Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Anachronistic Turkeys

Congratulations are due to NME today. Not only have they helped obliterate the last remaining semblance of originality and innovation from modern music by their ceaseless and utterly baffling promotion of only the most jaw-droppingly turgid three-chord dirge merchants, but they have also managed to gratuitously offend one of the few bands left who refuse to occupy this shatteringly mundane, moribund and mind-numbing genre.

This has to be the most preposterous, breathtakingly stupid and downright insulting question ever asked to a member of any band:

NME: You're playing after the Arctic Monkeys. Are you worried that you might be upstaged?

MATT BELLAMY: ..............................................?!?!?!?!

Since the Arctic Monkeys would struggle to upstage Milli Vanilli farting the Greatest Hits Of William Shatner through a megaphone, I think not.

Ed's Mood: Bewildered

Ed's Incessant Auto-Repeat Musical Tip: Muse - Knights of Cydonia (live)

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Fantastical Flagellation

Yesterday, the fabric separating reality from utterly ludicrous fantasy was terminally ruptured. The theory that infinite parallel universes exist in which every conceivable possibility happens simultaneously was negated by the fact that a possibility occurred that is conceivable in absolutely no universes, even the one in which Dr. Jade Goody is executive director of MENSA and Chuck Norris is a woman.

Yes. The impossible happened. Colchester United, instead of faithfully following the tragic narrative of the past 68 years (i.e. spectacularly self-imploding and snatching a series of humiliating thrashings from the jaws of desperate draws), were promoted into the second tier of the professional football structure. Fortunately (in one sense), the most tenuous and desperate connection with pre-existing reality was maintained by the fact that they failed to win the league and lost it to the black vortex almost entirely inhabited by ungodly creatures clad in Burberry caps and Converse trainers who spend their days performing satanic hoodie-clad rituals by the inside light of their Nissan Micras.

Hilariously, the ridiculous comedy of this extraordinary event is even further exacerbated by the fact that teams such as Birmingham and Sunderland who regularly play host to crowds of 25,000 or more will be forced to play at Layer Road, a ground which can only be described as a small landfill site surrounded by three cow sheds and a large ditch. However, what is truly side-splitting is that instead of caviar pies and champagne-soaked hot dogs ('contains 100% authentic Crufts winner'), supporters of such teams will be forced to indulge in the Layer Road catering:

MENU

E.COLI PIE - £2.50
E.COLI PIE WITH CHEESE - £2.75
SALMONELLA BURGER - £2.50
HOT RANCID RABIES DOG - £2.50
HOT RANCID RABIES DOG WITH CHEESE - £2.75
CORNISH PASTIE (rat, grass, small Cornish child, flavourings (E101, E262, Finish Dishwasher Powder, Windex, caramel), sweeteners (Tesco Value Soap), preservatives, laxatives, industrial solvents, cat testicles) - £17.80
LUKEWARM BROWN LIQUID - £3.00
LUKEWARM BROWN LIQUID WITH MILK - £3.30
LUKEWARM BROWN LIQUID WITH COW MILK - £5.00

The match itself was a terrifyingly nerve-wracking affair, featuring almost incessantly suicidal defending and some miraculous good fortune. Even had we managed to concede the most soul-destroying of last minute winners from Yeovil, Brentford's kind generosity and consideration in allowing the opposition to score a last minute equaliser for the second consecutive week would have ensured our safe passage into the Championship. However, what was particularly unhelpful was the crass inanity of an idiotic individual sitting behind me, who appeared to believe that childishly simple mathematics was the domain of rocket physicists and that when you make a ludicrous error so implausibly stupid and criminal that genital self-flagellation with a chainsaw would barely compensate for the mental anguish it causes to others, you should blame whichever vaguely sentient being happens to be foolish enough to be sitting near you.

I was provided with advance warning of this individual's vegetative cabbage mentality when, shortly before kick-off, he emitted the words: 'so if we lose, Brentford have to draw to overtake us? Oh, they have to win. What happens if we draw?'.

I was incredulous. Every single Colchester United fan able to ascribe that monicker to himself or herself with the remotest modicum of confidence spent the week before the match in a state of dangerously obsessive agitation, studying the league table in the minutest of detail and learning the consequences of every conceivable result. Most were afflicted with short-term mental illness as a consequence of their actions. Yet this jaw-droppingly halfwitted, nonsensical lunatic of a man was not even capable of performing the infantile task of working out that any result for Colchester bar a loss would result in their promotion and that the only way Brentford could have any impact whatsoever was through winning their game. Unbelievable.

However, this was a mere bagatelle of braindead backwardness, barely worthy of comment, compared to the madness that followed it. After 60 minutes of the respective games Brentford were winning 2-1 and Colchester were cherishing their 0-0 scoreline, enveloped in an atmosphere of sheer and utter desperation. The mindless moron behind me said 'Bournemouth have equalised!'. Cue mass celebration in our stand.

Twenty minutes later the following conversation took place:

MINDLESS MORON: 'Are Bournemouth drawing?'
ME: 'You said they were!'
MINDLESS MORON: 'Yeah, but that text message I got might have been sent when they made it 1-1 . Didn't you check on your internet thingy?'

Dumbstruck horror afflicts all nearby

ME: 'No, you said they were drawing! (as I assumed that if you shined a torch light through your head it wouldn't be visible on the other side, I trusted you, you incorrigible idiot)'
MINDLESS MORON: 'You sh*tbag'
ME: '...................!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?'

If Colchester had failed to win promotion from there I would have had no choice but to strangle this individual with my club scarf, disembowel him, and proceed to force-feed him a choice selection of his own internal organs while rapping the refrain from 'Get Ur Freak On' by Missy Elliott (just to ensure that all his senses received an equal level of torture) and drowning him in a vat of his own bodily fluids.

Rather fortunate for him that Colchester did in fact win promotion, methinks.

Ed's Mood: Infuriated

Ed's Incessant Auto-Repeat Musical Tip: Muse - Supermassive Black Hole (just for curiosity value though - it's absolutely terrible. It resembles the Scissor Sisters on valium.)