"Revolution From Beyond All Them Planets"

Doing a photoshoot with Charles Manson hair/makeup, wearing a dodgy indie kinda suit.



Today, I have this to share. It has no redeeming qualities.

Sarah: "With you two fighting for our cause, there's *no way* we won't succeed!"
Paul: "Anytime, dollface." [Paul winks and flexes his biceps]
Sarah: [swooning] "Oh, Paul!"
Randy: "Put it away, Paul. We still need to recruit one more member for our team."
Paul: "Oh...Oh no...You don't mean..."
Randy: "Yes, Paul. I'm afraid so. We need Harvey Moon."
Paul: "But I hate that puny sack of crap! Always complaining and stuff. Fucking nerd."
Randy: "I know, Paul, but it's our only hope."
Paul: "We need MUSCLE! Not that brainy motherfucker." [Paul winks and flexes his biceps]
Sarah: [swooning] "Oh, Paul!"
Randy: "Sillence! Let's go to that cave where Moon lives."

- scene -

Moon: "H-Hello? Is somebody there?"
Randy: "Moon? Moon, is that you?"
Moon: "No."
Sarah: "Paul, I can't see the door."
Paul: "How'd you like to see the back of my fist?"
Randy: "There's no need to get angry - this is a cave, apparently. It has no doors."
Moon: *snigger*
Paul: "Fuck you, you skinny bag of shit."
Moon: "Randy, you brought PAUL here? For christ's sake. He's made of meat."
Randy: "Meat?"
Moon: "Paul, you're made of meat."
Randy: "THIS IS ABOUT MORE THAN JUST THE MEAT! There are bigger things at stake (Haaaahhh! Get it?!" here, guys."
Sarah: "Randy's right. Moon, we need your help. We're on a quest to find something...or something."
Paul: "Yes."
Randy: "Can you help us, Moon? It won't be easy...But you'll be a hero."
Moon: "Well...Okay, I guess so."
Sarah: "Yay!"
Randy: "Okay then, you go get on with killing that wormy monster out there, and we'll stay in here."
Moon: "That doesn't sound safe."
Paul: [threatening] "Safer than in here with me, fag."
Moon: "Point taken. I'll get going.
Sarah: "Yes. Go kill the bear thing or whatever it was I said you had to go kill earlier."
Moon: "Fine. Well...No, hang on...This is a quest, right?"
Randy: "A *mighty* quest."
Sarah: "Yes."
Moon: "Well don't I get like a...I dunno, a special gun or a magic sword or something?"
Randy: "Uhh...No. No goodies for you. Buh-bye now."
Moon: "It might be helpful for beating the beastie outside my cave. Which actually wasn't a
problem until you guys showed up. I'm starting to think I'd be better off just squatting
in the corner drawing cave paintings with my own faeces."
Sarah: "GOD!"
Paul: "You rang?" [winks and flexes biceps]
Sarah: "Oh, Paul!"
Randy: "Look, Moon, if it'd really make you feel better to have something, you can take these."
Sarah: "Randy, No!"
Moon: "...Your keys?"
Randy: "These are no ordinary keys. These keys have been sharpened into miniature shanks."
Sarah: "But how will we start the SpaceVan to get home?!"
Randy: "Oh shut the fuck up, Sarah. Paul - You know what to do."
Paul: [slaps Sarah down to the floor] "You disgust me, Sarah!"

Sarah: "Oh, Paul!"

Great British Menu

Oliver Peyton. Oliver fucking Peyton. He's the kinda guy that'd be your best buddy, be really lovely to you, buy you drinks, take you to the theatre, then just when you think "yeah man, we should get a flat together!" he takes you on a road trip in his beat up Chevy Impala, pulls up in an empty industrial estate somewhere, tells you that you were never his friend, that he was laughing at you the whole time, laughing at your problems and your pathetic love life and your tiny little penis. And then he'd shoot you. In the face. Blood and brains and bits of skull all over the dusty old interior. Then he'd get out, throw his (camo?!) jacket over his shoulder, smile, and walk away into the night. And then he'd find someone new, and do the same thing all over again. Oliver Peyton? Fucking mad man.

SURELY THIS IS NO HUMAN BEE?!

(Picture spewed up by the talented Mr. Scolex.)

Filthy Deceitful Leprechaun

Pink hearts, blue diamonds, orange stars and green clovers! I was thinking about this stuff the other day. Why can't I buy it any more? Apart from the fact that it's disgustingly unhealthy, I mean. But I miss the taste. I can still taste it now. In my head, I can still hear the desperate screams of the whole grain oats as they swirled, unwanted, down the plug-hole.
Hey, remember when milk came in proper glass bottles? It'd be all creamy on top. If I was on death row, there'd be none of that hamburger and fries crap for my last meal - it'd be gold-top milk and lucky charms. And I'd eat enough of it so when I was sitting in Ol' Sparky or being pumped full of potassium chloride and sodium thiopental, I could vomit a marshmallowy rainbow at my executioners. They wouldn't be expecting that.

The one in pink isn't actually a midget, she's just further away. Despite the fact that she's clearly sprinting and the others aren't. Which is odd. And the one on the left looks like one of my ex-girlfriends. She had a PVC top as well. But no space rifle. She thought Alice Cooper was a woman. And ate a lot of Popcorn Chicken. Which is pretty good, to be fair.
Cap is from Star Runners, and it's an appalling fucking movie. Don't watch it. You might shit yourself with rage. I did.

Pale Blue Dot

James Dark blog. Issue 1. I don't understand blogs. I will share all the things that go on in my brain meats. See the dot? That pathetic little pixel? That's Earth from 3.7 billion or so miles away. It makes me feel better about things. Thank you Voyager 1. And thank you Project Paperclip for taking Nazi scientists to New Mexico. Without their valiant efforts, there would be no NASA really. You could argue that without Wolf, this picture never would have been taken. Go Hitler. But you also got Ferdinand Porsche to make that dreadful fucking car. So it works out about even? I s'pose you did worse things in your life.
Well, not you personally. Like Charlie. Who did Charlie ever kill? But it gives the wrong impression to compare the two of you. Love and Terror. I'll keep this first blog short. Or is the whole thing the blog, and this is a post on the blog? Or is each particular thing a blog in itself? Hm, tough question. Here's a different one - Why couldn't the Mccanns come up with a story as good as Lindy Chamberlain did about the dingo? I mean, obviously there are no dingos in the Algarve. Unless one snuck in with false papers to abduct her. But that's a little far fetched. Maybe it was aliens.





Maddie - forever travelling the universe in search of alternative fuel sources.
Good luck and goodnight.