Virulent Violence
While
quietly urinating in the magazine aisle of
Borders the other day, I couldn't help but
browse through a copy of
Ebola Monthly (free celebrity
madam with issue one; normal price £8.
95). I say I "couldn't help", it's not like there were
armed guards or anything, it's just a turn of
phrase like "clap wankered" and "bitchin' like a
marmoset". Anyhow, what should drop out but a free-as-in-
gratis issue of
GQ (aka softcore for softlads). The jaunty photo of a
balding, moustache-clad
prancing man in a fetching red lycra leotard drew me in...
...only to find
Respect MP George "Hermione" Galloway
claiming that the assassination of HRH Tony Blair would be
"morally justified". The vaginaless politico, who claims to find the British PM
"deeply repugnant" and is famous for
bedding Greeks (who are anecdotally credited with the invention of
gayness), later went on to
grumble that he would report any
plot he knew about "
to the authorities". At this point it is
unknown whether George was referring to the police or to Clare
Spottiswoode, non-executive Director of the
Biofuels Corporation plc,
known for being something of an authority in
Gas Regulation.
Reeling with
shock, I stumbled into the in-store coffee
shack to settle myself. Imagine my surprise to find a thinly veiled
threat at the bottom of my otherwise
lovely receipt.
"just one won't
HURT YOU!!!"
With violence
lurking in every mochachino and behind the psychotic
pate of every maverick politician, is it any
surprise that the government would like to stencil a
barcode into our cheeks and catalogue us by
bowel size? I foresee a wave of aggression
sweeping the blogosphere. Try telling me
otherwise and I'll give you a
thick ear.
Pants Stance
Skulking like some feathered
nonce into your step-daughter's
room comes
news that
Orange Skin - a neo-Starckian
mashup of contemporary design
cum zeitgeist flippancy - is
selling Triple B Studio's paraiconic
UndyRug for a startling $30. Before you
slide out your debitable finest, however, let's turn with
surprising swiftness to those clockwork culture
varmints at Sensory Impact and see what
they splutter...
"Ignore the blurb -> ‘Perfect for the little boys room or even the big boys who are little boys at heart!’ This underwear shaped bathroom rug is the last thing a ‘little’ or even a ‘big’ boy would be caught dead with in his room"Yikes, that's some
bile, babies! Forgive me if I dress as the
proverbial cat's anus and wave my
query prong underneath your sexy noses, but given a
quick googling (safe search
off, natch) tells us that there are
over two and a quarter million hits for "men underwear
fetish" I'd wager there are
plenty of boys big, small and in-between who'd quite fancy a
massive pair of pants on their bathroom floor.
If anything, this
opens up bathware to all sorts of fetish avenues. Take my hand for a
moment and let me lead you down a sullen little
bitch of an avenue where
lovers of
gas masks (NSFW) and
avisodomists can
decorate their wetrooms with absorbent,
deep-pile representations of their particular penchant. Think of it as
equal opportunities if you must, or at the very
least a new and vaguely more interesting item to
drip your toothpaste spittle onto.
Tomorrows' Spokesman
Unless you've been
squatting over a cattle grid with two handfuls of grit for
common-sense all decade, you'll have heard of
Mike Wickstrand. Coquettish Mike, who shares a surname with the drummer in unsigned
Swedish Death Metal band
Slaughtercult, heads the Market Expansion Group at
Microsoft and, from his supple lips, gushed news of the software giant's latest tentative
tiptoe into the generally-PC-less
developing world.
Christened
FlexGo, Mike and his sexy silicon cronies have visions of a
pay-as-you-go system of computing where dollar-shy
techslags flop out a few
cents every time they want to write, say, a
Word document or groom teenage
hussies on MSN Messenger. In a somewhat repetitive
interview with
CNet News, our man Wickstrand parroted the following
soundbite with varying success (and relevance):
"The real goal of FlexGo is to make that dream of owning a full-featured PC a reality"Admirable aims, you dashing
minx! But regular victims of
Dante's Handcart know that a sound scheme can never be allowed to pass through without a
garnish, topping or demeaning facial of some sort, and Mikey-boy's is no
goddamn different.
Imagine an
AdWords-style system of
sponsored content whereby the financially-faltering have their computer time
funded, either partly or in full, in return for mentioning key
commercialised phrases. Since you're likely drunk as a
bastard and stoned off your socks on magic
plimsoll dust, I'll give you an example. Heaven knows you don't deserve it.
Picture me as a contented
Russian, generally happy with my lot but all the same
desperate to write an email to my American
penpal Brad. Oh, to be able to afford a Sony Vaio or
Apple Spectrum MacBook! But no, instead her majesty
Martha Stewart steps in and offers this succulent bargain... mention, verbatim, "Martha Stewart Homewares
make my genitals perky" in my email and she herself will subsidise my computer time by
75%. A bargain all round!
The spoils of the
proletariat are not limited to ex-felons, of course. Anybody would be at liberty to sponsor an
emerging user, potentially tapping into many millions of pornography
advertising dollars. A quick
testimonial about the miracle of
Unique Water or the non-intrusive safety of
dental dams beneath your
salutation line and your letter to Auntie Jasmine is
free. Can anybody say
fairer than that?
Beanz Meanz Familiez
Freshly gurgling from the news that
Heinz are
preparing to launch pre-packed
Beans on in Toast on an unsuspecting,
undesiring public, those wholesome souls at
The Guardian have
whored their dictaphone around various head-chefs for a "who cares" soundbite. The
Dante's Handcart award for
Greatest Over-Reaching-Reaction on the Part of a So-Called Professional goes to the dismayingly named
Skye Gyngell of the Petersham Nurseries Café. Skye,
pictured just over there (gurning like a freshly-
gutted salmon), came out with this
juicy little nugget:
"I find this sort of thing awful - dumbing down food to that level. I think it's so disconnecting. It disconnects families. It disconnects communities. Everything now is so fast - we all demand things instantly, from instant internet access to instant food. Things like this have far-reaching effects. When everybody has to have everything instantly, where is the family? Where is sitting down and talking to each other? Where is preparing food together - even washing up together?"The winner of Time Out London's
Best Alfresco Dining 2005 obviously hasn't taken a
look at pages 475-476 of the Spring/Summer
Argos catalogue, else she would've seen the
latest in
four-slot toasters. These
beauties, each glistening with variable
browning controls and, in many cases, real
chrome highlights, allow a family of
four (or five if one family member is a staunch
anorexic) to gather together and
communally prepare delicious Heinz snacks.
It's tricksy to discover the
average length of the modern "family meal" but few of you
bitches would deny, I'd
wager, that in today's hectic world such moments of
togetherness are shrinking as rapidly as an elderly man's
withered genitals. Is it not a
super idea to fast-stream group meal preparation, leaving more time to
discuss text messaging, pre-teen
pregnancy and the rising number of homosexual
death squads roaming the streets? I think it sodding is.
Zilog Inside
Wyclef Jean hit up my digits the other day, which was a bit of a
surprise because he's normally more of an
IM hound. Anyway, in between telling me how hot my
ass is (and I'm all "yeah yeah
dog, you say that to all the boys, holla") he wanted to know if I'd seen the latest
MacBook from purveyors of hi-lust sleekery
Apple.
"Of course I have, Wyclef" I told him, "what do you think I am, Jade-
ferchristin-Goody?"
Looking closely at the
shiny little bastard (the Mac, I mean, not the Jean) the thing that struck me was the
keyboard. Now Steve's
copysluts describe it as
"a unique new keyboard design that sits flush against the bed for a sleeker, lower profile. Plus, you’ll find a firmer touch when typing. That ought to make your fingers happy"but I'm thinking that instead they've recycled the
classic rubber keyboard of the
Sinclair ZX Spectrum, a 3.50 Mhz
powerhouse stacked with up to 48kb of RAM.
Now a little basic google
sleuthery tells us that sans-case the sparkly Spectrum would happily fit
inside a MacBook case, which makes me wonder whether in fact Apple have simply stuffed one in and adjusted for
inflation from the original 80s
£125 launch price. So this afternoon I shall be hitching a ride down to Old
London Town with the least-sodomising trucker I can find and taking an
axe to the first laptop I see in the Apple store. All in the name of science
investigation, of course.
Light Entertainment on Lockdown
From the dregs of the
grime barrel today comes news that those canny
Australians, long known for
paying perverts, rubbing their
children in
slime and
milking dogs sexually, have taken the latex-clad dong digit of
Hollywood with their latest attempt at
copyright law.
Apparently our Antipodean friends are now
legally only permitted to watch or listen to recorded television and radio
once, before being required to
delete it.
"Does this mean I can record my favourite television or radio program to enjoy later?
Yes. For the first time you will be able to record most television or radio program at home to enjoy at a later time. This will allow you to watch or listen to a program as it was made available to the public at the time of the original broadcast.
How long can I keep the recording?
The recording must be deleted after one use. It will not be possible to use the recording over and over again."
Before you retire to your
sniggering room with a glass of
cat milk, please take my hand as I
bludgeon you with the
implications. Brainbox experts have varying opinions as to the average
attention span of a human adult, pegging it as anything from
twenty minutes to a measly
seven seconds; hardly enough at best to manage an episode of your favourite
ill-advised soap opera, never mind attempting the marathon that is
A Touch of Frost staring
glottal wanker Sir David Jason.
Is it too much to
suspect that the Australian government is being sponsored by the US Army, tasked with taking the
PR apocalypse that is Guantanamo Bay and
rebranding it as the ideal way to
focus your entertainment-hungry mind
without external distractions? With TV one-chance-or-you've-lost-it
, who wants to take the
risk that a wretched friend or mother might telephone at the
fulcrum of your chosen drama? In such a situation, the Americans are willing to wager you'd spend a pretty penny for a
total-isolation sensory deprivation experience (with complimentary
popcorn).
Now I'm not the kind of gaudy,
hyperbolizing schlockster who might overegg a pudding for the sake of a decent
story and three kinds of Sunday veg, but don't be
surprised if you see full-page ads in your
Radio Times for an
open ticket to the most closed of prisons sometime wretchedly soon.
Hair of the (horn) dog
Amateur occultist,
Dieter Palestine, scrawls:
Chrissy-boy, you sly-one. My sweet lady friend she says my groin-girder ain't shown off to his best advantage, she wants I should get the Mach 3 a slip-sliding where the crown jewels sway. Help a fella out, what's the best way to prune the poker?Well, Dieter, just for you I jotted down a few notes while ladling
piss out of my handbag this morning. Excuse the stains.
Even the shittiest of Boney M fans knows that a
freshly-shawn crotch is considered
de rigeur in polite society. Once upon a time it was the
pubes that separated man from boy, but if there's one thing that all those foetus models have taught it's that grotesquely
underexagerating your age is this seasons'
gotta-gotta.
First off, take some 'before' photos for your MySpace profile. Remember, this is
only fashionable if people know about it - otherwise you're just a lonely guy with
cold nuts. Crank up the central heating a notch and apply a
thin layer of shaving cream and/or gel. With a
fresh razor and holding the skin taught, carefully swipe off the hairs,
rinsing often. Afterwards - and with a liberal hand - slap on a couple of coats of
soothing balm. Now take your 'after' photos.
Some dudes complain about their newly-nude
boy boulders sticking to their inside-thighs; if this is the case with you, sailor, then might I suggest some tooty leather
testicle stirrups (NSFW). These sexy straps will keep the scrotum
elevated, separated and isolated, with the handy side-effect of making you appear
permanently distended.
Today's
'kuKast is in your honour, Dieter.
Right-Click & Save as... (0.2mb)
Let's all put on some headphones
Blog reader and raconteur, Yassar Caravan, writes:
Dear Chris, yes and what of it, I'm trying to go to the gym, isn't it we all, and am dead leazy [sic] only do a minute or so on damn crazy treadmill it blows. Why not a podcast for us old swaggers, me cocker?I'm always open to suggestions (clean or otherwise) from readers, so without further ado (or much consideration) here is the inaugural
Dante's Handcart Haiku Podcast or, to be sodding jaunty,
Dante's 'KuKast.
Right-click & 'Save as'Weighing in at 0.2mb and 13 seconds, it's ideal for those quiet moments of solitude in-between, say, the pleasurable warm wetness of a gentle pantswetting and the shuddering coldness of your soggy knickers.
