Tag Archives: whackjob

Just because

A Gaythering Storm

The National Organisation for Marriage in the US, recently broadcast a Public Service Announcement campaigning against same-sex marriage, with the standard blah, blah, blah about faith etc as an excuse for their bigotry.

I’m not going to argue the rights or wrongs of same sex marriage here, it’s a weighty issue and frankly, this blog is supposed to be a light-hearted bit of nonsense.

What I will point out though, is that they think that allowing same-sex marriage somehow puts heterosexual marriages at risk. Now, someone could marry a their dog, or a fucking Real Doll for all I care, and it would have absolutely no bearing upon whether or not I decided that marriage was for me.

Personally I just think they’re worried that all those “gay folk” are going to out-do us straight types with more tasteful, better dressed, and more long-lasting marriages. That’s the real risk as far as I can see – gay men & women just being more successful at marriage than the rest of us, as frankly, we’re not doing tremendously well at it currently, what with almost 50% of marriages currently ending in divorce.

But, it seems I’m not alone in thinking that the NOM PSA is pretty riseable…

Old Leathery Purse Anyone?

So, apparently Madonna is the face of the AW ’09 campaign for Louis Vuitton, the second time she’s appeared in a campaign for the luxury brand.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I have absolutely no desire to see a 50 year old woman flashing her crotch to all & sundry. And for those that do, I’m pretty sure there are specialist publications and websites that you can avail yourselves of which will give you er, more of what you want.

Apparently Madonna & Marc Jacobs think I’m wrong though. They think it’s exactly the kind of thing you should be looking at. Regard.


Seriously like, wtf?!!?! Evoking “Old Hollywood”?!? My arse! I don’t remember Bette Davis thrusting her ladygarden at the camera in All About Eve, or Rita Hayworth showing her wares to such a degree in Gilda, and jeez, she played a stripper! Do celeb types use the phrase “evoking Old Hollywood glamour” to pretty much allow them to do anything as long as they wash out the colour a bit?!

For a while there I was struggling to understand why Louis Vuitton would pick someone like Madge to front a campaign for them again, so I asked Twitter, always an excellent resource for reason and logic ūüėČ

Initially we all agreed that “It’s a bit Readers’ Wives” and “That image is just disturbing, put it away Madge” along with the thought we all had, “She must love her crotch, it’s everywhere”.

But after a bit of debate it was decided that actually it’s a perfect brand association: Expensive, Exclusive, Leathery Purses. A match made in heaven!

Though I am going to say that only one of them can really still be considered a luxury brand these days – I mean, I’m all for a bit of vintage bargain hunting, but there’s only one of the two going to remain desirable despite years of “wear & tear”. Am I wrong?

I am however, slightly terrified about the aspirational qualities of each and am somewhat concerned about any future trends which may involve impressionable teens going out brandishing imitation “Madge Vadges” that they bought off a market stall somewhere.

So here’s my plea to Madge – Put it away love, we’ve seen it before. It’s old and it’s boring. Yes, you may be very bendy for a (late)middle-aged bird, but are you still going to be flashing it at us when you collect your bus pass in a few years? I thought you were all about reinvention anyway – how about reinventing yourself as a woman that keeps it in her pants every now and then. Go on, try it, you might like it. I know I’ll be happier anyway!

Murray-mania makes me want to kill people

OK, so that might be a slight exaggeration, but only slight mind you. I just don’t get it. Tennis just isn’t one of the sports where patriotism plays a massive part – except every time Wimbledon rolls around that is.

I mean, jeez, almost every girl I knew when growing up was a massive Steffi Graf fan, but I’m English, we’re supposed to hate the Germans, almost as much as we hate the French. It’s practically genetic. But no, we all loved her, and rightly so, she was fucking brilliant – and not bad to look at either to be honest (though that was more a justification for her male fan base than anything)

I just don’t think nationalism really has a place in individual sports. I tend to support whoever I think is the best player.¬†I’ve supported tennis players who are American, German, Czech, Spanish, Serb/Hungarian (that’s Seles btw) and yeah, some British players (though never the faux British, but really Canadian ones. That frankly was a bit too desperate even for me). Over the¬†last few years my favourite players have been Nadal & Djokovic for example. I like the way that they both play, I like the way that they handle the media circus around the game and the fact that they seem to genuinely appreciate their fans’ support.

All of which are totally unlike a certain spoilt, grumpy, android-esque Scottish/British player of note. Step up Mr Andy Murray.

Ooh look I've won a trophy, let joy be unconfined!

Ooh look I've won a trophy, let joy be unconfined!

Now, because I’m British I’m expected to want this moany arsehole to win Wimbledon, because that too is quintessentially British… er, I mean English… but he’s Scottish… Oh yeah, it’s British, definitely British.

Well bollocks to that thanks all the same. Why should I? He does absolutely nothing to evoke any support from me whatsoever. Now, I could bring up the whole “I’ll support anyone that’s not England in the World Cup” story… and in fact I just did.

So let me get this straight, you hate England but you’re still British, standing shoulder to shoulder with England, Wales & Northern Ireland? Ooh, what’s that smell in the air? Oh that’s it, it’s the distinct whiff of¬†hypocrisy¬†there methinks.

But it’s not just that. He’s a miserable sod. Watching his match last night he was struggling to beat (the totally unknown) Swiss player, Wawrink, yet the crowd on centre court were cheering him on as though he was already in the final and about to make all of their collective wet Tennis dreams come true. Cheering so loudly it’s going to put off the best of players, and no doubt affected Wawrink’s play. It sure as shit affected Murray’s.

So when asked by the BBC reporter at the end of the match how great it was to have this huge support, the guy could barely muster a good word to say about them and when he did he sounded almost as disingenuous as Tony Blair on a good day. He’s a fucking robot with the emotional capacity of Rainman. You might not like the support Andy, but don’t pretend you do. If you do like it, show it for fuck’s sake.

If he does win Wimbledon (and I am praying hard to mystical teapot orbiting the sun that he doesn’t) he won’t have the depth of emotion to cope with it – cue a monotonous acceptance speech and ENORMOUS anticlimax. As most of Britain, not just Scotland, but Britain, wanks themselves into a frenzy at this historic event and the BBC literally tear themselves in two from the sheer strain and effort of giving birth to a level hyperbole the likes of which we’ve never seen before and which may very well shift the earth off it’s axis, he’ll be struggling to elicit a tear, or a thanks, or anything of any note really.

I could go on and on for days, but I won’t. Can’t be arsed really. Needless to say I am counting the days until someone knocks the miserable prick out – either via a tennis match or even better, via a racket straight to the face. In the meantime¬†I’ll be supporting the players that are well, just better.


I am a bit all over the place this week after taking a fair old emotional kicking of late, what with one thing and another. I had planned to write a post about Bone Marrow transplants, and very probably still will, but it’s all a bit overwhelming at the moment so I’m going to hold off for a while.

So, I’m on the lookout for things to make me cheer-the-fuck-up. And rapidly.

Here’s a short list of things that have managed to spark a little seratonin production within my good self, so far today:

Comic goodness

Fluffy Evil Chicken Genius

The musical equivalent of ¬†vodka – makes me feel a little smiley and also makes me believe that’s it’s OK to just get up & wipe my feet on the rhythm rug, regardless of where I am!

And because I will never ever stop laughing at the total whack jobs that go on Total Wipeout. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for a) having no shame at all, b) giving it a go when it’s clearly doomed to fail (could teach us all a thing or two!) & c) making me think that actually I wasn’t as bad at P.E. as I thought at the time. To Total Wipeout contestants everywhere I salute you.

(apologies in advance for the god awful music though – sorry!)