James Malach

I Really, Really Want My Own Baby Kim Jong Il

James — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 08:27:54 +0000

I’ve already mentioned elsewhere that I have a strange fascination with despotic dictator Kim Jong Il’s fuzzy hair.

This was why it made me so happy to find a photo of a baby that looks like his mini-me doppleganger.

I’m now wondering if I should register the domain ‘babiesthatlooklikekimjongil.com’ before someone else grabs it. It could be the North Korean version of Lolcats.

Dear Leader Baby Kim Jong Il

Let’s bring Jesus back – USING SCIENCE!

James — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 16:56:14 +0000

With all the controversy surrounding the May 21st Rapture that never was, it got me thinking of a much more reliable way to bring back Jesus.

You’re probably familiar with the Catholic concept of transubstantiation – where priests magically turn some wine and some wafers into the body and blood of Christ. Catholic doctrine says this is NOT symbolic, it actually happens.

This means that all transubstantiated foodstuffs will contain the exact heavenly DNA signature of the Son Of Man himself.

To collect this Holy Helix, simply go to your nearest Catholic Communion, open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue at the priest and (assuming he’s not one of those naughty priests) he will do the rest.

Once you have the essence of Jesus in your mouth, you will need to spit him into a jiffy-bag – make sure it’s one of those self-seal ones to preserve Jesus’s messianic freshness.

The next part of my brilliant plan is to get one of those cloning machines that they used to make Dolly The Sheep. Because this happened in 1996, the machines are now 15 years old, so you can probably pick one up on eBay for less than £100.

The final part of the jigsaw would be to find a host body in which Jesus’s foetus could gestate. Anybody called Mary will do, as long as she is a virgin (anything up to third base is fine).

A turkey-baster will work best here as they can be bought from any supermarket and it will ensure impregnation whilst still technically preserving the virginity of our Mary.

Please remember that in order to increase our chances of success, we will need to implant at least ten fertilised ovum. This will ensure that at least one Jesus makes it to full term – and with any luck, we might get a few more Jesii which can be used in the same way as mobile phone masts and placed around the world to boost the signal strength of the Word of the Heavenly Father.

Test Tube Jesus

Like Harold Camping, I’ve done my maths and I am 100% convinced that we can do this for about a hundred and fifty bucks. Also, like Harold Camping, I am not asking for donations, but if you want to donate your hard-earned cash, you can PayPal it to clonejebus@gmail.com *

All donations will be used to spread the good word of Clone Jesus (and also spent on weed and whores) and there will be NO REFUNDS.

God bless/fuck you all!

MySsiah – The Network Where You Create Your Own Religion

James — Sun, 05 Jun 2011 16:37:33 +0000

A while ago, I had a brilliant idea to create a social network where you could start your own religion.

It was to be called ‘MySsiah’ and it seemed like a brilliant idea until my friend and I started arguing about the rules. This caused our planned religious social network to split into two religious social networks almost immediately.

Then my fiance Kittie got really pissed off because she said that both planned religious social networks were either repressing her ideas or stealing them and altering them to fit their own religious social networking guidelines. She then accused our religious social networks of repressing women.

After we told her that we would have to excommunicate her ass, she started to wax lyrical about forming her own religious social network with its own set of rules and doctrines which were totally incompatible to our own.

My friend and I then told her, in no uncertain terms, that if she did this, our religious social networks would form an affiliate partnership which would discredit my wife’s religious social network on account of it being a false religious social network.

MySsiah, The Create Your Own Religion Network.

Once we had crushed the dissent, all would be fine in the world of religious social networking and religious harmony would enter a new age, called ‘Version 2.0′ which involved the monetization of our memberbase.

We quickly forgot our initial reasonings behind wanting to create our own religious social network and it quickly became all about market-share and revenue-streams.

We decided that we were going to introduce a premium ‘gold’ level membership which would include features like your profile having a guaranteed place in Google and an automatic 20% discount on all relic-based merchandise bought from the online store. We then realised that there are no flaws whatsoever in this business model and anybody disagrees is quite obviously from a rival religious social network.

An idea like this could possibly conquer the world. Crazier things have happened.

It’s Time To Be Trollin’ Some Scammers

James — Sun, 29 May 2011 16:39:57 +0000

If you have an email address, you will be no stranger to the Nigerian 419 scam.

In a nutshell, these cheeky scamps email you with some sob story involving family tragedies and hidden multi-million dollar fortunes and offer you an obscenely large percentage if you send them your bank details and personal information. Instead of receiving your share of the swag, your account gets cleaned out and you end up with Nigerian egg all over your stupid scammed face.

This week I’ve received three such letters and I thought it was time to have some fun with a scammer who goes by the trustworthy moniker of Felix Damians.

Obviously I didn’t want to use my real name, so I registered a new email address (hairymonkeyflaps@gmail.com) and changed my name to Zsa Zsa Gabor.

If the original Zsa Zsa Gabor is reading this – and she probably is – then I apologise profusely in advance. I would also like to apologise to my fiancee Kittie who, unbeknownst to her, has unwittingly taken on the guise of my non-existent evil ex-wife, Griselda – the utter, utter bitch!

A Nigerian Scam Artist About To Email Me Some Money. Yesterday.

The rather nonsensical email I received is below. Excuse the terrible punctuation – Felix was obviously in such a rush to contact me that his keyboard couldn’t keep up with his blurry little fingers.

————————————

On 12 May 2011 16:29,
From Felix Damians

Hello Dear,

Pardon me for not having the pleasure of knowing your mindset before making you this offer and it is utterly confidential and is genuine by virtue of its nature.

I want someone like you to help me out after i had pray then believes that you are a good person and that i can stay with you for the rest of my life , am 23 years old , My late father is a wealthy and successful business man before he died , My mum died when i was a baby, i am the only child of my parents.

Before the death of my father he called me secretly in the private hospital where he was admitted and inform me to run away from his house because of his blood brother, who is my uncle, It was on that day,.my dad revealled to me that it was his brother who poisoned him to this level.

And he told me that he used my name to deposit ( us dollars 12.5million ) in the bank and he seriously advise me to transfer this total money to oversea account for my investment, where i will start my new life and finish my education , Because of this reason, i am soliciting your assistance for the claim and transfer to your bank account for the business.

Honestly speaking , i am ready to give you 15percent of this total money for your assistance and with extra 5percent for your expenses on phone call, please reply me now if., really serious to help me out so that i can tell you more about my intention and forward to you some of the legal papers after knowing you more better.

All about the money are legal and i have all the legal papers and documents of the money with me which the bank issued to my late father the day of this deposit,

Anyway,you can not understand anything now because it is a long story but please and please for God sake , reply me so that i can tell you more about myself and the transfer and also forward all the legal papers of the deposit to you.

Thanks and remain bless with your family as i wait for your urgent reply soonest,

Yours Felix Damians.

————————————

Obviously I was thrilled that he had chosen me out of everyone else on the Internet. It was probably the friendly way in which he started the email with “Hello Dear” which set my inner warm fuzziness glowing with delight. I was also happy that he said that he “want someone like [me] to help [him] out after [he] had pray”. As a God-fearing man, he was bound to be honest and incorruptible. All religious people are honest and incorruptible. Fact.

So I grabbed myself a mug of coffee and composed the reply that I have printed below.

————————————

Dear Felix,

Thank you so much for emailing me and may God bless you! Your email appeared only 30 minutes after I had prayed to Lord Jesus (blessed be his name) for financial support. My evil ex-wife Griselda has recently divorced me and she has taken almost everything I own and I lost my steady job as a fluffer on a movie set because the actors said that my technique was not exciting enough.

I am literally down to my last 10,000 dollars and before your kind email, I was thinking of killing myself by drinking a whole bottle of Gaviscon liquid.

I think that your offer of 15% of $12.5 million (I work this out to be $45,000 – please verify) is very generous, but I am worried about the 5% expenses which I have worked out to be just $170,000. I think that my expenses will be at least $200,000 because of the tax that I will need to pay on the money in this country. By the grace of Almighty God, I would ask that you could make the expenses to be 10% which I work out to be about $220,000 of the overall $12.5 million. If you could, in your heart, give me the $220,000 instead of the 5% expenses then I think we can definitely do business.

I am so sorry to hear the story about your farter. Your poisoned farter certainly made my eyes water. :’(

I learned how to be a most excellent farter from my own farter and I badly wanted to teach my farting skills to my own son, but my evil ex-wife also won him off me when we divorced. I was left with only my daughter who I do not even want because she does not even know how to cook.

As you can imagine, for the last few months I have stored a lot of pent-up farting because I have had no opportunity to be farting on my son. With this money you are offering, I could once again be a proper farter on him and give him all the loving farting that he can handle. You have made me so happy! God be praised!

If you agree to my above proposal, I would certainly like to help you out. I also need to know that you will continue praying for me and that you are a good Christian zealot. Because of my love of Jesus, I cannot accept money from non-believers as in my country are known to be in business with the devil. Grrr!

If possible, so I can verify you and make sure that you are a true and God-fearing person, I was wondering if you could send me a picture of you praying to God and Jesus. It would also help if you could hold a sign which says the following:

I WORSHIP HEAVENLY FARTERS

This way I will know that you are a genuine person with a religious heart. I must also insist that this is all done in the utmost secret because I cannot risk my evil wife Griselda to hear about this.

Please write back to me and tell me how we should proceed with this. Because of my terrible financial situation, it would be good if we could do this quickly because in two weeks the Orcs will be coming from Mordor to take back my car and house and unless I get the money soon, I will be homeless.

By the grace of God, we will speak soon, but please do not forget the photograph I asked for so I know that you are an honest, god-fearing person.

God decreed that we should be brothers.

Yours

Zsa Zsa Gabor
hairymonkeyflaps@gmail.com

————————————

I genuinely feel as though we have bonded and he could become a good friend to me. I am now waiting for his reply with baited wallet!

WATCH THIS SPACE!

Just Me And My Munky Mates Hangin’ Out

James — Sun, 03 Apr 2011 16:15:45 +0000

I bet you didn’t know that I’m actually the boss of a rag-tag band of munky brethren. Well I am.

I’m totally their leader because I have an X-Box 360 and all the other munkys just have the first generation X-Box. Me and my munky mates get up to all sorts of munky capers when we get together and as you can see from the photo, we’re quite intimidating and don’t take no shit.

In future, I’ll be bringing you regular updates of the crazy lives that they all lead – especially blue munky as he’s the wildman of the bunch.

Britains Got Talent – Penile Jihad

James — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 16:30:57 +0000

I’m not a performer – never have been and never will be, but this doesn’t stop the people from Britains Got Talent contacting me every bloody year to ask if I want to audition for Simon Cowell and his ‘highly qualified’ judges. Each year I ignore the inevitable email but it’s getting more and more difficult. Yesterday I received the following message from one of their researchers:

———-
From: Cat Fox
Subject: Britains Got Talent

BRITAINS GOT TALENT AUDITIONS ARE IN TOWN. SECC CENTRE TODAY, TOMORROW AND THURSDAY. CALL ME IF YOU WANT ME TO BOOK YOU IN FOR AN AUDITION…
———-

For a start, the SECC is in Glasgow. This means that whilst Britains Got Talent is indeed ‘in town’, it is not actually in ‘my town’. I live in Manchester, a mere 200 miles away from my auditions. Secondly, why do they offer to book me in for an audition each year. Isn’t their whole thing about how tens of thousands of people queue up for hours in the pouring rain (it’s Glasgow, it will rain) for their one shot at impressing the judges. Do they hold my non-existant act in such high regard that I can bypass this stage? Thirdly, the person who contacted me is called ‘Cat Fox’. Is this a person or a fictional animal along the same lines as a ‘monkey fish’ or is she simply a spoonerism of ‘Fat Cox’?

Anyway, I decided to open up a dialogue with Ms Fox for obviously she had spotted a talent within me that I never knew I had. My email back to her went thus:

———-
From: James Malach
Subject: Britains Got Talent And Penile Jihad

Hi Cat,

Thanks for your message, I’ve always wanted to try out for Britain’s Got Talent, however I’m not sure if my act is suitable for primetime television. You see I have an intimate piercing which goes through my urethra to the underside of my glans and I use this to attach objects of varying weights. After studying Hindu yogic techniques for ten years I can now use my penis to lift approximately four stone (25kg).

The highlight of my act is when I use this technique to dangle a children’s carry cot from my appendage and rock my two year old son to sleep using the swaying action of my hips. Obviously because of the distance I would have to travel I would not be able to bring my own child, but I could easily use a child from the audience if they are more-or-less the same dimensions. I find that that audience participation like this really helps the crowd identify with my act.

I fully understand that this might not be the kind of thing that Simon Cowell is looking for, but neither was Jedward and they have each made a million pounds.

Please let me know if you are still interested in auditioning me. My act is called ‘Penile Jihad’.

Thanks in advance.

James
————

My penis has not yet heard back from Simon Cowell

For some reason, Cat has not written back to me yet, but my guess is that it’s only a matter of time before I am invited onto the show. If this happens, I’m going to have to decide if I should get my tackle pierced especially for the show.

People have done much worse for their 15 seconds of fame.

Bewilderingly Cute Baby Owl In A Bobble Hat

James — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 16:07:32 +0000

You all love baby owls and you all love bobble hats, so when you put them together you get quite possibly the cutest thing known to man.
However, I realised that owls on the internet seem to be totally typecast. They’re either super-cute (see above) or super-wise. In reality, owls are not wise, they are actually voracious killing machines whose brains are hard-wired to do little other than hunt and whose beaks are designed not to speak knowledgeable words, but to rip apart the twitching flesh of their victims.

With this in mind, I’ve decided to do some Photoshop stuff to ensure that owls are misrepresented even further.

Neeowl Armstrong
The first image I made is of Neeowl Armstrong. This is designed to show people how easily the moon landings could have been hoaxed. If you check out the reflection of the helmet, you can even see President Kennedy snogging Marilyn Monroe even though they were both dead when this photo wasn’t taken.

Owllar Bill
The next image I created is for all you conspiracy theorists out there. People claim that there is a tiny owl peeping out of the corner of a dollar bill (see top left corner of photo). According to them, this is proof that the World is run by a shadowy organisation who are watching everything you do. If I was the boss of the World, I wouldn’t be hiding my owl eyes where nobody can see them on what is the most rubbish denomination of bank note. I’d be replacing Benjamin Franklin on a hundred dollar bill. I’d also be make people know they were being watched by having the owls eyes alternately flash red.

Owlbi Wan Kenobi
For the third image, I decided to return to the space theme and create Owlbi Wan Kenobi. I’m not really sure about the viability of this one though as Owls are nocturnal and therefore have ultra sensitive retina which amplifies light, enabling them to see stuff in the dark. This would mean that using something as bright as a light-sabre would damage their eyes. Cock-eyed owls look silly, which is probably why there are no owl Jedi.

Lady Wearing A Towl
After making the first three photos, I suddenly realised that I’d forgotten to look at any naked ladies on the internet for nearly 30 minutes. Luckily this was rectified with the photo below. I did save her modesty by making sure that I had owls covering her hooters. And her twittowoo.

Andy Warhowl
After the unbridaled titilation of the previous picture, I decided to inject some culture into the proceedings. I could have tried making something by a great Renaissance master like Michowlangelo or Raffaeowl, but in the end I settled on an Andy Warhowl because it’s easier.

Chairman Mowl
For my final photo, I decided to pay tribute to everybody’s favourite Communist dictator who isn’t Stalin or Castro. In this picture Chairman Mowl is daring you to pull his finger although he promises that he won’t ‘let one go’.

Okay, I’m done with owls now, but I’ll end this blog with a quick joke.

Q: What do you get when you put a bee in front of an owl?
A: A Bowl!

Ronnie Wood’s Hairy Front Bottom

James — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 16:05:52 +0000

We’ve had a fair few celebrities come to watch our Ministry Of Burlesque shows.

We’ve had members of rock groups and famous comedians and we once even had that bloke out of Big Brother whose name I can’t remember but apparently did a thing that put him in the nations collective consciousness for 18 hours.

One night, young Ronnie Wood out of t’Rolling Stones popped in to a show we were running in London.

He really enjoyed the show and gave us this as a token of his high regard. At first we didn’t actually know what it was.

“It’s a hairy fanny.” uttered Ronnie stoically.

For any American readers, I would like to point out that I am of course referring to the English definition of a fanny which is situated directly in front of what our friends across the pond refer to as a fanny.

Massive Cheese Corinary Bacon Beer Can

James — Fri, 14 Jan 2011 16:03:33 +0000

…okay, it’s actually a pint pot made of bacon, but ‘bacon’ sounds a lot like ‘beer can’ if you live in Jamaica, which I don’t.

Whilst I admire the creativity of a person who could create a functioning receptacle out of crispy fried pig strips and then fill it with a miasmic cocktail of twelve different melted cheeses, I fear that he’s not going to live long enough to enjoy the fruits (and the word loosely) of his genius.

I can’t even look at this picture without my heart involuntarily palpitating into overdrive, so God knows if it’s actually possible to nosh one of these things in one sitting without dying a horrible, flatulent death?

Springtime At Christmas – Did You Get A Cacker Cracker?

James — Fri, 24 Dec 2010 16:35:28 +0000

I appreciate that it’s not quite Christmas, but I had an early one with the fiancee and the in-laws to be. Throughout dinner, my heart is beating in anticipation at the delights that must be contained within the ‘luxury’ box of crackers that we’d brought with us.

I don’t think that cracker pulling is supposed to be competitive, but because I’ve been unbeaten cracker pulling champion for the past two years, I’ve been known to get over-excited at the prospect.

So it comes to cracker-pulling time and POW! Sure enough, I’d won yet again. As the smoke cleared, I triumphantly gazed down at my prize:

Yes. It’s a slightly misshapen spring.

That’s it.

A goddamned spring. Jesus gets gold, frankincense and myrrh in his Xmas crackers and I get a spring. Jesus is totally being like the fat kid who scoffs all the cake at birthday parties. It’s one rule for sons of God and another rule for those made merely in his image.

That’s what I won in my cracker this year. What makes this even worse is that it’s not even a springy spring. Apart from its springy shape, it shows no other springy properties whatsoever.

It has a boing factor of zero.

If anybody receives anything in their Christmas cracker that is more disappointing and frankly less in keeping with the spirit of Christmas, I’d like to see it. To make things interesting, I’ll send £25 via Paypal to the person who posts the object that is deemed by me to be the most soul-destroying.

Shakey Snakey Wakey-Wakey Comes To Vegas

James — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 16:00:53 +0000

A couple of years ago I was asked to be a judge at Miss Exotic World, the competition that’s held every year in Las Vegas to crown the finest burlesque performers in the world. I shot this video the night before the actual competition during the pre-party-party.

The performer in question is called Thrill Kill Jill and I have no idea what the snake is called – although I think that we should call him ‘Chompy’.

Notice how I slowed down the bite part for ultra-dramatic effect? This is because the speed of the video is directly proportional to the terror it instills into the watcher. I sped up the aftermath to lighten the mood again as we watch the blood trickle down her face.

Stamp Solution For The Tongue Tied

James — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 15:51:20 +0000

Because of the online store that we’ve recently launched, we’ve noticed a large increase in the amount of outgoing mail that we have to send out.

If you’re anything like me, you’ll hate the thought of licking all those stamps because they leave your tongue tasting like you’ve just emerged from a frenzied bout of tonsil wrestling with your granny’s older friend Ethel.

This must be the reason why Lovehoney.com has brought out this fantastic product. It’s called a ‘Tuppence Licker’, although it seems to work with stamps of any fiscal denomination. What’s great about the Tuppence Licker is that the blurb mentions that it’s ‘Satisfaction Guaranteed’ or your money back.

This makes me quiver with excitement.

The one thing that does confuse me is why the other products at Lovehoney seem to be of the… ahem… marital kind?

Answers on a postcard – and don’t forget to affix a stamp.

Mr B Tributes Prisoner Cell Block H

James — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 15:47:14 +0000

We recently ran a show at The Lowry in Manchester. It’s a big theatre venue complex and it’s where all the best shows tend to play when they visit the city so it was a privilige to be invited to promote regular nights there.
The backstage area is huge – consisting of miles of concrete corridors, snaking their way past changing rooms, delivery depots and unidentified doors and it reminded me of something. Something that Mr B – the legendary Gentleman Rhymer was all too pleased to enunciate via the power of ditty.

Luxury Doesn’t Even Begin To Describe This Hotel

James — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 16:23:15 +0000

…our super-brilliant hotel that we stayed in last night.

When we run events, we often stay in hotels. Occasionally they are full of luxury and opulence and sometimes that are simply the nearest Travelodge. I hate Travelodge for a couple of reasons.

The bright orange walls in the rooms makes me angry.
Premier Inn have got it right. Their colours are a nice snoozy purple – perfect to help me relax before I slip comfortably into the land of bo-bo’s. Bright orange is perhaps the least relaxing colour known to man. Every wall is covered in bright orange except for the wall that contains the huge mirror. This reflects both the bright orange wall on the opposite side of the room and my seething face getting progressively redder with each passing orangey moment.

Put some blimming toiletries in the shower cubicle.
I don’t want a friendly note which says “Because we care for the environment, we have decided to cut waste by allowing you to buy soap and shampoo from the vending machine in the lobby.” This is because I am normally both naked AND wet by the time I see it. I don’t want to get out of the shower, dry myself off on one of your pitifully small and scratchy towels, put on my clothes, struggle to find the required change and then hot-foot it down to the reception in order for your temperamental vending machine to spit my money back at me whilst the soapy object of my desires tantalisingly prick-teases me from behind an inpenetrable layer of toughened glass.

Because of this, we have recently instigated a ‘No Travelodge’ policy. In a nutshell, this means that we now refuse to stay in a Travelodge even if it means the hotel we end up with is worse than the Travelodge would have been in the first place. An even simpler terminology would be the phrase “cutting our nose off to spite our face”.

The view from our window. This photo only shows two trains travelling in opposite directions, but sometimes there were up to four.

And that’s what happened last night. I’ll spare their blushes and not name the place. Suffice to say that it was in London and if it was any nearer to the above ground Tube track, the wheels on the passing trains could have cut our hair as we slept.

Still, at least we could make use of the minibar facilities, right? Wrong!

Luxury... Sheer luxury...

Where’s the rows of minature spirits and fine beers? Where are my complimentary peanuts? Perhaps they’re all hiding behind the singular sachet of Nescafe – cunningly disguised as cobwebs. One sachet of Nescafe, but lots of individual portions of UHT cream substitute. I wonder if there’s enough there to fill up the four styrofoam cups? Nope, thought not.

Talking of styrofoam, this brings me onto the mattress – and I use the term very loosely indeed. I had one of the worst nights sleep in my life and when I woke up, I felt like somebody had kicked the crap out of my sorry ass. Kittie said that I was tossing and turning all night, which in turn kept her awake. So it’s 50/50 as to whether I did actually suffer a physical beating in my sleep.

Not entirely looking forward to the ‘all inclusive breakfast’, I made my way down to reception to make my order.

“I’ll have a full English breakfast minus the eggs. Please make the bacon extra crispy.” I said, mustering up as much enthusiasm as I could.

“Cornflakes, toast or croissant.” came the even less enthusiastic reply.

I eventually ordered two croissants and two glasses of fresh orange juice.

About five minutes later, the same receptionist delivered my two pieces of toast and two glasses of warm apple juice. Which Kittie and I proceeded to eat solemnly as we gazed at the trains raging past the window.

The final insult was the shower.

I couldn't get all the mildew into the one photo, so I decided to take a pic of the nice big patch which was situated above my head.

It wasn’t so much the mildew which pissed me off, it was the fact that the water pressure was so low that the water dribbled out in a way that seemed to mimic the characteristics of impotence. The small amount of water that could be arsed to make an appearance didn’t even work because I can honestly say that at no point in the shower could I have been defined as properly wet.

So to sum up. I’ve not slept, my body is wracked with pain, I keep hearing non-existent tube trains every few seconds and now face a 200 mile drive back to Manchester…

… but at least the walls weren’t orange.

Kittie’s Delicious Fruit Smoothies

James — Sat, 06 Nov 2010 15:40:02 +0000

Kittie is my lovely fiancee. She is very good at most things. Making fruit smoothies is not one of them. She always asks me why I never drink them. Here’s why.

My Brilliantly Educayshunal Oop Pompeii Video

James — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 23:05:29 +0000

Being a super cool entertainment impresario, I get to fly around the place working with various events and promoters. We were recently involved in an event in Naples, Italy and so whilst I was there, I decided to take in the cultural delights of the nearby city of Pompeii.

Most of you will know that Pompeii was destroyed by volcanic sputum and was revived a couple of thousand years later by Frankie Howerd.

The MoBfather Radio Show Pilot Episode

James — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 22:51:16 +0000

A few months ago I was in the process of setting up an online radio station with Chris Sievey – a man you might know better as the legendary Frank Sidebottom. Unfortunately Chris/Frank passed away just before the launch, leaving the project kind of hanging in mid-air.

The MoBfather Show is a one hour pilot show that I created which lasts a grand total of 37 minutes and as you can probably tell – I made it up as I was going along. I might make some more of them if I get the time, but don’t hold your breath.

Worryingly Sexy Monkey Jizzness

James — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 21:36:17 +0000

Because I’m still in the process of setting up this blog and I can’t remember the words to that ‘Lorem Ipsum’ filler text, I thought that I’d recount a short tale of the time when I became the unwitting subject of a simian circle jerk in Gibraltar. It was back in 2000 or 2001 when my relatively tender age meant that my body was still adept at producing the pheremones required to attract creatures with relatively similar DNA structures as my own.

I’d initially flown into Gibraltar for a business meeting, but had arrived uncharacteristically early. Finding the town itself to be a rather staid 1970′s throwback, I decided to check out the famous Barbary Apes instead.

The Burberry Apes Of Gibraltar

What followed was like some weird psychological Hitchcockian nightmare that has effected me to this very day. It started off innocently enough. The apes seemed perfectly tame, however I noticed that a few of them were munching on chocolate bars which had been given to them by the tourists.

Chocolate bars contain sugar.

Lots of it.

You know when you get that feeling that you’re being watched and your mind does a sort of subconscious ‘Uh-Oh’. I turned around and was met with the sight of the Mac Daddy monkey staring at me intently. He stood there unblinking, looking into the very depths of my eyes as if transmitting a message into my brain.

“Eep! Eeep!” It seemed to say, (conforming to established monkey stereotype), “Give… me… your… sugar… products…”

“I… I’m s-s-sorry Mr M-monkey Dude, I d-d-d-don’t have anything.” My terrified brain transmitted back through the Gibraltarian ether.

His gaze grew more intense.

“You smell good,” he seemed to be saying. “You smell sweet like sugar.”

"Pictorial diagram denoting the positioning of a monkeys nipples in relation to the rest of its body."

The next part seemed to happen in slow motion. Without turning off his eye-lasers, he started playing with his nipples. Monkeys have exceedingly tweakable nipples, although in this case he seemed to be strumming them slowly and hypnotically.

Strum! Strum! Strum!

Then a bit quicker.

Strumstrumstrum!

All the time affixing me with a steely gaze whilst I stood there like a rabbit stuck in the headlights.

“Hmmmm…” I remember thinking.

By this point, the lead monkey knew that I was totally his bitch was now starting to call out to his underlings so they could join in. One by one, they sidled over to him and started playing with their nipples.

The problem with nipples is that they’re essentially part of the foreplay process. I know this and so, it seems, did the monkeys as their hands were now starting to rummage in their respective monkey undergrowths. I don’t know how many of you have ever been the object of a monkey masturbatory fantasy, but let me tell you, it’s not nearly as sexy as you might imagine.

"Arf! Arf! The people walking below won't even see me cumming."

I’m not really sure how long I stayed there being wanked at. It could have been five minutes, it could have been thirty seconds that felt like five minutes, but all of a sudden I had a moment of clarity and turned tail and run. I don’t even know if the monkeys tried to follow me in a last-ditch effort to get me to stay put, but all I know is that I don’t think I’ve ever ran so fast in my life.

I often wonder if those monkeys still think about me.