Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Apologies and Explanations

Right here's the deal. I'm failing at the updates for two reasons. One is Skyrim... I didn't know it'd be as good as it is. The second is a fairly major writing project I'm working on. As such  I won't be posting again until the new year. I am sorry for this I promise my return in January will be triumphant. I look forward to the fresh start and hope you join me when I return. Peace.

eddie <sorry>

Wednesday, 9 November 2011

Mario.

Have you ever gone to visit a place from your childhood and discovered that while nothing has changed the intervening time has so vastly altered your perceptions that it suddenly seems like a completely different place. That disconnect can be so unsettling that it can be genuinely creepy. Sometimes it's worse, sometimes there are things in these place that your tiny child brain perceived one way but your adult mind sees the terrifying truth of. Like when you used to visit your grand-parents house and you found the secret toy room with the indoor playground only to years later realise that you'd been playing on Nana and Pappy's sex-swing. Well I recently sat down and played Super Mario Bros. and I felt a creeping horror seal into my soul. You see playing that game with my cynical adult brain I noticed several inconsistencies between the game I was playing and the story I was being told. I was left with one earth-shattering conclusion. 

Mario is the bad-guy. 

I mean, yeah, it seems obvious from this picture

This is a bold claim that would start a war in the comment section if this blog was popular thank fuck for my hard earned anonymity. I don't make this statement lightly and I do indeed have some evidence to back up my theory. Let us start at the beginning. You start the game after Princess Peach has been kidnapped by King Koopa, or so we are led to believe. You see we don't witness any such crime nor does the game commence at the crime scene, no the game commences with Mario on the outskirts of a place called the Mushroom Kingdom. That's an important fact, we're in a Kingdom who would rule such a place? Well the only King we meet during proceedings is in fact King Koopa. I mean why wouldn't he be king literally half of the things in the kingdom are reptilian and the others are just weird. I don't think it's a stretch to conclude that this chap is in fact the legitimate ruler of the world that Mario is about to invade.

Yeah he may look monstrous but his fiscal policy was so sound
he could afford, literally, to build with blocks filled with cash.

That's right, I said invade. You see there are two ways to interpret the world we find ourselves in. One is that Mario was so slow off of the mark with his rescue attempt that HRH King Koopa has had time to build a vast network of incredibly elaborate obstacles, dungeons and castles or this stuff was all here already. Now which of those two things is more likely? I think it's fairly obvious that all this stuff was already here. Now that implies that Mario is in fact assaulting this innocent fiefdom. When you realise this, the entire game makes a huge amount more sense. Let's indulge Mario's delusion for a while and assume that he is in fact rescuing a beleaguered Princess. Why on arrival at the edge of this elaborate set of traps that the Noble King Koopa the Gentle has established isn't there any fortification something like... Oh, I dunno... A MASSIVE FUCKING WALL! No the first thing you have to run into is a little tortoise going about it's business and you kill it. Seriously you don't meet a single thing that fights back until the one of the Hammer Brothers shows up. I'm also now operating on the assumption that he only arrived to investigate reports of multiple deaths and a streak of property destruction.

Pictured: Justice Mushroom Kingdom Style.

Now I know what your thinking, how? Because I'm better than you. You're thinking two things, firstly that I think way to much about these things and secondly that the place you're invading is in fact Koopa's realm and not the Mushroom Kingdom. I mean you don't meet any of the eponymous mushrooms... except in the heart of the castles. Hmmm that's peculiar why are these individuals here deep in the heart of these stronholds? There is only one explanation that makes sense, these toadstools are in fact the loyal retainers of the Magnificent King Koopa The Wise and his wife Princess Peach. 

Why do you think he's flipping you off?

Oh, did I not mention that they were married. You see, in later games the Koopa children appear and state that Princess Peach is in fact their mother. Mario assumes they've been lied to by their father, because his obsession and delusion knows no bounds (it is also worth noting that Mario kills every single one of the children), but bearing in mind one of them is a young science genius we can assume that he was able to run the required genetic tests.

I think it was, shockingly, the one with the nerd glasses

When you realise that you've been looking at the whole series from the wrong side suddenly the more bizarre aspects of the Mario universe make a metric fuck-ton of sense. Ever wondered why Mario and Peach invite Koopa to come go-karting with them? They don't. The scary socio-path who finds it incredibly easy to mercilessly slaughter every single citizen in King Koopa's (May he reign for a thousand years) domain and brutally murdered their innocent children (who made the ultimate sacrifice to protect the ones they love) go-karting. The first time they got the invite they were probably all "What the Fuck?" This is a guy who is an unstoppable force from hell who will literally travel to the ends of the earth and beyond to rape the fuck out of the sovereigns wife, fuck that guy. Of course they don't go. Now let me ask what did you do when you weren't playing Mariokart? That's right you fired up Super Mario World and embarked on another deluded rape-quest didn't you, you psycho. So the next time he asked them if they wanted to play golf, tennis or race His Majesty King Koopa the Kind begrudgingly agreed whilst Peach sat in the shower crying. Don't judge them it was the only way.

Look into her eyes and tell me you don't see fear.

You see Mario is nothing more than an unstoppable rape-machine. Fuelled by obsession and allowed free reign to do as he pleases by the mad power that you as a player have invested him with. Even space isn't far enough to run from the deluded midget plumber. When you realise this it changes everything... and weirdly makes the game considerably more fun.

Don't even get me started on this sick fuck.

eddie <writing the phrase 'deluded rape-quest' is one of the proudest moments of my life>

Monday, 7 November 2011

Vent.

So my thrice weekly trip to the inspiration well was a little dry today. However I recently stated in an online conversation/debate/flame-war that hate is a fairly worthless emotion, due to the fact that it tends to inflict significantly more damage on the person holding it than on the intended target. In that vein I have decide to unburden myself.

So, in no particular order, here is a list of some people I hate.

Person: Nick Clegg.
Reason: Moral Cowardice, Betrayal and Blind Ambition.
This is the face he makes
after Cameron forces him
to swallow the black bile
 he emits instead of semen






There was a point not so long ago when Nick Clegg was a fair bright spot in the morass of political bastardry that is the House of Commons. However the recent election, which only yielded a clear victory for the 'anyone but these cunts' position, put Clegg in a position of almost unique power in the history of British Politics. He had a chance to grab some power and an opportunity to negotiate on his own terms. The nation waited with bated breath as this lone moral beacon got a chance to choose our next Prime Minister and exert a huge influence over the upcoming moral agenda. What was his price? Who would he choose to work with? Was he really the man we'd been led to believe he was? Now I should point out that I don't vote Lib-Dem... I always vote for the green party as I don't relish the idea of the Earth being on fire. However I was fairly hopeful about this change in the status quo. Even when he slid into bed with the Tories (the Conservative Tories not the Labour Tories) I was hopeful that this would mean a legislative agenda at least tempered with morality. Unfortunately as it has transpired the only thing Clegg has taken Cameron to task over is the roughness of his sand-papery balls on his chin. This man is worse than Charles Manson... at least Manson's principles have remained consistent.

Person: Mark Wahlberg
Reason: Continued Attacks on Cultural Heritage
I wanted to find a picture that
summed up why I hate this
 prick... the internet is a gift
that never stops giving.




There was a point when I could easily pick my favourite movie. It was a piece of classic 60's cinema featuring the immense talents of a Michael Caine at the peak of his powers, a comic master-class from the wonderful Benny Hill and the final performance of note from the epic Sir Noel Coward. I am talking of course of The Italian Job. This movie is not just great but is a crucial part of the English psyche. No-one from this nation would dream of defiling it... Enter Mark Fucking Wahlberg... Really Wahlberg did you think you could bring something to the film that Michael Caine couldn't. You cock. The Italian Job remake was so poor the studio had to sue Edward Norton to make him appear in it under contractual obligation. Wahlberg just likes pissing on the work of others... So now the cultural legacy of that great film had been more violated than Elisabeth Fritzl, I moved down the list and promoted The Planet of the Apes to the number one spot... Enter Mark Cunting Wahlberg. The Planet of the Apes remake didn't just piss on the originals story, continuity and anti-nuclear message it was also terribly flawed, poorly acted and bafflingly scripted. I wouldn't be surprised if this mongoloid decided to star in a remake of fucking Jaws. 

Person: Glen Beck
ReasonHypocrisy, Breeding Fear and Hate Mongering
Don't look directly into his eyes...
if you do he replaces all of your
happy memories with images of
screaming children.


It is a timeless truth that the left wing of any political system has an easier time of existing in opposition than the right wing. The left wing tends to have the musicians, artists and most importantly the comedians. During the Bush era the hatred, anger and dissatisfaction the American Left-Wing (the equivalent of the right wing everywhere else on the globe) transmuted itself into laughter at the people in power, helped ably along by the great work of the Stewarts, Feys and Colberts of the world. However when the Obama administration came to power the Republicans instead only had the Fox Lies Network to turn to. Now I actually like O'Reilly, I disagree with everything he says, but he is willing to debate, admit he's wrong and point out the more extreme follies of his own team. Glen Beck is a sinister little cunt who I am fairly certain can only achieve orgasm by picturing Democrats being speared with bayonets. His support of the Tea Party and yet easy dismissal of the Occupy movement combined with his blind support of everything Republican and constant backtracking and rewriting of history make him the Jospeh Goebbels of Right-Wing America.

Person: Tony Blair
Reason: Pathological Liar, Narcissist and War Criminal
This is the creepiest mother-
fucking picture currently
available on the earth.
Tony Blair took the Labour Party and turned them into an effective and electable force. He did this by turning them into the Conservative Party. That, however, is not why I hate him. I hate him because he was so fake I genuinely don't think he ever told the truth, even by accident. He was a man of sound-bites, spin and focus groups... and nothing else. I originally thought he had no substance. Then the Iraq war happened and I realised that all that stage management was there to hide the cold heart of a socio-path. I genuinely believe that as news came in of the first air-strikes Tony Blair had to hide his excitement at the growing numbers of dead Iraqi children. This cruel and malicious cunt hasn't even had the good grace and dignity to admit any responsibility for a single mistake during his reign. While I've softened to George W. Bush, a man I don't want running a country or anything but I reckon he's a great laugh to go drinking with in Texas, the total lack of anything approaching a human-like emotion has made my hate for Blair grow massively.

Person: Chris Brown
Reason: Brutality, Ego and Complete Obliviousness To Reality
Shortly after this picture was
taken Chris savagely beat this
puppy into a fine paste.
I'm not alone in hating Chris Brown, in fact over at cracked.com they devoted an entire article to ways of trolling the petulant child. The list of damn fine reasons to despise the Brownster is so long as to be fairly ridiculous. It's not often when a man beats the ever-loving shit out of a beautiful well-liked and respected woman and that's not even the biggest reason to dislike him. I'm not selling the beating, which was monstrous, short but the way he has chosen to conduct himself since then. He is an angry man-child of a creature. He is constantly demanding forgiveness and gets angry that the majority of society is still stuck on the 'Dude you beat Rihanna to a bloody pulp.' Well you know what Brown you don't get to tell me how I'm supposed feel about your dabbling in domestic violence.

Person: George Lucas
Reason: Pissing on People's Childhood
He stores shattered childhood
dreams in his neck bulge

Imagine that one year you were given a puppy for Christmas, from a jolly uncle or some such, now let's imagine that the next day your uncle came round in a weird mood and kicked the puppy to death. Now imagine he made you watch. Now imagine that instead of one night he left it 16 years for you to grow incredibly attached to the puppy. Now imagine that the puppy was as good as Star Wars. Now imagine that your uncle charged you money to watch him kill the puppy... and then he went around and found all of your pictures of the puppy and added Hayden Fucking Christiansen to all of them... Fuck George Lucas is what I'm driving at here. He gave us one of the greatest gifts of all time just so he could crush it in front of us for his own petty amusement and he got us to pay him for the pleasure of watching him steal joy from the world. Also Jar-Jar Binks... Cunt

Person: The Pope
ReasonPaedophilic Gay-Rape
I can't look at him without
hearing the imperial march

I may have a million and one problems with both the concept of G/god/s and with the overwhelming societal control mechanism that is organised religion but that's not the reason I despise Mr Big Hat. I dislike him because of his involvement in the gay-rape of children. I'm not specifying gay-rape out of any homophobic impulse (gay men actually tend to buy me drinks... making them good people) but rather due to the fact that the Catholic Church is insanely homophobic and yet the priests only ever rape little boys not little girls. The Bible is very clear on homosexuality and yet doesn't mention paedophilia at all... anyway I digress. The man currently sitting in the big chair has been implicated in the cover-up of this despicable practice and as I have stated previously the only reason to cover this shit up and that's because you like it. I'm not saying that the Pope fucks kids... but he definitely does.

Person: Michelle Bachmann
Reason: Rampant Homophobia
Unlike Palin I wouldn't even
rape this bitch to prove a point


If you were to look up 'complete and total cunt' in the dictionary you wouldn't find a picture of Michelle Bachmann because that's not how dictionaries work. I was originally going to go with Sarah Palin, but she's to stupid to properly hate. Bachmann combines the same hateful and spiteful rhetoric as Palin with a considerable amount of political nous making her a much greater threat. In addition to this she is married to a man who runs a camp that takes confused teenagers and makes them 'pray the gay away'. She met this man and instead of recoiling in abject horror at the, borderline retarded, hatred that this man's rotting husk played host to she found that he fired her engine. The pair are the most hateful couple since Adolf and Eva. Anyone who defines their life through mindless hatred and persecution needs to be taken into a back room and be killed with hammers for the good of humanity.

Person: Chad Kroeger
Reason: Everything
If you don't want to punch
this guy on sight then your
eyes don't work properly.
Ever since the demon-spawn Chad and his vile henchmen formed the group Nickelback he has been waging a one man war on good musical taste. The apex of this shit mountain was a track entitled 'How You Remind Me'. This song actually marks the low-point of human creative achievement. If you locked me in a room with this track playing on loop, no way to shut it off and a drill I would point the drill into my temple within the hour. The low level evil this twat-faced purveyor of sin in sound form, I won't call it music, has visited upon the world is a greater evil than almost anything on this list. This song still gets played on the radio, the small increments of negative emotion he slowly emits into the world has probably led to more evil and harm than you can possibly imagine. He exists purely to add another shit ball on to the pile of crap that is your shitty day. Look I'm a fairly laid back peace and love kind of guy but if I ever meet this guy I'll kill him with a brick... I've spent hours choosing the right brick... sharp edges, rough face and a solid composition. Fuck Chad Kroeger.

Well... I apologise for pouring bile into your face via the internet... as a way of making up for it here is a nice picture.

Now don't say I never do anything nice for you.
eddie <I feel better now>

Sunday, 6 November 2011

A Ran With A Zombie

I recently spent a night in South London being chased by zombies... it was terrifying, but then that's South London for you. It was part of a yearly event called 2.8 hours later. It was in all seriousness one of the best nights out I have ever had. Here is my tale.
Fear has a name, and that name is Bermondsey.
News had reached us that the dead had risen, other than that details were extremely thin on the ground. What we did know was that the Human Resistance had set up an information point in Bermondsey Square. Upon arrival in the area we discovered that news hadn't just reached us but also other survivors of the initial outbreak. Fortunately the Resistance were doing a fantastic job of organising the panicked mob, unfortunately this meant over an hour of queuing, fortunately this meant there was time to pop to Sainsbury's and purchase some beers. One of the benefits of the zomb-o-calypse is that no-one really bothers to maintain standards so it's fine to be drunk. I opted for Stella Artois as it seemed like the best alcohol for fighting, well... anything if we're being honest.
Reassuringly violent
After finally reaching the front of the queue we were told that this area while this area was the last safe-zone it wasn't were the Resistance were based. Unfortunately these brave souls who'd offered to stay behind could only direct us in the direction that the other survivors had gone and not their current location. As soon as we left the safe-zone me, my friend and the band of survivors we'd teamed up with, met a girl who. judging from her emotional state, had been severely zombed at. We attempted to calm her but to no avail. It was clear this girl was going to be of little use, we asked her for any information and left her to her fate, harsh but that's the tough reality of post-outbreak life. After about five minutes walk we spotted our first zombie. He was shuffling about up ahead on the right-hand side of the road. We went the left to skirt round the slow moving chump. We went cautiously. We got level with the shuffling beast when it seemed to catch wind of us. It ran at us. Fear like I have never felt coursed through my veins. We ran. Suddenly there was a second zombie in a doorway to our left. A second burst of speed got us all to safety.
It was almost exactly like this, well... a bit
We continued along unscathed other than a massive fear of corners and doors. At the end of the road, we spy another survivor. He's a cook of some sort armed with a pan. We go we talk to him and he tells us his tale. The outbreak got to him and his family before he knew what was going on. His daughter's sick. She has been bitten. We see her through the window and she spits up blood onto the glass. He's in a state and doesn't know what to do... It falls to me to explain the terrible pragmatics of the situation. He agrees. Before the grim scene can unfold we ask him for help and he points us to the next port of call on our journey. We leave him to take care of his family tragedy and make our way along the road. By now the survivors from other groups are starting to bunch up. This is useful as it makes the zombies unfocussed and easier to slip past unscathed. After dodging a few here and there we find a large group of the uninfected up ahead. People are looking for clues, various crews navigators are comparing notes and checking this is the right place.
In fairness South London's signage leaves much to be desired.
We suddenly become aware of zombies. We head down the road with an eye towards doubling back down another street. Our navigator discovers a route... it involves an alleyway. I take the lead with everyone following a fair distance behind, ready to run if the situation turns. Fortunately it's safe and we get back to the area we need to search. Rumours are circulating among the humans. Some say there is a sign in the area, others that the map co-ordinates are off. Suddenly there is the sound of snarling and footsteps. Panic, confusion some of the herd (for that is what you call a group of prey) scatter. I turn and see a group of survivors laughing heartily... Yes that's right that old chestnut. I can happily confirm that several of that group got bit. I decide to search the back alleys for clues, as I do this I realise I've become that guy I hate in all horror movies. Another of the group decides to join me. The alleyway leads to the courtyard of a complex of flats, which itself leads on to a road where we can see the undead chasing harried groups back and forth. When we reach the road we realise that a simple left turn will bring us back to the group. Before we have time to assess the situation one of them is running straight at us, my companion breaks left I'm forced to retreat. I am now forced to take the alley again, this time alone... Don't shout "Are you a dead?" At strangers in a dark alley in London... it confuses them
Zombies may be fake but rapists are very real... so don't go into
the alleys of South London... seriously fuck South London
It only takes me a few terror filled minutes to rejoin the group but it fells much longer. Each step a new exercise in fear. When I do catch up with the others they have decided to follow some other survivors, they've heard word of a multi-storey car park further along the road. I join them and we soon find another survivor, he says his girlfriend is trapped inside the building and asks for our help. We agree and are deciding on our plan of attack when it happens. I'd noticed the herd behaviour before, but when the noise starts and I look round to see a human stampede it hits me how we've slid down the food-chain. We turn and flee into the parking structure. The first three floors are fine. Then we see one, it's running straight for us. I duck and weave and manage to evade the beast. At this point my heart was pounding. After the third floor we end up huddled in a stairwell. There's clearly movement on the staircase both above and below us.
This is how I remember it... but then I'd had a lot of Stella.
Staying here isn't going to achieve anything and more survivors are heading towards us. We go up... after three flights of stairs and arm reaches down and I only just leap to one side. We burst out into car-park proper once more. Two of them here and yet more creative dodging gets us to the top where we are free to gaze out over the ruined husk of London Town. I realise my friend Sarah isn't with us. I take a moment to think. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to leave her for dead, however Sarah is the most fun person I know so I decide to go back. I yell at the others to go on ahead, hoping to turn up unscathed later on, like someone always does. I only have to go back down one floor before I find her... but there is a dead in hot pursuit. We escape to the stairwell entrance on the roof but the survivor there is a diabetic and will not let us in unless we get her sweets, these are strewn about the ramp down to the zombie behind us. We retrieve the sweets while the zombie is distracted pursuing a fresh group of survivors. After we get into the staircase we enjoy a brief moment of safety and get back outside. The rest of the group are still checking the map when we get outside, thus ruining the dramatic tension of what I'd hoped to be a triumphant return. However we are missing one of our number. After much umming and arghing we decide to abandon the poor fellow to his fate and move on.
I'm sure he's fine.
We arrive at a church and discover a priest outside chained to the gates, cursing his false god for this situation... one of my all time favourite tropes. There is also wall of missing people posters which really brings home the human tragedy of our current predicament. He's clearly mid-turn but won't help us unless we try to free him. I get round behind him and give his chain a half-hearted tug. He lets out an inhuman yowl. I take a hasty step back and skip out of his reach in a manly fashion with a small shriek. He tells us that his friend is a butcher and has a lock-up. It's the safest place in London... apparently.
My money would have been on the Tower of London, shows what I know.
Some time later we find ourselves at the entrance to a railway arch. After a few of us have entered the dark, dank and dingy man-made cavern. The door slams behind us. We all jump. The butcher is standing there with the remains of a dismembered zombie hanging from chains. He is holding a hefty cleaver, excellent choice of weapon, and tells us to head to 'The Bell' pub. He also tells us to run straight on and not stop. We run, one zombie leaps out from behind a wall, there are screams and the panic in the crowd is palpable. We run into the open air. There are two of them blocking the road ahead. We utterly fail to obey the butchers instructions and run back round towards the entrance of the lock up. Our navigator, Jill, takes a look at the map and points up the road. There's only one of them. It looks like a safe bet. We start on our way along the road. A group of survivors coming the opposite direction give a shout... "There's three." We turn back we can find another route. I come over all fool-hardy and utter a plaintiff cry of "Fuck this!" and decide to run the gauntlet.
Pictured: My delusional self belief.
I walk slowly with another survivor on either side of me. The first zombie on the right moves towards me. I shove the survivor on my right into it's path... Good to know where my moral line in the sand is. The one on my left breaks and runs forward the second zombie runs straight in front me and chases the other survivor down a side road, I run forward but a sideways glance reveals the girl has been ensnared by a fourth zombie... Shit is getting real. It's just me and one other now I use a car as cover and manage to outfox the undead prick. I wait in the relative safety round the final corner and meet another of our group not long after. As well as having a chat with another survivor in a suit who I've seen a few times that night, he is remarkably unscathed for a yuppie. They usually get it early on. After a while the rest of the group arrives from another direction. It's worth noting that by this point that only three of the seven of us remain un-bitten. Myself and Sarah among the lucky trio.
I was Drew Barrymore... because I'd been drinking.
After some further searching we discover the pub we've been searching for. After knocking on the door and waiting for a minute or two the door is opened by a survivor who I instantly take a liking to. First thing she says "Everyone talk!". While waving a pool-cue. Textbook. We go in and the young lady asks if we've seen her boyfriend. We answer "No". She warns us off of the beer garden, where there is 'a bit of a situation'. She asks how we're doing before apologising for the lack of booze. She tells us to look for a homeless guy just up the road. The door leading to the back of the pub slams open. No-one in our group has a fucking clue what came through that door... it opening and we booked. Jill was trampled under foot and left for dead... although she managed to get out unscathed, which is fortunate as by this point she had the only map.
Without her we'd have been like this... except less
confusing towards the end and a lot more watchable.
The homeless guy is enjoying the nights shenanigans as only a man with nothing to lose can enjoy the collapse of society. He is a bright spark and I thoroughly enjoy his company. Laughing like a drain he tells the location of a mad professor and warns us of a zombie hen-do lurking up ahead. He tells us we can trick them. So off we shuffle best zombie moans at the ready, and quoting 'Shaun of The Dead'. The zombie hen-do are strangely attractive  and a little alluring in an unsettling way. I shuffle forward abject terror filling my heart. I'm between two of them no more than a few inches of empty space either side of me... That's when everyone else runs, fucking the illusion entirely, I duck and lunge away from the undead bitches and manage to get away once again untouched. At this point I'd probably pushed my luck as far as I should... and that brings me to what happened next.
Imagine the reds are you getting eaten by horrible fiends
The Mad Professor was indeed mad he was also surrounded by the dead... it's worth noting that he claimed he had a repellent... He did not. He gave us directions to HQ and then the zombies attacked. I went to dive underneath the arms of one them when a shove from behind shoved me into the arms of the scavenging ghoul. I was bitten. I was infected. I'd spilt my beer. This was the worst tragedy ever. I staggered on to HQ and awaited my assessment by the Resistance officials. I was ushered into a room where mine and Sarah's infected status was discovered. We were then ushered up stairs where the change was made complete with the judicious application of make-up and fake blood. Only one of our group had survived unscathed. The Zombie Disco followed and we had a few drinks before having to shuffle off to the tube.
You will be sorely missed old friend
Overall the best night out I've had in a very long time and I thoroughly recommend it to anyone.

eddie <next time I train for it>

Thursday, 3 November 2011

Fuck Charity

I hate charity. I mean seriously, charity is predicated on the assumption that you and I, everyday folk need to reach into our pockets and pull out coinage to stop things like cancer, men beating women and child and animal cruelty. I hate the fact that I live in a fucking world where someone is trying to hoik these problems on to my back. Seriously do I not have enough shit on to deal with, I mean come on, as a tax-payer I'm already footing the bill for important things like making sure bankers can afford champagne and scotch, making sure our elected representatives are fully rested by supplying holidays and of course the vast expenses involved in shipping young men and women overseas to get mercilessly slaughtered. How the fuck am I supposed to do that and spare a penny for the suffering.
Do you want to live in a world where the rich can't
afford to hack the voicemail of teenage murder victims
See this is my entire problem with charity. As a society we've made it very clear where our priorities lay. We have decided that we don't care about cruelty to children, cancer or the dead and dying in other countries. We care about the bottom-line. We care about the monetary value of everything. We as a civilisation have decided that the most important thing in the world is money. The 'Occupy' movement has one central message. That message is this 'We think it's wrong that the top 1% of earners get to control the legislative agenda of the western world'. I know... fucking morons. Don't these people realise that there opinion literally doesn't count. Charity is just another way of trying to get the strong to pay for the weaks way through the world. We were all taught from a very young age that money is the most important thing in the world. You remember the lessons. "Money can buy you happiness". "Money is the most important thing in the world". "If you're not rich you don't matter." We all got taught these things as children. Well as long as the monetary value of selling us as slave labour/organ farms didn't outweigh our parents love for us.
If they're never going to make money from porn, acting or
modelling is there really any point in wasting money raising them
OK, I'm going to turn off the comedy brain for a while and drop into serious mode for a while. I do genuinely hate charity. I hate the fact that as a society we let ourselves get so turned around that the stuff we really care about is the stuff that we have to do voluntarily and the shit we all agree sucks giant hairy mammoth balls we don't even get anything approaching a say in. We work our selves to the bone, everyone in the world does, and whales aren't any closer to being saved, gay rights aren't universal and cancer and aids are still horrifying diseases. The reason for this is because the stuff we actually care about never gets a look in at elections. No polls ever ask whether we'd vote for a candidate that promised a cure to all disease, a chance to live off-world or to move every single species off of the endangered species list. They ask about exactly how much we hate bankers (a lot), how much we want to get killed by terrorists (not a lot) and how much we trust Nick Clegg (seriously fuck that guy) because that shit wins elections when it's all either of the candidates have chosen to focus on.
Seriously... just fuck this guy.
I want to live in a world where the idea of charity existing is ludicrous. If you have to go out to members of the public cap in hand and beg for money I want it to be for something frivolous and pointless because the shit we're currently asked to reach into our pockets for is the kind of shit that we should be covering without having to be asked. If the army wants to drop a bunch of young, innocent men and women into the jaws of death... well you know what, fuck having a fucking vote, fuck the politicians and fuck letting some fat faggot in charge of deciding how the rich want poor peoples money spent dropping on his knees sucking dick and deciding exactly were our people should die based on the principle of doing what the fuck he's told. Let's stop funding the military let's plough all this income into shit that would improve the lives of everyone around us. Your banks going under, then you take to the streets and convince me to give you the hard-earned coins from my pocket, don't just assume that you can reach in an purloin it.
Wow... I found someone more hateful than Clegg... I didn't know
that was possible outside of child killers and Nickelback.
The fact that charity exists at all is merely proof that at some point the human race decided that security was more important than morality without for a single moment focussing on whether or not we were worthy of security if we made that decision.
This, and training someone to use it, is worth about 20 cancer victims.
I'm going to finish up tonight by repeating what the 'Occupy' movement stands for...

The fact that the top 1% of earners use their wealth and
influence to control the legislative agenda is wrong.

If you don't agree with this and you aren't in the top 1% 
then you've just admitted that your opinion is worthless.

eddie <there's a reason we don't have the society we want>


Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Who Am I?


“I'm just leaving the museum in the safe hands of the cops I rescued earlier when a shot rings out in the night. I access the computer and use the telemetry I've built up of the facility to triangulate the location of the shooter. The seconds race by, all of this takes time, time I don't have. Finally my terminal feeds me the results and I'm off all thoughts of stealth are put to one side this Is to important, I can't let another one die I promised my self that years ago. I arrive to late, the man is dead, who he was and why he was shot are questions I don't have time for right now... his killer is still on the loose. I survey the scene and discover the bullet lodged in a concrete traffic barrier, the angle of entry leads me to the shooters location... he shot through a water tower. That means high end weaponry and high end targeting. That means Deadshot. That's his second victim tonight I won't let there be a third. He may be the world's greatest assassin but I'm the Batman”

Batman: Arkham City isn't a game it's a fucking Batman simulator. If that's not something that interests you then I'm fairly certain that you're not allowed on the internet, don't worry a call has been lodged with the relevant authorities and a team will be despatched to revoke your papers with all alacrity... Now that those losers have been dragged kicking and screaming away from the internet. The rest of us can talk, now I'm that by know you've read a million and one articles on the internet by know that have the theme of “Holy fucking shit-balls, have you played Batman?”... but seriously holy fucking shit-balls have you played Batman yet? To call this game good is to miss the point. This game allows you to be Batman, and it does it well... really fucking well. I could waffle on about the graphics, awesome, or the combat, free-flowing violent ballet, or even the movement mechanics, flying through the city like winged terror but the true joy of the game lies in the immersion. This game, like all great games, draws you in, in a way that no other media can. In a film I feel for Batman. In a comic-book I can feel for Batman. In a game... I'm Batman.

“I hear the cry for help from below as I'm making my way back towards the Steel Mill to finish my business with the Joker. Some punk is roughing up one of the other prisoners. I climb slowly down the alley watching the scene unfold. I'm assessing the situation. I can think of a whole bunch ways to deal with the situation. I could glide down and kick the guy in the face. I can drop from above and crash him into the ground. I could grapple the thug away from his victim, I can bat-a-rang him, I can freeze him, I can put explosive gel on his back... decisions, decisions, decisions. Suddenly it hits me. I land gently next to him and I wait, he steps back to strike and he catches a glimpse of me. He pauses he can't decide whether to run of fight, I stay still. He swings for me... wrong choice. Less than a second later he's writhing on the ground in pain before passing out. I leave before the man I saved has time to thank me.”

Where a Batman film has to remain focussed on one or two villains in order to not end up as a huge confusing mish-mash. The job of a game on the other hand is to allow you to inhabit a universe and the best way to do that is by presenting you with as much of that world as possible. The first Arkham game... I think that's what we're going to have to call this series without the convenient numbering system that many other games use... used an ingenious system of setting the game in the Asylum that every single Batman villain has at some point inhabited. Arkham City had the difficult job of expanding the concept without being able to build the entirety of Gotham in incredible detail... the solution, bigger prison. Hey, if it ain't broke don't fix it. In a moment of madness it seems that the city of Gotham, in the worst planning decision since Fred West won the contract to repave Gloucester High Street, allowed Dr Hugo Strange to put a massive wall up around the a section of the city and turn it into a prison... Now it's not fully explained why Bruce Wayne didn't just buy large sections on the planned site and refuse to sell to the city is not made clear... also if this is a private endeavour, which it clearly is why didn't he just win the contract. Probably because both those options involve a limited amount of Batmannary, and if being Batman is half as fun as this game makes it seem, then you know what I fully understand.

“As I stare down from the peak of tower, with flames swirling above me I glare at the city below me still crying out for a saviour. I see thousands of people, a seething, swirling morass of man-kinds baser instincts. I see a city in pain. I am ready to be the cure. Who am I? I'm Batman”

eddie <humming the batman theme constantly>

Monday, 31 October 2011

An Apology

This isn't a post... it should be but it's not because I've been exceptionally busy and that busy state hasn't been doing anything constructive. However in the last couple of days I have been approached on multiple occasions about the words I choose to put on the internet. That feedback has been overwhelmingly positive and as such made me feel really bad about the missing last couple of scheduled updates. I shall be returning to the regular schedule as of tomorrow and once again I offer a heartfelt apology. I hope to return to being humorous tomorrow.

Tuesday, 25 October 2011

Why Zombie?

I'd ask you to excuse the lame joke in the title but I, Zombie: The Chronicles of Pain is an overlooked masterpiece of the dead things trying to eat people genre. Anyway those who know me are aware of this... I'm obsessed with zombies. I use the word obsessed because I cannot say I love zombies, I'd like nothing more than to brutally slaughter all the zombies in existence... of course that requires the existence of zombies, something reality refuses to co-operate with me on. I'm an unashamed geek. It's a label I wear with pride. At the very core of being a geek is obsession, the hardcore Doctor Who fans or Whovians display this by wearing bow-ties, for the history geeks it's the vintage musket over the door and for the Trekkies it's... well we all know about the Trekkies. For those of us who have found our interests firmly focussed on all things post-apocalyptic and flesh-eating it manifests in different ways... my bedroom has a large shelving system constructed from timber and breeze blocks which will double as barricade material when the time comes. Today I got to thinking about why exactly this particular fiction has a hold over popular culture and why it's gripped hold of me so firmly.
It might be the gnarled claws.
The zombie that we know and love/loathe is not the same creature that first shuffled it's way into the popular consciousness, it is instead the end of a long and peculiar journey. Zombies are a mainstay of the Haitian Voodoo tradition, but they were never the slathering monsters that they have grown to be. Whilst both Shelley and Lovecraft can definitely be credited with some of the early work on the re-animation story, the first mention of the zombie proper is in the book The Magic Island by WB Seabrook. Seabrook's book was a sensationalised account of a journey to Haiti. Seabrook was an incredibly interesting chap, he refused to write about what he hadn't experienced so prior to including cannibalistic scenes he actually had a friend at the morgue steal some brain for him so he could taste it. He released a book at a time when the American public was obsessed with Haiti... so much so that they later ended up invading it in that funny way that Americans do every now and again. Alas I've digressed, in short order a play had been produced quickly followed by the classic movie White Zombie, which featured a Bela Lugosi at the peak of his powers. I'm going to meander off here to mention the another early zombie movie I Walked With a Zombie, it's a brilliant piece of film-making and I highly recommend it.
It may not look scary now but the remember in
the 30's it was enough to just show a black guy
The zombie as we know it these days wasn't brought into the public conscious in a big way until the release of George A Romero's Night of the Living Dead. Without a strong literary legacy to protect it like Frankenstein's Monster, vampires and werewolves the zombie had been free to evolve to reflect the changing fears of the American cinema goer. Gone was the strange and exotic creature and in it's place was a stern metaphor for the modern day issues such as race, consumerism, nuclear war and feminism. It was this zombie that I was first introduced to at the age of ten. After years of negotiations with my mother I had finally got a TV for my bedroom and it with it any notion of the concept of bed-time had fucked-off out the window. As long as there was no light visible around the door, blanket and tape round the frame, and the volume was low enough, even breathing to loudly drowned out the noise, I could stay up late and watch TV. That is how at the age of ten I found myself watching Dawn of the Dead.
I'm not even going to cover the litany of errors
you've made if you ever have this view
Dawn didn't frighten me as much as I suppose it should have. I think it's worth noting that childhood was not a pleasant time for me. My parents had divorced when I was five or six, weird how I'm much clearer on first seeing Dawn than on that detail, formative experiences are where you find them I guess. The divorce had been unpleasant to the point where I still believe my parents hated each other a lot more than they loved me and my brother who were regularly used as pawns in various mind games. I'd taken it on myself to act as a lightning rod in this situation, hoping in some simple way to protect my younger brother. By the time I was ten my brother was firmly enthroned as the favourite and I was free to allow myself to deal with my own feelings. Looking back I can clearly recognise this as when I had my earliest clash with depression. I'm not going to whine on about depression suffice to say that it is a dark, vicious and evil disease. I only mention it to give some idea of where my mind was when the zombies first shuffled in. Dawn showed me a world where every identifiable problem from my life was eliminated. All you needed to survive, nay thrive, were wits, self-reliance and no attachment to the human race, things ten year old me thought he had in spades. The main characters nearly all die but it's easy to see why (getting to attached to the mall, and failing to leave) and easy to plan against (leave the mall). This was a world without restriction, if you want something you can take it, if you don't like somewhere you can just leave and if you were angry you could take it out on something.
Take that, <bullies name redacted as he's actually alright now>
A seed had been planted and I was hungry for more, like a zombie I became single minded and uncommunicative. Mention of my new found passion would risk the removal of the TV and my young age meant that my acquisition of further films was highly limited. Each week I'd grab the TV guide and hunt out anything showing after 9pm that looked remotely promising. I watched some terrible shite, but among them were gems, Night of The Living Dead, Day of The Dead, Evil Dead II (Evil Dead I was banned from British screens at the time), Chopper Chicks in Zombie Town, Assault on Precinct 13 (I know there are no zombies but in theme and tone this couldn't be more of a zombie film) and many more. I grew to loathe the undead, huge swarming crowds endlessly consuming all identical and mindless, like people who at this time I also despised because that's what depression does to you. I got the fear of the bite though, that I understood, the idea that something could wander into your brain and shut out lights hit a lot of nerves for a youngster with a family history of Alzheimers, a love of learning and a family history of Alzheimers.
It's staying where it is even if it's gonna' rot from the inside
As I have grown and changed so has the zombie movie... I'm not talking about the running, that doesn't make scientific sense, 28 Days Later is awesome but at no point do zombies appear in the film, rage infected humans and the reanimated dead are not the same thing. Shaun of Dead combined my love of comedy with my love of seeing ghouls get their brains bashed out and even more recently Zombieland finally showed as a zombie film without all the useless idiots. What gives the zombie genre the ability to keep going, other than a healthy dose of the T-Virus, is the fact that they are a blank slate on to which our own fears and beliefs can be projected that is what makes the concept of fighting them so alluring it's much easier than trying to vanquish your actual demons. Also it would kill all the stupid and fat people first.

Sunday, 23 October 2011

GCPD Blue

The following is a transcript of the interview of Marcus Denham arrested on suspicion of Grand Theft Auto, Grand Larceny and Murder 2. 


"March 31st, 4:30 in the A-M. Interviewee is one Marcus Denham. In the room are myself Detective Jacob Taylor and Detective Marlana Fisher. Let the record show that Mr Denham has waved the right to an attorney, but agreed to full cooperation with this investigation... You OK there Marcus."
"I'm fine."
"Sorry about the coffee, we tried to get hazard pay for it but... Anyway Mr Denham I'd like you to tell us about the events leading up to your arrest"
"Well it all started with Jimmy..."


""Banks," Jimmy had said "... are, by definition, the worst place to try and take money. Now, the best place to steal money is before it reaches the bank." This caught every-bodies attention.
"What? You want to stay outside and stick-up people as they walk in the joint?" Mickey had asked, Mickey was a good guy but he weren't paid for his smarts.
"No, you mook. I'm talking about the fresh money, the stuff that comes in from the other side." Here Jimmy had rolled out a map of the Docks on the table. "A lot of people don't know this but the Federal Government exchanges money with the banks." Here he pointed at one of the docks. "Once a month a big federal shipment comes in to supply all the banks in town."
"One big shipment of extremely traceable sequential bills" Billy chimed in.
"Not our problem. We're collecting the money for a third party." Jimmy said with the little smile he always used when he thought he was smarter than he was. 
"So we swoop in steal a couple a' hundred million from some tub crawling with Feds... in exchange for what? Some joker's everlasting gratitude?" Billy grumbled.
"First of all our employer ain't just some joker." Billy paused and smiled to himself. "Secondly our payment is the other half of the deal." Billy paused a moment to build the tension. "These are tough times and Uncle Sam is feeling the pinch and, in their infinite wisdom, have decided to cut back on funding for this particular operation. So the same boat that drops the money also collects the used notes the bank is swapping them for. Fresh money comes in old money goes out. Now these old notes are taken to a special facility and incinerated." He'd smiled then. "I know, I know it breaks my heart to. These guys are the real deal and the operation is pretty slick. They do the swap as soon as the boat is in so they can get back out to see where they are under the protection of the US Navy. Now usually they'd do this in the middle of the day. However on this occasion the storm that has been kicking the city's ass for the last week has held up the ship." Here Jimmy lent back and smiled.
"When's the boat arrive Jim?" I asked just to interrupt his moment of calm.
"Two hours?""

"Two hours later I was riding shot-gun in an eighteen wheel juggernaut, which had until recently been stuffed to the gills with used notes, gripping a city issue assault rifle and dressed as one of the city's finest as we rolled through the security checkpoint into the dock. All of the equipment had been supplied by Jimmy's mysterious third-party.
"Billy, you know that bag with the masks and shit?" I asked.
"What about it?" Billy grunted in reply trying to keep his shit together as we got closer to the waiting ship.
"Pass it here." Billy reach down beside him an threw the bag at me. I glanced inside grabbed one of the masks our benefactor had provided. "Fuck!"
"What?" Billy glanced over at me saw the clown mask I held in my hand. "Fuck! If we get out of this alive I'm going to fucking gut Jimmy.""

"The job itself had been almost two easy. Mickey and Jimmy had been in the empty container on the back of the truck and hitched a ride over to the boat. Whilst I slipped out the side and clambered up the crane. The guards who'd come to open the container on board got a short and nasty surprise. The first moment the crane operator new something was wrong was when he heard me open the door to his cabin gun in hand. Now Jimmy had told me to cap the crane guy, but I ain't into killing those that ain't trying to kill me so I gagged and tied him. I'd say we were about half way across town before  everything spiralled into the fuck jar"

"Billy had slammed on the breaks as soon as he'd felt the tires go... when we got out it turned out all of the tires had blown at once. So there we are four us standing in the middle of the street next to a truck filled with stolen money, wearing clown masks and holding assault rifles in one of the worst parts of town. 
"Look we've got our share, let's just ditch the truck and run" Mickey whined. In a second Billy had Mickey by his throat.
"Look you fucking moron we're wearing fucking clown masks. Do you know what that means! It means that the guy who wants this money won't just kill us if he doesn't get it. He's gonna get fucking creative. Clown masks Mickey! Who do you know who makes his goons wear fucking clown masks?" Billy dropped Mickey to the floor.
"Oh shit, Jimmy is what he's saying for reals?" Mickey whimpered at Jimmy who was already in the back of the truck.
"I've told you guys before only whack-jobs is hiring these days. It's work for the freaks or go hungry."
"What are you doing in there?" Billy shouted as Mickey pissed himself on the floor. In answer to this  two bags filled with the cash landed in the street.
"Grab the loot, leave the truck and let's get the fuck out of here." Billy was still stuffing bags. "Before shit gets worse" Billy's voice replied from inside the truck.
"Before shit gets worse? Worse? How can this shit get any worse" Mickey whimpered, as if in answer a shadow flitted across the moonlight "We're already working for the fucking Jo..." 
"Shut the fuck up!" I growled. I moved slowly to the back of the truck. "Psst Jimmy, we need to go. Now."
"We don't get this money for the boss-man we're worse than dead." Jimmy called back.
"We don't move now we're in trouble... I think he's here" Everyone froze.
"Bullshit!" Jimmy called back at me but Mickey and Billy were already at my back guns pointed to the rooftops.
"Fuck you Jimmy! We're gone" Called Mickey before plunging into the nearest alleyway as fast as his legs would carry him. I called for him to come back but Billy went after him. I cast one look back at Jimmy who was still stuffing bags with cash and took off after the other two."

"I'd barely gone twenty foot before I heard machine gun fire. Three maybe four shots. Then a muffled scream from behind me. Jimmy was out of the game. I caught up with Billy and Mickey just as they forced there way into some abandoned tenement building. Inside was almost black I could barely make out Billy and Mickey. Mickey went to say something but Billy gently covered his mouth and put a finger to his lips, without lowering the finger he pointed upwards. I remember even as we formed up back to back I knew it was already over. No-one ever gets away. I could barely see even after my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Every shape could have been him and every noise or movement could be the one that let him find us. We slowly moved through the building sweeping each room."
"It was Mickey who spotted the fire escape n the second floor leading down the other side of the building to where we'd come in. Before either me or Billy could grab him, he'd made a dash for it, he was half way out of the window when he disappeared, a garbled scream cut short. I glanced at Billy or to where Billy had been to see the silhouette of a retreating figure flying up the stairs. I made a decision and ran down the stairs. I was back out the door in seconds pulling the mask off and throwing the gun away I hoped that I could blend back into the city proper. I heard a terrified scream and look up to see Billy cannoning towards me from the roof of the building flailing and screaming, blood pissing from his noise. Just before he hit me he stopped dead hung in the air for a second and flew back towards the heights still screaming. The screams only stopped after a sickening crack rang out of the darkness. I was frozen solid. It was only when my feet got wet that I realised I'd pissed myself. That's when the police arrived"


End of Transcript

Let the record show that Commissioner Gordon is recommending leniency in view of the Mr Denham's co-operation with this investigation. Further to consultation with the DA's Office it is the view of the commissioners office that this individual would be ideal for the new Wayne Foundation community rehab program. 

Wednesday, 19 October 2011

I apologise in advance to the mongoloids who completely miss the point of this.

Well, well, well. It seems that twitter is all-a-kerfuffle over some humorous comments that @rickygervais, the twitter persona of esteemed comedian Ricky Gervais, made which included the word mong. You'll note that I didn't say that he made comments about mongs merely that he included the word mong. Stuff such as "Two mongs don't make a right". Now this led to an all out twit-storm in which a bunch of hypocrites decided to get offended... yes that's right, every single person offended by Mr Gervais's judicious application of the word mong is a hypocrite. While that may sound like an insane proclamation it is, actually, a fact. Allow me to explain. Those offended by these tweets fall into two categories, those who follow the bearded funny-man on twitter and those who don't. If you don't follow him, then you are offended because someone else told you to be. If you do follow him, then you must have decided to do so because you liked his work. In the seminal comedy show 'The Office' two of the main characters leave a disabled woman on a staircase during a fire drill. If you weren't a fan of Gervais's brand of close to the knuckle humour then you shouldn't have been following him. However that isn't what I want to talk about. I want to talk about offensive words.
Anyone Japanese reading this is really very offended right now.
Cunt, wank, balls, shit, fuck, piss, bastard and so on and so forth, are not offensive words. They are words. If you think that they are offensive then you don't actually understand the nature of offense. You see these are merely words that people have told you are offensive. There are some words in the English language that are offensive. Genocide, homophobia and collateral-damage are all offensive words invented through despicable necessity because of what the human race really is when you strip away the lies that we choose to cloak ourselves in. Where as cunt, wank, balls, shit, fuck, piss, bastard and so on and so forth are words used as a way to turn the mudanities of human existence into titillation.
I thoroughly enjoyed the Google Image search for this picture.
Cunt is just a four letter word for a human body part, the only difference between cunt and hand is a bit of lube. It is also one of my favourite words, the reason it is considered by some be offensive actually has nothing to do with the inherent meaning of the word but actually to the do with the way the word is structured. Firstly it's built around 'U' the most offensive vowel, for those wondering 'E' is the least. Secondly it has the required four letter form that lends itself to the finest swear-words. Finally it has a hard 'C' which adds a nice crunch. Now the reason I say that the meaning of this word isn't what's offensive, is the fact that vagina is considered a more acceptable word and vagina has it's entomological roots in the Latin word for scabbard... SCABBARD! A place to keep your fucking sword! It's one of the most, if not the most, misogynistic words in the English language. The point I'm trying to make is that the original meaning of a word isn't where it gets it's power from. Power is drawn from a words current usage. 
Nigger. Nigger is the answer I have on the card. No points will be given for nigga'.
Nigger is a bad word because the history the word has attached to it. This means the word is sadly off-limits in some situations and that's an important distinction, nigger is a word that can be used by black people any which way they choose but can only be used by white people at other white people. Now it's important to note that the word nigger used to be a very powerful word and that power has been destroyed over time, and that has not been achieved by prohibition. The word nigger has been re-appropriated and placed at the very centre of an entire culture that has in a few scant generations not just taken the edge off of the word but actually taken it away from those who used to wield it. The same is true of the journey the word queer has taken over the last few decades.
Written in a fairly mongy way I think you'll agree.
Now when it comes to mong, this re-appropriation is off the cards. If someone with down syndrome decided to wear a t-shirt with mong written on it in big letters and declared themselves proud to be a mong, you would assume someone had fucked with the poor spastic wouldn't you? Before you even start, the word spastic was the name of a charitable foundation that aided those with disabilities until they re-branded as Scope. The reason for this change was the fact that the word spastic had been stolen and corrupted. If spastic can change its meaning over time then so can mong. You see, until this recent furore, I'd actually forgotten about the root of the word mong and had, in fact I spent my Sunday just monging out, watching movies with some friends. Even when used in as abuse it's always used in a kindly manner, the phrase "Don't be such a mong" is filled with a playfulness that robs it of the energy of a word like cunt. This word is well on it's way to being completely robbed of any power and the only thing that can restore that power is taboo. I don't want that to happen I'm glad we live in a world where cunt is the only real swear-word left, oh if you're reading this from somewhere other than the UK then you should know that we here in Good Old Blighty are currently moving to re-purpose cunt as a fuck replacement... we're not all the way there yet but it is already being regarded for it's versatility.
"I'm Eddie, and I endorse this message"
The bald truth of it is that words are never offensive. Intent is the only thing that can be. "I hate gay people." There isn't a single offensive word in that sentence but the intent behind the sentence renders it offensive. When I was in school the words Jonah and Colin were used to describe those with no friends and they were used far more viscously than I've ever heard the word cunt employed. The word nazi has all manner of horrifying connotations attached to it but it's been robbed of power over the years by the fact that English speakers globally take it not to mean ruthlessly efficient genocidalist, but rather to mean pompous jack-booted toss-piece. So embrace the words that people tell you are offensive take them out at parties and wave them around and then when everyone's gotten over the initial shock we can stop getting offended by the words that we think we should be and start getting offended by the intention lurking behind the innocent words used by those who seek to make the world a more evil place.

eddie <chuzzle-cunt is a fun word to say... consider it a gift>