Wednesday, May 31, 2006

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.

Monday, May 29, 2006

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.

Monday, May 22, 2006

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?

Sunday, May 21, 2006

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.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

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.

Monday, May 15, 2006

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.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

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)

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

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.