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Jun28

Gold Anklet Thing

Posted By Mark on Jun 28, 2004

Hi! Welcome! Thanks for taking the time to check out Gold Anklet Thing!!! Let’s just confirm that we’re not affiliated in any way with Silver Ring Thing and their sexual abstinence programme. Here at Gold Anklet Thing we have our own completely different sexual abstinence programme and we think you’ll like the difference!!!! What difference? Well, for a start Silver Ring Thing is a sexual abstinence programme whose followers wear a silver ring as a symbol that they have decided to forego sex until marriage. Here at Gold Anklet Thing we’ve selected the gold anklet because gold is far more pure and precious than silver and anklet doesn’t have a sexually perverse alternative meaning like ring does. If you’re trying hard to think about not having sex then the last thing you want is the constant reminder that your finger has been pushed through the centre of a ring. Am I right? Huh? Am I? Huh? How does it work? Our followers put on their gold anklet and sign a pledge abstaining from sexual activity until marriage. In return they’re treated to TOTALLY AWESOME! and COOL!!!! club-like atmospheres in club-like clubs featuring: no alcohol!!!!, a drug-free zone!!!!, no pressure about sex!!!!, awesome technology!!!!, no sexual thoughts at all!!!!, constant reminders not to think about sex!!!!, wicked cool music about not having sex!!!!, awesome stunning megacool wicked new friends that you won’t think about having sex with!!!!, and more!!!! Is ‘Gold Anklet Thing’ better than ‘Silver Ring Thing’? You bet your sweet virginal cheeks it is! And how! Silver Ring Thing will tell you that abstaining from sex is the only way to prevent diseases killing every single possible right-wing voter and that condoms don’t work!!! and that skin-to-skin contact can spread sexually transmitted diseases! They even have doctors who say condoms are bad! How totally irresponsible then for SRT to place boys and girls in the same clubs. At GAT we make sure our clubs have separate rooms for both sexes. Moreover, everyone is blindfolded at all times. You can’t think about what you can’t see. And that’s why Gold Anklet Thing beats Silver Ring Thing hands down. Can you buy Gold Anklet Thing merchandise? You sure can. It’s a totally awesome way to show your peers just where you stand on the whole sex issue. When you’re wearing or holding some Gold Anklet Thing products you know you won’t receive unnecessary pressure from people after the one thing you’ve decided to save for the right person. The gold anklet itself is a totally free gift after you complete our initial nine day indoctrination, vow to think pure thoughts...

Jun23

Wimbledon traditions

Posted By Mark on Jun 23, 2004

We’re currently into the first of the three weeks of the two week spectacle that is the Wimbledon tennis tournament. I don’t know about you because you’re a faceless and possibly pantsless stranger separated from me by thousands of miles (God-willing) but personally I find all tennis to be incomprehensibly tedious at just below the level of Formula 1 racing practised by people with personalities just below the level of Formula 1 racing car exhaust pipes. Maybe you like tennis. Maybe you like Wimbledon. Maybe you’d like to know everything there is to know about the tennis tournament and inherently trust anyone with a website and the sheer audacity to end sentences with the phrase "Martina Navratilova’s luscious buttocks". In that case, because I am a Nice Guy™ with a certificate from the Nice Guy Institute in Yemen available for viewing without an appointment, I’ve taken it upon myself to enlighten, divulge, and one other verb that means roughly the same thing as "enlighten" and "divulge" the traditions of Wimbledon and highlight what sets it apart from other tennis tournaments around the world. Strawberries And Cream You can’t visit Wimbledon without purchasing a punnet of strawberries and cream. You can try but there are cameras everywhere. A typical punnet containing six strawberries costs only £625.99. Bargain. The first strawberries were served in 1953 when the Queen issued a decree stating that anyone who didn’t buy any when watching tennis would lose their kneecaps. The organisers of Wimbledon searched the local markets for strawberries but to no avail as all the traders were in hospital with various leg-related injuries. As luck would have it a central London-based company came to the rescue in the nick of time. The price was a little steep but a long-term contract to supply strawberries with Majesty Fruit was entered into and stands to this day. Cream was added to the traditional fare in 1970 when concerns were raised that strawberries on their own might cause heart and weight problems. Henmania Despite its name Henmania has nothing to do with a sudden fevered obsession with poultry. That’s called zoophilia. Henmania started a few years ago when a young tennis player by the name of Tim Henman and with the physical appearance of Tim Henman started winning tennis games against better opponents. And worse ones too! What was the big deal? Well, he was only bloody English wasn’t he! The almost-unheard-of-in-the-modern-era event of a semi-successful Englishman in any sport whatsoever was enough to cause hordes of lonely housewives, teenage girls, a few teenage boys, and sporting journalists to place one hand in the general areas of...

Jun19

Pictures of Jentina

Posted By Mark on Jun 19, 2004

Ever since I linked to this article about Jentina this site has been hit with an increasing number of searches for "pictures of Jentina." A cruel, evil, twisted madman with hate in his soul, venom in his blood, and psychopathic goblins controlling his bodily functions might try to take advantage of this traffic and concoct some poorly-formed article about the young singer in the hope of drawing in more and more of the fans desperate to gaze in awe at the next big thing to hit the UK charts for no reason other than spite. This insane genius might litter his article with phrases such as "Jentina, naked!" or "topless photos of Jentina" because he suspects that many of the "fans" are actually "perverts." Or male, which amounts to the same thing. As pure, unadulterated, bad luck would have it I am half evil on my mother’s side. So, for those who don’t know, let’s fill in some details about singing "sensation" Jentina and we’ll also make a bit of an effort to stop enclosing everything in "quotation marks" as it can "get" annoying when overdone or done wr"ongl"y. Jentina is one of fourteen children to a Romany mum. We don’t know anything about her dad and just because her mum is Romany and she has thirteen siblings it would not be fair to simply assume that neither does she. Mildly amusing and quite probable, but not fair. She grew up in Surrey which, for those who don’t know, is one of the posher areas of England. It could well have been the fact that being part of an extensive family of gypsies burning things and pissing on Aston Martins in the centre of Guildford city centre is what helped get her noticed. But it’s just as likely that music producers are drawn to voids where talent is absent like moths to a collapsing binary star system inhabited by other moths with a string of bad luck that sees their binary star systems collapse with alarming regularity. Bad Ass Strippa is the single whose release is imminent and whose video can be seen on The Box and Kiss if you’re unlucky enough to be flicking past at the wrong time on the way to Kerrang. You can also see the video to the song on Jentina‘s website. The song tells the story of Strippa, an ass bought by the poor villagers of Kingston Upon Thames with their combined savings to help them transport their wares to Olde Londone Towne. Strippa, despite being an ass, was as stubborn as a mule and as wily as the wily donkey, and ate...

Jun11

Hot, Sexy Feet

Posted By Mark on Jun 11, 2004

I know. Feet are neither hot, nor sexy. In fact, when they’re hot they’re actually anti-sexy. A cute, dutch librarian with a short skirt tucked into her knickers is sexy though. This is why you should never put your hot feet on a cute, dutch librarian with her skirt tucked into her knickers: the universe will implode! This week I agreed to let the good people of the National Health Service lay me down and suck out an eighth of my blood. I’d like to think that my blood was used to save the life of a victim of sudden-tree-on-head syndrome or sudden-seagull-embedded-in-sunbather’s-stomach disease but I’m fairly certain that it is being used to implicate me in a crime I didn’t commit which will eventually see me track down the real perpetrator and kill him with sellotape. I shall sell the rights to this little episode to a small company who will produce a made-for-TV movie starring Corey Haim as me. As I waited for my name to be called in the blood donation hall I became aware of a woman sitting next to me. I couldn’t help but become aware of her. It could have had something to do with her large frame. It was possibly something about the vest several sizes too small that accentuated every Michelin Man-roll of flab. Something about the excessive sweating definitely kept nagging at my core. I suspect, overall, that it was mainly something about the way she kept removing her sandals and picking at her toes while the smell – nay, the stench – assaulted my nostrils, got past my Heavy Nosehair Brigade first line of defence, swarmed through my Membrane Barricade, and got involved in a pitched battle with my crack Tastebud Legion in the back of my mouth. My brave little legionnaires fought the good fight but there was a doom settling over the arena and I knew I could not hold back the Gag Reflex Shock Vomit Corps Berserkers for much longer. This was it: do or die! Luckily, her name was called out at that moment and she, and her Aroma O’ Death, moved away. Feet. And toes. What are they for? Why do they look like they do? Why do my toenails only grow sharp bits that catch on bedsheets during the night? A little bit of history first: originally we were amoebas (if there’s another word for the plural of amoeba then please pretend I used it) and feet were unnecessary as there were no shops to go to. After a while we became fish which was handy as there was water in abundance. Again,...

Jun07

Phil Oakey’s Ego

Posted By Mark on Jun 7, 2004

In the adverts during the Budweiser UK Open darts on Sunday (yes, I am that rock ‘n’ roll and then some!!!!) – so close Rocky, so close – I kept flicking over to VH-1 and their Top 100 Something I Can’t Quite Remember To Do With Icons programme. And it set me thinking … Television producers and schedulers are a bunch of lazy gits most of the time; the rest of the time they’re passed out drunk in a pool of someone else’s blood-riddled vomit. It’s not a generalisation: it’s a job requirement. This laziness and drunken behaviour explains the sheer volume of programmes with titles like "Top 100 Handsome Boy Band Members" and "Top Moustachioed Female Divas Of The 1980s." Programmes of lists. The television equivalent of many blogs. In order to have a list programme you need a list – and it doesn’t matter if it’s been done before so long as it’s got a new title – and some "celebrities" to endorse choices on the list. For instance, if you were about to fill in a four hour slot with "Top 100 Fashion Disaster Pop Singers Of The 1990s" then you’ll need to have people from the world of pop (Alvin Stardust, for instance), the world of fashion (Vivienne Westwood, for example), and the world of pretentious art reviews (I haven’t got a clue I’m happy to say.) As you watch more and more of these programmes you begin to notice something: some people crop up on almost every programme, they say pretty much the same things every time, and often they don’t appear to be connected in any way to the subject matter at hand (hmmm, why is John Major explaining why Christina Aguilera deserves her top 10 position on Top 100 Gusset Shots In Videos?) One person who crops up again and again is Phil Oakey. You may remember him from such bands as The Human League and from his collaboration with Georgio Moroder on the soundtrack to the movie about love with powered inanimate objects, Electric Dreams. He had odd hair. There’s a picture of him on this page. Phil Oakey will talk about anyone or anything, anywhere and anytime. That’s not to say that he’s a sell-out in any way; oh no, his integrity is as solid as a rock with a coating of RockBeHard™, the rock solidifier, as evidenced by the fact that at no time ever has he ever had a nice thing to say about anyone ever. Ever. To prove it I’ve gathered up some Oakey quotes. All of these quotes are 100% genuine article reproductions from my head....

Jun06

New York

Posted By Mark on Jun 6, 2004

There’s danger from terrorists and terriers and terrapins and residents of Terra Haute, Indiana all around. Where will you be safe? New York, that’s where. New York, New York: the city so brain-damaged they named it twice. The Big Apple: perhaps because it has a green skin over most of it. The City That Never Sleeps! Let this be a lesson to any other civic authorities thinking of adding amphetamines to the drinking water. Soon, New York, New York, New York will become host to yet another title: The Safest Place On Earth! How will this be? I sense you think. Will everyone be electronically tagged and barcoded and attached to chains and followed by hover cameras? Will the amphetamines be phased out in favour of pr.0Za.c (I think that’s how it’s spelt these days)? Will a spray be invented that converts graffiti to foam padding and the streets be filled with coloured balls to a depth of three feet? The answer to all these questions is yes, eventually, but, more importantly in the short term, New York, New York, New York, New York is contemplating banning the use of cameras on the subway. Why will this make the city safe? I sense you think. I’m in a thought-sensing mood in case you can’t tell. I sense you can tell. Well, apparently, taking pictures on the subway system could aid terrorists. No, really. Photographic art will be used by the terrorists to hone their lurching, shouting, peeing-on-seats, and groping passengers skills making them effectively invisible from otherwise alert patrons of the trains on the look-out for shifty, bearded people with suspiciously suicidal looks in their eyes and suspiciously bomb-shaped bags in their hands. I’m glad that New York, New York, New York, New York, New York is thinking about taking this action for our safety. Yes, it will put a lot of upskirt photo websites out of business but that’s a small price to pay to know that the man who just stole your purse and rubbed his penis on your thigh wasn’t a foreigner opposed to the government. I know that some of you may have misgivings about this possible change in the law. Some of you might even be wondering whether banning invading and interfering with foreign countries (yes, interfering in that way) and banning all weapons might not be better ways to prevent aiding terrorism but that’s just the sort of communist-thinking I’ve come to expect from you. You filthy traitor. I, a patriotic, young (okay, not so young) man (but I am all man; I have a certificate and everything), have no such doubts. I...