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Lyrics Schmyrics: ‘Heartless’ got a new meaning

Tuesday, December 22nd, 2009

George MichaelLast Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, You gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I’ll give it to someone special

Tra-la-la special, special. Wait…hold on. Seriously? Look, Mr. Michael I appreciate the sentiment and I can sort of see what you were aiming for in this song, but you need to put that tormented metaphor out of its sordid misery!

I know what giving someone your heart means, you know what it means. Hell, everyone does. But who among us can honestly claim to get a grip on what it means to give Person C the heart you got from Person A? Does this mean that George Michael fell in love with Person A, but that Person A then somehow made George Michael fall in love with Person C instead – possibly with some sort of mystical love-transference ritual? It just doesn’t work as a metaphor.

So what the Hell, George? Did you actually hand someone your physical honest-to-goodness literal heart? Because if that’s the case, you know, I’m sure you can’t possibly blame the person for giving it away the very next day – say, for instance, giving it to a paramedic or a coroner would surely be the right thing to do!

22.12.2009 Humour, Music, Rants, Satire 1 Comment

Teenage Mutant Levitating Turtles

Monday, June 29th, 2009
What the fuck?

What the fuck?

Cowabunga, dude! I’m so badass that I don’t even have to touch the ground.

Seriously though, I can accept that Donatello might have found a footstool to pose with for the groupshot or something but what the Hell were the animators thinking when they positioned Leonardo? Invisible Buffalos?

I suppose hovering a few inches above streetlevel for extended periods of time is a very handy ninja-technique though. Shredder won’t see that one coming.

29.06.2009 Entertainment, Humour, Rants No Comments

My Two Cents’

Sunday, May 24th, 2009

In actuality it was two pence. And a couple of pounds.

Let me explain.

Loose change is a constant curse in this country. My trousers are sagging around my ankles with the weight of copper in my pockets – baring my arse for the world to see. Yes, I am that rich. Why would I ever need to buy anything with 1p coins? The Queen must have some sinister ulterior motives for turning us all into walking and talking lightning rods. Making use of the resulting conductivity for evil mind-control rays or some su – God Save the Queen!

Ah, where was I? Oh, yes. Loose change. As horrifically annoying it is to have too much of the bleeding stuff, you never even have the right stuff. When I do laundry the washers will only accept 1-pound coins. Three of the buggers per wash. Yes, three. I usually fill up two machines at a time. There is no need to waste any more time doing laundry than you absolutely have to, now is there? Except for the fact that you never, ever have 6 bloody 1-pound coins in your wallet by sheer accident.

No, big deal. I’ll just go down to the store and have them exchange my people-money into the native currency of the Laundrian Republic, won’t I? No, sir. That won’t do! What were you thinking, sir? Tricks may be for kids but convenience sure as Hell isn’t for Brits. Boldly I blasted open the store-doors just before closing time! Armed with a single 1-pound coin, an additional 2-pound coin, and a 5-pound note I prowled in on my prey; the lady at the register. With weary eyes she acknowledged my presence, ‘yes?’

‘Yes, hello,’ I said with thick Scandinavian accent that probably makes people think I’m thick. ‘Could you exchange these,’ I held up the 2-pound coin and the 5-pound note ‘for 1-pound coins.’ Panicked at the sight of a crazy Scandinavian with an apparent loose change fetish she started to glance to her sides for backup.

‘Uh, I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘I can only give you two pounds.’

‘Yes, fine,’ I said in the bitter knowledge that I would need 3 more pounds to satiate the Angry Sock-Eater. But, aha! In my mind I hatched an ingenious scheme. Nervously I reached for the coins she was handing me back. Could she tell that my intentions were less than pure? Had she noticed? Would she have looked more sophisticated with a beard? No, she wasn’t on to me. I successfully obtained the two washer-snacks. Success! And now for the tricky part.

‘How much is this disgusting Lilt pineapple & grapefruit soda?’

‘Uh, 99p,’ she responded with bewilderment on her face.

‘Great! I’ll have two.’ With an evil grin I reintroduced her to my neglected friend Mr. 5-pounder.

24.05.2009 Humour, Rants 1 Comment

Open Brain-Surgery

Thursday, January 11th, 2007

May I have your attention please, dear readers and/or readettes! This just came in from the cold, cold North, which I like to call ‘home.’

Faroese politicians Torbjørn Jacobsen, Páll á Reynatúgvu, Bill Justinussen, and Jenis av Rana have placed before Faroese parliament, The Law Thing, a proposal, that the age of voting be reduced from 18 to 16. The education, they say, is so good in today’s society that young people become adults faster and therefore susceptibility is no valid counter-argument. This is backed up by recent Programme for International Student Assessment survey issued in 2006 where the only country scoring lower than the Faroes was Mexico out of 35 countries participating. (…)

Torbjørn Jacobsen and Páll á Reynatúgvu are members of The Republican Party, which would like to see a Faroe Islands free from Denmark and governed by the Faroese people.

Bill Justinussen and Jenis av Rana are respectively a member and the chairman of The Centre Party, which would like to see a Faroe Islands free from reason and governed by a vengeful metaphysical entity obeying their every whim and prejudice.

Jenis av Rana, who recently published an open letter about the lack of tolerance for Christians and the suffering they have to endure because of prejudiced atheists, is best known for consequently referring to homosexuals as Satan’s Ill Weeds and ‘sex-confused’, a term that has become an epithet in the Faroese language equalling that of calling black persons the N-word. (How dare the people we are prejudiced against prejudice against us!) Other notable achievements of The Centre Party include, but are not limited to, failing to ban The Vagina Monologues because of obscenity, failing to ban stores from being open on Sundays because it’s sacred, and trying to keep homosexuals from gaining basic human rights. (Why is Amnesty so prejudiced and intolerant to our faith?!)

Additional laws proposed by The Centre Party include, that the legal drinking age be increased to 21, that bars, pubs and similar be prohibited from selling alcohol before seven pm and that Rúsan – the only store allowed to carry hard liquor – be prohibited from being open for business before noon.

In other words because of non-existent adolescent public awareness young people today become rational and responsible so fast – just take Jenis & Bill as an indication – that they are mature enough to decide what is best for Society at large at age sixteen, but not mature enough to decide what is best for their own body before aged twenty-one and will never be mature enough to be trusted to decide for themselves which plays their sinful psyches can bear to watch. Thank goodness for The Centre Party safely leading The Faroes out of moral decline!

Since Jenis av Rana is a general physician, I’d like to propose a law that allows him to perform open brain-surgery but prohibits him from prescribing cough syrup. Because that is how it is done in The Centre Party, where we prepare for the second coming by alienating ourselves from the first.

Thanks guys, you put the ‘fun’ in fundamentalist.

Ceterum Censeo Centre Partynem Esse Delendam.

Source: portal.fo

11.01.2007 Politics, Rants No Comments

There’s Time to be Wasted

Saturday, December 15th, 2001

Saturday December 15 – 2001

For whatever reason people insist on asking me what time it is. Yes, I do in fact pride myself in wearing a wristwatch at all times. Do I mind telling you what time it is? Oh, goodness no. What would ever give you that idea? I don’t mind at all. That’s what I’m here for. I’m here for your pleasure and disposal, just like a walking, talking clock service, so you can at all times know, how much all the times are. My watch was given to me – as a gift by my mother, actually. And I’m very glad, that I have it. And I can really relate to, and understand, why you ask me instead of turning your head ninety degrees to the left to look at the clock on the wall. I suppose it’s too exhausting.

It’s unbelievable that my watch is more frequently used by other people than it is used by me. I use my watch, like I pee; when I need to. Not as a self-torturing device. The time won’t pass slower, nor will it pass faster, by looking at it every five minutes. That means if you look at it you only make it worse for yourself, no matter which you hope for. But if tormenting yourself really is so important to you, why don’t you simply buy a watch?

The worst case of self-delusiveness I’ve ever experienced happened in school. The teacher was babbling about God knows what. I was sitting on the left of him and this particular subject was sitting on his right side. The girl, strange and bored as she was, signalled me by holding up her left arm while continuously pointing at her wrist. How was I supposed to communicate my oh-so-important secret knowledge to her across the room without interrupting the equally important lesson? I didn’t know what else to do, so I threw my watch at her. Needless to say, the teacher found it just as disturbing to have a watch flying through the air right in front of him as he would if I had shouted at the top of my lungs.

-”Hi, friend. Do you have a clock?”

-”Yeah, so?”

-”Yeah, so what is it?”
-”Well, mine is a little round, silvery, digital thingie with a blue, oval surface.”
-”I know that but what time is it??!!”
-”It’s time to beat you to a bloody brain- and organ mass, if you don’t stop badgering me!”

Inspirations for this rant: Annoying people of the world.

15.12.2001 Rants No Comments