A good day for science, a bad day for Nick Jackson

08/11/08

A good day for science, a bad day for Nick Jackson

The art of the insult has been in hiding for some time now. The almost redundant English language has been done in the pooper repeatedly. The once tight sphincter of good proper English now resembles a burst teabag. Massive shame, I know. What, with text speak, white lower class people talking in some format / code that I have yet to decipher and people even talking in ‘Gornalish’ on Facebook…I just think that people depreciate this well worn tool at the back of the garage, the handy spanner that is a dictionary.

Nick Jackson today went one further than most, he took that tired old spanner and bolted together some fine insults that I found toe curlingly abrasive, said aloud it feels like a brillo pad to the balls. Liberating.

‘Smarmy, sleazy, slick-haired fuck-sticks’

‘you are a huge great dripping malignant cock.
‘

Incredible.

Oh, yeah. Science. So, ‘they’ think that there is a cure for that slight annoyance that goes by the name of AIDS. It was on Google current earlier. Apparently, some olden Gay dude who has the virus was also receiving bone marrow treatment for cancer. By some miracle the virus vanished. No idea why its not on the BBC news yet, but if you ask me that is some SERIOUS BUSINESS.

ALSO

After the scientists broke their new toy the LHC, a smaller particle collider in America has made a crazy discovery. Good grief! well, when you smash these charged particles at each other, it creates these things called muons. Well, what they didn’t realize is that the muons were not actually staying inside the collider pipe. Little fuckers passed right through the thing and existed for a fraction of a second before deteriorating. This unnerved me, I dunno about you.
Sub atomic particles that pretty much teleport?

I swear, one day these white coat men are going to go a bit too far and I’m going to wake up to a giant black abyss in the sky. The day of doom is upon us Humans, I’m glad that the damn thing is busted. A little more time before the four horsemen come and trample on me.

Tom Hates Dubstep

18/05/09

Sometimes I cannot help but poop the party.

After managing to sneak into festival hall using a very cunning ‘entry band swapping’ maneuver along with a bag chocked full of lukewarm beer cans, the night was looking really promising.

Yes, the Southbank looks like a concrete Christmas tree at night, and as per usual is inhabited by Guardian readers (the ones who indulge in the supplements anyway) vegans and men wearing sandals and woolly v-neck sweaters. Its like a casting call for the next British romantic comedy. Everyone listens to Billy Bragg and drinks half pints.

Nearby, a Dubstep gig is going on in an older venue on the Southbank nearer to the Hayward and further inland. The bass driven sounds were so intense that the ceiling started to give way and was called off when an innocent raver was clouted by a falling piece of metal. She was the first casualty of the night.

The vexed self important DJ’s who are pioneering this new music decided that the night must go on, and downstairs at Festival Hall was the solution. An entourage of strange creatures made their way along to the new venue, bringing their odious, abhorrent hullabaloo along with them. So when someone told me that we were sneaking into a dub gig I was pretty hyped. I later realized that I was led like a lamb to the slaughter; to a cesspit of ketamine fulled zombies all wondering who let them into this elitist constabulary. I have no idea which of the two parties was more confused.

I did my usual trick, displace myself and camouflage as best as I can whilst taking it all in for future pub tattle. I tried to emulate their movements and facial expressions. How do you enjoy listening to what sounds like a car starting over and over again? Everyone was in an odd trance except me, I felt like the Tin man did when he invaded the ranks of the Winkie soldiers in the Wizard of Oz. Everyone looked hypnotized just wobbling about, most without any notion of rhythm. Some people see it as an excuse to fight an invisible enemy, some people tr to be provocative in their snake like motions, others just point at everything and step from side to side. I was cold sober and a bright room watching lots of people making themselves look like complete idiots, the catch was that I had to do it too to fit in

Fuck you Dubstep for making me do that. Eventually I went up to Josh (who can dance, he does the pointy thing but it kinda works) and I told him that this music was making me angry, a middle aged man in a red leotard was swanning around me acting like an extra from Midsummer nights Dream and my last beer tasted like it had been cooked. He just called me ‘menstrual man’ and in his words said that the music was ‘badass’. I left them to it and went outside after pouring my beer into a used plastic receptacle so as the bouncers wouldn’t lynch me.

Outside were lots of Guardian people and lots of Dubstep hippies all mingling together.

There was some weird dude with short shorts, bald except for a square patch of hair on the back of his head taking photos of everything and some dude from Hereford who asked me the following:

“Hey, you. Man. Mate. You.”

(I was ignoring him)

“Oi! Mate! MATE! BEARD!”

(I had to acknowledge him now)
“Alright mate”

“You got a spare roll up mate?”

“I don’t sm…”

“You got any weed then? Go on, lets go and smoke some weed.

Where are you from?”

“Near Birmingham, why?”

“Ahh! I’m from Hereford.” Never trust anyone from Hereford.

You ain’t got any pills have you? Have you got any pills or coke?”

“Dude, I have none of those things”

“Maybe if I wait here long enough then some drugs will come along surely I reckon.”

I pointed at some angry looking black guy who was bigger than me and told him that he might have some drugs. He trundled towards the guy and made my exit as he was going. That guy was cruising for trouble, I was just steering him to it.

The guy with shorts took my photo. I did a shrugged shoulders pose, that was how I was feeling. Perplexed.

Dubstep, you are a terrible thing. As far as music goes I am putting you at the bottom of my list. I would prefer to be but in a cardboard box and dropped into a freezing ocean. I would prefer to brush my teeth using a Brillo pad. I would prefer cholera than to be in a room doing Parkinson’s impressions to your clumsy discordance again.

(Dear Greg. I know that you were in this story too but I decided to leave you out because of your stupid shoes and tasteless jumper.)

Pah.

Signing off.

Menstrual Man.

Words that mean something is good.

22/05/09

Words that mean something is good

I think that there are more words to describe something that is pretty good than there are to describe something that is completely rubbish.

However, some of the words that people use to give praise to the better things are more often than not pretty rubbish in return.

I came to this conclusion whilst eavesdropping this morning.

“That phone is proper nang”

Nang.

Who made that one up? I guess it reminds me of running around the playground (I always ran like a bit of a knob and a bit slower than most) trying to avoid the ‘mang’. This is probably why I hate the word. I still had the mang when I got into class after break and my classmates still wouldn’t touch me.

I also heard that the new word for an attractive lady whom bare peeps are looking for is described as ‘peng’.

And get this! A ‘frrrooop’ is a tasty vagina!

Whatever next…

Although its not all bad. Mike Skinner describes almost anything that is blindingly awesome as ‘Big Dog’. Unfortunately I cannot adopt it into my own vocabulary as the last time I tried using it to describe how good my mother is to me, people just fell about laughing.

Asian Passions and Carnal restraints

04/04/09

I remember my dad talking to me about sex scenes in Bollywood cinema, and how they would depict the action by having the lovers disappear behind a bush which would shake vigorously while some high pitched female would harp on about family honor. Its all very well, but these people are meant to have invented sex and passion and all that…

My flatmate is from Bombay. He loves cars, action movies with guns and muscle. He has three phones, an array of colognes and fragrances and ALOT of porno which he likes to show me. He has two leather jackets that he never wears and all of his t-shirts are CK, Tommy Hilfiger or some other wasted 90′s brand. If it ain’t branded, he wont go anywhere near it.

Then there is the girl from Hong Kong. On our first meeting she spoke about her attempted suicide, how she wants to die before 26 and how she was nearly raped. All in broken English. She would write ‘death’ in Cantonese over and over again on a piece of paper and she cooks instant noodles with way too much water. She plays Evanescence and tries to sing along. This is brilliant however because it reminds me of Banzai or ‘Engrish’ and i love these things.

They are in love denial ville.

Hong Kong is shouting at India next door.

HK: WAAA! Why you do the cigarette onto the plate?

India: I will put it into the sink later with the other plates

HK: We eat off the plates! You eat with your fingers!

India: You eat with chopsticks!

HK: So?

India: So?

*silence*

Yesterday I caught them playing tug of war with a towel. because they both wanted to dry something at the same time.

Once he farted and she moved closer to him.

Once i watched him stare at her feet for more than a few minutes.

Really, she loves his brown hairy back and sticky red tika fingers and he loves the way the raw fish gets stuck in her braces.

He bangra dances to Justin Timberlake and she locks herself away in her room sulking to Linkin Park albums.

Its so sad to watch.

London, you make me sick.

01/03/08

Went to a house party last night. It was okay barring the fact that I turned up at half midnight. The empty vodka bottles, king size Rizzla stuck to the floor and conspicuous trails all over the table lead into the understanding that I was not really going to get into the vibe here. I should have turned up earlier and gone rum raiding.

So Sober Larry gets to integrate with all manner of weird creatures for few hours. So when the guy harping on about his dysfunctional sexuality issues was finally distracted by a frisbee, and that tall ugly girl stopped chatting about her project to promote diarrhea (“Its not its fault its a virus!”) I decided to call it a night. Greedy bisexual boy was on the prowl anyway, the eject button had to be pushed.

Diarrhea girl found me at the door and asked if I could walk her to bus stop. i obliged, and she took her fucking time walking up the street asking some of the most bizzare questions. It seemed that everyone at this party had ulterior motives, or I shouldn’t wear so much John Paul Gautier.

I pushed her onto a bus, gave her a big thumbs up and legged it.

Walworth road was absolute bedlam. I saw a massive police raid on this house where they stuffed multiple dudes into multiple vans, women were crying, men were pushing each other. Horrible sights and sounds, sensory violation.

I was near home. 500 meters left.

Two women are walking in front of me, probably been out to the pub or something. Women. Harmless.

One of them turned around and glanced at me before carrying on walking and talking to her accomplice.

I continue walking when the woman turns around again and makes a bee line right for me.

“You got a spare cigarette mate?”

I fumbled around foolishly, and replied with the obvious answer ‘I dont smoke’. What a bloody idiot.

“Its alright. Where you been tonight? You walking this way?”

I obliged, told her I went to a house party too late and needed to pass out. Her other friend stood on the other side of me and started walking in stride with us.

“This is Aisha, and we want to do you a deal.”

Drugs? I thought. I wanted to go to bed. Never mind drugs. I looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“You can take us home with you, tenner each. You can fuck me with a condom and she will suck you without.”

I was mortified. Absolutely fucking mortified. I blurted something that was crossed with hilarity, surprise and utter disgust. They offered me a crack head threesome for twenty quid. Oh god. Good God. I shook my head wildly. “No”

“Okay, well how about we stay until the morning at yours for twenty each, and…”

“No thankyou. Thanks. But…”

“Is it because we are black?”

Oh great. Now you pull THAT card. I just slouched over. I had spent all night avoiding these disasters only to be caught up standing between two cheap and desperate hookers. This was awful. I tried to make excuses, and told them that they were very pretty, and that I like black people, and I wanted to go.

“Oh, come on! Coming home from a party without a girl?” She had stood in my path. I was blocked. “I have a pimp you know, he burns me!” She showed me the back of her arm. Low and behold around 20 cigarette burns. I remember turning white. I was in Sin City.

There was a Mexican stand off of glances. The silent girl glanced at my watch, they noticed me glancing aver their shoulders at my doorway, 250 meters away, and then I noticed her glance at the bus shelter over the road. Two of the biggest black dudes I had ever seen were sitting motionless on the bench. No glancing this time, they were full on staring, cold staring at me.

“We ain’t kidding now, give us your money.”

There was probably someone behind me too. Someone was shot on this street a week ago. Shit. Mugged by a pair of fucking Hookers.

I had sixty in my pocket, my phone and some coins that were jangling in my coat. If they could give it all up for a tenner then I was pretty sure they would give me up to the dudes over the road for less.

I delved into my pocket as I could see no better option. I grabbed the notes, pulled them out letting one fall to the floor, I handed the rest to her and as they rushed to grab the note that had blown between silent girls legs I made my escape. I ran wide of the corner, right to my door. As I got inside, just over the road through the glass doors was another shifty character who made sure to get a good look at my face before running the other way.

London. You make me sick.

(Turns out I only released fifty quid, the other tenner was in my rear pocket. Huzzah

‘The Great Fire of Camden’ and other stories

11/03/08

Imagine. You get up to the gates of heaven and St Peter removes the top of your skull (kind of like Sylar does but with less blood) and inspects your brain to see what kind of life you had. He mulches it up in his hands like mincemeat all the time nodding to himself or tutting as he decides what kind of life you had, the fibrous pulp gives away everything as his fingers intrude into each and every defining moment of your life.

Yeah, well I suppose its nothing like that…

Well, it was like I was ascending into some other imagined pseudo world this Saturday as I was on the steady incline of the Camden underground escalators.

It was 8PM, and expecting to emerge onto the bustling streets of Camden on a typical Saturday, we ended up in the center of a great inferno. If you failed to see the photographs on the news…

And I tell you what, the sight of these 30ft flames seemed to instill some kind of deluded mischief in everyone in Camden. People were buying drinks from the pubs and running out to marvel at the spectacle before being pushed away from the blaze by the police. Dealers came out from everywhere, mingling with the expanding crowd. Businessmen were whistling them down like dogs. One guy was rubbing his fingers together, lured a dealer into a phone box by shouting ‘anyone got whizz?’ over and over again. The fire got even bigger. People were screaming, the traffic had stopped and there were countless fire vehicles. Policemen were climbing onto the roof tops and all I wanted was cheap chinese food.

Anyway, it was getting too much and we had a gig to get to, so after tootling over to mornington crescent and meeting the band in some pub there, it was all over the news. The weirdest thing was watching sky news reporting from where you were standing five minutes ago. Some poor reporter was asking passers by what they had seen when some pissed guys jumped into frame and told her that she smelled like fish. I spat my beer everywhere.

Anyway, so, im in this pub, Camden is burning to shit about 200 meters from where I was sat and I manage some free tickets to see Envy and Other Sins, those brummy dudes that won the channel four unsigned competition. They are playing a gig called the festival of sins just over the road at the purple turtle.

It was disturbing.

They had porn from the 1940′s being projected onto the wall, I mean like an eight foot tall fanny just…there. Scaring me. Like a toothless wolverine. This was the first thing that struck me, even before I managed to notice the gimp on stilts that was lurking behind me. Shit. I needed a beer, but not before I was flanked with quite beautiful Burlesque women. Corsets and tattoo’s and all that. And then, in the squeeze for the bar a man wearing nothing but a leather spiky collar brushed his dick against my hand as I was going for my change. I felt it. His wrinkly hood VS. the top of my hand. I went green.

A Japanese midget burlesque thing took to the stage and started singing a song about how badly she wanted to be fucked. You know, she was a midget. nobody wants to sleep with a midget. Awesome tattoos though. I never saw rocket fish and a pug dog chest piece before in my life (incidentally the pug dog was her pet, incorporated into her song as another male who refuses to sleep with her).

i went to the toilet. Another naked man was there, and a dude wearing a really good suit. how I noticed the suit before his Mexican wrestling mask, I have no idea. Like a Ray Mysterio Jr kinda one. He made a point of staring at me whilst I did my wee, just as long as he kept his bits away from my pockets I was going to be okay.

I ran out of the toilets into the middle of some weird photo shoot and banged my head off the chest of some buxom model who growled at me. I froze to the spot.

Camden was burning down, sex people are everywhere and all I can see is this monster fanny jangling about in the sky. The Japanese midget had been replaced by these people who were putting sterilized needles through this womans face and cheeks whist another pretended to bleed to death. What the fuck is happening to you Shep? If my phone had battery, I would have called my mother and apologized for what I had become.

Envy played next and were introduced by some wide eyed gay dude with a walking stick who mocked them for being from Birmingham. I laughed loudest unfortunately, and lots of eyes fell on me. All of a sudden, wearing nothing but a leather crotch pouch might have been a good idea. Even the monster fanny scowled.

I escaped after Envy finished, I paid my respects to them as they played up to the whole experience a treat.

Good news. My accomplice, josh, who is quite used to these ordeals has got us invites to an all night pub lock in. he wanted to stay and look at Burlesque women, but I said no, and drinking was more important.

So, we went to this bar on the Holloway road called Nambuka. They put curtains all up the Windows and people were smoking and drinking and all sorts. I got wasted quickly. Talking to some band manager at the bar who told me about a guy he saw swallow an 8 ball and a light bulb, only to regurgitate them whole again. The dude also took five womens rings, swallowed them all and regurgitated the rings back to their rightful owners.

This was an amazing story. I told it to some other guy later on. He told me that I was lying.

Peaches Geldof was there…apparently. I was oblivious to it, plus I don’t really know what she looks like.

At 8AM, we went back to an old friends house and drank whiskey.

I woke up at 6PM on Sunday and ate lots of fried chicken and found a portrait someone did of me on a piece of wood.

I think if St Peter was to mash about with my brain, he would get to this point in my life and just put the brain back and boot me down to Hades. Hades would only be dismayed because I wouldn’t wear his leather spiky collar and would send me back in dismay.

I think Hades has already seen my cock anyway. I’m sure that was him standing next to me at the urinal…

A Mystery

30/01/08

What happened to white dog poo?

When I was kid, it used to be everywhere but now there is none to be seen. Its a real shame and if you have a dog, could you curtly ask the question why he or she has given up on them?

I would also like to know how they (used to) do it because it would be quite the party trick.

I have no idea why this one is furry...

Thankyou.

[nb: Much later i actually found the answer to this question right here...

http://www.thenakedscientists.com/forum/index.php?topic=182.msg794]

Someones Nan dishes out unprovoked pedestrian pain

02/12/09

Yesterday I was punched in the street.

Unprovoked. Out of the blue.

The attacker was an aged ogress, decorated in pearls and plastic headgear, hastily marching a rigid line down Piccadilly circus. She was probably clocking 70. I’m talking age and speed.

I did all I could to avoid her advance, I stretched my body into an inept shape and dodged. As I cleared her path, I felt her ivory knuckles connect with my shoulder.

I stood back aghast, completely dehumanized. The harpy was speeding on, and the oncoming human traffic were all fleeing her wicked fists.

I spun on my feet and blurted ‘grow up!’ at the vile crone.

Alas, she never heard.

I was half expecting this…

Vile Crone

Cheer Up : Kanye West

15/07/07

That’s Right Kanye, give us a smile, why so sullen when we all know that you have shimmering teeth that could dazzle the most distressed of damsels. I used to like you Kanye, but whats the point in wealth and fame when you cant celebrate it and instead you do things like this…

Jesus...is that YOU?

Bugger me backwards batman…

I have never been a massive fan of either you or Jesus, but If you were both in a bar, I would have plenty more to ask little J, son of G, sorry man, but its the truth. I would ask him, “why is that sad Black bloke over there dressed like you Jesus dude? Does he want to be you?”
“No”, Jesus would reply, “He just wants someone to think that he was born of immaculate conception, that he has the power to save all humanity from their sins, but to me, he just looks like a miserable prick.”
At this point Kanye would twist around on his swivel chair, half spilling his WKD blue all over his toga. “Savior breath Jesus! I know your pain. I was stabbed…erm…shot too! I was stabbed and shot and everything. Do you know how much that hurt Jesus?”
“They nailed me to a sodding cross you ungrateful sod. Now cheer up and give us a smile”
Kanye would take this opportunity to look even more displeased, getting burned is bad enough when you are Kanye West, but getting burned by a semi naked 2000 year old God stung little deeper.
I would pipe up between them to voice my opinion. “Calm down gentlemen! Jesus, you are quite right, Kanye is a miserable twat but…”
“You’ve got a trifling friend indeed” blurts Kanye, as he leaps across the bar, squeezing Jesus by the gullet.
At this point I would leave, crossing paths with the Sheilas wheels women on the way out, who distract Kanye ith thier large breasts and blonde hair, giving Jesus enough time to zap him to the floor with his laser beam eyes. All four of them would proceed to feast on Kanye’s well cooked corpse.

On the walk home, I realize now that I would be far better off without any of these people in my life.

PS: In other news, the radio 2 news presenter just belched part way through a report on the Darfur Crisis. This is the kind of spirit that Kanye needs, not the holy spirit.

Safeway psy-trance people watching excercise.

21/05/07

Yeah. I went to a trance night in an abandoned Safeway.

I exercised my people watching abilities.

I saw these things:

- Italian Squatters with dreadlocks on MdMa.

Always have slightly yellow, if not completely yellow teeth. Have stringent ammounts of patience. I was sitting in a well lit glass box, as to keep the harder ravers away. Eg1 walks in and attempts to talk to me in Italian. This happens alot. As he jabbers away at my face, I can taste his nicotine soaked lungs at the back of my throat. I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to avoid wretching. He wants to know where my girlfriend is and says I look ‘cool’. I tell him that she isnt here but I found his remarks very flattering…

Awkward silence.

‘So you are not gay mister sunglasses?’*

‘No’.

He bellows with laughter walks out of my light room and falls over a chair. I narrowly avoided a bumming.

- Female Mediteranian women who mistake you for money

My keys fell on the floor dancing, as I attempted to fit in with this counter culture that was stranger to me than having E.T turn up at your door dressed as a ghost. Although, most of these people were brown and wrinkly and shrouded in cheap loins, I would gladly lend E.T a phone to call home over these muppets.

Oh, my keys, yeah, they were hit the floor with a ‘clink’ kinda sound. Wide eyed woman covered in permanent marker stars turns around, fixated on my glittering keys, and exclaims ‘MONEY!’, before diving on them. ‘No’, I shouted in her ear, ‘these are my keys’. She was still on the floor, gazing up at me, keys clasped in her hands, bobbing up and down to what sounded like someone kicking the shit ot of PacMan against a garage door. She handed them back cautiously, as not to alarm me. No sooner had she handed them back, she yelped once more ‘MONEY!’ with one long finger outstretched in my direction.

I danced elsewhere.

- White South London Raver Males with no tact.

‘BRAV! BRAV! OI! BRAV!’ I fucking hate being called ‘brav’ or ‘bruv’. It is disgusting to me. Go to hell. And no, I have no water. Before you boshed so many beans that your eyes barely fit in your sockets anymore you should have gone to the shop. Despicable. Here, drown your brain with my two large bottles of Ye Olde English, I will gladly share my last drink with you just to chance the slight odds that you may never wake up, and that someone else just as revolting my have the fortune of discovering you cold.

- Europeans who go to the toilet anywhere

Thats it love. piss at the top of those stairs so we can all smell the interior of your bladder whilst navigating our way up the slippery slopes of mount damp slabs. And shave your hairy foof you filthy euro trash. She looked flourescent cave dwelling ugly barbarella. The sunglasses managed to block out most of her poisonous UV rays.

I was very glad to go home.

Psy-trance just aint for the TomShep’s of this world. However, why do I never attend these ‘ordeals’ without a sketch book?

*I was wearing sunglasses at night you see.