Look Out. He's Off Again.

The lovely Fresh commented on the last post that she's pleased I'm a member of the Anti-God-Squad.

Time to get pedantic:
I'm not "anti-God", Fresh. That would imply that there is a God to be "anti" at.
Actually, being anti-God would be deliciously tempting; knowing that He's sitting there with His finger over the "SMITE" button, glaring at me. Hee hee.

BUT …
Old Dive has said it many times and it bears repeating:
Listen up:

There is no GOD (there are no "gods" either, come to that).
There is no afterlife.
There is no Heaven (no need to imagine that, Mister Lennon).
There is no Hell (outside of long distance commuting).
There are no angels (sorry, Charlie).
There is no immortal soul (with the possible exception of Aretha singing "Say A Little Prayer").
There are no ghosts, just sad delusional fuckwits.
There are no fucking aliens; that anal probe is merely a repressed memory of your creepy uncle when you were a kid.
There is NONE of that superstitious, wank-brained crap.

There's just us; a bunch of stupid mammals fucking things up.

By the way, if I get struck by lightning today, it's just lightning.
Hee hee.
Smite me!

Monday Melee

It's Monday.
It's Fracas Monday Melee
I'm such a junkie for Groover's lyrics melee, so …
Hit it …

1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).

"Imagine there's no Heaven.
It isn't hard to do.
Nothing to kill or die for,
And no religion, too.."

John Lennon. Imagine: "Imagine".


2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).

"There are Jews in the world.
There are Buddhists.
There are Hindus and Mormons, and then
There are those that follow Mohammed, but
I've never been one of them.

I'm a Roman Catholic,
And have been since before I was born,
And the one thing they say about Catholics is:
They'll take you as soon as you're warm.

You don't have to be a six-footer.
You don't have to have a great brain.
You don't have to have any clothes on. You're
A Catholic the moment Dad came,

Because

Every sperm is sacred.
Every sperm is great.
If a sperm is wasted,
God gets quite irate."

Monty Python. Every Sperm Is Sacred: "The Meaning Of Life"


3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).

"All the lonely people,
Where do the all come from?
All the lonely people,
Where do they all belong"

The Beatles. Eleanor Rigby: "Revolver"


4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).

"I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's.
His hair was PERFECT!"."

Warren Zeavon. Werewolves Of London: (single).


5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).

"I like coffee,
I like tea,
I like the Java Jive
And it likes me."

All sorts of people. The Java Jive.


6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).

"Sit on my face, and tell me that you love me
I'll sit on your face and tell you I love you, too
I love to hear you oralise
When I'm between your thighs
You blow me away

Sit on my face and let my lips embrace you
I'll sit on your face and then I'll love you truly
Life can be fine if we both sixty-nine
If we sit on our faces in all sorts of places and play
'til we're blown away."

Monty Python. Sit On My Face: "Instant Record Collection"

Don't forget: next weeks is Groover's Pink Floyd Week.
Expect some Syd from old folk like me.

Varifocals. Eek!

They look kinda harmless sitting there, don't they?
Ha!
Don't be fooled.
I just picked them up this morning.
Not just any old pair of glasses, but Dive's first pair of varifocals.

First off: these are a sign that my crappy eyes are getting old; and I mean upper case OLD.
And knackered.

Secondly, they're fucking trippy!
The top half of the world is pin-sharp but the bottom half is kind of "special effects" woozy, especially when I move around.
Whee!
Whoo!
But if I stick a book under 'em I can SEE IT for the first time in ages.
Cool!

So today I am staggering around like an extra from a zombie movie and blinking a lot.
I can feel the future tense of the word "headache" beginning to form.
My optician - who is a fellow guitar player - gave me the sage but not exactly helpful advice "things are gonna get trippy for a day or two."
Then he took all of my money.

Next up it'll be a zimmer frame.
Hey ho.

Addendum:
Pop on over to Betty's new blog. If anyone remembers my very first post, I commented on the wrongest song ever made (and a longstanding favourite on my iPod); Leonard Nimoy singing about Bilbo Baggins.

My comment ran:
"The Hobbit Song by Leonard Nimoy (yes, THAT Leonard Nimoy). Not currently available anywhere, as far as I know, but well worth maiming a friend for. Mad as a chocolate hat. Nimoy, what the fuck were you thinking? This is JUST PLAIN WRONG!
There's a video to go with it, too. I caught it once on late night tv and laughed so hard my dinner came out my nose."

Well Betty's just posted up the video.
Be afraid … Be very afraid.

Injuns! Kill 'Em All And Take Their Land!

Too busy to write anything worth reading, but today's Tokyo Times piece tickled me.

Sorry, Rich; it's about you immigrants again.
I still maintain that a cull of everyone in America not pure blood native would make the world a much happier place.

Right. I'm off to re-read Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee.

ADDENDUM:
This is pretty funny, too.

Katherine's Strange Questions

This is a quick meme Katherine posted the other day.
She has a strange imagination.
I'd advise donning protective clothing before continuing.

You have to pick only one option (you can't say "neither") and you have to justify your choice with a good excuse.
Here we go:

1. Would you rather be Hillary Clinton or Mary Magdalene?

Yikes! Would I rather get cigar-happy with that deliciously smooth Mister Bill, or hang around with the Elvis of the Christian religion, JC himself?
Sorry, Bill. You're cute but you ain't Jesus. What you could teach me may well be pretty entertaining but it certainly won't save my soul.
Mary it is, then.

2. Would you rather have a monkey on your back on be on the back of a monkey?

I've always steered clear of hard drugs. Shit; I'm a musician; I've seen what they can do … First off, they turn you into a complete twat, then they kill you.

As for being on the back of a monkey, I may well enjoy that. We're mammals after all and I'm just another ape, so monkey's close enough for me.
Take me to the zoo and let's party!
(Sorry, Robyn and Lynn; that's the third time in my blog-history that I've used the "p" word as a verb, when I vowed I never would).
Mea culpa.
Whip me with a damp copy of Nursing Times.

3. Would you rather live in the center of the universe or BE the center of the universe?

I AM the centre of the universe!

Living there would be pretty shitty. What's left of the Big Bang after thirteen billion years or so will probably be not quite as nice as laying on the beach in Maui.
An empty, freezing, airless void (the centre of the universe; not Maui).
Though they'll probably have a Mc.Donalds … Ick … Another reason to steer well clear.

So I'll just carry on being the centre of my own somewhat ratty and frazzled universe.
You're all welcome to peer in and poke me with a stick.

4. Would you rather sizzle in a frying pan or drop your drawers in public?

Hell, I've appeared naked in public so many times it's scary.
Thousands of communal dressing rooms have played host to penis sculpture contests or the girls and the boys judging who's got the cutest chocolate starfish.
It's what musicians do, fer Chrissakes!
We spend way more hours in the dressing room than we do on stage, and there's only so much you can talk about before someone whaps out his todger or flashes her boobs (Wilma, Michelle, Claire et al; I salute you).

Then there's skinny dipping.
And I always blog naked (at least when I'm at home) … I like the feel of your fingers when you comment.
Just don't come near me with that sizzling frying pan!
Yikes!

5. Would you rather sit naked on an artichoke or choke on a rat?

I am naked.
I have an artichoke.
Here goes …
Actually, that's not bad. Slightly prickly but much better than choking on a rat. Rats are cute.

Hmmm … I was intending making a risotto with that artichoke … Oh well. I've eaten French food so it won't be anything new.

6. Would you rather be a dirty cat pan or a horse's ass?

I'm not even sure what a cat-pan is. I assume it's a kitty-litter tray.
So.
I've emptied more cat shit than is strictly decent and horse-shit is mostly grass … and great mulch for roses.
So horse's ass it is.

7. Would you rather be a Papal robe or a nursing bra?

Katherine; I'm not exactly sure what these questions say about you but they are certainly pretty damned weird. I love 'em.

Being a Papal robe would only be attractive if I could dangle down and trip that old nazi smeghead Ratzinger down some steps.
A nursing bra on the other hand …
Sheesh! I'm a sex-starved middle-aged man who loves boobs. Bring it on!

8. Would you rather staple the sleeve of your ripped shirt or glue the hem of your pants?

I've used an office stapler on a broken fly zip more than once. And blu-tacked the hem of my trousers (pants over here means "undies", Katherine).
It would have to be the trouser hem.
I was seventeen when Punk happened; a ripped shirt is pure nostalgia for me and should stay ripped. In fact I'd probably rip off the whole sleeve, and the other one.

9. Would you rather walk around on stilts for a week or use a Hippity-Hop to get everywhere?

Hippity-hop! No contest!
If you fall off stilts it hurts.
In fact I may get me a hippity-hop. I could start a craze among London commuters.
Cool!

10. Would you rather puke in public or have a really hairy back?

Again; I'm a musician - puking in public comes with the territory.
Hairy back? Gack!

11. Would you rather lick a frog or eat its legs?

Having done both, I have to say the legs are delicious and easily beat the crappy, allegedly hallucinogenic effect of licking the little blighters.

In mitigation, I am European.
Snails are yummy, too.

12. Would you rather have stretch marks or zits?

I've had zits.
I'm now growing man-boobs, so bring on the stretch marks.

13. Would you rather stop at #13 or let me keep going?

Keep going, dammit! I was enjoying that!

I know how you all hate memes so I'll just tag meme-haters … ah … that's all of you, isn't it?

Monday Movie Melee

After Groover's Lyrical version of Fracas Monday Melee we come at last to the Movie Melee.
I know I should have posted this yesterday but Blogger's been a pain in the ass so it's a Monday Melee on a Tuesday.

This melee forced me to spend the greater part of Sunday half-buried in DVDs with a bottle of wine and a pause control. Now I know why those nutjobs who do the Insane Christian Movie Ratings are so fucked up.


1: The Misanthropic.
(Name something - about humanity - you absolutely hate).

"Deterrence is the art of producing, in the mind of the enemy, the fear to attack!"

Peter Sellers as Doctor Strangelove: "Doctor Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb."


2: The Meretricious:
(Expose someone or something that's phony, fraudulent or bogus).

"There are worse things in life than death.
I mean, if you've ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman, you know exactly what I mean."

Woody Allen as Boris Grushenko: "Love And Death".


3: The Malcontent:
(Name something you're unhappy with).

"You're not your job.
You're not how much money you have in the bank.
You're not the car you drive.
You're not the contents of your wallet.
You're not your fucking khakis.
You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world."

Also, from the same movie:

"Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken."

Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden: "Fight Club"


4: The Meritorious.
(Give someone credit for something and name it if you can).

"I want to thank you guys.
You could have given us help, but you've given us so much more."

Bill Murray as Grimm: "Quick Change."


5: The Mirror.
(See something good about yourself and name it).

"I shovel well."

The totally splendid William H. Macy as The Shoveller: "Mystery Men."

6: The Make-Believe:
(Name something you wish for).

"Survival kit contents:
Check:
In them you will find:
- One forty-five calibre automatic;
- Two boxes ammunition;
- Four days concentrated emergency rations;
- One drug issue, containing:
• Antibiotics;
• Morphine;
• Vitamin pills;
• Pep pills;
• Sleeping pills;
• Tranquilliser pills;
- One miniature combination Roosian phrase book and Bible;
- One hundred dollars in roubles;
- One hundred dollars in gold;
- Nine packs o' chewing gum;
- One issue of prophylactics;
- Three lipsticks;
- Three pair o' nylon stockings …

Shoot! A feller could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all that stuff."

Slim Pickens as Major Kong: "Doctor Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb."

or mebbe:

"No, no, no! No food, no food. Bring me sex, I want sex, bring me some sex! No, no, no! That one. Being me that one, over there. That one, the sultry bitch with the fire in her eyes! Take her clothes off, take her clothes off, and bring her to me!"

Elliot Gould as "Trapper" Mc.Intyre: "M.A.S.H."

Cars, Girls And Dressing Up. Pt.2

Back to Goodwood for the second part of this year's jolly fun-fest for old folk …

A marching band for Rich.

Some local colour … "Any old iron …"

GT40 … Pure pornography.

I have no idea who these people are, but it's probably just as well.

I have no idea who this person is, and that's a damned shame!
Nice … erm … shoes.

Real racing cars with real drivers.

And real planes.

More than a few pence worth of cars.

Certainly more than Phil or I can afford. Dammit!

When a Jaguar lunches its engine it tends to leave quite a bit of oil on the track …

… which sends a Mustang spinning into the gravel. Oops!

I make no apologies for lots of photos of old cars going nuts. I love it.

Sigh …
I waaaaaaaaaaaant one!

Roll on next year.

Bugger Blogger

Blogger is buggering me about this morning.

The rest of Goodwood and the Movie Melee will be posted as soon as I have kicked Blogger's arse round the room a few times.

Hey ho.

Cars, Girls And Dressing Up. Pt.1

It's that time of year again.

The Goodwood Revival Meeting. Woohoo!
Some splendid photos (and sweary Dive-ness) from last year's Goodwood can be found by clicking on this link.

As for this year:
Phil and I usually drag up as WWII RAF officers, but this time around it was vintage mechanics.

Me and my DB6 … HONEST! … yeah, right.

Your co-host for the day's festivities: "Camp Phil".
Tin mug, flat cap, stopwatch, tea … All a growing boy needs.

This is what we're here for.

Oh, and this …

But mostly this.

And splendid frocks.
Rich will be glad to see the return of the hat.
A chap's not fully dressed without a hat.

I remember pumps like that.

More gels in frocks. Lovely.

Phil almost buys an Aston Martin

Reversing at speed.

The Yanks are here, enticing our gels with nylons and chewing gum, the cads.

The harvest is being taken in.

There's a Hurricane overhead, so all's well.

Let's enjoy some racing.

If you hate vintage motor racing, pretty frocks and chaps in hats, don't bother tuning in tomorrow as there's very likely to be more of the same.

Toodle pip!

Into The Dressing-Up Box

Right.

Old Dive's playing dress-up today.
It's four in the morning and I'm in costume and about to drive down to the south coast for a smidgeon of "may" and a dollop of "hem".

I'll post photos tomorrow.
In the meantime, feel free to speculate as to my attire.

Toodle pip!