Boring...isn't it?

Not bad, for a university or insurance company. But Google? Come on! These are the guys who maintain a secret caste system, involving the use of different coloured badges to designate workers they value more than others. Google’s recent Panda update has opened the floodgates to hundreds of scraper sites, welcoming them to the top spot on page one, for a variety of lucrative keyterms. They’re the company that are currently in hot water over the i-phone tracking scandal. And the Street View data collection fiasco of last year. And now they want to just be your kindly academic Uncle Goog, the tweedy boring guy with all the answers. And the Ads. Don’t buy links. Just say no. Unless it’s Uncle Goog sellin’ an’ then it’s allowed. Fuck you Google, you’re boring.

Are you one of those brooding coolios who know it all about Madchester and The Smiths? Do you hang out with people who actually flew the Atlantic to have their photograph taken outside Salford Lads Club and to feel the pain that made Joy Division write all those miserable fucking songs? Are you that brilliant that the thought of a Joy Division t-shirt with a picture of Mark E Smith on it provokes a wry grin and a sudden onset of angst for the days you could smoke Woodbines while walking through Prestwich Clough discussing who’s caved in to heroin and who hasn’t, this post-ironic Madchester mashup t-shirt might be for you!

The question is, did this person (it is being sold on EBay) actually print the shirt with a post-ironic hipster audience in mind, or was it the worst, fuckwitted twat to ever try and make a fast buck from what could well be the most understudied and ill-represented underground “scene” in music history?
Either it is one cool shirt and I simply must have one for myself. It’ll be bliss to lap up the negative vibes from all the fools who are self-absorbed enough to think they’ve caught me out at the coffee shop/nightclub/festival/etc, etc.

Before and After, or Half a Twin Today?

Just recently someone I know said to me, “I worry that I’ll be anxious all the time.”
This preposterously cyclical symptom of life in modern society came the day it was announced (by a completely unscientific source) that antidepressants make peoples’ faces “droopy”.

Apparently this finding was based on a study of twins; one took antidepressants and the other didn’t. The one who took antidepressants (i.e. the anxious one) looked older than the other twin (the happy, relaxed one) and so it was concluded that drugs, not stress, were the cause of this condition. Isn’t it weird in a culture – where we are constantly told that being stressed is for losers and chemicals can fix everything – that drugs have finally been nailed as a bad thing? Only for the “finding” to be completely bogus.
The funniest part is where the authors recommend that victims of droopiness perform facial muscle exercises to keep the tone healthy. I’m not sure that the muscles of the face are so paralysed under medication that they really can start to sag. If the authors of the article had claimed antidepressants compromise muscle’s integrity at the molecular level that might have sounded a bit more convincing…but making them too relaxed?

Stress is bad, dude. Very bad.

Dickies logo...they were the days.

A Christian website complained recently that a lot of bands name themselves after reproductive organs or functions. So I got to wondering, how many can I personally rhyme off myself without consulting the Bands Named After Genitals Guide? Here are the ones that sprung to mind (some of them are named after sex toys which themselves are prosthetic sexual organs/functions). Of course the main reason for doing this is the fact I’m an attention-seeking fuckwad with the sense of humor one would expect in a 13 year old boy. (Which isn’t bad seeing as I’m actually 11) Turns out there are quite a few but the Buzzcocks and Magazine aren’t among them…though the latter should be, in my opinion.

12. I’ll begin with a bonus one; the Pet Shop Boys will forever be hounded by the famous “true or false?” question regarding the inspiration for their name. The reality appears to be a quite boring explanation – they had friends who worked in a pet shop and took it from there. The cheap thrill version says that they were making fun of the homosexual practice known as “gerbiling” in which men insert gerbils or hamsters into their anuses and derive great pleasure from the sensation of the (presumably declawed) little rodent burrowing its way up their assholes. This practice belongs on the Bonus Section shelf next to the “Marc Almond had a gallon of semen pumped out of his stomach“, etc.

11. The Dickies: Humorous, humongous California punk pioneers who unleashed their “Banana Splits (Tra La La Song)” in 1979, the Dickies’ logo was a cock and balls and their Incredible Shrinking Dickies album contained a high-speed punked up version of Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid”. The Dickies had a habit of pressing their records in colored vinyl and unfortunately a couple of them are no longer dicking around, but they will be remembered forever by anyone who loves late-70s no-holds-barred rock ‘n’ roll.

10. Celibate Rifles: This Australian Sex Pistols antithesis were associated with the Lipstick Killers – wait, isn’t “lipstick” slang for a dog’s erection? Perhaps we’ve uncovered a bonus dog sex-part reference band here! – and played gigs in Sydney to adoring crowds before conquering the US and Europe. Anyone who’s heard their classic, “Johnny”, with Crocodile Dundee-esque singer Damien Lovelock’s grinding vocals and a driving guitar, will know that the rifles were not to be taken lightly. They may have been celibate but they proved they could deliver the goods when and as needed.

9. Scissor Sisters/Scissorfight/Tribe 8: Their name is taken from a sexual position between women called tribadism, also known by the slang term scissoring. It is a sexual position entailing a woman rubbing her vulva against her partner’s body for non-penetrative sexual stimulation. “Rubbin’ pussies” as a friend of mine refers to it. Couldn’t help myself, I just had to include it, so I could write “rubbing pussies”…oops, done it again. Oh well…and I can’t even be bothered telling you anything about them. Alright, I will; they have a male man who wears very tight lycra trousers and a tattooed woman with red hair…need I continue?

8. Hole: Utterly filthy-looking singer Courtney Love is every waster’s dream girl and who wouldn’t want to, really? The aptly named Hole – named after a lady’s love tunnel I should hope – have recorded numerous top records, including “Retard Girl” and “Dicknail” and Love herself has even been accused of murdering Curt Cobain by the more hysterical segment of the grunge fanbase. In the parlance of Monty Python, she looks like a right goer…nudge, nudge, wink, wink…say no more.

7. The Slits: Formed from, among others, a band called The Castrators (beat that for a tangential ball-sack hacking silly band name, eh?), the Slits were a mainly female British punk band that went on to play with the esteemed likes of Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Clash and A Certain Ratio. One of the Slits split (if you’ll pardon the expression) to form another band, The Raincoats – British slang for condoms – but not before they’d mesmerized the public with their rolling drums, reggae beat and cocky attitude. With names like Ari Up (Arianna Forster), Palmolive (Paloma Romero of Raincoats fame) and Budgie, the Slits were a band that filled a gaping crack in the musical mural of the time, and filled it well, I might add.

6. We’re getting into the real prosthetic realm now: Legendary punk band The Vibrators – does it get any better than that, ladies, really? – inspired a million little black and white badges bearing a letter “V” after their hit “Automatic Lover” earned them a spot on Top of the Pops. One Vibrator, bassist Pat Collier, went on to work with post-punk outfit The Soft Boys (hmmm..) and produced what many consider their best ever album, Underwater Moonlight. And yes, it is a fucking awesome album.

5. Steely Dan: Continuing with the prosthetic-inspired, this perfectionist duo named themselves after Beat Generation writer William Burroughs’ depiction of “Steely Dan III from Yokohama,” a strap-on dick mentioned in smackhead Burroughs’ novel “The Naked Lunch”. Steely Dan’s brilliant “Do It Again” is by far their most famous tune but there are plenty more where that came from, as they say. The two musicians behind Steely Dan, Walter Becker and Donald Fagen, were hippie-hating recluses known to go through session musicians like Marc Almond goes through, er, spunk donors (it’s OK, it’s a myth), and appear to be a relatively friendless, fucked up pair of freaks. Perfect!

4. Thin White Rope: Continuing with bands whose names were inspired by Burroughs, these buzz-saw demons from Davis, California named themselves after the skag writer’s description of ejaculation. As if to emphasise this, they released an album entitled Sackful of Silver (but that could just be me) and have been referred to as “the Demon Seed”. Their fan club is called The Swingin’ Danglers…very apt for a sexually named dark psychedelic rock band…or is it? Needless to say, buy “Exploring the Axis”, “Moonhead”, or the scintillating “The One That Got Away” and you’ll not be disappointed. These guys could dish out some serious guitar and their lyrics were strange as fuck. Well worth a place in this list. It’s about the music, stupid!

3. Continuing with the ejaculation theme we have 10CC: Famous for their massive hit, “I’m Not in Love”, 10CC named themselves for a greater than average volume of semen ejaculated during an orgasm. As a kid I used to play football outside vocalist-guitarist Graham Gouldman’s house, but never actually saw him wanking into a volumetric flask in order to accurately determine his massive output. Not that I was a peeping Tom or anything like that. 10CC was a band half commercial and half artistic, a bit like a human brain. The commercial half allegedly wrote shit songs and the artistic side were supposedly brilliant. Their hit single, “Rubber Bullets” had audiences rocking, and when you think about it, the title really seems to kill two birds with one stone…but I’ll stop there.

2. Sex Pistols: Do these guys – or their moniker – need any introduction? We thought not, except to say that one of the most famous albums of all time was Never Mind the Bollocks Here’s the Sex Pistols – yet another triumph for sticky-out dangly bits in the world of rock ‘n’ roll. Johnny Rotten (a “Johnny” being slang for a condom in England) and Co. changed the face of pop music forever when they exploded on the scene with their goggle eyes and foul mouths. Their slogans included such gems as “Crime pays us”, “Cash from chaos” and “Never trust a hippie” and they hated everything and everyone. Kids today don’t know they’re born because of the Pistols, and that’s a fact. I hear the Queen herself secretly fucking loved them. Loved the bastards. What more can you say? Those twats were top fucking notch. And other naughty words.

1. Anal Cunt (WINNER): I don’t know what they sound like. I don’t know what type of music they play, or the name of a single song. I just know they exist and that is a beautiful thing…it makes me laugh, anyway. Anal Cunt, ladies and gentlemen, yes Anal Cunt, are the Number One band named after a sexual organ/function. Anal Cunt!

Anal Cunt go disco!

Make Architects have designed a futuristic underground carbon neutral home for Manchester United’s tash-sporting Gary Neville. That’s right, you can take it to the bank, I ain’t having you on. The lad from Bury, who looks like he’d be more at home eating a black pudding in some dive of a pub off The Rock, is to live in an amazing single-level home with expansive views of the surrounding countryside and its assorted wonders. The kitchen will be the focus of the spanking new home, surrounded by several petal-shaped wings bearing names such as eat, relax, entertain, work, sleep and play.

The house is designed to exist in harmony with the surrounding meadows and hillsides and its orientation was a big consideration. The green home reflects the footballer’s belief in a system-friendly lifestyle. Neville is originally from the Bury area and it is a place he obviously feels very much part of. Construction materials will be locally obtained, and the home constructed using traditional methods. Power will all come from natural, renewable sources; photovoltaic panels and a wind turbine will combine with a ground source heat pump for heat and light and whatever else mad crazy football geezers need out there on the edge of Watership Down or Wuthering Heights, or wherever the heck you fancy.

The green house will merge with local topography, disappearing into the hillside and “enabling the surrounding moorland to seamlessly flow across the roof,” according to Make Architects. At night the home will be visible as a radial-symmetric natural shape not unlike an elaborate crop circle or a megalithic structure. Descriptions of the Neville eco-home have ranged from “a Teletubby house” to Skara Brae neolithic underground settlement in Orkney – which of course the architects insist was their inspiration – nothing to do with Tellytubbies, whatsoever…hm-keh, ok, hmm, ok…hm-kecgh, *cough* all-righty, then!

When I was at college I was fortunate enough to become acquainted with Lynne Margulis, one of the pre-eminent scientists of our time. Margulis is known for the Theory of Endosymbiogenesis. In short, this is a theory that describes how the complex life-forms on the planet were formed from much simpler ones – single-celled creatures that, by one means or another, fused, physically and in most cases genetically to a predator, host, or symbiont. The chloroplast of plants were once free-living single-celled organism. Mitochondria were also. The undulipodia that propel living things were once spirochete bacteria that were slowly incorporated into larger, more complex organisms over millions, if not billions, of years.

When I was studying immunology I was amazed to discover the vast array of different immune cells that live in animals like us. Among the most interesting were neutrophils – a type of fast moving cell usually among the first to show up at a site of infection. I was struck by how determined they seemed to be to catch invading bacteria, almost as if they were in a predator-prey relationship. In a microbiology class at UMass, Amherst I learned about viruses, and I wondered, “Does anything in nature actually eat viruses?” This reminded me of the theory of endosymbiogenesis; the huge number of different immune cells, each with their own specific jobs, came to resemble a population of creatures that once lived external to us but had somehow become incorporated into the animal genome. And what of their prey, the various microbes they guarded us against? Did they once live independent of hosts? Did the infectious bacteria adapt to life in hosts first, and were followed inside by their natural predators? Is this how the immune systems of higher life-forms came to be? Is there anything out there that eats viruses, other than immune cells?
I just found this interesting film of a neutrophil chasing a staph bacterium and it triggered the memory of endosymbiogenesis – and all the secrets yet to be discovered about this most fundamental aspect of evolution.

These Aussie kids are radical as fuck are they not? They make your average white American suburban housing development native look like the lamest cocksuckers on the face of the planet. Never mind, there’s always our preoccupation with make believe to see us through, right?
One look at that death swing, slung up there on a dizzying crag, is enough to get the sphincter throbbing with adrenalin-induced horror. Watch this vid and see the young chick who come to have a go. Fuck it, if she’s doin’ it, I’m doin’ it…

John Terry - Transvestite

Last year Chelsea captain John Terry was outed as a dickless transvestite by the British media, but this week the John Terry closet full of rotten skeletons took a turn for the worse. It appears that Terry does actually have a cock, but unfortunately he lost the manual when he obtained it, with emphasis on the “man” part of that word. With the recent not-at-all-surprising news that Chelsea’s John Terry is even more of a snide scumbag weasel than we already knew he was, come further disgusting details. This week, despite trying to place a gag order on the media, Terry was exposed as a two-faced fucking wanker who shags his mates’ birds, gets them pregnant then pays for a sly abortion. At least that’s what he did to his supposed “best mate” Wayne Bridge, after Bridge was trusting enough to turn his back on tartbag Terry for two seconds. But a larger question looms: with all this dirty shagging he’s been doing without heed of his own family’s wellbeing, has John Terry fathered even more children with famous footballers’ WAGs?

Come to that, is John Terry your dad?? Terry claims to be 29 years old, but one glance at him quickly reveals the look of a man at least twice that age, who spends most of his time leaning against the grimy wallpaper of shithole London pubs while planning to fuck his teammates’ wives and girlfriends, the ugly cunt!

We decided to do our own investigation into how many other footballers’ WAGs Terry has fathered children with, and we were shocked by what we found. After trailing these celebs around like a hungry pack of slavering weirdoes, we present the following evidence for further infidelity on the part of the scruffy, strange-haired dickhead who took the Ray “I’m a pisshead” Parlour look all too far.

Handsome dad...rancid sons.

1. Becks. After seeing this photograph of David Beckham with his three sons, Brooklyn, Shergar and Blobby, we came to the inescapable conclusion that scumbag John Terry has undoubtedly been banging Posh’s fanny till it’s red raw. How Becks cannot see this every time he looks at his hideous brood we have no idea. After all, one of the most handsome athletes on the planet couldn’t possibly father three lads with such hateful rancid features as this terrible trio. Only one piece of crap is capable of that, and you know who we’re talking about.

Stop teasing the monkey, Thierry!

2. Thierry Henry. The French cheat enjoys a reputation almost as pristine as Terry himself, but not quite. Perhaps if he was to spend more time taters deep up the shitbox of Iniesta’s missus on his days off he too would be put forth as a shining example of an upstanding citizen of his country…wait, Henry’s French, we forgot; they got there years ago. Anyway, this pic of Henry and his lovely wife Nicole Merry walking off the Nou Camp pitch with their “daughter” Téa, clearly shows that something is up, namely Terry’s knob making Nicole very merry. The poor child has to go through life looking like a demented monkey as a result of her being fathered by the Chelsea dirtbag. No wonder the toy monkey Henry is holding before her is making her so upset; she thinks he’s taking the piss! Again, wake up Mr. Henry, there’s some John Terry twatting to be done!

The oldest ginger swinger in town...he's 8!

3. Paul Scholes. The Ginger Prince hardman of the Old Trafford centre-circle is going to go fucking bananas when he finds out why his son looks 80 years old despite being just 8, and is such an ugly cunt into the bargain…that’s right, Scholes’ kid is another of Terry’s hideous progeny – and with ginger hair to boot! Christ, this is getting out of hand…When Scholesy works this out there’s gonna be a bloodbath. Hopefully he’ll kill the lobotomy-looking cunt, the world can once more sleep in the knowledge its women are safe, and Terry’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest hairstyle (and life philosophy) will be no more.

Enough to make an ogre cry. Ugly bastard John Terry.

4. Wayne Rooney. Wayne and his wife Colleen had baby Kai in 2009, and the world was shocked when little Kai was born minus those famous trumpet-shaped ogre ears. Nobody could understand how, despite apparently not picking up any of those Shrek genes, the kid still managed to be the ugliest child born north of the English Channel. One glimpse of the baby’s face though, and the truth becomes evident; he’s another Terry clone, a particularly ugly little twat who’ll no doubt be bumming his friends’ birds by the time he’s in double-figures.

This little fucker don't look right...

5. Carlos Tevez. Tevez, the apelike United reject who now scuttles about Eastlands pretending to be happy with his lot in life couldn’t be worse off if he tried. Not only does he play for the most deluded “massive club” in world football, he is a cuckold to that roving tatty-headed spunk bubble called John Terry. Here we see the diminutive Argie wheeling what appears to be an unwashed chimp in a pushchair. That “chimp” is, unfortunately Tevez’s child, or more accurately the rotten fruit from the loins of England’s most disgraceful captain in all history. Go get the weasel Carlito, give him a taste of justice, Fuerte Apache-style!

So that’s it, folks. There are more secrets on the way, so stay tuned. The Terry turnout hasn’t stopped yet, and we plan to expose more of these freaks for your titillation over the next week or so. John Terry really is an incredible douchenozzle isn’t he? If you have any pics that prove the evil coward that is JT has been playing away, please send them in and we’ll post them up here. Especially if you suspect John Terry may be in fact your dad.

Meanwhile, be careful out there…especially if you’re John Terry…

I couldn’t help but laugh at this excellent compilation. Why didn’t I think of this? Never mind apes, these monkeys provide more than their weight in gold as far as humour is concerned…From SuperTremendous, here are the Fifty Funniest Monkey Pictures of All Time.

I like it!

In a dream come true (almost) scenario, the American Apparel Co. are looking for the best arse in the world to model their latest line in arse coverings. This consists of a website dedicated to having girls the world over submit photos of their arses, and you – yes you! – the public, will decide which arse is fit to represent. The pics are being added in real time, so whenever you look at the site you’ll see a new arse, submitted by some lovely young thing staring you right in the face. Fuckin’ A.