Correspondence in Twilight

I suppose this is pretty much cheating but I may as well put it here.  Please find enclosed below a message sent to a friend regarding the film Twilight.

Hay Daf, I was wondering if the very popular film Twilight was still running in the cinema, as I would like to go and see it, due to the overwhelming torrent of good news I have heard in regards to it.

One of the main good points I have heard in regard to this film is that the lead role is played simply amazingly, in what some would describe as a tour de force from the main man, Edward Cullen.

I have also heard tell that the film contains very realistic character motivation, so much so that you can almost imagine yourself acting exactly as the characters would were you put into their situation. Also it is a credit to Edward Cullen's majestic acting ability that he is able to transform a character so typically connected to iciness and callousness, namely a vampire, into a character which is able to inflame the gussets of unstable women with tendencies to necrophilia across the country, even the world.

I am also confused as to how the main character, as played by Edward Cullen, is able to have ‘marble arms’ as he is oft reported as having. For me, the pros of having arms made out of marble are surely dwarfed by the cons, especially for a vampire. The description of ‘marble arms’ reminds me more of characters such as Hellboy or the Thing. The idea that the scrawny frame of Edward Cullen could handle to immense weight that arms made out of marble would mean is utterly farcical. Even if they were arms made out of less cumbersome stone material it would still cause more problems than they would solve. For arms of granite, slate or pebbledash bring with them their own set of unique setbacks.

Perhaps if the character played by Edward Cullen had teeth made out of granite, rather than arms, this could be of more use to his vampiric deeds. For instance this would ensure that if human blood was in short supply he would be able to feast upon animals with thicker hides, such as bison, ox or elephant.
It is with no malice or facetiousness that I suggest that Edward Cullen would be unable to function with marble arms. It brings me great emotional stress to imagine poor old Edward, dragging his rocky limbs behind him, with his pebbled knuckles dragging through the mire, making him look less like a vampire and more like an undead miserable ape.
Apart from this, I think that it is probably a very good cinematic experience.

I provide this picture of a devoted fan.

To clarify, the message, above, is an elaborate ploy in order to infuriate the gentlemen who's picture I have so professionally doctored.

Upon discovering my message and photograph, he had the following to say:

Please note that this is not a speech bubble emanating from my person, rather it is some poor unfortunate who has undergone radical cosmetic surgery in order to transform their skull into a gargantuan monstrosity which conveys their perverse love for an entirely fictitious and unbelievable character from a piece of second rate literature. In fact, this should not be considered literature, rather it should be considered glorified novelty toilet paper which is provided in a convenient package capable of being secreted inside one's handbag or knapsack. 



The gurn into which I have sculpted my mug is, in fact, a manner which I adopted in order to convey my delirious abhorrence at the time. It is also used in order to convey my contempt for the mental patient who underwent the aforementioned surgery. 



Furthermore, I adopted this dress in order to portray the commonly held stereotype of vampiric costume and not to emulate an absolutely infuriating character who causes me to physically vomit into my own mouth and spit it out into my hand, or if there is a Christ available, his gaping anus. 

I would like to voice my absolute disgust and hurt regarding the connotations of this photograph, which was clearly meant to be interpreted out of context.



Due to the stress and upset caused to me and my family, I shall be seeking legal aid and also the services of a qualified assassin, brute and all round ruffian in order to extract both legal and natural justice from your person.
Yours sincerely,
Disgruntled in Trefforest.

p.s "Twilight" is arse-mangle (ruinous feces and buttocks) of the highest order and i want everything about it to stop being. Long live literature! Down with Stephanie Meyer! May her creations be condemned to book-nazi bonfires.

I hope that this epic is as humorous to an onlooker as it is to me.

P.S. The matter has since been settled out of court for an undisclosed fee.

Boxing

To be completely honest with you, I don’t like boxing.

 

I make this bald admission, this bare-faced statement, this oh-so-direct declaration in the knowledge that it may bring my stereotypical masculinity under scrutiny.  I make this assertion knowing full well that the macho men in the street could now come up to me and say “Oh, ah, look at him, it’s the queasy little man-baby that doesn’t like the boxing.  What’s wong wittle bwaby, dwoes duh two mwen bweating on eawch owver mwake ywou wupset?”.

 

And after I had finally managed to decipher the macho men’s final message I would have to retort: “No, it is not the brutality of the “sport” which fuels my dislike for it, although this is a large factor, there are more prominent elements that I take issue with.”

 

I imagine at this point that intelligent conversation would not continue, but for the sake of this narrative, I will now tediously explain the other significant points that I dislike about boxing.

 

Number 1: Stupid Shorts, Laser Shows and Entrance Music

 

Three-in-one, not bad.  Boxing tries it’s very best to disassociate itself from it’s less real yet more entertaining cousin, pro-wrestling.  It’s easy to see why they would do this, in essence wrestling is choreographed fighting, like something that would come out of a Year 9 Drama lesson, were a group of boys foolishly allowed to workshop their own sketch.  In contrast to this, boxing is like something that would come out of a Year 9 PE lesson, were a group of boys foolishly allowed to choose their own activity.

It seems stupid then that whilst striving to distance itself from wrestling, boxing imitates it in almost every way.  Bells, rings, ridiculous overblown entrance music, ridiculous overblown shorts, ridiculous overblown posses and ridiculous overblown laser shows with which to ensure that no epileptic person will ever enjoy a boxing match in person.

 

Number 2: Gloves

 

They are really dopey looking.  They look like the sort of gloves a dangerous clown might wear.

I wouldn’t say that to a boxers face though.  That would be inappropriate, I would have no interest in committing such a faux pas.

 

Number 3: Belts

 

It seems to me that the main aim of boxing is to steal other people’s belts.  Now, overlooking the inherent homo-eroticism that is to be found in a situation where two men willingly strip down to their boxer shorts, literally, get in a ring, in front of hundreds of slavering, blood-thirsty perverts and then rub up against each other until they are all sweaty and breathing heavily, the idea that the highest goal of this is to defeat the other person and claim his belt is slightly homosexual.  Or maybe I have misunderstood boxing’s macho image, maybe it is meant as a form of softcore gay pornography, where in the final scene the losing boxer’s belt is removed, and his shorts shimmer to the floor, flowing during the tolling of the bell, like the finest gossamer silk, revealing at the last the fallen participants turgid enflamed passion, to the general onanism of the crowd.

 

Though my boxing-as-gay-porn insight seems to be apt, I will still err on the side of caution, for though I have no qualms with homosexuality, I am sure the boxing-viewing-public at large would not appreciate the aspersions I have cast upon the “sport”.

 

Or maybe I am subscribing to the very stereotypes I am aiming to satirise.

 

Ironically hoist by my own stereotypical petard.

 

Not in a gay way.

Coca-Cola and Jesus

I had the glorious opportunity to come into contact with what is described by the company as the 'Mission, Vision & Values' of the Coca-Cola Company.

If you can fathom with little wonder that these things exist in the first place then mayhap you are too credulous an individual.  Or maybe it is my own cynicism that is at play.

If you want to read this outline in its original location you can find it here.

Bloody ridiculous advertising.

Also in the realms of my cynical take on shrewd advertising, someone who was at the head of a powerful PR machine was your man JC.  He was able to ensure that all the middle eastern academics of the time were toiling away recording his parables in the Journal of New Religious Thought and Message (Luke et al, 150ishAD).  This highly anecdotal piece of ancient journalism is more commonly known as 'Teh Beeblay'.  I recently found out that sources within the Bible itself disagree on the names of the 12 disciples, which possibly informs us that the rest of the 'information' in the Bible is perhaps less than reliable.

The rag-tag band of religious heroes are, possibly, as follows then:

Jesus: a wizard.

Peter: Jesus' cousin.

Andrew: Jesus' cousin.

James and John: the sons of Zebedee.

Simon the Zealot: He was zealous.

Philip: He was from the 'West Sa-ee-d' of Galilee

Bartholomew: Once told Jesus to eat his shorts.

Matthew: the Tax Collector (Boo/Hiss).

Judas: not the one you're thinking of.

James the Less: a disciple hard done by and finally:

Judas: the one you're thinking of.

This is a picture I drew as a summary.

The most important message to take from the Bible then is this:

Women should not indulge in infidelity, but if they do, it is better that they should be stoned.

Of course if this simply isn't enough Bible for you, maybe you would be interested in buying an anthology of Bible Rap.

Or if you have some common sense then maybe you'd rather some Tim Minchin.

I'll take my leave with dignity afore this becomes silly.

An Analysis of 'Hot 'N' Cold' by Katy Perry

Some would say that pop music in general cannot be counted as poetry or high art, and would consider that attempting to disseminate a deep underlying meaning in song lyrics is a foolish thing.

I am going to do it anyway.

The first line of Katy Perry's song 'Hot En Cold' goes:

We used to be just like twins, so in sync

Assuming that this is a love song, as I'm sure I am able to do due to the Wedding setting of one of the videos, the comparison to twins is just tasteless and grotesque, or at least flags up her own incestuous issues that she is foisting onto this relationship.  This would perhaps indicate why the two aren't so close anymore.  A second, less likely option is that they used to be like the now-defunct boy-band *NSync, although if this is her suggestion it poses a whole other set of problems.

The same energy's now a dead battery

Staying away here from issues such as karma and chi, if her relationship is indeed a dead battery, I just hope that she disposed of the relationship in a responsible manner.  The acid can be dangerous if left thoughtlessly.  I also wonder if she ever licked the relationship, because the shock that she might have got from it might have been what killed the relationship.

Used to laugh at nothing, now you're plain boring

I'd suggest that perhaps if her boyfriend laughed at nothing on a regular basis he may have had a history of mental illness, laughing at nothing seems like the activity of someone that is unwell.  Also, if Miss Perry finds pleasure and solace only in the company of the mentally unstable, it really does bring her own sanity into question.

I should know that you're not going to change

Again, slightly harsh here from Miss Perry, I mean if the other participant in this narrative is suffering from a mental illness, then it is not his fault that he isn't able to change, maybe he is trying his best, and surely he deserves all the support he can get, rather than her cynicism.

Then into the chorus, which seems only to list his symptoms:

Cause you're hot then you're cold - some sort of irregular temperature

You're yes then you're no - indecisiveness, possibly due to ADHD or similar

You're in then you're out - a cold description of their sex-life

You're up then you're down - bipolar disorder, this is surely depression

You're wrong when it's right - this is a value judgement, right and wrong are both subjective

It's black and it's white - a newspaper

We fight we break up, we kiss we make up - At this point you'd have to wonder whether these two are even suited to one another...

You don't really want to stay - no - but you don't really want to guh-go...

Truly a moral duh-dilemma.

Some of you cynics might say "look, they are just a series of contrastive pairs put tactlessly into the form of couplets, there is nothing to be read into", and that would be a fair point.  But on the other hand, maybe it is a riddle.

Back into the verses then:

Someone call the doctor

This is the first sensible suggestion from Miss Perry, I have been worried since the first stanza that there is a medical issue that needs to be resolved here.  The main problem is that she seems to be unwilling to take responsibility for this phone call.

Got a case of a love bipolar

My analysis of this seems to indicate that it isn't the "love" that is bipolar here, to be completely honest I think that Miss Perry is being quite ignorant if she still is unwilling to accept her partners problems.  You are only fooling yourself Perry!

Stuck on a roller-coaster can't get off this ride

Ah, the pull back and reveal.  Turns out they've been on a roller-coaster the entire time!  Hot/cold because the ride probably goes inside and outside, yes/no are the fun and scary bits of the ride, in/out and up/down are how roller-coasters generally go, wrong/right is probably just a mistake, I'm sure she meant left/right.  And with black/white, well, there were many colours there I'm sure.

You change your mind like a girl changes clothes

 An ambiguous statement, to be honest, if Katy Perry doesn't provide a case study or a girl as a base-line example then the comparison isn't going to be idealogically viable.  And I don't think that she'll be able to find a girl that is representative of all females.  An impractical analogy.

The final chorus then is exactly the same as the first.  Lazy.  If you've run out of contrastive pair Katy you should have just asked me.  Here're my suggestions for lines you could have used in the chorus:

Cause it's hard then it's soft,

It's back and it's front,

It's north and it's south,

it's spots and it's stripes,

It's skirts and it's skins,

It's chalk and it's cheese and

It stops and it starts.

If you wish to experience a genuinely awesome song that utilises contrastive pairs then I point you hither.

Of course if taking advice from someone who perhaps lacks credibility in the pop world would undermine your artistic freedom then feel free to discount this analysis out of hand.  Your work is fantastic without my help Katy, I'm sure we can all look forward to far too much of your stellar work in the far-too-near future.

Dwr Cymru and Essays, oh the essays

A belated welcome to Two-Thousand and Nine!

A strange opening to the new year then as I spent more of it drunk than I intended, but well on track now to being a productive member of the studentosphere again.

Alongside the annoyance of having a temperamental laptop, which sometimes decides that though the power button has been pressed, it is going to stay resolutely 'Off', I was also taken by another suspicious happenstance.

Though it was common knowledge that there was to be an amount of work undertaken in the area with regards to the Water, I had no idea of the exact nature of the work.  In fact, I had foolishly assumed that the water would merely be unavailable for an amount of time, and my oh so precious time would not be affected in any other way.

However, I was put upon by a man, whose pleasingly Welsh name I shall not provide, who showed me a card and asked to be allowed into the house to potter around doing Water-based work.  At the start I confess I thought this was a wonderful and convenient reason to take a lengthy break from working on essays (and it was), but after awhile I begun to be slightly suspicious about the nature of the work being undertaken.

Though the man had successfully shut off the water, which did a lot to put me at my ease as to the genuine nature of his employment in said Water, both his general manner and the words which he insisted upon saying with his mouth led me to become ever-so-very suspicious.

Firstly, and without casting too prejudicial an aspersion on the working class of London, this man was as close to a Del-boy style geezer as it is possible for a South Walean to be.  After claiming, probably truthfully, that one sluice provides water through several houses, he then further tested my faith in him by spryly clearing the dividing wall in my back garden to poke around in next-door's garden.

Now it's not the fact that a middle aged man so gleefully jumped over the wall that is in itself suspicious, however I doubt trespass is encouraged by Dwr Cymru, so if this man was the genuine article, he is at the very least a rogue agent.

The final nail in the ever-so-suspicious coffin he was sanding for himself, (the analogy doesn't work because he wouldn't be hammering in the nails if he was only just sanding it off), came when he pulled out what I heard him describe as a 'Brazilian Stick'.

Now.

If I had to describe this stick, which I have to since I cannot find a satisfyingly accurate picture of one, I would describe it as a metal rod, roughly 3 feet in length and probably about two inches in diameter, topped with what looked like a wooden knob that had been ripped off a door and spliced onto the top of the pole with prit-stick.

He placed the end of the pole that wasn't tipped by a knob on the floor.  He then placed the end with the knob, to his ear.  I have since told people that I would pay money to be allowed back in time in order to look at my own face when he then proceeded to say:

"Do you want a listen?"

Obviously I listened.  Sparing only a brief second of thought for the hidden cameras whose existence I momentarily entertained, I listened.

And I heard nothing.

With my suspicion going haywire he once more left to adventure in both my own and my next door neighbour's garden.  Upon returning to the house, he said his bit and soon left.  Later in the day we received a letter from Dwr Cymru detailing the work etc.

I have since taken the time to research what I had heard as a 'Brazilian Stick', and have since learned that it is indeed a legitimate and genuine tool, though it is called, rather cleverly, a 'Listening Stick'.  To be completely honest I'm glad I didn't hear him say 'Listening Stick' because that would have only made me think he was an insane yet cunning homeless person who's slyly managed to get his hands on a Dwr Cymru uniform, car and relevant stationery with Dwr Cymru watermarks on, just in order to freak lazy students out of their solipsistic worlds.  Basically this man could only have freaked me out more if he's pulled out a divining rod and had attempted to discover water in that way.

Turns out there's a leak in the pipe somewhere along the street.

The moral of this story is: Never judge a man who has a suspicious rod with a knob on the end, because it's more than likely they are legitimately qualified in wielding it.

And the essays I hear you ask?

Oh, the essays...