The Mouthpiece

Key findings of the Hillsborough Independent Panel's report

Wed, 12 Sep 2012 13:36:03 +0100

Families have long believed that there was an attempt by the authorities to misrepresent what happened. The families were right. There were briefings to the media, and they led to the Sun story attacking fans. Today’s report says this information came from a Sheffield news agency that was reporting comments by police officers.

Those responsible for feeding this information to the news agency were high ranking police sources, the South Yorkshire Police Federation and the Tory MP Irvine Patnick. All were doing so in a deliberate attempt to ‘impugn the reputation of the deceased’.

Some 164 police statements were deliberately amended.. Many removed comments attacking the police.

Overall there are three main areas of concern -the failure of authorities to help protect people once the problems occurred, an attempt to blame the fans for what happened and serious questions about the coroner’s inquests in Sheffield at the time.

The original pathologist’s 3.15pm cut-off led to the mistaken belief that effective emergency service’s attention could not have saved lives. 28 people did not have irreversible asphyxia.

Officers carried out police national computer checks on the dead to impugn their reputation.

Blood tests were also taken from every one of the deceased to see if they had been drinking. This included children.

One government briefing said the police had been close to deceitful. It said this was familiar. A ‘media narrative’ deliberately tried to undermine the findings of Lord Taylor’s original report.

Categorically, none of the Liverpool fans were responsible for what happened.

It is now up to Attorney General Dominic Grieve to re-open any inquests and push for any prosecutions on the grounds of negligence.

Why has it taken 23 years for this to come out?

Those that propagated the myth and tarred Liverpool with the label of ‘Self Pity City’ need to hang their heads in shame.

Why a victory for Assange may do a disservice to the real victims of sexual assault

Fri, 17 Aug 2012 13:11:00 +0100

The circus surrounding Julian Assange, the celebrated Wikileaks founder, took another twisted turn yesterday upon Ecuador granting him political asylum. His latest success deserves great applause; even more so if you believe that the deal wasn’t pre-arranged. An official from the Ecuadorian government had offered him residence there in 2010; a branch President Correa was quick to deny upon Assange officially seeking refuge from perceived persecution in June.

Considering the pressure on him by the world at large, it’s not unrealistic to assume there were things going on behind the scenes that have influenced how the case is being handled. Having been holed up inside the embassy for 56 days – making friends with the staff, strolling around its confines (presumably careful not to accidently fall out of a door and be pounced on by our country’s Home Office minions) - what has, in effect, become a long and drawn out process now looks set to take even longer now a decision has been made.

Aside from succeeding in pissing off the UK, Swedish and US governments, I fear President Rafael Correa and his good intentions have set themselves up for a fall. It is impossible to underestimate the strength of British and international feeling when it comes to Assange. As a strong supporter of Wikileaks ability to hold Western governments to account, it seems that to suddenly question Ecuador’s decision is on par with erecting a twenty foot US flag at the end of Hans Crescent.

Nobody who claims to be an ardent supporter of Article 10 of the European Convention on Human Rights would question the role of Wikileaks in embarrassing governments that mock the human rights they so trenchantly claim to support. My question is whether the organisation can function with or without Assange. The legal wranglings of the past few months suggest that indeed it can. More importantly, it will.

The whistle-blowing website’s penchant for publishing leaked diplomatic cables - cables that uncovered incidents of torture and mass casualties of the war in Iraq – should, nevertheless be underestimated. That Western countries would probably torture and make a casualty of Assange given half the chance is as true as it would be ‘horrifically’ denied. Reconciling the important journalism that Wikileaks stands for and an obvious opposition to political persecution is not hard. Separating the most valuable modern-day example of investigative journalism with its Australian advocate and editor-in-chief is proving harder. Many supporters appear unable to separate the organisation with the man behind it. Perhaps when they do they’ll realize that Ecuador may have made the wrong decision.

Defying echoes of Kenneth Clarke’s attempt to differentiate between ‘types’ of sexual assault last year, - rape is rape is rape. Regardless of a defendant’s social standing, the supposed victims of such a sexual assault deserve for that person to face justice. In Assange’s case it’s important to remember it’s an allegation. He is wanted for questioning.

Nevertheless, that people are so quick to trivialize and bypass such a serious accusation in favour of solely addressing the potential political ramifications of extradition makes me feel uncomfortable. That notable investigative journalists, one of which I have followed for many, many years, are vocal in their belief that these accusations are some kind of ‘CIA honey-trap’ is even more worrying. The latter could turn out to be the case – but if it isn’t? The disservice to those two women would be immeasurable.

I do not know whether Assange is guilty. I don’t imply that he is. The old slogan of ‘innocent until proven’ is something that I believe in strongly. In this case, these women may not be given a chance to try to prove that he is. Assange can only clear his name if he answers those questions.

Some celebrities seemed to think that Roman Polanski’s immeasurable talent somehow cancelled out the suggestion that he may have raped a child. Alfred Hitchcock’s vision of British film cancelled out his obsessive and ‘horrific’ harassment of Tippi Hedren. The fact that Assange is wanted for questioning over two serious sexual assaults pails into insignificance when placed alongside the organisation he represents.

What makes me most uncomfortable is the extent to which some people seem to be attempting, US extradition aside, to discredit Sweden’s ability to give Assange a fair hearing as if the country is some kind of Middle Eastern repressor.

Supporters point towards underground whisperings of a grand jury in the US. Both Swedish law and Sweden’s obligations under the European convention on human rights mean that Assange could not be extradited to the US if he were wanted for a crime which might lead to the death penalty. Granted, nothing would stop him from being extradited on a charge that could face life imprisonment; a horrendous price to pay for telling the truth. However, he faces an even greater threat from the UK.

Even if Sweden wished to comply with any US extradition, they would have to gain the consent of the British Foreign Minister before doing so. As recently seen by the imminent extradition of Richard O’Dwyer and Gary McKinnon, Theresa May has no qualms about fulfilling her treaty obligations with raptured enthusiasm. If asked politely, Great Britain would throw Assange on a plane Washington-bound with little hesitation. Thus is the perils of Western power. Our holy alliance with the US pre-dates Thatcher’s love-ins with Reagan and is clear for all to see.

Other arguments point towards the fact that the Australian national has been charged with no crime in Sweden. The glaringly obvious shines out from the latter – like most countries worldwide; you have to first be arrested before you can be charged. Alongside this Swedish law works in a way in which other countries do not – a charge comes only shortly before prosecution is imminent. The country also has a notable history of an independent legal system – a fact that is easier to ignore for Assange supporters.

In effect I suspect Ecuador’s middle-finger to the West will amount to very little. Forgetting why he faces extradition in the first place, that is disappointing. If nothing else they have shamed the UK who, ever-frequently, is judged worldwide as little more than mere puppets at the behest of the US. Alongside this the UK is prepared to overturn all diplomatic protocol and create a dangerous international precedent in order to obtain their man. I would argue until I’m blue in the face the criminality of silencing an organisation that put paid to our attempts to silence others. Anyone that believes that Julian Assange deserves prosecution in the US should look towards the freedoms that others are not afforded. The former computer hacker has been bestowed with many awards - most notably the Amnesty International Media Award back in 2009. The latter being noticable by its absence in taking an official stance on fears of extradition to the land of the free. A land where it’s the pursuit that’s guaranteed rather than the happiness.

If Ecuador was merely standing in the way of the United States I would salute them. Standing up to oppressors is a double edged sword. In earning the respect of those around them, they may find that courage comes at a price. Assange knows this better than anyone. Ecuador undoubtedly deserve to be heard. My question is whether Assange’s accusers should be afforded the same liberty?

What’s next, time will tell. Short of becoming a member of Ecuador’s embassy staff, hopping into a diplomatic bag or the UK having a change of heart and chartering a helicopter for him, Assange isn’t getting to Quito. My flatmate suggested that his most feasible opportunity would be asking his embassy chums and supporters to don Guy Fawkes masks, create a hoo-hah and all run in different directions out of the front door. In reality I anticipate that he will probably be forced to give up the ghost and pass himself over to arrest. Wikileaks’ announcement yesterday that its founder will give a speech outside the front of the embassy at 2pm on Sunday may take the decision out of his hands. Considering immunity ends at the front door, he’s likely to be lynched as soon as the wind hits his face. Or maybe he’ll just appear in holographic form like Tupac? Standing on the steps to rapturous applause where he will address his many legions of fans. On the basis of Wikileaks, he deserves it. On the other matter - we may never know.

A human right to choose?

Wed, 06 Jun 2012 12:36:00 +0100

“I have seen so much misery at the Kenyatta National Hospital, where women with abortion related problems have died and others lost uteruses.

“There is no doubt the existing laws are colonial and too strict in the modern society.”

These words were recorded in 1999. The speaker was Professor Julius Meme, former director of Kenya’s biggest national hospital and Permanent Secretary in the Kenyan Ministry of Health. Despite recognising over a decade ago a correlation between restrictive anti-abortion laws and maternal mortality rates, it has taken the Kenyan government eleven years to react to international pressure for change by health organisations.

The passing of the 2010 constitution, voted for by 69% of the country’s population, provoked heated debate in its discussion of abortion. Whereas beforehand legal grounds for the service only extended to pregnancy resulting from rape or incest, the inclusion of Article 26 courted controversy from the onset.The judgement of a trained medical professional is, now, paramount. Abortion is permitted, it reads, if ‘there is a need for emergency treatment or the life or health of the mother is in danger.’ In other circumstances - namely unwanted pregnancies based on extreme poverty, rape, incest and the social stigma attached to pregnancy outside of marriage- little has changed.

Dr Francis Kagema, a gynaecologist at Nyaku House Family Planning Clinic in Nairobi is quick to point out that despite concessions and the hype that surrounded them, abortion is still very much illegal in the East African country. The Parliamentary Select Committee inserted a clause in the 2010 draft redefining that life starts at conception. If anything, he believes, the law is as restrictive as ever:

“Unsafe abortion is still commonplace, mostly amongst the poorer community. It’s common to see women who’ve had crude metal instruments inserted into their vagina to induce a miscarriage. The after-effects include perforation of the uterus, bladder or rectum. They suffer serious bowel injuries. That’s without mentioning heavy bleeding and kidney injuries.

“Wealthier women don’t have the same problems. They just pay local skilled doctors.”

In a country of nearly 41 million, 50 percent live below the poverty line. No public hospital carries out abortion in Kenya. This is despite all offering post-abortion services. The problem is recognised but there is reluctance towards further reform. As in Western countries, much opposition comes from the church. Kenya remains deeply religious. It is estimated that 70 percent of the population is Catholic and holds pro-life values.The difficulty lies in striking a balance between individual need and cultural, religious and social considerations.

The World Health Organisation estimates that 21.6 million women worldwide undergo unsafe abortion procedures every year. 98% of these are in the developing world. Over 300,000 are in Kenya.The statistics are hard to ignore. Even more apparent is the financial burden that treating botched abortions places on its public health care system. A 2009 study by Michael Vlassoff, a Senior Research Associate at Guttmacher Institute, found that the minimal annual estimated cost of providing post-abortion care in the developing world was $341 million. In Kenya this accounts for an estimated 60% of public hospital expenditures.

Advocates of greater access have pointed towards South Africa as evidence of how combined health education, effective family planning facilities and a liberalisation of abortion policy has, had a noticeable effect. The sub-region has the lowest abortion rate of all Africa’s sub-regions. The annual number of abortion related deaths also fell by 91 percent after reform.

Marie Stopes International has also acknowledged that although widening abortion services may be a necessity, it is not a solution. Dr Mark Ayallo, Clinical and Operations Director for Marie Stopes Kenya, argues that liberalisation is ineffective on its own.

He said: ‘Undoubtedly there’s a link between unwanted pregnancy and access to family planning services. Geography and economic factors are a major issue when it comes to inequality of access.”

It’s estimated that 215 million women in the developing world have an unmet need for access to reproductive health information and modern contraceptives. A study by Tupange Imarisha Maisha Initiative in Kenya recently found that more than 50 per cent of men and women in urban areas have misconceptions about the use of family planning methods. Projects like Vision 2030, implemented by the Ministry of Health and Sanitation, are working toward bridging this gap. By training 500 community based health workers and recruiting 20 nurses per constituency, the hope is a more effective community based information system.

The government has also set a goal of increasing the use of such services to 56 per cent of women aged 15-49 years by 2015. The Maisha Initiative’s findings from five urban towns -Nairobi, Mombasa, Kisumu, Machakos and Kakamega -suggest that such cities have a youthful population which can be mobilised and targeted from an early age.

Furthermore NGOs such as the African Woman and Child Feature Service is looking at how gender equality in the media can work towards targeting health concerns. They distribute free newspapers to Kenyan women. This, Dr Ayallo, believes is the sort of home grown action that is likely to have an effect.

“Newspapers like Reject, Kenyan Woman and Strength of a Woman directly target and champion female issues. Specific targeting of groups with direct information is extremely effective in simply getting information about family planning and health services out there.”

Working in conjunction with the Reproductive Health and Rights Alliance (RHRA) the AWCFS is also working on further projects to promote awareness of unsafe abortion among the public and media journalists and editors.

They recently launched a book and film that documents Kenya’s untold stories of unsafe abortion. ‘Burying our heads in the sand’ and ‘Turning down the wick’ are personal accounts that are currently working as powerful tools to portray the seriousness of the issue.

In the meantime, organisations will work hard to widen information distribution.

Dr Ayallo remains optimistic: “The respective governments remain at the forefront for advocacy campaigns and policy changes. Our focus is on the client but, at the same time, we will endeavour to be a part of government initiatives for reform changes.”

By Claire Meadows

Stamp racism out of football. By stating the obvious?

Wed, 06 Jun 2012 12:27:47 +0100

That most would think of John Barnes when considering the subject of racism in football is as accurate today as it was thirty years ago. That organisers were forced to change the venue within days of a lecture being announced was not surprising. Having been on the lecture list at Liverpool University for weeks as part of the Uni’s anti-racism initiatives, it was a forgone conclusion that having an ex-England footballer discuss anything would attract a large audience. Billed as a modern-day look at why racism exists, timed to coincide with the wake of the Suarez and Terry affairs, the subject has perhaps never been so fitting.

Although quite often cynical of what qualifies media personalities, not least ‘celebrities’, to given an informed opinion on complex issues, Barnes’ credentials for opening the discussion are as familiar to those who despise the sport as those who worship it.

Having been on the receiving end of a torrent of abuse from the terraces during the 80s he has well-documented experience of the issue. His career at Anfield is characterised as much by what was brought to him as to what he brought to the game. The days of a marvellously gifted Jamaican player being the recipient of monkey chants and flying bananas are long gone. Now we use social networking as a means of detaching ourselves from those we insult. At the time, such practice was a regular occurence.

What was most disappointing, not least based on expectations, was any discussion by Barnes at all of what the FA was doing or wasn’t doing towards tackling racism in the sport. That the turn-out was reflective of his continued popularity is perhaps both as unfair as it is accurate. Had the speaker been a distinguished professor from Harvard University, as I’m sure Barnes’ recognised, the turn-out would’ve been considerably less. Rather than discuss, as the title suggested, racism in football, Barnes instead opted to use the subject as a drawing board for a wider discussion of why pre-occupation with race was so prevalent in the first place A lot of his time was taken up by suggestions that the national curriculum should be changed to teach children that race is a social construction. That education in certain communities is clearly ineffective was as dangerous as it was honest. More importantly though, the Jamaican pointed out what I fear some in the audience were quick to shrug aside: “Racism is not an isolated problem in football, nor is it the most important. The question instead should be racism in society.”

A lecture on racism in sport, amidst recent well publicised footballing controversies, meant that any wish Barnes had to avoid slagging off Suarez or Terry was naive, lest, unavoidable. Criticism of the Uruguyan was minimal at best, any condemnation being reserved more for the Chelsea Midfielder. As far as the Suarez affair went Barnes fell short of any outright criticism of the player or his former manager, instead questioning whether Neo-Liberalism and, by implication, it’s colonial history was still prevalent in its attempt to police a word that is not considered racist in its country of origin.

Liverpool’s handling of the situation, nor that of his former manager in his apparent willingness to defend to the death, was ever called into question. Media coverge of which, if not least from the perspective of an industry cemented in sensationalism and band-waggoning, Barnes acknowledged you could hedge a bet on as soon as Dalglish opened his mouth. Instead he suggested that defence of the Uruguyian was judged, whether rightly or wrongly, in an inability to seperate him from his value to the club. In the Jamaican’s own words; had the player been Igor Bišćan, the Anfield tannoy may have sang to a different tune.

On the subject of the Chelsea midfielder, Barnes’ didn’t sugar the pill. He often used Terry as a benchmark on which to ground his discussion of ‘passive racism’. A term that rang alarm bells from the onset of its inclusion in its apparent suggestion that racist tendencies could be partitioned into denominations of something like ‘we’ll give you that one’, ‘Ha, naughty’ and ‘too far’. Perhaps, a better word would’ve been internalized. His criticism of Terry went as far as a contempt of court charge would allow, at times straying dangerously close, and to which, had his lawyer been present at the start, I questioned whether he would’ve been at the end.

In relation to what we have been taught, literature perhaps came in for the harshest of criticism. The football legend’s suggestion that books like Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan and Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book continued to perpetuate racial stereotypes in the modern-day was both 100 years out of date and unfair. What Barnes failed to point out was that literature is a product of its time and, although warranted in his criticism of certain characterisations, Mowgli is as important to Indian history today as Shakespeare’s Ophelia is to feminist ideology.

The fashion industry also bore the brunt of blame in its drum banging of ideals of beauty. Barnes got straight to the point: “Years ago skinny models were favoured. Now it’s curvy models with big, pouty lips. All are bodily features of black women. Beauty is big lips and big bums, just not on black women.” That literature derived such a response from the footballer when any suggestion that the media may perpetuate racist stereotypes was barely touched upon, was particularly frustrating. Although Mowgli swinging from a tree top continues to be distasteful, many would consider headlines like ‘Muslims Hate You’ as, as detrimental to multi-culturalism as the stereotyping that followed 7/11.

Where Barnes looked most comfortable was his discussion of education. His questioning of whether “we want to get rid of racism or just not hear it” was strikingly apt and touched a nerve. That the national history curriculum has a secular memory when it comes to British colonialism and foreign policy is undeniable. Barnes’ heralding of education, however - a point that he had already sold - was let down upon a somewhat dubious attempt to praise the job of South Africa and Rwanda’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

The implication that ‘talking about it’ is a means of eradicating the problem is as naive as it is insulting. That the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in post-apartheid South Africa is judged by most as insulting as it was ineffective still stands today. ‘Restorative justice’ in this case meant key prepetrators held their hands up and got off scot-free. For the victims of apartheid Africa, this still cuts deep. That none faced criminial prosecution and amnesty was bestowed for being ‘honest’ cuts even deeper.

Barnes, in heralding the system that was supposed to bring closure to many, failed to mention that, many more, consider South Africa to have replaced racial apartheid with one based on economics. What Barnes’ meant by saying that “Britain needs a Truth and Reconciliation” is unclear. He hit and ran. That education is paramount is without question. That it must work hand in hand with legislation is still paramount.

All in all, Barnes left much to be desired. His strongest points often appeared hollow and blindingly obvious, even amongst an audience that saw, at least one, suffer from football-induced nausea. Although covering a broad spectrum that spanned legislative history through to the role of ‘flesh-coloured tights’ in perpetuating Western bred myths of beauty, Barnes contradicted himself on many occasions. By his own admittance, the guy falls far short of being an academic. I suspect that many went in with expectations raised too high. One thing most would agree on, is the route education must go on in tackling the issue. As a player that suffered the worst racial abuse in the history of British Football, Barnes drove the message home to deafening applause.

“What we have to do is win people’s hearts and minds and make them understand why it is wrong to be racist.

“The whole idea of race never made sense and should not exist. My take on the whole issue of race is that until we get an idea of what race is, we stand no chance of getting rid of racism.”

(This review is based upon John Barnes’ lecture, ‘What is the cause of racism in football’, held at the University of Liverpool on Thursday 17th May.)

Viva la British

Mon, 30 Apr 2012 22:52:01 +0100

That time of year has come again. Forced out of our nonchalance by the truckloads of advertisements waved in our faces and billboards ready to flatten you if you don’t smack on a smile, 2012 is poised to be the year of being British.

In void of an impending World Cup to wank over, the powers that be have been told to market the Diamond Jubilee and London Olympics or face a public hanging. So far the British tradition of not really giving a shit is in full swing. It takes a freight train decapitating us at 70mph for things to
affect us. Unless we stand to personally benefit, we just don’t care.

Buckets full of tourist investment? A worldwide platform to showcase the best of Britishness? New snazzy stadiums and a star-studded Diamond Jubilee Concert? Merr, who’s arsed.

The promise of thousands of visitors, red arrow displays and a once-in-a-generation opportunity to promote the UK? Half the country is already convinced we have an immigration problem. Any more ‘visitors’ and heart monitors will start flatlining nationwide.

Short of handing out £50 notes to people to whack on a bikini top and shriek about their excitement there was only one other option left to disgruntled government officials.

We’ll give you the day off.

And just like that, those six sweet words, we’re sold.

Give it a month, the sheer sight of David Beckham lording it around London in the guise of a mentally-challenged child and a sniff of an impending bank holiday weekend, and the British can be taught to care. Some are born interested, we have interest thrust upon us. A tug of war with the British National Party for the Union Jack is inevitable. The World Cup is usually heralded as the only time we can snatch back the flag from the racists. The Queen has sat on her throne for 60 years. The flag was on loan. We’d like it back.

First up is the Diamond Jubilee. If there’s one thing British stereotypes have taught us, it’s that we love a party. What better way to celebrate the Queen sitting on her arse doing nothing for 60 years than to endorse Elton John to parade around Central London snarling at everyone. All we need now is Russell Brand to don his la-di-da mockery and it’ll be a right royal affair.

Set against the spectacular backdrop of Buckingham Palace, June 4th will see a star-studded concert celebrating Her Majesty’s 60 year reign. The fact that nobody outside of Oxfordshire even likes the Queen is lost in translation. We are asked to forget that the royal family’s only redeeming talent these days lies in its uncanny ability to shapeshift into the outline of a cash cow. They also have the seductive ability to be able to encourage Chinese and American tourists to parade around outside Buckhingham palace, year-in-year-out, in the misinformed hope that Kate Middleton may just appear at a window and wave at them. Alas, in terms of revenue their worth is pretty sickening.

I personally consider the Jubilee celebrations to be a secretive ploy by the Windsors and Middletons to take over the world. Charles will host the party and the Middletons will supply the banners and bunting. As if they hadn’t already made enough money from idiots that last year bought out the entirity of their Union Jack tablewear for a bit of street booze and banter, they now get the monopoly over this year’s royal occasion. And thus is another great British tradition; moaning.

Second up is the Olympics. Thank the Lord it has finally arrived. London was selected to host the event in 2005. It’s now 2012 and nobody’s shut up about it for seven years. The pocket-money originally set aside to pay for the Olympic infrastructure was £5.3billion. It now stands in the region of £15 billion. £1.45 billion of this was spent on the strategic dumping of a new shopping centre at the gates of the Olympic Park. It’s like escalators in Primark. You can’t get out until you’ve walked around.

Admittedly, the bitching about the cost of putting on the Olympics has now become a ritual. It’s the bloody Olympics, it’s not going to be cheap. Also true is the fact that David Cameron doubled the budget for the opening and closing ceremonies to about £125 million. He has yet to publically acknowledge that this is to ensure that British fireworks ricochet off NASA’s International Space Station. Fuck Beijing and fuck America. When we do it, we do it good.

The only shining light in the hype surrounding the impending games is that if a bomb were to go off, the British population would come off relatively unscathed. Despite getting up at the crack of dawn, credit card ahoy and swallowing our pride in the recognition that opting for table tennis tickets was likely to yield a more positive result than trying for the 100m final, nobody got a ticket. We’ll all be down the road in the pub living out another Great British tradition; the art of getting shitfaced.

The final ship I attempt to sink in massacring Britishness is one that, coincidentally, plummeted to the bottom of the North Atlantic Ocean 100 years ago last month. Viva la Titanic. 2012 is also the year of British commemoration. Not celebration. Celebrating that 1,514 people, mostly poor, drowned in freezing waters after an unfortunate incident with an iceberg, may be deemed distasteful. Instead we heralded in a new era of British bandwaggoning by commissioning crap ITV dramas, Guardian montages and a remastering of James Cameron’s 1997 romantic epic so that we had the pleasure of watching people drown in 3D. That’s without mentioning ‘Titantic the Musical’ and exposes like ‘Titanic tune rouses comatose Bee Gee, Robin Gibb.’ And before you ask- no, it was not My Heart Will Go On.

Alongside this, ASDA is poised to announce record sales of inflatable rubber rings and iceberg lettuce. Coincidence? All in jest of course. That’s another Great British tradition; a sense of humour.

Impressive movie special effects aside, December 21st 2012 will...

Mon, 20 Feb 2012 14:06:00 +0000

Impressive movie special effects aside, December 21st 2012 will not see the end of the world. Admittedly, I can’t prove it. But then neither can the Mayans. Nor can the Bible for that matter. But then when has the Bible ever had to prove anything?

Followers of Mayan mania have led the new-age rabble in their persistent squawking that the end is nigh. December 2012 will be characterised by a ‘spectacular’ event. What event this is they can’t be arsed to tell us. If it doesn’t kill us, things will change. Two discrepancies shine out from the latter. Casting aside the blatant attempt at covering their own arses for a second - which fucking exam board would ever let you get away with such a shit answer?

1) To what extent have the Liberal Democrats kept to their pre-election promises? (30 marks)

They haven’t.

Ever keen to cash in on a cacophony of crap the Hollywood studios have always followed suit. First came Jurassic Park, then there was Armageddon. Our generation suffered through 2012 starring John Cusack. The latter is due credit. It being the only film I’ve ever seen in which having lurched from the cinema I genuinely believed that seven years had passed and wished the apocalypse had only come sooner. Cormac McCarthy’s The Road it was not.

But despite my scepticism, Mayan belief can’t be so easily dismissed. Supposedly they aren’t as stupid as many believe. Bets in their favour point toward the fact that they were proved right before. Supporters argue that in times gone by they accurately predicted the length of the lunar moon. Critics point out that they were 43 seconds out.

Aside from a partiality to hypochondria and dodgy pastimes, they were famous for two reasons – their ability at building highly accurate astrological equipment and sacrificing virgins. Sacrificing virgins. The former is commendable but the latter is unduly credited. Anybody can sacrifice a virgin. The difficulty lies in finding one these days.

Mayan websites now showcase celebrity believers. As if mere endorsement is the only lacking barrier to belief. Mel Gibson has, by this point, long established himself as the Pied Piper of Halfwits so inevitably leads the pack. His massacre of the Holy tale and fondness for the occasional bit of anti-Jewish banter not being evidence enough that he’s no longer a crowd pleaser. Alas, there he is on the webpage - standing firm as a pillar of plausibility.

Keen to paddle in the wake of the latest scaremongering, Lynx have just brought out ‘2012: The Final Edition’ and Melancholia looks so shockingly shit that I wait with baited breath to see if anybody actually dies mid-broadcast. The bandwagon has been boarded.

But why so much subscription to what has already been discredited?

Superstition will never cease. When thousands of birds dropped from the sky in Arkansas last year hysteria led fears of some Hitchcockian aflocalypse. The reality was less exciting. Having been harangued by fireworks, the babble of startled birdies ploughed into every car, pylon and lamp post in sight. Imagine being paralytic and blindfolded? They hit the deck line rain water. Often the truth gives way to imaginative appeal.

However, assuming I have horrendously underestimated the power of the Virgin, here’s a list of things I’d be glad to see the back of come destruction in yuletide times…

Michael Gove. A man who genuinely queried whether there was enough money left in the public purse to pay for a royal yacht. A royal yacht. The only way I’ll be subscribing to this embarrassment is with written assurance that it has a gaping hole in the bottom. In which case the prospect of Prince Phillip & Co drowning is too much of an investment to pass aside.

Capello. You could hear the explosion in a boo factory for miles. A man who not only subscribes to the horse shit of John “what video footage?” Terry but who the FA only allowed to stay in employment long enough to hang himself with his own whistle. Quite ironic really: a Shelly-esque means of being killed by your own monster. An Italian abandoning a sinking ship? Who would have thought it?

Ruper Murdoch. My feelings on him are quite clear. A man so rich he could afford to buy all the oxygen in the world and rent it back to us at a profit.

Tony Parsons. Had Twitter taken my ‘I hate him. Please remove him. Get him away’ emails seriously he would have disappeared from cyberspace a long time ago. A man so loathed in the land of social networking that had the BBC commissioned him his own chat show - and his warbling bollocks echoed across the land - the recent strife in Tripoli could have been swiftly avoided. Forget UN air strikes, rebel forces should have just sent in Parsons to flush out Gadaffi. Or Amanda Harrington for that matter.

Newt Gingrich/ The entirety of the Republican Party. A man who cackles on incessantly over the sanctity of the ‘Defence of Marriage Act’, gags at the prospect of two men sharing a bed yet has been divorced twice.He’s now on wife number three. But who are we to judge?

In true Republican fashion he also holds the opinion that women who’ve been raped should fork out for their own abortions. His colleague considers his daughter being impregnanted via somebody forcing themselves on her ‘a gift from God.’ Applying common sense to Republican policies is a sure set route to disappointment but if anybody can answer the anti-abortion/ pro-death penalty irony for me…come hither.

Alas, there are merits of the world ending after all. Fortunately for the Mayan calendar market, it won’t. “Scientific experts” have always predicted these things yet, here we are. Rest assured, if you want the real reason the world will end, the above video is a more realistic proposition. Ho’kay?

A thought provoking documentary by the renowned Australian...

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 22:21:14 +0000

A thought provoking documentary by the renowned Australian journalist and film-maker John Pilger. The War on Democracy looks at the role America has played in interfering in various Latin American domestic policies. Looking, in particular, at Venezuela, Bolivia and Chile, the film explores the role ‘the country of the free’ has played in the overthrowing of democratically elected governments from the 1950s.

From the attempted coup d’etat and kidnapping of Venezuelan President Chavez in 2002 to the overthrow of the democratically elected Chilean President Salvador Allende paving the way for the military dictatorship of Pinochet in 1973, the film highlights how if American ‘interests are threatened, we’re going to do it. If you don’t like it, lump it.’

Video

Wed, 28 Dec 2011 23:05:00 +0000

Lana Del Rey.

Wed, 28 Dec 2011 23:04:36 +0000

Lana Del Rey.

Trailer for Charlie Brooker’s new TV show Black Mirror....

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 23:43:57 +0000

Trailer for Charlie Brooker’s new TV show Black Mirror. Starts on 4th December, the three-part mini series ‘taps into our collective unease about our modern world.’

Video

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 23:40:12 +0000

"She turns, she sluts her way off. Excellent."

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 22:57:38 +0000

““She turns, she sluts her way off. Excellent.””

- Mr G. Summer Heights High.

They might not be wives but they are desperate.

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 15:20:00 +0000

If the trailer was mortifying, a whole hour was soul-destroying.

Northern expectations of Channel 4’s new ‘reality’ show Desperate Scousewives were never high. Perhaps on par with how you’d imagine Katie Price would fare as a University lecturer. Shallow, thick and illiterate. That was the first underestimate of the night anyway.

Scouse-browing it behind ‘The Only way is Easy’ and ‘Born in Chelsea’ the structural format of the show is as follows: film the ‘real’ men and women of Liverpool in their natural habitat. Ply them with alcohol and give them a leaflet on the importance of safe sex whilst filming them undressing one another. The trick? Try and pretend the multitude of cameras hovering precariously over their thick heads aren’t actually real and are merely a figment of their own limited imaginations. In the show’s defence their billing was proved only half correct. All were desperate, few were Scouse.

From the onset the stereotypes shone out like a ray gun searching for Amanda Harrington’s head. Take the cast themselves. The word ‘cast’ being used loosely as it denotes an image of credible acting ability. First up was Jodie Lundstram who marked her return to ‘the centre of the Universe’ by making a public spectacle of herself at Lime Street station. ‘I’m backkk!’ she screeched as people out of camera-shot grappled for the first bottle. Nobody realised you were gone Jodie. Nobody has a fucking clue who you are.

Nevertheless Lundstram is home in time to solve the economic downturn by marketing the Scouse brow (a marker pen like sketch on the upper face that Groucho Marx would be proud of ) in direct competition with the vajazzle. Just in time for Christmas. You can see the advertisements it’ll provoke in Essex already. ‘Add a festive tinge to your Christmas…’

The stereotypical gay-couple-with-the-Chihuahuas hit one nail on the head when they complained of a lack of volume control. The other nail was a complete default in a workable delete button. Lundstram’s novel approach to being interviewed turned the conventional arguments against gendered pay disparity on their head. “If my brother’s playing football…don’t expect me in work.” Not for want of moral support one can assume. Moreso the opportunity to get dolled up and parade around the pitch in the guise of a cheap, unwanted cheerleader.

Next up was an alternative proposition to Harvey Milk’s political campaigning for equality in San Francisco. More ironic than Lundstram’s surprised frown was the knowledge that the side-effects of anal bleaching - ‘Hollywood’s’ mainstream approach to combating low self-esteem and depression - coincidentally described the outward effects of watching the show itself; ‘mild itching, stinging, redness and dryness upon the area of application.’ That’s my eyes I’m talking about. Not the symptoms that every woman in the UK now hopes that, that chauvinistic twat, Joe McMahon will contract in Newz Bar.

Next up was Liverpool’s ‘local celebrity’ and her thick, doting minion. Amanda Harrington and Chloe Cumming’s parade around Liverpool One in hair curlers was embarrassing enough. Trying to palm off the belief that that couple weren’t prompted to ask her for her autograph was even worse. “I’ve seen all your work in th’ magazinez an’ we fink itz gr8.” What magazines? And your definition of ‘great’ is clearly overvalued. The British Comedy Award of 2011 went to Amanda’s repetition of being “nominated for the category of most stylish Scouser last year.” The crowning marvel of modern science went to that perfectly timed pause after Chloe’s questioning of whether or not she had actually won the prize. As if. The best bit of the whole sorry affair, after hours of pampering and large vats of Grey Goose Vodka was the knowledge that the actual winner, Coleen Rooney, “couldn’t be here tonight.” Of course she couldn’t. She’s not arsed.

Working on behalf of politically active, intelligent and aspirational young women everywhere, Harrington denounced the English language’s greatest achievements as ‘discount’ and ‘free’. ‘Self-respect’ and ‘feminism’ clearly went out with the post war movement but credit where credit’s due – everyone was half-expecting the words ‘Me’, ‘Myself’ and ‘I’.

The fact that this woman takes up valuable press space in The Liverpool Echo when The Daily Post is being cut down to a mere weekly edition is an advertisement for regulation in itself. “People don’t know the real me” she ponders whilst flicking through half naked photos of herself that she apparently carries around on a daily basis. “Being a model is hard work” she purrs on. So speaks her PHD in the art of sticking your finger in your mouth and pushing out your tits - demonstrated so articulately by her and her young filly.

Promoting the carbon footprint corner was the hiring of a flash car in the name of ‘a glamorous entrance’. Geez Chloe. Get with it! Nothing says fuck the environment like paying someone to throw you out of a Bentley when you’ve already arrived. Liverpool’s ‘bitchiest blogger’ exclamation-marked her entrance more eloquently than I ever could; “you looked a show.”

And yes Amanda, bleach is dangerous. Apparently smelling like St John’s toilets is more attractive than looking like a tangerine. That, of course, is assuming they genuinely believe that that hue of mahogany they’re sporting is a marvel of modern genetics. Chloe Cumming’s inability to say anything constructive or intelligent over the whole course of 3,600 seconds garners her little column space in my eyes. My only question vis a vis the bleach scenario is with regards to her occupation. I THOUGHT YOU WERE A NURSE WOMAN?! Staged.

Perhaps the only redeeming feature of Jaiden Blahblah was his unwillingness to kowtow to the platformed heels of Amanda Harrington. He may be a Z lister with a blog but his ability to see what was so blindingly un-obvious to everyone else around him was remarkable in itself. In the words of Nessa in Gavin and Stacey - she’s vile. Full stop. If he wants to be a writer, good luck to him. But somebody should point out that there’s more to the world than who’s shagging who and who’s wearing what. Life extends beyond celebrity. Perhaps a more informative topic of discussion might be how the promotion of unwarranted stereotypes reinforces class divisions? Or how (having looked at his blog) correct spelling, grammar and use of apostrophes, commas and exclamation marks are now taught at primary school level?

Only marginally worse than Harrington was the self-publicised ‘player’, Joe McMahon. More commonly recognised as Worse.Than.A.Feral.Dog. Feminists everywhere dropped their knickers at the coveted knowledge that: a) football is more intrinsically valued than the female sex, and b) ‘eating meat from a buffet’ is the most common idiomatic definition of male-to-female communication. He may be young, free and single but he’s also a shallow, sexist, stupid cretin. That thing that spent the whole hour shamelessly latched on to his every word and stood, like a prostitute, outside his front door after he gave her ‘a go’ on his blow-up bed isn’t being dignified with any response. Somebody should thrust the word ‘self-respect’ into his boxer shorts. Only then may she listen.

Of course it’s all staged. If you can tear your eyes away from Amanda Harrington sucking her fingers aboard that four poster bed you’ll see the producers dangling a few dozen strings from her polyester knickers. All publicity’s good publicity as well so by wasting valuable oxygen ranting about them, it’s probably had the adverse effect. The silver lining on the horizon is that, in being resigned to a late night slot on E4, damage limitation can work its wonders. That and the fact that anyone with a mark of intelligence and taste gave E4 a wide berth a long time ago. On a day that marks the death of Liverpool-born Beatle George Harrison it’s sad that these idiots, and those from that other shit show, are likely to become the role models of this month. I’m deleting that hour from my memory. Never again. In the mean time here’s my favourite twitter response of last night by one Paul Smith Jnr:

‘Sky Plussed that Scousewives. What the FUUUCK!! Is THAT?! You firm of fame hungry, talentless, woolyback scruffy CUNTS. #desperatescousewives.

In the name of all things comedy…Tobias, you blow hard.

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 11:20:19 +0000

In the name of all things comedy…Tobias, you blow hard.

Why nobody in Liverpool is promoting Desperate Scousewives.

Thu, 24 Nov 2011 19:34:00 +0000

As darkness descended, women and men alike sat huddled together in front of their television sets. Dogs howled and shrieked in the yard. Lights flickered eerily as Lime Street station shuddered into complete darkness. The screech of tyres and burning flesh filtered out of Queensway tunnel as cars smashed together and small children melted into their booster seats. The Mersey Ferry - for so long a transport hub of the elderly and foreign - plowed into an iceberg and smashed into the Albert Dock killing all passengers on board.

“The glamour. The glitz. And then there’s us. Us geeeeeeeeeerls.”

A unanimous gag reflex reverberated across Liverpool at those ten words. Remnants of coughed up lung and splintered rib cage flew through the air as a small child lay shivering and decapitated, on the pavement. Blood splattered kidneys sliced in two, intestines shredded and eye-balls mutilated beyond feasible recog…

You get my point.

This week saw the first official advertisement for E4’s new ‘reality’ television show Desperate Scousewives. This week also saw a social experiment in which I collect a range of data responses to this trailer and collate them for popular effect. “I feel sick…I’m so embarrassed…Cringee…This disgusts me…I’m fucking dreading it…She needs a good slap.”

Due to be officially unveiled on Monday 28^th November, the show will showcase the real men and women of Liverpool. Substitute real with mortifying, disgusting and horrendous. Contrary to popular televised opinion Liverpool women are as intelligent as their southern counterparts. Our expectations were never very high. Billed in conjunction with its predecessors ‘The Only Way is Essex’ and ‘Geordie Shore’ the most that could be hoped for was on par with the established stereotypical conceptions; a bit of shrieking accent, big hair, tattooed eyebrows, towering heels and surgically enhanced tits. It seems apparent that the Katie Price effect has been wholly underestimated.

In light of the advertisement the title now seems poetically apt. Among the women representing Liverpool are Amanda Harrington - billed as ‘Liverpool’s big celebrity’ despite nobody having a fucking clue who she is - and Abbey Clancy’s cousin. Both are models. The former is most commonly found strewn half naked on four poster beds in the name of endorsement whilst the latter pretty much does the same amidst milking her talentless bloodline. Even more mortifying is the implication that Abbey Clancy is somewhat of a celebrated name in Liverpool. A woman who’s only famous for having married a footballer, stripped off on numerous beaches and whose major reigning testament to her existence is her Oxford-educated ability to fleece her husband’s credit card on a daily basis.

I know I sound reductionist and patronising. I don’t know these women personally. I’m sure they are intelligent. But coming from a plebeian whose burgeoning Meryl Streep mania knows no bounds I can’t help looking for females who’ve achieved something beyond their fiscal attributes. Women who can speak German with a Polish accent. Women who are the editors of international magazines. Women who run Greek holiday havens and bring up a child singlehandedly. Emily Davison apparently had her lungs stampeded over by a horse for Debbie O’Toole’s right to be a “successful, world-famous model and have my own merchandise, clothes an’ jewellery.”

Do these women even have jobs? The advertisement merely shows them pampering their eyebrows, stroking their hair or strutting around a nightclub engaging in screeching abuse and casual bouts of assault.

“Ya a nobodeeeee wit’ a blog.”

Whatever happened to moral support and the milk of human kindness? Somebody should give the girl credit for having already slashed tourist board investments by two hundred per cent. The trailer does its utmost to promote the brash, bitchy and aggressive image of Scouse girls that other cities already work hard at doing for us. Forget UN air strikes to flush out Gaddafi. Rebel fighters should’ve just sent in Amanda Harrington instead. Next up is the make-up and alcohol. Most women here bawk at the prospect of the ‘Scouse brow’ as it’s apparently been called. It’s vile. We don’t bloody market it. Keen to uphold the tradition of idiots parading around Liverpool City Centre in curlers, the girls don’t let us down.The only redeeming feature is that in order to increase ratings and bag a man they’ll presumably be forced to neck so much gin by producers that they’ll all turn yellow and die.

Over half of them have degrees and are either in education or professional jobs. I doubt this willl garner much promotion. Textbook psychology is not entertainment. All eight will be judged on the scope of their bitching, height of their hair and their ability to fling themselves at the first man that accidently breathes on them. Unfortunately - gone are the days when medical limitations would result in Amanda Harrington dropping dead of consumption if a male so much as looked at her. Other wagers would be on the show being resigned to Alma De Cuba (where they’ll all burst into flames upon the altar amid a blizzard of cocaine), Kingdom or Newz bar. The latter are the usual haunts of those whose lifetime ambition doesn’t extend past wanting to shag themselves and marrying a footballer.

What’s most irritating is the actual scope to show how much Liverpool has improved in recent years. Million pount investments in both the waterfront and the shopping district have resulted in increasing tourism and a more aesthetically pleasing atmosphere. What people from Liverpool are famous for is their ability to look out for one another. Independent charities have bolstered in the past decade with youth clubs, community projects and rejuvenation projects flourishing. Previously downtrodden areas have now, with increased investment providing increased employment, reaped the same rewards as their northern counterparts. This apparently is neither here nor there.

Who cares about the men? The women are bile-inducing enough. What’s most embarrassing is that incredibly thick people will believe that this is what people from Liverpool actually act like. Don’t get me started on her accent. Nobody speaks like that. Her “ya a Perez Hilton wannabeeee” screech made everybody’s ears bleed regardless of regionality. The girl is a genius. She actually managed to sound like an imitation of her own horrendous voice.

In the same breadth that Harry Enfield’s ‘Scousers’ sketch massacred the city, the Desperate Scousewives seem intent upon doing the same.

Ever considered volunteering abroad? Mama Anne’s...

Sat, 05 Nov 2011 12:45:38 +0000

Ever considered volunteering abroad? Mama Anne’s Children’s Home in Mombasa caters for young abandoned or orphaned boys in the most impoverished surrounding areas. Currently she houses eleven children aged four to thirteen. They are constantly on the look out for support, financial backing and visitors. Check out www.unitedconscience.org - a non profit charitable organisation - for this and other volunteering opportunities in East Africa.

Video

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 16:32:16 +0100

Video

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 16:31:39 +0100

Why Daniel Bedingfield is cool.

Wed, 19 Oct 2011 17:44:00 +0100

“I couldn’t tell you one song in the top 40 at the moment.” My anonymous friend lounges on his musical pedestal launching Bonobos and Deadmau5’s at my head. Deciding that resorting to physical violence is somewhat extreme I settle for a frown. How many times have we heard this before? Stop lying! You’re not fooling anybody. Of course you could. Even if you don’t bookmark TOTP chart you could make an estimated guess. Even Gary Glitter in his Thailand holiday haven could recite ‘Rolling in the Deep’. I’d bet money on it. He could probably sing it in Thai; backwards with the aid of backing dancers. Him and his fellow prisoners. Think Bridget Jones vis-à-vis ‘Like a Virgin.’

This isn’t the first time I’ve had people drop dead at the sight of my Ipod. Two have flat lined and three have outright gagged. Apparently the soundtrack to Mamma Mia! is not acceptable for someone of my age. “Have you not seen the film?” This is always the response I get. Of course I’ve seen the film you idiot. Hence having downloaded the soundtrack. Meryl Streep is a marvellous singer. The reaction is never complimentary.

Music taste now defines a person as much as geography, language and whether you support Liverpool Football Club or Manchester United. It pained me to type those last two words. Your preference in relation to Kiss or Radio 1 now defines your social standing. Will you be placed in Gryffindor or Slytherin? Are you cool and individual or common and chavvy? There seems to be little room for manoeuvre. My powers of observation at University made it apparent that liking a DJ that nobody else had heard of made you mysterious and more ‘underground’. Like a vole or a beaver. These people were considered cooler than me. Burrowing in their hidden space that the wider world could not hope to comprehend. Nobody else understood them. They were like a bat. Blessed with a partiality to DJs that everybody else was blind to. Until, one day, in the pitch black off the back of dueting with Pitbull, it flew at high speed towards you. Straight into your face.

Why is there such a snobbery attached to music? Admittedly, Gill Scott Heron perhaps has more musical talent and credibility than Countess Luann; the real housewife of New York. Has anyone else heard ‘Chic c’est la vie’ and ‘Money can’t buy you class?’ They’re amazing. Ironic considering money also failed to buy her decent autotune, rhythm and pitch. There are even certain researchers that argue that mainstream pop music is harmful to society. Perhaps they’re right. This need not be reductionist. I’m willing to stand corrected. Germaine Greer was far off the mark. Perhaps ‘Bitches aint shit’ and ‘Smack that’ are indeed responsible for my 30% difference in pay. If in fact, they were changed to ‘Bitches aren’t shit’ and ‘Smack him’, I would get a pay rise.

The fact remains that it’s cool to be different. Being different is interesting. Gone are the days when conformity was the safest route to success. Writing that I enjoy walking on my CV won’t help me stand out. Writing that I own every stamp, ever made, everywhere in the world, some of which were forged on the moon, may do. I actually write on my CV that I am a keen scuba diver. It makes me appear more exotic and glamorous. I have a hobby that is cool. They’ve never questioned it. I live in Liverpool. Where the fuck would I scuba dive?

Admitting in public that I regularly request ‘More’ by Usher in a nightclub won’t earn me any brownie points. I’m also partial to a bit of ‘Jai Ho’ing’ and genuinely believe that Kid Rock’s ‘Pimp of the Nation’ is one of the best songs ever written. I was once so obsessed with Amy Lee from Evanescence that I refused to have my hair cut for three years. By the end it was in such bad condition the hairdresser paid me to let her cut it off. That’s not really relevant though. Either way I’m not cool. I’m common. In the same breath that reading Caitlin Moran’s ‘How to be a Woman’ obviously meant I was a dyke. This was according to a forty something year old homeless person on Oxford Road in Manchester. Had his spit not made contact with my face I may have shook his hand in sheer amusement.

The fact remains that I am embarrassed by my Ipod. Not in terms of the music itself. I’m not arsed. I love Daniel Bedingfield. But that I will be judged on behalf of it. Like many I have a nervous disposition when it comes to putting my Ipod on shuffle amongst friends. Admittedly I do also have the soundtrack to Moulin Rouge and The Sound of Music in my Top 25 most played list. I probably have more reason than most to be wary. But why does it matter? Who cares what music people like? Fair enough if the lyrics extend to promoting the joy of rape, murder, racism, paedophilia or pillaging. If you like that shit you should probably seek help. But surely aside from that anything goes? Arctic Monkeys did not ‘sell out’. People clicked on to the fact that they were good. Your fan base increasing does not make you mainstream.

Like whatever music you want to like and tell people to shut up when they give you that look. Who cares? Judge me for the fact that I have a tendency to mouth off after one too many wines. That I can, on occasion, be a patronising cow or immediately dislike someone that reads The Daily Mail. That I don’t mind. I am a patronising cow and I probably won’t like you if you read that rag. But lay off it with the music taste. My soft spot for Paul Simon’s ‘Call me Al’ shouldn’t offend you. If it does you could do with stepping back and weighing up what’s worth bothering about.

Music is just music. Personal preference and harmless. That’s all it boils down to. Unless you like Nickleback. Never admit that you like Nickleback. They’re still judged on par with Chris Brown. Still not quite socially acceptable yet. That one I should have kept to myself.

Remixed version of Chris Lilley’s character Daniel Sims...

Wed, 05 Oct 2011 13:53:40 +0100

Remixed version of Chris Lilley’s character Daniel Sims rapping in We Can be Heroes and Angry Boys. Maggot Maggot…

Genius.