I swore that if Brown, helped me out with some work then I would post a rant. I also said that it would be at least five hundred words too. One likes a challenge and all that, but I fear I may have spread myself a little thin with this one. This is mainly because I couldn’t think of a topic to focus this rant on. It’s not that I don’t have a plethora of shit to nark on about, because I do, but it is mainly trying to order these thoughts in my mind, by filtering them into a sort of ‘top five’ of all the things that get my goat.
I just can’t seem to bring anything to the front… and that is my brains fault. This all of a sudden forces a topic to mind.

My brain: What the fuck good is it actually doing me?

I have always had a complicated relationship with my brain, you see. The problems seems to lie in expecting too much of it, which it subsequently fails to deliver. While other times it is running in full motion when I am desperate to shut it off. The times when my brain is at its absolute best is not, as you’d expect after a good night’s sleep or a decent feed, but in fact my brain is at its optimum functionality when it is put under enormous stress or is trying to cope with an uncomfortable situation or any number of self-imposed socially nervous scenarios.

A prime example of this would be any unexplained tidal wave of regurgitated nonsense that seems to pour from my oral cavity the moment I find myself in uncomfortable circumstances. I will suddenly become aware that I have been talking with unchecked abandon for the best part of five minutes and nobody has had the heart to interrupt me.

This isn’t so much of a problem, when you compare it to the awful things my brain gets up to when boredom sets in.

I have, at times, allowed myself to roam freely through the many roads of my all too capable fantasy construction and have submerged myself to such an extent that when I suddenly and inexplicably snap from my mind’s inner Neverland, I am always shocked and a little upset to discover that I am actually not the High chancellor of the Dolphin People, and I can no longer oversee the battle of Biscuit Mound… subsequently, I can only assume that my army of Pop-Up Pirate’s wielding laser-knives have all disbanded and retreated to their homeland on the island of Guttenberg.

Allowing oneself to wallow in such a fashion can be doing no good for ones mental faculties.

I feel like I should be utilising my brain in far more meaningful tasks. The learning of a language perhaps, or maybe I could develop existing theories on scientific matters…

I’ll just ask this Dragon Pirate what he thinks…

With Photoshop comes great power…and with great power comes a horrible abuse of said power.
What we have here are 5 of the worst Photoshop disaster movie posters that I could dig out of the recesses of the internet. Its not a top 5 by any means so the order is irrelevant…they’re all awful in their own rite.

5. All About Steve

I’m pretty sure that if you replaced the umbrella in Sandra Bullocks hand with a machete and put bars between her and the other characters then you’d…still have a shit poster. Where is she looking? And which one is supposed to be Steve? The Aisan guy? Or maybe the umbrella.

4. Bad Lieutenant

Right, I’m not letting you get away with that just because you’re Russian, or whatever (says the ignorant English man)! First off it looks like Cage is holding his gun by the barrel and they have just painted on the bullet opening to hide their mistake. Second of all what has happened to that poor girls body?! Looks like she’s been turned into a mannequin from the neck down. And isn’t her head a tad to large boys? Inexcusable rubbish- any poster that makes it look like a giant Nicolas Cage is crumbling into dust while cops look “not that bothered” in the foreground gets an instant F in my book.

3: The Accidental husband

Surely putting this monstrosity together would have been more effort than actually shooting that shot for real. It wouldn’t have taken five seconds on the set. But no- what we have here is a generic kit of body parts arranged lovingly in photoshop to portray this lovely scene. Who approves these things- I mean just look at Thurman’s neck for Christs sake! It looks like shes been wearing a tribal neck piece for 5 years that has stretched and abnormal thickened it. Look at the awkward stock hand tapping her on the shoulder- then take a look at the other hand attached to his body. now try it yourself- put your arms in those positions and see how natural it seems. Colin Firth Clearly loves a bit of Thurman’s ears because he cant take his eyes off it. But that’s OK, he’s just smitten with a woman that has finally fallen in love with his massive dis-located hands and tiny plastic head.

2: Takers

Taking the piss more like! What is this?! Were NONE of the actors actually available for this shoot? Or were the facial expressions so terrible you resorted to that piss ass poor windows cloud application (you’ve all seen the ad right? If not: SEE IT HERE). Also what kind of lighting genius did they have to achieve that effect on their faces? Check out how one guy has a shadow on the right of his face while the guy standing RIGHT NEXT TO HIM has it on the right! Genius! Thats impressive….and shit. Oh and Hadien christian is in the poster which is the worst thing of all-.

1- Over her dead body

You should never, ever,ever,ever have anyone on your promotional poster lying over the title of your film. Especially is that person is clearly NOT the actress that’s in the film. Now I dont know how many of you have seen desperate housewives but that slender lengthy strawberry blond princess on the title is none other than Eva Longoria. Not the tallest of ladies by my recollection. By the looks of this one theyve taken a still from Desperate housewives and matted the face of Eva’s character on to a barbie doll.

This week I have been mostly wearing… Pollen.

I’ll tell you this for free and all; getting your ass kicked by good weather feels like the greatest betrayal ever. I am of course referring to that most fucked-up of ailments; hay-fever. For the vast majority of people, the summer is a wonderful time (when it eventually decides to turn up, obviously) that heralds a season of lightweight, thinly woven casual-wear, outdoor drinking, bright evenings and an overall sense of warmth and promise. The same feelings are not shared by people afflicted with a medical aversion to the change of season, however. We still love the looks and feels of the place, but we just can’t be anywhere near it unless we have a regular 200 milligram course of antihistamines running through our systems to act as an Optimus Prime to natures evil Megatron.

This morning I awoke at some rarely seen hour to be greeted with a nose packed tighter than Beth Ditto in a pair of fashionably skinny jeans. My saliva levels were set as low as Gobi, and I was strongly considering severing my own head from my shoulders just for the flow of air to stand a fighting chance, but then thought better of it when I vaguely remembered some biology lesson from school pointing that out as being counter-productive to the overall welfare of the human body.

Instead I blew my nose. That worked just as well.

The Melvins’ Buzz Osborne hates airports

By Buzz Osborne » A diatribe to wifey while on the road.

I’ve been writing letters to my wife from the road for over 17 years.

This is an outtake from one from the early 2000′s… I believe it was a Fantomas tour…..

Here I am in the dressing room a little while before I play. I’m feeling very tightly wound and for no good reason at all. I feel as if I am losing my mind. I have only a few shows to go on this tour and then I head home. I’m not looking forward to the trans-atlantic flight at all. Anything could happen!

I hate flying. I mean I REALLY hate flying. I hate the airline industry. I hate airplanes. I hate airports. I hate people who work for the airlines. I hate the people who work at the airports. I hate flight delays. I hate flight cancellations. I hate cab drivers. I hate all forms of public transportation. I hate people. I hate people who think I should take a “loser cruiser” bus TO the airport. My god, just think about that. Do you have any idea how much gas is going to have to cost before I decide to take the loser cruiser bus to the fucking airport? I hate boarding passes. I hate getting to the airport. I hate getting home from the airport. I hate driving to the airport. I hate getting a ride to the airport. I hate the people who design airports. I hate car rental agencies. I hate the people who work at car rental agencies. I hate the police. I hate the security at airports. I hate the people who fly on airplanes. I hate the pilots who fly the airplanes. I hate airport “art.” I hate airport bathrooms. I hate the old and feeble anyway and I REALLY hate them on airplanes. I hate children anyway and I REALLY hate them on airplanes. I hate the handicapped. I hate the fact that they can get on the plane before me but I love that they have to get off last. Ha! I hate babies. I hate people who make babies. I hate airport mom. I hate airport dad. I hate public breast feeding. I hate baby food. I hate strollers. I hate kids running wild in airports. I hate kids on kid leashes. I hate airport crying. I hate the constant screaming. I hate that parents can’t beat their heathen children to death if need be in airports. I hate unattended bags that aren’t torn apart by dogs on the runways. I hate attended bags. I hate working airport dogs. I hate weed heads. I hate the way the air moves in airports. I hate watching people argue with flight attendants. I hate the way flight attendants dress. I hate everything about pilots. I hate airport food. I hate airport smokers. I hate airport smoking sections. I hate the fact that you can’t smoke in an airport but you can let your kids live out the airport version of Lord Of the Flies with no questions asked. I hate biters. I hate dirty plastic hallways. I hate when moving sidewalks DON’T work but you still have to walk on them. I hate airport elevators. I hate dirty airport windows. I hate airport homos. I hate straight people. I hate having to take an airport shuttle. I hate having to take an airport train. I hate customs. I hate passport controllers. I hate anyone who’s ever looked at or stamped my passport. I hate anyone who’s ever thought it was OK for someone to look at or stamp my passport. I hate answering immigration questions. I hate anyone who has ever asked me an immigration question. I hate getting my finger prints taken at the airport. I hate having my picture taken at the airport. I hate having my bag searched. I hate anyone who has ever searched my bags. I hate anyone who has ever DECIDED to search my bags. I hate the airport x-ray machine. I hate the person who invented the airport x-ray machine. I hate all the people who have ever or will ever install an airport x-ray machine. I hate the people who run the airport x-ray machine. I hate the people who hired the people to run the airport x-ray machine. I hate metal detectors and I especially hate the fucking wand ones. I hate anyone who has ever searched me with a wand metal detector. I hate getting airport strip searched. I hate anyone who has ever searched me at all at an airport with or without the strip search. I hate ANYONE from a fucking airport touching me AT ALL. I hate anyone who’s ever thought it was OK for someone to search me or my bags. I hate checking my bags. I hate baggage handlers. I hate baggage claim. I hate odd sized baggage claim. I hate people who travel with more than two checked bags. I hate the smart asses with NO checked bags. I hate people who eat. I hate watching people try to get drunk on little two inch bottles of booze. I hate the beeping people movers and the people who get to ride on them for some reason I’ve never been able to figure out. I hate first class. I hate the insane cost of first class. I hate the jackass boneheads with too much money IN first class. I hate business class. I hate the insane cost of business class. I hate the jackass boneheads with too much money IN business class. I hate seeing people in their fucking twenties wasting money on first or business class seats! You know these dumb shits don’t own houses but none the less have decided to spend what amounts to a monster down payment on a BMW to sit in a horrendously overpriced, bullshit airplane seat. Fuck that shit. I hate airport announcements. I hate the people MAKING the airport announcements. I hate dirty toilets. I hate shitting in an airport bathroom NEXT to someone even if they are in a walled stall. I hate ass gaskets. I hate people who talk on their cell phone while shitting in an airport bathroom. I hate airport bathroom blowjobs. I hate never getting an airport bathroom blowjob. I hate never being offered an airport bathroom blowjob. I hate hand dryers. I hate airport graffiti unless it’s the words “fuck you.” I hate the messy fucking pig bastards who use airport bathrooms. I’ve seen cleaner animal stalls at the fucking zoo! I hate frequent flyer miles. I hate frequent flyers. I hate people who upgrade with their pussy ass frequent flyer miles. What about those of us who are frequently pissed off flyers? What about those of us who are frequently fucked over flyers? I’ll tell you what WE get, WE get nothing. WE get NO upgrade and are rewarded for our troubles with a horrible MIDDLE seat. I hate the section loading they do on some airlines. I hate lines. I hate waiting IN lines. I hate the person who invented the line. I HATE old ladies who take cuts in line. I hate people who walk around the planes with fucking bare feet. I hate nuns. I hate airplane drunks but I love zonked out airplane pill heads. I hate the people who NEVER shut the fuck up. I hate airplane movies and why is it they show nothing but Whoopi Goldberg atrocities on every trans-atlantic flight I’ve ever been on? I REALLY hate Whoopi Goldberg. I hate sitting on the runway. I hate prissy little momma betties greasing and burning. I hate airplane pillows. I hate airplane blankets. I hate window seats. I hate not having a window seat. I hate overhead luggage compartments. I hate storing things under the seat in front of me. I hate the safety announcements. I hate the thought of breathing oxygen through a butter dish as the plane plummets into the earth. I hate being told how to buckle a fucking seat belt. Are there really STILL people who don’t know how to do this? Should we be worried about an adult who at this point doesn’t know how to buckle a seat belt? I say fuck ‘em if they are that dumb. I hate barf bags. I hate well thumbed airplane magazines. I hate thinking about a 600 mile per hour water landing. Has that ever happened? Do jumbo jet planes float after plowing into the sea? Do you have time to off load into a rubber raft before the destroyed body of the plane fills with sea water and sinks like a god damn stone? By the way, I’m taking my carry-on bag with me no matter what!

This article was sourced from Impose Magazine via Mr. Will Bennett. Regards.

I live in London. You may have noticed. As such I have to use the london underground. As train systems go it’s kind of a biggie- odds are you’ve heard of it. Because of its vast scale the wizards came up with a “touch technology” card that acts as your pass to get in and out of the system. Its called the Oyster card- and they do their job very well. What don’t do their job are the muppets holding them.
As you approach an entrance or exit there is a circular yellow pad on which you should touch the card to register that you are about to get on or off at that station so you can be charges accordingly. Most of the station on the underground have “gates” with these touch pads. These are the poor mans version of those electric gates that people who have to much money feel they need to bolt onto the front of their driveway. With the exception that these ones are tiny and open at such a breakneck speed that it would put a cheaters best lap to shame. So you “touch” your card on the yellow pad, the doors swing open, you walk though, continue with your day. Its that easy. So why do some people miss-understand the “touch” aspect of the whole thing as “hold until you are a good couple of feet away”. The problem with holding the card on the reader is that then it presumes you are trying to do a “pass-back”. Thats where you attempt to give your oyster card to someone else behind you to get through as well. The oyster combats this by calling you a thieving bastard- turning its little light red and locking the gate for a few seconds. While this light is red it also means that no one else’s card (no matter how valid) will be read until the thieving git has moved away and been wrestled to the ground by dogs. This happened to me this morning (not the dogs bit)- I was waiting behind a few people at oxford circus station to exit – and I just knew the person in front of me was a “holder”. so there they go, right up to the gate- places their card on the reader, the light turns green, the gates open. They then continue to hold their card on the reader as they walk through the ALREADY OPEN gates. Why? What do you think it’s going to do to you if you let go of that card? The gates will turn to razorblades and sheer your idiotic body in two? We can only hope. Now a good foot away said person is actually leaning backwards still holding the card on the reader. Well that was quite enough for the pass back system- Light went red- gates slam shut and it continues to ignore my card for a few seconds while a nice little Que. builds up behind me tutting. SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE, HOLDER? YOU MADE PEOPLE TUT!
So I ask you now- when using the oyster reader- look for the green light. It means you can move your ass and not look back. Thank you.