Thursday, 3 November 2011
Twenty-Third Bond Film
Commander James Bond
The twenty-third Bond movie has been announced and with the still to-be confirmed title of A Delicacy Of Whispers it is said to continue the reboot of the franchise, again starring Warren Mitchell. I don’t know anyone that hasn’t enjoyed the more recent Mitchell films where after Silly Bond, Weepy Bond, Roger Moore, The quiet-one-from-the-Beetles-Bond, and James Bond the last two films have seen Bond return to his roots by properly kicking the fuck out of everything.
Starting with Casino Royale, Mitchell (most famous for his role as Wilfrid Bramble in the 70s noir kitchen-sink murder-thriller Steptoe & Son) gave us a new Bond, or a retro Bond, who kicked the fuck out of everything, and disliked women. It only needed a long description of a single egg for breakfast and where his cigarettes came from to be classic Fleming, as we watched in some surprise as Bond investigated villainy, played chav poker - and kicked the fuck out of everything. The story was continued in a Quantum Of Solace where Bond having kicked the fuck out of everything, then kicked the fuck out of everything else. We are promised that he having done so then in this latest outing for the world’s most famous spy he will kick the fuck out of anything left.
But he won’t enjoy it.
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
The Rise of Jobs Sothoth!
Recently elevated to the Divine, Steve Jobs (whilst still skipping stones across Tolly Mere and thieving bloomers from the washing line of the Dolly Sisters here in Tolly Maw) has today taken his place amongst the gods. His worshippers all being staunch followers of Richard Dawkins however Steve Jobs has been unable to join any of the current corporate religions, ironically, and has had to make do with ‘proper gods’, gods with stats – indeed, gods that appear in the good book. The good book being TSRs 1980 release Deities & Demigods. Therein and in the first edition as possessed by the inner cabal of Apple not only is there still to be found the Cthulhu mythos, but as a part of that mythos now Jobs Sothoth. Not only then has Steve Jobs (now Jobs Sothoth) taken his place amongst the stars – which in time he shall devour – but he is also a 16th level Bard with 3 attacks a round, amongst other things.
It’s early days yet but with so many cultists already Jobs Sothoth is clearly destined for great things. Already it is whispered that World 2.0 is in the works. No Christian authority has yet made a formal statement regarding the rise of Jobs Sothoth (which the Jobists have already long derided as a faith too ‘glitchy’ despite its numerous updates and reboots).
Ph’nglio mglw’nafh Jobs Sothoth Palo Alto wgah’tappity tap
Vive L'Empress!
Empress Truic, a sketch half-inked some years ago I recently found – I couldn’t get her right and so this is far as any of the several sketches have ever got!
A Return
Back, yet not by much, and with Tolly Maw pristine, clean, new pin, bib, and hairspray. Here I’ve found nothing stalks hallowe’en, even though they know how to spell hallowe’en. Here and whilst horror runs a garage and the living dead a charity shop for the oxymoronic it is considered crude, rude even to stalk the night. Or even stalk. I had feared worse, I shall in the future know.
But returned and after a week or two of high adventure. As it would have been had I not for the most of it been enduring once more my recurring gout. It was I suspect because of visiting my ma, who since losing my dad and the yet more recent death of my brother has frankly taken to feasting on kittens. The old family hive is half closed. She has a puppy and so the rugs are dishcloth-damp every third step. There is no light, there is no heat and arriving she showed me the mince she had prepared, a day ‘or so’ before. A ball of it, grey, peppered with reformed mushed carrot (but carroted with no pepper at all).
I searched for and found salt, pepper, and a tin of tomatoes still stamped a wonder of the Great Exhibition. I asked if the meat was lamb, to which she agreed. I suspect now not. I suspect now beef though it was grey and reformed as described and could have been anything. Kittens would have been better - kittens do not set off my gout. So a day or three of damp walls, slithering half-seen tentacles and a pisspot of a puppy.
The house it’s worth saying is a mausoleum. A tomb, to books. I’ll say this for the ancestral hive, it has plenty of books. Indeed it has very little else. There are more books there than you have, any of you, in fact more than all of you – of us. Astonishing amounts of books, the simple Lego of mind and of many generations. So some light came to the gloom when prominent in the room put aside for my sproutish daughters were a complete run of Modesty Blaise and a pick of Bryant & May. They were in my old room too, so all very pleasing. We left and without regret and before we arrived at our next destination my foot was troubling me. Indeed and within another day it was painful, and I was then due to meet a pair of chums, to catch up and raise a glass – and did so, all the while in pain. So for a week more I was in an ancient town, went to see primeval hills and chalky horses and all increasingly without being able to walk.
Yet now returned and the pain is but a pain, going away and doubtless itself on holiday.
Somewhere far away I trust.
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