The Mighty Boosh

 I was watching the British Comedy Awards for this un-funny year of our Lord 2006 recently.  Hosted by Johnathan Woss it's usually pretty good.  This year was no exception, mainly because they lost control of a 30 foot python on stage.  The thing tried to wrap around its keeper and then menaced the crowd.  All very good fun.

What struck me, however, was the general crapness of the shows being given awards.  For fuck sake, Charlotte Church was nominated (and won), best new comedy lass or something.  There's something very wrong about the Welsh being given awards.  Catherine Tate won something, but she's not funny any more.  Little Britain (which hasn't been remotely amusing since the first series), got best comedy again, over my personal favourite show The Mighty Boosh (more on those fellows later).  Curb Your Enthusiasm won best International Comedy.  I saw that once.  Utter shite.  I've seen very few American comedy shows that are genuinely funny, apart from Fox News.  That shit is hilarious.

It's a shame really.  For a country that has been such a historically funny nation and come up with some really cracking comedy shows, 2006 was a pretty shitty year for us.  I'd taken to wathcing League of Gentlemen, Chewin' the Fat and Smack the Pony on DVD until I heard of a new-ish show.  A mighty show.  The Mighty Boosh.

This is a show so bizarre and funny that I've now watched the only 2 series of it twice in a week.  I don't own the live show DVD they have but I saw it once and it's worth it for the Rabbit Rape and the Russian Theatre scenes alone.

Some quotes:

Vince Noir: [Vince and Howard are driving in a van. Vince holds up a cassette tape] This is the best of the sixties.
Vince Noir: [holds up another cassette] And this is the best of the seventies.
Vince Noir: [lifts a huge stack of cassettes] And this is Gary Numan.
Howard Moon: Eh, no. No way. I'm not having that. Absolutely not, I'm drawing a line on that. That's it.
Vince Noir: What? Why?
Howard Moon: I'm driving, it's my music we're having.
Vince Noir: Not Jazz!
Howard Moon: [lifts cassette] No. This my friend is Jazz Funk.
Vince Noir: Oh. The double? That's even worse!
Howard Moon: The mixture. The cerebral musicality of Jazz mixed with the visceral groove of funk.
Vince Noir: Funk?
Howard Moon: Imagine that.
Vince Noir: Funk?
Howard Moon: What a combo.
Vince Noir: Jazz' deformed cousin!

===============================================

Vince Noir: C'mon, Bollo, get your monkey anus at the steering wheel.
Bollo: Bollo no drive.
Vince Noir: You're joking. Why not?
Bollo: Bollo lose license.
Naboo: When did that happen?
Bollo: Long time ago. It was Chiko. As teenager we would drive about town together. My father warn us. No drive too fast for there are speed camera on A49 but Chiko crazy. He dangerous. He always say "Please, Bollo. Please let us go faster."
Vince Noir: Yeah, yeah so you chopped his head off right?
Bollo: No, I chopped his feet off. Stopped him pressing accelerator.

===============================================

Howard Moon: I'm an explorer.
Vince Noir: I thought you were a writer?
Howard Moon: I do many things. I span the genres - they call me the genre spanner.
Vince Noir: Yeah, they call you the spanner...

===============================================

[Howard and Vince have a meeting with a record executive]
Vince Noir: You better start getting the magic potions out, Mowgli, or we're gonna hurt you.
Naboo: All right, hang on.
[he hands them each a glass of yellow liquid]
Naboo: This is Liquid Music.
Howard Moon: What's in it?
Naboo: The tears of Mozart...
[they both drink it down]
Naboo: ...mixed with the urine of Mark Knopfler.
[Howard and Vince make a face]
Howard Moon: How long does it last?
Naboo: Three hours. Quick, you better hurry!
[they leave fast]
Bollo: Truly, Master, you are a wise man. Do you think they will succeed?
Naboo: Don't think so - that was Lucozade.

===============================================

Howard Moon: I don't accessorize. I'm Howard Moon. There's a simple truth to me.

===============================================

Howard Moon: Vince, you've gone wrong.
Vince Noir: I am the Chosen One. I have the amulet.
Howard Moon: Yeah, well maybe it's time I had the amulet for a bit.
Vince Noir: You don't accessorise. There's a simple truth to you.
Howard Moon: Give me the amulet, you bitch!

===============================================

The Hitcher: Aagh! It hurts! It burns! You've liquified me, you slags!

===============================================

Old Gregg: What do you think of me?
Howard Moon: I don't rightly know, Sir.
Old Gregg: Make an assessment.

===============================================

Howard Moon: Where did you get those sunglasses from?
Vince Noir: A passing Coyote took pity on me.
Howard Moon: Took pity on you did he? He took a piss on me!
Vince Noir: I think in his own simple way he was trying to cool you down.

===============================================

Lead Shaman: Tony has a gift for strategy.
Saboo: A gift for strategy?
Tony Harrison: That's right. I'm a unique thinker.
Saboo: Right, let us hear one of Tony Harrison's strategies
Lead Shaman: Come on, Tony, don't let me down.
Tony Harrison: I say we, move, er, with haste, we retrieve that book, we fetch it back
[pause]
Tony Harrison: in a bag,
[pause]
Tony Harrison: quite quickly.
Lead Shaman: Oh, dear.
Tony Harrison: Just give me five minutes, I can come up with something else. I only need pen and paper, and someone to
[pause]
Tony Harrison: write down my ideas.
Saboo: [to Tony] You are a knob.

===============================================

Vince Noir: Goth Juice... The most powerful hairspray known to man. Made from the tears of Robert Smith.

===============================================

Vince Noir: Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard... Howard?
Howard Moon: This better be good.
Vince Noir: You know the black bits in bananas, are they tarantulas' eggs?
Howard Moon: Please don't speak to me ever again in your life. 

===============================================

[wolves howl]
Vince Noir: What was that?
Howard Moon: Owls.
Vince Noir: What, pretending to be wolves?
Howard Moon: They're very good mimics.
Vince Noir: What?
Howard Moon: Look, don't worry about wolves, ok? I know how to deal with them. If a wolf approches, you simply punch it on the nose.
Vince Noir: That's sharks, innit!
Howard Moon: Works for any animal. 

===============================================

Vince Noir: You haven't seen my mate Howard, have you? Kinda tall, scruffy hair, small eyes like a crab? 

===============================================

Vince Noir: Seriously though, you should check out my icey wardrobe.
Howard Moon: What, the human Coke can?
Vince Noir: This is the glam rock ski suit!
Howard Moon: The arctic has no respect for fashion, Vince. You know, never take the tundra lightly. It can drive a man insane. You know what it is about this place, that gets people mad?
Vince Noir: Not really.
Howard Moon: Have a look through there, what do you see?
Vince Noir: [looks through binoculars] Nothing.
Howard Moon: Exactly. It's the nothingness... the whiteness... the endless... ness. Stretching on beyond the human imagination. Desolation of the soul. Oh my Gooooooooooood!
[raps]
Howard Moon: Ice flow, nowhere to go / Ice flow, nowhere to go / Lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundraaaaaa / Check him out.
[Vince dances]
Howard Moon: They call him the shrew! Arms in short, then with the claw!
Vince Noir: I'm little Johnny Frostbite, moving around / Freezing you up, freezing you down / Like an icicle / Coming in your tent in the pink light, scissorbite/
Vince Noir, Howard Moon: Arctic death!
Vince Noir: Infinite night!
Howard Moon: Call me Tundra Boy / Cause I move like an arctic
Vince Noir, Howard Moon: Lizard!
Howard Moon: When the blizzard strikes / I disappear like a pipe dream
Vince Noir, Howard Moon: All that's left is the gleam!
Howard Moon: On a tent peg
Vince Noir, Howard Moon: Boosh, Boosh / Stronger than a moose / Don't lock your door or we'll come through your rooftop / Stop, look around, take your mind off the flow / Cause the Boosh is loose / And we're a little bit raaaaw! /Ice flow, nowhere to go / Ice flow, nowhere to go / Lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundraaaa!
Howard Moon: ...yeah?
Vince Noir: All right! Proved your point, in song format!
Howard Moon: Yeah, well maybe you'll take this place a bit more seriously now. 

===============================================

The Moon: When you are the moon, there is a person people say is the sun. I saw the sun once, and he came past me, really fast. And it was an, it was called, the, an eclipse. And he came fast! But as he came past, I, I licked his back.
[sticks out tongue]
The Moon: And he doesn't know I licked his back! All in his yellow suit!... I'm the moon.

===============================================

Vince Noir: C'mon, Howard, let's get out of here.
Howard Moon: Stop tugging at my mink!
Vince Noir: Mink? That's a bit off, isn't it? You're supposed to be a zookeeper.
Howard Moon: Yeah, well, it's a different law in the tundra, Vince. It's kill or be killed.
Vince Noir: What, by a mink?
Howard Moon: They get very big out here.
[gesturing at floor-length mink coat]
Howard Moon: This whole thing is just one mink.
Vince Noir: That's not right. I know, I read a pamphlet.
Howard Moon: So? I once glanced at a hedge. What's your point?
Vince Noir: No, it was a mink pamphlet. "Minky Monthly". There were millions of them on the front, dancing around. It said that it takes about ninety mink just to make a small ladies glove.
Howard Moon: That's 'cause they're really crap at sewing.

===============================================

Howard Moon: The wind is my only friend.
Wind: [whistling] I hate you.

===============================================

Howard Moon: I want to be the greatest Jazz player in Yorkshire.
The Spirit of Jazz: Yorkshire? What is Yorkshire?
Howard Moon: Yorkshire is a place. Yorkshire is a state of mind.

===============================================

The Spirit of Jazz: Ow! My hat's on fire! What's wrong with you? You blind? Why didn't ya tell me?
Howard Moon: Sorry, I thought that was your look

===============================================

The Spirit of Jazz: I'm gonna creep inside you like a warm kitten!

===============================================

Kodiak Jack: Have you ever had a mountain goat grab you by the scrotum and run away with it and then sell it on ebay a day later?
Howard Moon: Err, no.
Kodiak Jack: You ever been Rohypnoled by a swan, woke up in Cancun?
Howard Moon: No.
Kodiak Jack: Ever been to a tea party with a herd of rhino? Well, I have! And it ain't purty!
Howard Moon: Right.

===============================================

And that, my friends, is magic. 

Chillis: A Revenge Story

Having recovered from my shock and horror, and having ordered a far more palatable Dominos pizza, I ignored most of Poots' suggestions and plotted revenge my own way, sorry dude, but thanks!

I've taken revenge on people in the past, with many glorious outcomes, but that was on my American friends, who, for the most part are retarded and fall for tricks way too easily. 

For instance, having had a fairly brutal fight that left me needing facial stitches (over a game of fucking Mario Kart) I decided to hurt my friend, Ben, where it would hurt the most.  No, I didn't cut his dick off, I merely destroyed his car.  Or that's what he thought.  Getting another friend, James, in on the game was a major part of the operation.  James worked in a scrap yard and he only had three fingers on one hand and he was pretty much one insane motherfucker.  Anyway, I bought a completely knackered car off him for $50 and for a further $20 he drove it to the parking lot outside our school.  While Ben was busy learning how to do cross-stitch or some other gayness, I had James replace his cool, but old Mercedes, with my newly acquired wreck and tow the other car away.  The wreck was nothing like the shape of the Mercedes but the look on poor Bens face when he saw what he thought was his asploded car was priceless.  For some reason, I forget why now, I'd also put a couple of pigeons inside an upturned box on the roof of the wreck.  When he overturned the box, they flew at him all angrily and shit and I'm pretty sure one pecked him.  Fuck knows what I was thinking about when I came up with that one.

When I 'fessed to Ben he was well fucked off, but eventually saw the funny side.

Anyway, that's just a general frame of reference for my mind-set when serving cold dishes.

This wasn't such an easy thing to pull off.  For one, I only had Saturday and Sunday to complete the task in hand, and for two I knew that if I left it much longer than that, I'd be likely to forget to do anything.  Also, not having any accomplished wing-men available to me meant flying solo, a tricky scenario.

Sunday morning dawned painfully through the haze of the previous night spent drinking Turbo-Diesels (a lethal combination involving Special Brew and Frosty Jack, topped with black currant, to taste). As I struggled to piss in a straight line an idea dawned on me. 

Have any of you ever seen a movie called 'The Descent'?  Probably not, but just so you know there are these freaky beasties that basically fuck up a whole lot of female cave-explorer types.  These beasties, conveniently for me, scare the living piss out of my girlfriend, and aren't too hard an illusion to create.  They also make a strange clicking noise, not unlike the one in Alien, which I already had down pat.  All I needed to complete my costume of terror was one of those bald mask thingies, some paint and some flour. (Oh how I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take pictures!)

I waited until she had gone to bed that Sunday evening, and waited longer still until she was snoring like a really loud pneumatic drill, the kind you only hear at 6 AM.  Time to get suited up.  I pulled on a wet-suit I keep lying around for such occasions and proceeded to splash myself with water, before coating myself in flour.  I pulled the bald mask on, and painted my face white.  Looking in the mirror I looked how I imagine Michael Jackson looks when nude.  I thought about not doing the clicking, weird motion thing of the creatures, because MJ in the buff, in your room at night, is a terrifying thought just by itself.  No, I thought, I don't want to be associated with that fucking pederast, shut the fuck up Donny you stupid sub-conscious son of a bitch! 

I practiced mooching about the living room for a while, mooching like the evil cave dwelling bastards I was trying to emulate, kind of like a disjointed, four legged spider.  Then I got a bit bored and played GTA San Andreas for about an hour before I decided, at 3.30 AM that the time was ripe!

I slunk through to the bedroom and managed to position myself so that my face was right next to her ear and I started clicking away, a combination between a terrifying monster, and an albino African.  I started moving slowly, sort of crawling over her a little and nudging her so that she would wake up, see my hideous visage and weep with terror.  Wake up she did, with such horrifying force that she flung me straight against the opposite wall, causing me to bash my head and howl with pain.

She got up to see what all the noise was about, looked at my prone figure, and said,

"You are so fucking retarded Andy."

Fucking women. 

I Hate Fucking Chillis

Call me a pussy, call me a faggot, call me whatever you want, but I'm firmly rooted in my belief that overly spicy food is fucking atrocious.  It also scares me a little as I'm violently allergic to jalapenos.  I'm all for a litte bit of zest, you understand, but when I feel like I'm consuming brimstone for dinner, I'm not a happy man.

Last night, was a good example.

I came in from the pub, with my woman and a friend, with all the fixings for some tasty tortilla wraps.  Actually, they can hardly be qualified as wraps since they usually fall apart, un-wraps would be a better name for them.  Incidentally, how in the fuck do Mexicans keep their burritos stuck together?  Glue?  Whatever.  Me and the friend, Glen, went and sat down in the living room to watch football, even though he's gay and hates it Newcastle were playing, and I could kick fuck out of him so he wasn't exactly fighting me for the remote.  This left my girlfriend, Rommily, a normally excellent cook in the kitchen, sweating over some pans.

She was under strict instructions from me not to put too many chillis in the mix of chicken, peppers, because she has a tendency to over-egg it.  The conversation went something like this,

'Rommily, if you put too many chillis in my fucking dinner again I will boot you up the arse so hard you'll thing that Patrick Swayze is giving you a rectal fisting. Alright?'

'Yes dear.'

'Damn straight.'

I'm not normally that much of a dickhead, but the last time we ate something she cooked with chilli, I felt like I had a miniature Chernobyl crisis in my mouth, and in my ass the next day.

I stumbled back through to the living room to resume my viewing and heckling of Glens' complete and utter lack of footballing knowledge, and cracked open a bottle of Buckfast to enjoy.  They're talking about banning Buckfast, which would take away roughly 1/3rd of Scotland's national identity.  I felt so strongly on the matter I personally wrote to the only good man in politics I could think of, Tommy Sheridan, about my concerns; I have recieved no reply to date, perhaps beginning my letter

'Awright Big Man?  Top shagger you by the way pal!' was not the best way to start.

Around the 70th minute of the match, the food was ready, and Rommily brought it through.  I was well on my way to getting ripped to the tits on tramp-juice and needed some food to soak up the alcomahol.  I bit eagerly into my un-wrap and savoured the gently spiced meat within.

That's what should have happened.  Instead, probably because of my Swayze comments I bit into a tortilla wrap filled with nothing but chilli and onions.  My girlfriend can be a total fucknig bastard sometimes.  Such was my shock, I swallowed hard and filled my stomach with fire.  Deeply shocked and upset I merely threw my un-wrap at her face and left it at that.  I've yet to think of an appropriate revenge.

On a side, but still related, note, I was in Glasgow recently and drank one of those 'Chilli Beers', fuck me they're spicy.  Finished it though, and only cried once!

I may be in too deep!

I'm actually getting a little worried now.  HELP!

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

i'm pretty busy for most of today

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

that's very kind

TheRust says:

TheRust says:

Beanie says:

Rusty Seems to be Pining!