The Worship St Irregulars

Those of you that have dawdled down Brick Lane or donned your Hunter wellies (trendy wellies? the end is nigh.) to stomp through fields recently will have noticed that one style of sunglasses is in the ascendancy in a big way. But wait! Something sinister is awry with the Wayfarers!

MOAR!

Anyone who’s been on said networking site for any serious amount of time will no doubt have trawled their brains and the facebook network for people that they have even the remotest slither of liking for. However, Facebook has added a new functionality that hangs over you like a spectre, that assumes that you’re not able to traverse said brain or network well enough and now helps you “find people you know on Facebook”. The false assumption that this function makes is that I didn’t know that these people were already on Facebook, in 99% of the cases suggested, I did and subsequently ignored their existence. Having made that hard decision to banish these people from my virtual life, should i be reminded of this everyday by this fucking ad? Criminals receive less remorse-provoking material than I do for our relative crimes, it’s insane!

Facebook, I have a message for you delivered straight out of Compton…

Some raw link dumping straight from my brain today…firstly this, which blew my mind. Some part of me hopes that there is someone out there looking for just that, as it would make the world a much, much funnier place. My favourite part?

When you reach the end of level one, make sure to trigger the fireworks. This is vital to the entire experience. I must hear the fireworks. When level 2 begins and Mario walks into the pipe, I will penetrate you. You may say things like, “MORE”, “HARDER”, “YES”, “FUCK ME”, but nothing else. I will continue having sex until the level ends. DO NOT take the secret level skip.

I bet that got you clicking out.

And then this little beauty; from Big Eye Deer, a webcomic I didn’t follow before, but this made me smile so hard it hurt. And LOL a little.

So I think it’s fair to say that the press has well and truly gone for the jugular on the whole recession thing. Every other page is RPI this and negative equity that.

I’m more sanguine about the whole scenario to be honest, I think we’ve been living large for the last 10 odd years and could do with a period of sleeve-rolling in order to put things in perspective (I’m a firm believer in the importance of Schumpter’s theory of Creative Destruction or as Sombart put it “again out of destruction a new spirit of creativity arises” - according to Wikipedia anyhow).

However, what I’m less than happy about is reading that the government are planning to spend £3 million of taxpayer’s money on a funeral for Margaret Thatcher. This has baffled me completely. The Labour government have shown time and time again that they have the foresight of Russell Grant when it comes to policies and particularly the economy, yet now when it comes to burying the plundering former leader of the opposition they are all over it like some avant garde dance troupe. What astounds me is that she’s not even dead yet! Can you imagine how the minutes of a meeting of the cabinet must go:

• Economy: action - deferred until Q4 (we haven’t got a scooby on this one!)
• Knife crime: action - take perpetrators to hospital to see victims (minute updated: actually don’t)
• Eco-Towns: action - employed Wayne Hemmingway (yeah the fashion designer) as a designer (what the fuck!) to add some credibility to the cause.
• Obesity: action - appointed a new Tzar of Chips & Fizzy Drinks, John Prescott.
• Death of Margaret Thatcher: action - eagerly anticipated, so much so let’s plan a £3m party/funeral!

The government has clearly run out of ideas and conviction, it’s a sad State of affairs, quite literally.

Have a look at this clip from the satirical genius of Spitting Image…spot the difference between then (the early 90s) and now.

Click moar for the lyrics

MOAR!

Despite Boris’ inordinate level of buffoonery trying to cast a shadow over proceedings, Rise Festival did exactly what it says on the tin and got everyone up to party from 12pm in the unexplored fauna of Finsbury Park this Sunday just gone.

The new mayor once again showed that he is unable to leave anything unadulterated from his bodging by coming out to try and tone down the message of the festival from ‘united against racism’ to a more general theme of celebrating diversity.

As the sun beat down, a familar face strolled on to the stage to close the issue off. Terry Hall of the Specials proclaimed “I know there’s been some confusion this year about the message of this festival and all I want to say is fuck the BNP!”.

Yep fuck the BNP (who incidentally told their supporters to mark Boris as their second preference in the London Election). Check out the rest of the review below, we got up to some pretty awesome antics!

MOAR!

Yes, crack squirrels in south london. Seriously, you should see what we get in Hackney.

But I couldn’t resist these; thanks to Chris for the first:

see more pwn and owned pictures

FAIL

OK, it’s not quite “Sex & Drugs and Rock N Roll” but in my head I can just about make this work with the Ian Dury & The Blockheads track.

Those that have trawled the vast expanses of Brick Lane market will know that in some flyer-strewn corners lie stalls that hawk the lampoons, lullabies and larks of literary greats, all for the princely sum of less-than-a-bagel (an accepted East End measure of relative-price).

In addition to this wordy ware-fest, something else of a bookish bent is awry according to our sources (the rather spiffingly re-designed 93 Feet East myspace page, here).

MOAR!

For those who got the title reference and are humming along, here’s Strawberry Fields which is suitably spacey for this lazy Sunday:

Well, I played in a pretty epic cricket game in the idyllic surroundings of London Fields yesterday which some spectators (perhaps somewhat distorted by the sun and beneficial herbs) called the sporting event of the summer. The spectators spanned from surly scenesters to reminiscent Rastafarians to frankly, some out-and-out nutters! That’s what the East is all about though, the full spectrum, kaleidoscope if you will, of life and it’s players.

I was afforded some thinking time whilst out in the field (as the opposition showed us the dictionary definition of an ass-whooping!). As a result of this, I have come to the conclusion that London Fields is the best green space in London, now let me explain why…

MOAR!