all the slipping, breaking of collar bones, snail’s-pace traffic jams, and general freezing to death. But wasn’t it pretty? The answer is… no, not really. The only time snow is pretty is on Christmas Eve; unfortunately, we had the snow (and, worse, the ice) every day APART from Christmas Eve. The weather fairies, it seems, are growing increasingly incompetent. And now we’re told more of the Arctic shafting is on its way.

But Christmas 2009 was made gleeful all the same by Rage Against the Machine making Christmas No.1 – possibly the single most unlikely event since Greece robbed Luis Figo of the 2004 European Championships. It was a glorious victory for music, made all the more worthwhile just to hear the middle-aged viewers calling into GMTV and expressing their outrage at ‘poor Joe what’s-his-face’ being unfairly robbed of his No.1 spot, and having the dreary GMTV presenters look into the screen in all seriousness and ask ‘is it right?’ for this to have happened? Well, it did happen. In your face, children.

Speaking of hard rock, mystifying news has broken that Sir Christopher Lee is releasing a heavy metal album – which qualifies as the most unlikely event since Rage Against the Machine made Christmas No.1. Seriously, the prospect of hearing Dracula/Count Dooku taking lead vocals on a collection of metal numbers is a little bit fascinating, and might even eclipse some of those confusingly compelling spoken-word epics by the likes of William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy.

The present Celebrity Big Brother, we’re told, is the final one. I’m not sure I understand why, when viewing figures are so high and there’s no shortage of third-rate celebrities apparently willing to be subjected to its manipulations. Channel 4 dropping it would make about as much sense as the BBC dropping Johnothan Ross. Oh, wait…

I’m not a supporter of reality TV in general, but Big Brother has always been the exception to me, tending to provide some genuinely interesting television. Granted, it might work out to only about ten minutes of good television for every five hours of footage; but that’s still better than anything ITV has churned out. Generally, the first week (especially the always overblown hullaballoo of the launch nights) tends to be mind-numbingly dull; but then, typically, by the second week the dynamics have become far more interesting.

We’ve had Stephanie Beecham proving that a woman in her sixties can be significantly more sexy than girls more than half her age.  We’ve had the infinitely interesting Heidi Fleiss. We’ve had Stephen Baldwin proving to be the first ever entertaining AND inoffensive Bible-basher. And we’ve got the massively overrated Vinnie Jones revealing himself to be a grim, whiney old man. Why does everyone keep pretending that Vinnie Jones is some kind of great cultural figure? He was NEVER that good a footballer, and he’s even less adept at acting (pretty much playing yourself in a few films does NOT make you Peter O’Toole).

Still, the point is this; what other show could create a televisual moment as bizzare as having one of the Baldwin brothers hold hands with Alex Andre (that’s his name, right?) and having him summon the Lord Jesus into his life? Katie Price must’ve been choking on her piles of money – the LAST person she wants showing up in her life is the Son of God.

If anything, the normal Big Brother (the one that goes on for six months at a time and is populated by desperate and slightly retarded attention-seekers from really bad night-clubs) is the one that should be axed, while the celebrity version (which, let us remember, has managed over the years to entice the likes of George Galloway, Dennis Roddman, Pete Burns, TWO Jacksons, and now an evangelising Baldwin) could continue for one month a year.

And since we’re on the subject of celebrities, how on earth did a talentless mop of blonde hair like Jessica Simpson wind up coupled with one of the greatest geniuses in rock history; aka, Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins? They’d be about as well matched as Osama bin Laden and Miss Piggy.

PS; if anyone’s thinking of stealing that idea of Bin Laden and Ms Piggy as the basis for a sitcom, back off – I’m getting it copyrighted, ASAP…

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If I were a Rich Kid!

Britain Soccer Blackburn Diouf

Blackburn Rovers forward El Hadji Diouf is one of the latest showing us why fools and their money are soon parted! The 29 year old footballer has Manchester buzzing after showing off his £100k gold-plated Cadillac Escalade. Apparently he is also the proud (if not foolish) owner of a £420,000 chrome Mercedes.

Gold Escalade

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating on him in the least bit, after all its his money and he is free to do with it as wishes…but I just hope he has a good retirement fund plan. We’ve all seen the countless athletes that live the high life in their prime and then end up on the auction block when the spotlight finds a new target. Besides, why would anyone want that much attention on them-self while they’re going about their business…its like a subliminal shout out to be robbed, kidnapped or otherwise mishandled!

Chrome Merc

Perhaps while he’s still young, strong and signing cheques with golden ink he might just want to hit up Chris Eubanks for some bankruptcy avoidance tips!

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Susan Boyle Is The New Eminem, and Tony Blair Is Not the Anti-Christ…

Susan Boyle has the fastest selling debut album of all time in America; a record previously held by Eminem. Some might bemoan her success and cite it as another nail in the coffin of the music industry as any kind of meaningful artistic entity (and I’d usually be one of them); but this time I’m actually not all that bothered. Granted, Simon Cowell’s victory is invariably culture’s loss, but I don’t see how Susan Boyle shifting mega units is any more annoying than Alexandra Burke, Leona Lewis, Cheryl Cole, Hanna Montana, or a hundred other karaoke singers and PR gimicks.

What maybe is a little bit surprising is that America seems to have top-heavied the Boyle bandwagon; the American record-buying public are generally less gimick-oriented and less novelty-inclined than we are in Britain, after all. Evidently, it’s all about the backstory; the Cinderella motif. It sure as hell isn’t about the music. But then nothing coming out of an overhyped karaoke tournament is going to be about the music. It’s entirely hype over substance; that’s what happens when predominately television audiences suddenly invade record stores in time for Christmas.

Someone just as popular in America as Ms Boyle is our former Imperator, Tony Blair. Just a shame he’s not so popular in Europe (or Britain, apparently), as evidenced by his missing out on the Euro Presidency and being shafted by the continent; probably a blessing in disguise – a great many (lonely) conspiracy theorists cite the prospective role of European President as equating with the prophetic figure of the Anti-Christ… and who needs THAT for stigma?

A belated R.I.P to Edward Woodward. ‘The Wicker Man’ may be his most remembered film, but those of us who grew up in the eighties will remember him for the TV series ‘The Equaliser’. Actually, all I can properly remember about the equaliser is the wicked theme tune. Which segways me into another objection: why, by Zeus, has ‘Knight Rider’ been remade? The original is perfectly fine. What is it with film and television producers and this endless procession of remakes and retoolings? Is there no one left with any original ideas, or are there no production companies or commisionning execs willing anymore to put their money and sanction behind proper creative or inventive enterprises?

Practically every other (large-scale) cinematic release is a remake or an adaptation. Where are the writers? Sorry to sound like a grim curmudgeon, but frankly the film, music, and television industries are at their lowest, creatively speaking, that they’ve been in my lifetime. Granted, my lifetime hasn’t been that long; but it’s long enough that I remember far better days.

PS: ‘Terminator: Salvation’ is (soiled) pants.

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Hitler’s House, Ruby’s Fedora, Autopsy Photographs, More Contrived X-Factor Hype, and I’m (Not) A Celebrity (anymore)… Please Put Me On TV. Plus Um-Bongo, Um-Bongo, they drink it in the Congo…

It’s always extraordinary the kind of things people put up for sale (as well as the kinds of things people actually BUY); e-bay is full of such strange transactions. Everything from pencils to faecies. Uri Gellar, allegedly, bought a house once belonging to Elvis Presley off e-bay. But, on that subject, a house once belonging to Adolf Hitler is presently for sale in Austria for 1.2 million pieces of wad. Now, who’s going to want to live in that place? Maybe Nick Griffin could buy it as a holiday home…

Another strange, and somewhat morbid, item going up for sale recently was the fedora hat worn by Jack Ruby when he shot Lee Harvey Oswald. Again, who would want it? Other than some gun-toting cowboy all in favour of executing innocent patsies on live televison?

Lee Harvey Oswald’s autopsy photographs have been in the public domain for some time, and make for grim viewing, as do all such photographs. And there are rumours now that a high-resolution photograph of Michael Jackson’s autopsy is being passed around TV execs. in Hollywood, having originated allegedly from a police officer. The picture is said to not show Michael Jackson in a flattering light. I, for one, hope the picture never sees the light of day. I have always hated this morbid penchant people have for displaying or viewing dead celebrities, and personally have zero interest in seeing such unflattering images of people in the public domain.

In some ways, it seems like a natural extension of our society’s epidemic interest in seeing a variety of unflattering photographs of celebrities whenever possible – glossy mags make their entire profit out of playing to the bitch factor; any chance to see Angelina Jolie having a bad hair day, or someone or another wearing the wrong dress, or Amy Winehouse looking unwell. It seems a logical follow-through to subject the celebrity in question to the next level of public degradation – the death photo.

To my mind, it robs the person in question of their final dignity. It was disgusting when such pictures of Anna Nicole Smith were allowed to go public – how nice for her daughter to one day have to stumble upon those pictures – and it would be just as bad for Michael Jackson to be subjected to the same indignity.

The nation’s obsession with reality TV shows no signs of abating, with the annual onset of endless, incessant talk of The X-Factor, and now ‘I’m (not really) A Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here (i.e: ‘Get Me In Here, Please; My Career’s Dying’).

What’s with all the outrage over Simon Cowell pushing a half-decent female singer onto the guilotine in order to increase the chances for those Irish twats (I mean, twins)? The whole thing is a cynical, tactical, premeditated enterprise. It has been since the beginning. The moment those kids stepped onto the stage for their first audition, it was evident to all that they’re destined to be massive pop-stars (this country loves shit music and glossy haircuts), and a massive money-spinner for Simon Cowell, Louis Walsh, and The X-Factor. Trust me – they’ll be as big as Boyzone or Westlife. They will be around forever.

The show is not about who can sing the best, or who has the best tecnhique or even the most charisma – it is, plain and simple. about who is the most commerically viable; the easiest to market to either teenage girls or middle-aged women oohing and aaahing at the cute factor. They won’t win the competition itself, because the producers aren’t going to be that obvious about it – but they’ll be kept in it for long enough to maximise their exposure in preparation for the commencement of their glittering careers. Also, they look a lot like Bros.

As for that dead-in-the-water ITV offering in the reality-TV arena, this year’s prospective line-up of Z-list ‘celebrities’ is looking like the worst haul yet. Six or seven years of this ’star’-making, career-reviving, RSPCA-eluding nonsense and the only actual characters of any kind of calibre that they’ve managed to boast are John Lydon, George Takei and David Guest (let’s be fair to David Guest – anyone who was married to Liza Minelli has a high quota of credentials, just by default). There is NOTHING remotely good to be said about this show. And, frankly, any show that is responsible for the creation that monstrous entity known as Jordan-and-Peter should be condemned the deepest fires of Hades for all time to come.

So, right on queue anyway, we now have a new line-up of non-entities that I’ve never heard of, who’re going to despoil the Austrialian jungle, murder and munch a whole selection of living creatures, and dominate both ITV schedules and newspaper and radio coverage for the next month. And Sam Fox. Yay.

It will, of course, get good viewing figures; but this is only because half the country’s obese arses are stuck to their sofas.

A survey conducted by Waitrose has revealed aniseed balls to be the nation’s favourite childhood sweets. Aniseed balls were HORRIBLE. I didn’t know ANY child who liked those vile things. No, the best sweets were those flying saucer thingys. And maybe those strawberry lace thingys. Definitely not jaw-breakers (it’s no use crying about it when your teeth break – the clue’s in the NAME, Sherlock). Waitrose say they’re planning to stock them again – aniseed balls, that is. While we’re on the subject of bringing back favourite childhood products from the mists of our past; what the hell happened to Um-Bongo? You know, that drink all those cartoon animals were always singing about? They used to drink in the Congo, apparently.

I met someone from the Democratic Republic of Congo, and, no, he’d never heard of ‘Um-Bongo’. False advertising, that. He actually got quite offended by my repeated insistance than ‘they drink it in the Congo’. Also, I’ve been informed that African jungle animals generally don’t purchase fruit drinks anyway. And, also, that they don’t sing.

And also what happened to Lilt? Is that still on sale? I was talking to my little sister the other day and I discovered, to my dismay, that TRIO doesn’t exist anymore. You know, them chocolates with the little girl shouting with the massive mouth?

No Trio, no Um-Bongo, no Lilt. What is the world coming to? Next you’ll be telling me there’s no Woolworths anymore…

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Michael Jackson – the Prophet, Gadaffi on Israel, the Nuclear Weapons Conundrum, and Islam’s 1.57 Billion Fans. Plus Martin Luther King’s Legacy, Egypt Versus France, Future Jedi Persecution, and the Death of Music…

The great Elizabeth Taylor has cited her friend Michael Jackson as having been a sort of “prophet”; an idea that may sound absurd at first, but which was probably a notion not too far from Michael Jackson’s psyche in his own lifetime, and certainly not far from the minds of his most devoted followers (or fans, if you will). Prophets of old may have wandered the deserts in sandals and robes and preached to fairly small audiences, but in the twenty-first century, with mass markets and global audiences, any would-be ‘prophet’ would have to go for global stardom, rather than dithering away in small communities, preaching to small cliques of vulernable, emotionally unsteady or psychologically damaged people.

If we think about it for just a moment, we might find that Michael Jackson has all the classic prophet-like archetypes. He was followed by multitudes, some of that following being fanatically zealous. He entirely consciously preached a series of moral and social messages extremely passionately (things like Heal the World, We Are The World, and Earth Song, representing the most uninhibited examples). He passionately preached ‘love’. He was (perceived to have been) persecuted by the mainstream for his strangeness, and even abused and put on trial for crimes that were (perceived to have been) never committed. He had a slightly inflated sense of himself, a degree of self-aggrandizement, and some messianic tendencies (giant statues of himself on album covers or in videos, turning into a god-like figure in the movie ‘Moonwalker’, etc). And his death was met with a global wave of mass mourning and grief.

Whether Liz Taylor was speaking in metaphor or not (it isn’t clear from her statement), it couldn’t have escaped everyone’s attention that there’d probably be a fair amount of people who’d have elevated him to a prophet-like status already. (even his memorial service was punctuated by motifs along those lines; such as the choice of gospel music that opened the ceremony – “Hallelujah, we’re going to see the King…”).

If Michael Jackson had been a prophet-like figure in a more direct sense – as in undisguised preaching and sermonising – he would’ve been the most powerful such figure of all time. He was already the most famous man in the world (a thousand times more famous than figures such as Jesus and Mohammad or Moses were in their own lifetimes), and would’ve had a platform and an audience on a kind of scale that a guru or preacher would’ve killed for. Whether that’s a wistful thought or scary one will be a matter of opinion; but it’s worth bearing in mind, for example, that Jesus of Nazareth had only a tiny following in his own lifetime, and in fact Christianity didn’t even begin to hold any sway until at least three centuries after his death.

Further indicators of Michael’s Jackson’s prophet potentials (no, wait – I mean profit potentials) will be demonstrated this week with the release of the documentary movie, ‘This Is It’, expected to be the highest grossing cinema release of all time. A film that is likely to be a mixture of strange and bittersweet…

That long-reigning superstar dictator (and certainly not a prophet, though he might aspire to be), Colonel Gadaffi sparks not the first controversial debate of his career by suggesting that Israel should be disarmed of its nuclear arsenal; or else the Palestinians, as well as nuclear-aspiring Iran, should be allowed to have nuclear weapons too. While the statement is no doubt intended to be antagonistic, there is undeniably a certain logic to his sentiment. Not that anyone in their right minds would want a government as questionable as Iran having such an arsenal, or indeed think it would be a good idea for a culture as angry, resentful and zealous as the Palestinians to have that kind of firepower either; but there is surely a case to be made that Israel’s leadership doesn’t have a solid track record of restraint either. The Israeli government, and its military, could be cited as being almost as zealous as the Palestinians.

This also opens up the wider question of exactly who should be ‘allowed’ to develop nuclear power and/or weapons. After all, Pakistan and India have nuclear arsenals, and Pakistan, like Israel, can hardly be called a stable country by any measure. North Korea has defied international opposition to its nuclear programmes and continued unabated. Who is it that should have the ultimate and objective right to dictate which nations should be trusted with nuclear technology and which nations shouldn’t? After all, it is all surely a matter of perspective. We, in the secular West, can easily cite a dozen reasons why Iran, for example, should not be permitted to develop those capabilities; but that’s from a specific point of view. Iranians might not agree. In fact, if Gadaffi’s comments are something to go by, there may be a number of other countries who’d have no opposition to Iran developing such capacities and might have plenty of objection to America or Britain such powers. Many, in numerous countries, for that matter, would call America ‘zealous’ and ‘extreme’. They might be incorrect in saying that; but, again, that’s a matter of perspective.

Ideally, of course, NO ONE would have nuclear weapons. An all-encompassing global disarmament would come into effect, with every nuclear plant or nuclear weapons component being disabled and dismantled. It won’t happen, however; because there’d always be a suspicion that someone might be cheating, in order to gain the upper hand over the rest of the world…

Official statistics gleened from extensive surveys and censuses (is that a word?) reveals that 1/4 of the world’s population is now practising Islam in some form or another. There are 1.57 billion Muslims spread across 232 countries, Islam being the second largest religious umbrella on earth, after Christianity, which has – again in various forms – 2.2 billion adherents. Some of the results have proven to be interesting, with large numbers of Muslims living in non-Muslim countries, in some cases even more so than in traditionally Islamic nations. For example, there are said to be more Muslims in Germany now than in Lebanon and some other Islamic societies.

Islam, of course, despite common misconceptions, is divided into various sects, just like Christianity, and the majority do not suscribe to extremist idealogies. Wahabism could be cited as the main culprit; but the majority denominations of Sunni and Shia Islam, despite having some extremist elements, generally practise a relatively easygoing, good-spirited tradition. Extremists in, for example, Pakistan, are a minority, and in places like Jordan are practically non-existent.

But Nick Griffin and the BNP needn’t worry anyway – only a miniscule percentage of those 1.57 billion live in the UK. With the Muslim communities of the UK consisting of only 2 percent of the total UK population, one imagines much of the BNP’s xenophobic scaremongering antics would fall flat; all the talk of a ‘Muslim takeover’ and the alleged minoritisation of the indigenous white population is revealed for the contrived and cynical propaganda that it is…

Incidentally, the only religion outnumbering both Islam and Christianity is the Jedi spiritual faith, which now numbers 2.7 billion worldwide, and follows the spiritual teachings of Master Yoda.

No, okay, that’s not true. But wouldn’t it be nice if it was? I personally can’t WAIT for the BNP and fascist propaganda of the future, in which we hear endless tirades about how ‘the Jedi are taking over, taking all our jobs, subverting our society, etc’.

We are, in fact, steadily growing in number; to the point that we now quite seriously have practising Jedi in the police force, in journalism, and even publicly abusing people on the London Underground. We are biding our time, as our numbers swell, waiting for the right moment. Mark my words – our time will come…

The great Martin Luther King might well look down from Heaven (where he’s presently in the middle of a chess game with Mahatma Gandhi, whilst Louis Armstrong and Kurt Cobain perform a jazz-punk duet on a stage a little to their right) and smile at the election of Barak Obama to the White House, but he might well be frowning when he looks to his own heirs and finds them feuding over the corporate rights to his legacy. There is something a little bit disenchanting about his children spending their time in legal wrangling over corporate interests; Bernice King and Martin Luther King III have apparently settled their conflict, however, with their brother Dexter, who has been guilty of trying to exclude them from profiting from their father’s estate.

Another feud of a dramatic nature has recently been raging between the Louvre and Egypt’s preeminent archaelogist, Mr Zahi Hawass, over ancient painted wall fragments, which the bosses of the French museum have been refusing to hand back to Egypt. The 3, 200 year-old tomb fragments are from the ancient temple city of Luxor. It’s not the only feud of its kind that I’ve heard of; which surely begs the question of why some universal law isn’t place to guarantee ownership of archaelogical relics to their country of origin? Except, perhaps, for countries where the insitutions and resources aren’t in place to ensure the preservation of such finds. But it’d be only fair, wouldn’t it? After all, no one would argue that the Egyptian archaelogists would have any rightful claim to relics found in France – so why vice-versa?

And, finally, with the likes of Cheyl Cole, Alexandra Burke, and Robbie Williams, dominating the charts, I think the final proof has come that the music industry as a platform for music as an art-form in any meaningful sense is entirely dead and buried, the industry now being purely a mass commercial enterprise…

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NASA attacks the Moon, Pakistan attacks the Taleban, Egypt attacks the Veil, and All’s Not White with the BNP. Plus Alice in Chains, Pearl Jam, Michael Jackson, Katie Price, and Thiery Henry…

NASA’s explosion of a rocket on the surface of the moon to, apparently, look for signs of water, seems… slightly peculiar, at best. It reminds me a bit of the time I smashed a window with a hammer to look for… uh, a fly that I’d spotted buzzing around. Quite obviously, NASA was actually secretly displaying its firepower to the Lunar aliens who live on the dark side of the moon, sending them a warning that their conquest is inevitable.

You… know about the Lunar aliens on the dark side of the moon, right? They’re furry and pink and blue, and have really squeaky voices. A bit like Tribbles from Star Trek, but with tiny little hands and feet. They live in tunnels beneath the Lunar surface. They eat moon-cheese. And they drink moonshine. And they’re scared of Mr Blobby, apparently. The truth will come out eventually, mark my words…

Explosions of a different kind might’ve been seen and heard in certain parts of Pakistan recently. Pakistani military operations against the Taleban continue, reminding the world that the extremists are still thriving. At least the army is taking firm and sustained action; though common attitudes in the country would suggest the Pakistani military can be considered merely the lesser of two evils. Not unlike the war in Afghanistan, the anti-Taleban campaign in Pakistan doesn’t have a discernable end in sight, and may drag on a very long time to come.

But Britain has extremists of its own to worry about, in the form of the BNP, who are imminently to receive even more legitimisation via a place on the BBC’s Question Time. Personally, I still don’t see a problem with this, as it’s only fair for any legitimately-recognised political party to be given the same platform as other parties. Besides, it will provide more opportunity for Nick Griffin and co. to make complete tits of themselves. Having to legally allow non-white people to join the party is already threatening to undermine them; those same democratic principles and equality issues that have been so milked by the BNP to its advantage are now coming back to bite them on their collective fat arse.

Personally, I would recommend that as many black, Asian, Jewish, and other minority citizens as possible rush to join the BNP, just to screw around with the party from within. Think of the comedy potential…

A mixed week for our world leaders; while Barak Obama is being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, Italy’s Silvio Berlusconi is losing his precious legal immunity, potentially clearing the way for him to be brought to task on a multitude of corruption charges. Always nice to see the possibility of Emperor-like, egotistical, mass media mogul cum national leader type figures getting within flinching range of some comeuppance. Probably doesn’t happen often enough.

Egypt has become the first Islamic nation in which serious talk has ensued about the proposed banning of the niqab; the fully-body covering and face-veil. A prominent Egyptian cleric, Sheik Mohammed Tantawi, has condemned the contentious garb favoured by many Muslim women, denouncing it as having nothing to do with true Islam. Sheik Tantawi, who is dean of the prestigious and renowned al-Azhar University in Cairo, is, it has to be said, factually accurate that the niqab has no real basis in the Koran or the original traditions of Islam, no matter how many people might want to object to his statements. The niqab is, in fact, a cultural tradition, thought to have originated in Saudi Arabia.

It is refreshing to hear a highly-regarded Muslim scholar speak against it publicly and so vehemently. In a best-case scenario it might stimulate lively debate in the Islamic world; the kind of open, good-spirited debate that has been sorely lacking in Islamic scholarship for the longest time.

That said, I think we should all be uncomfortable with the growing trend of opposing the wearing of the veil, which has been the subject of much controversy in France and is now, according to reports, on the verge of being banned in Italy. People should surely be allowed to wear what they choose, especially if it is perceived to be a cultural heritage or tradition; that is surely a basic freedom of anyone living in a liberal, free society? It should surely be a matter of personal choice – and in most cases, certainly in the West anyway, it IS a personal choice by women? There is a misconception that women wearing the full covering are being oppressed, but this broadly isn’t the case.

There’s been something of a much-welcome revival lately of classic early nineties rock. Last year it was the return of Guns N’ Roses; these passed months, we’ve seen the return of Pearl Jam, selling out the 02 and releasing their new album, Backspacer. And now fellow Seattle grunge innovators and masters, Alice in Chains, have returned from the mists of legend with their long-awaited new album, Black Gives Way To Blue, and a new singer, William DuVall.

I’ve been proper chuffed to see Pearl Jam back in action, and I will confess to some pleasure at the idea of a new wave of substance-starved fans discovering Alice in Chains, but I do have to take issue: why are they still calling themselves Alice in Chains?

The tragic, untimely, death of AIC frontman Layne Staley in 2002, aged 32, was a heartbreaking loss to both the band and to rock music in general. The world lost one of its greatest artists and rock lost one of its finest, most unique, singers, under tragic circumstances -  a man whose voice could innebriate minds, raise ghosts, and cause the occupants of heaven to descend. Therefore, for the band to continue with a replacement singer and use the same name, I find grating and innappropriate.

I have nothing at all against William DuVall and nothing against the group continuing – but continue under a different name. Make it a whole new beginning. Maybe there are commercial reasons behind it, maybe even from a PR level, but, to my mind, out of respect if nothing else, the band should’ve renamed itself. If Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl decided to reform their old band without Kurt Cobain, I’m almost certain they wouldn’t call it Nirvana again, and I don’t see why the Alice in Chains situation should be any different.

That said, all indications are that the new album is excellent. Layne Staley was the kind of vocalist who simply couldn’t be replaced in a million years, his style more or less impossible to replicate. DuVall, in his own right, makes an excellent rock frontman. AiC’s return, and the on-form continuation of Pearl Jam, is a timely reminder of a golden era of Alt-Rock, the likes of which has not since been equalled and may never be, given the way the music industry is changing, while music-makers of such substance and calibre have become as rare as a solar eclipse.

Speaking of music, Michael Jackson’s new single is out, and an album soon follows (aNOTHER greatest hits compilation) to coincide with the cinematic release of ‘This Is It’. It continues, however, to feel entirely like a series of cash-in’s so that someone can make some serious dollars…

Someone else making some serious dollars is Jordan. And, as if Katie Price hadn’t hogged enough newspaper coverage already, there’s now talk about her threatening to ‘do a Britney’ and shave her head. Frankly, a scripted, by-the-numbers celebrity meltdown would be the logical next step for Jordan, who has thus far ticked every other box on the list. If I see one more glossy-mag advert on TV with Ms Price telling us to read her exclusive story, in all its juicy details, I am going to shoot my own TV. If only I had a gun…

I don’t have a gun; but one ex-gunner has been wandering his old haunts again lately. Thierry Henry, a recent attendee at Arsenal games at the Emirates, has not ruled out a possible return to Arsenal one day, apparently. The idea seems to be a return to North London some day to see out the twilight days of his career. Being a god at Arsenal, this would surely be a happy circumstance for most Gunners, and for Mr Wenger too; but why did Henry go to Barcelona in the first place? He was a deity at Arsenal, and the gravitational centre of the squad – why leave that to play third fiddle to younger stars like Etoo and Messi in Spain? At Barcelona, Henry has been just another star on a conveyor belt of big-name players; at Arsenal, he was the club’s hero.

In any case, a return to London would certainly be an appropriate way to wrap up an illustrious career some day. If only a certain David Beckham had some club where he too could be welcomed back a hero; as opposed to some club demanding his return, on account of the stupendous amount of money spent on him…

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Letterman Getting Jiggy, Big Macs and Mona Lisas, Aliens and Poltergeists, the Nature of Reality, Darth Vader Porno Shocker, Jacko’s Return to the Big Screen, Liz’s new heart, and the fate of the Galaxy…

Just when you thought that enduring mainstay of American popular culture, David Letterman, couldn’t get anymore likeable, the elder statesman of talkshow television finds himself thrust into the limelight amid a controversy that, for a man of his age, is frankly to be envied. And from which he appears to have emerged more or less unscathed.

The egg seems to be firmly on the face of whoever the idiot was who thought that the idea of Letterman having had affairs with women in his staff was sufficient fodder for bribery. So, keeping in character, Mr Letterman, instead of being lured into that dirty game, announced his saucy liaisons to the world on his prime-time TV show, refusing to be toyed with. And a nation applauds (well, maybe not the ENTIRE nation; it’s a fair bet that some folk down south were aggressively frowning with great Bible-stroking disapproval). Letterman is surely to be congratulated for his handling of the situation, where so many others in his position might’ve been drawn the other way.

So, kudos to Letterman; whose show stands up as a rarity in American television… as in, it’s always been quite good. And who could forget Drew Barrymore’s melon-flashing table dance?

That premier icon of American capitalist might and child-obesifying sub-victuals known as MacDonalds is causing outrage in France, on account of one of its fine eateries being opened in the Louvre (shock horror). Snooty (probably justifiably, this time) French commentators are flaring their nostrils in disgust at the notion of a cultural heritage being defiled by the presence of the world’s foremost fast-food purveyor. Snide comments about the Mona Lisa having to compete with the “odours” of Big Macs and Happy Meals abound. As if the French didn’t dislike America enough already…

The Michael Jackson docu-movie, ‘This Is It’ (surely the fastest-compiled cinematic release in history) is due out later this month, and is being tipped to be the highest grossing movie of all time. With no slight at all intended against Michael Jackson himself, the idea of a documentary of concert rehearals (which, profit factors aside, could’ve just as easily been released straight to TV or DVD) eclipsing actual motion pictures for that accolade doesn’t sit right. Not that some of the previous items of depravity that held the title were anything to celebrate (Titanic, Harry Potter, Transformers, etc). But the whole thing is quite brazenly a massive cash-in on someone’s death and exploitation of hungry fans and fake, U-turning hangers-on (”Oh, we ALWAYS loved Michael Jackson; we stuck by him through all the bad times”, etc) and little more.

Of course, if Michael Jackson was still here, he’d probably be delighted by his revived earning potential. He’d also be very pleased that his dear friend, the god-like Liz Taylor, has come out of her heart surgery successfully. The Hollywood mega-legend (from those bygone days when the word ’star’ actually meant something), now aged 77, has reported just today on her twitter page that she’s in good shape, even going so far as to say she feels like she’s been given a whole new heart.

A whole new heart, with hindsight, might’ve done wonders for her friend, Michael…

Presumably everyone by now has seen the artist’s impression doing the rounds, claiming to depict an alien being  wandering the streets of Winchester? You haven’t? [Sigh] Stop watching ‘The X-Factor’ and start paying attention to the REAL news – this is serious business, people. And the sexy alien was witnessed by no less a credible observer than a Lib Dem Councillor. A Mr Adrian Hicks, a Lib Dem Councillor for Winchester, claims to have seen the female extra-terrestrial shuffling down the high street, donning an elaborate ballet outfit, twirling her hands and laughing to herself. The ET, which had oval-shaped eyes and appeared to wear a blonde wig, “seemed to be enjoying herself.” Other passers-by are alleged to have witnessed the spectacle, but have been unwilling to formally report it. Mr Hicks has linked the sighting to alleged UFO activity around a nearby military base, citing Winchester as the “UFO capital of Europe”. The beguiling species of womanhood depicted in the artist’s sketch seems to be a cross between the pop star Rihanna and a classic Whitley Strieber-esque grey alien.

I’ve heard and read a great many UFO and ET stories in my time (a fair bit more than is probably healthy, it must be said); but none quite so baffling as this one, particularly due to the sheer incidentalness of it. Unless the whole thing is a Lib Dem conspiracy to win votes; ‘it was one of OUR guys the alien revealed herself to, not the Tories or Labour,’ etc. Yes, actually, that’s probably the most credible explanation.

Sticking with the paranormal, but shifting our radar to the West Midlands; a shop specialising in school uniforms has recently been plagued by poltergeist activity. Clothes and merchandise are said to have been mysteriously moved about and thrown around on its premises. Promptly, a Catholic Priest and a psychic detective were called in to perform an exorcism. The subsequent lack of anomalous phenomena indicates that the exorcism was successful.

As a more serious aside, one has to wonder why these kinds of stories – alien sightings by credible witnesses, poltergeist activity, etc – are not more widely reported in the media. Given that these things actually do happen (and in many cases can be attested to by multiple witnesses), surely they warrant some attention and discussion, being of great significance as scientific anomalies and as gaping holes in the status quo of prevailing beliefs about the nature of our reality? What could be more engaging or relevant than that? Hoaxes or reports of dubious credibility can easily be put aside, while those worth serious consideration could be more earnestly given coverage? So, why not? Surely it’s of more interest to the nation than Peter Andre and Katie Price and Strictly Come Dancing (and Paki Bashing)? Now, seriously, do you want to hear more endless, tedious stories about z-list celebrities, or do you want to hear more about a tipsy extra-terrestrial stunner wandering Winchester’s shopping streets?

Speaking of unwanted intruders, the original Darth Vader and children’s road safety guru, the actor David Prowse, recently got more trouble than warranted when the set of a new movie he is involved in was raided by Staffodhsire police; due to nosy, tight-arsed neighbours thinking that a porn film was being shot. The bungalow in Newhall, Staffodshire, was the setting for the movie due out later this year – which is most certainly not a porn movie, thank you very much. Reports that Mr Prowse force-choked the police officers in anger, or that the uppitty neighbours in question were found the next morning with lightsaber burns, remain entirely unsubstantiated. As are rumours that everything David Prowse ever says is mysteriously dubbed over by the voice of James Earl Jones.

Though the idea of a Darth Vader porn movie is intriguingly rich in potential, it has to be said. In fact, I now can’t stop thinking about the possibilities…

From a galaxy far far away… to a Galaxy in Los Angeles (man, I’m getting so f*****g good at these segways…]. LA Galaxy is demanding that its star asset David Beckham makes a decision about where his future lies. The club paid seventy-billion kazillion dollars for the former England Captain, only for him to subsequently flee to AC Milan in Serie A, where he kicked ball with the likes of Ronaldinho and Kaka. Beckham’s move to Major League Soccer was, with hindsight, clearly a misjudgement professionally, though sure as hell not financially.

Had he known he’d be recalled to the England squad (one of Steve McClaren’s many well-attested blunders was dropping Beckham in the first place; when it was clear to all that the England squad without Beckham was frankly shit), he’d have almost certainly stayed in Europe. But, given the ludicrous amount of money the Galaxy doled out for his allegience, isn’t Beckham honour-bound to see out his agreed contract?

But, should he do so, would he still be considered viable for England’s World Cup campaign in South Africa next year What a terrible dilemma. Not since Brutus and Cicero had to choose between Caesar and Pompey has so public a hero faced so difficult a choice. Okay, I’ve been waiting a whole week to say this line; The fate of the Galaxy may rest in the hands of David Beckham…

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999, England’s World Cup, the BBC AND THE BNP, BB Sophie, Derren Brown, the Vera Lynn comeback, special birds and T-Rexes, and mighty Jupiter…

The ominous date 9/9/9 has come and gone, and the world didn’t end. Though I’m curious to know if there was any increase in 999 calls that day [there was an accident where  I live; and it WAS around nine in the morning]. But, no, the apocalypse didn’t come; though certain apocalyptic tidbits did come to pass – newborn babies being left abandoned, the BBC considering inviting the BNP to Question Time, Derren Brown using the force to predict the lottery numbers, and Scotland being attacked by the Dutch…

Scotland have probably given up by now on EVER reaching a major football tournament again; but England are set fair for next year’s World Cup, with the nation full of optimism in our chances and confidence in Fabio Capello’s leadership. Mr Capello cannot be questioned as a manager, in terms of his past jobs, and England has a good side, no doubt; but this team is NOT going to win the World Cup. Trouncing the opposition in qualifiers and friendlies is all fine and dandy, but is rendered only a pale memory when we come up second best against the Argentinas and Portugals, as we inevitably always do. The prospects will increase with David Beckham on board, but England just doesn’t have the tournament magic.

But let’s not be grim about that. It could be worse; we could be Scotland, after all. Or Wales. Or Liechtenstein. However, if there IS ever going to be a prime time for England to claim the World Cup, it will be under Fabio Cappello.

[As for the apocalypse, by the way, it's still scheduled for 2012; so you've got three years or so to finish whatever it is you're doing...]

As for the BBC’s pontificating over whether to allow Nick Griffin on Question Time: of course they should. He’s the leader of a legitimate democratic political party, and has every business being given air time alongside representitives of any other legitimate political parties. Let him appear and make a complete tit of himself and his party; that way he and his people won’t be deprived of their rights as a legitimate political entity and the rest of us can see anew how laughable the whole thing is, and everyone goes home happy.

No doubt in response to the murder of Peter Connolly, the government is now talking about introducing new measures to remove endangered children from unfit parents as early as possible. This is one area in which I might be willing to advocate state interference in personal/family matters; there are too many vulnerable children in the hands of dangerous guardians, and where the risk it discernably high of abuses, social workers should be given more power to intervene decisively. What the actual laws will end up specifically being is unclear at present.

It’s nice to see, for the third year in a row, the genuinely nicest contestant of the lot win Big Brother; this year in the form of Sophie what’s-her-name. A nice girl, in every sense, and a logical victor; unlike the inexplicable victory of Ulrika Johnson in the celebrity version earlier this year. Oh well; it’s all over next year anyway. As for who’s going to win The X Factor; am I the only one who doesn’t remotely care? Oh. Apparently, I AM…

Only the Arctic Monkeys were able to keep Dame Vera Lynn off the number one spot in the charts; the ninety-two year old World War 2 veteran (in a manner of speaking) has become the oldest artist to reach as high as No.2 in the charts. But is it purely members of her own generation who’ve been buying her record en masse, or is a younger audience buying into a bona fide voice from history? She’s better than the cast of The X-Factor, Girls Aloud and Katie f**king Mellua anyway…

And how DID Derren Brown predict the winning lottery numbers? It obviously wasn’t magic [he's no David Blaine; and has never claimed to have any precognitive powers]. All will be revealed, apparently, this very evening on C4. I’m going to go with some kind of projector/printer type device that wrote the numbers onto the balls from the unseen angle as BBC1 was announcing them. I’m probably wrong. We’ll see. C4 are also broadcasting some of David Blaine’s newest street magic; which includes, I’m told, a version of the catching-a-bullet-with-your-teeth trick.

And some happy sort of news; a bird, until very recently, regarded as being on the verge of extinction in Britain is making a comeback on our shores, according to the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds; which has recorded the highest number of calls by the male bittern in over a hundred years. Conservation programmes have preserved the heron-like bird from the brink of total wipeout, having been thought close to extinction in the early nineties (and already declared extinct once before; in the eighteen hundreds). By the way, I’m talking about a species of bird, not A bird – that’d just be stupid. Now, if only we could do something about the Dodo…

Speaking of extinction; one of the largest Tyranosaurus Rex skeletons ever recovered is being tipped to sell for over 4 million pounds in an upcoming Las Vegas auction. The extraordinarly well-endowed specimen measures up at 15 by 40 feet. That’s one hell of an addition to someone’s living room decor. All I know is the buyer is not me.

And on the subject of extraordinarily large thing; if you happen to see a remarkably bright star-like object in the night sky [brighter than all the others] at the moment, pay a bit more attention to it than you usually might: you’d be seeing the planet Jupiter. The collossal globe of the chief Roman god, by far the biggest body in our solar system, can be seen as an extremely bright star in the southern sky. It should remain visible for a little while longer, but not much, so catch it while you can…

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