Football Crazy, Football Mad

"These over paid bastards deserve everything they get," screams twenty eight year old Jim Clunker, as he hurls a brick at the rear window of the luxury coach taking England's footballers away from Heathrow, following their abject failure at the World Cup. "They've ruined my life with their pathetic performances! And it isn't just me - they've destroyed the whole country's national sense of self worth!" Clunker was one of several hundred disgruntled England fans who attempted to storm Heathrow's Terminal Five when the team arrived back from South Africa. Indeed, several irate fans succeeded in briefly gaining access to the runway, lying down in the path of the airliner carrying the England football team, in an attempt to stop it from landing, before being arrested by the police. Many commentators are blaming the extreme reaction of fans to England's early exit on the overblown media coverage of the World Cup, which hyped up the team's prospects, creating unrealistically high expectations amongst fans. "Before the tournament the tabloids were just full of how we were going to walk it," observes sports journalist Tim Floggarty. "As soon as the competition actually started and England played poorly, the same papers started condemning them, labelling them useless and calling them a national disgrace. It's no wonder fans have gone totally ape in the face of such extremes."

However, Clunker denies that he and his fellow fans have been influenced by the press in their extreme backlash against the national football team. "We've just had enough - we're just ordinary working blokes, who spend thousands every year supporting these bastards," he claims. "They're paid more in a week than most of us can earn in a lifetime - they've got it all; the bling, the birds, the cars and the big houses, and they still can't even win a game of football!" Clunker claims that England's poor showing, culminating in a humiliating defeat to Germany, has been a huge blow to the self-esteem of most fans, leaving them with deep psychological scars. "I mean, what does it say about us that we follow this bunch of losers, going all over the world, staying in cockroach infested hotels, being beaten up by foreign riot police and making utter dicks of ourselves by wearing ridiculous fancy dress at matches, eh?" he wails. "I feel so humiliated by this whole campaign that I haven't been able to get it up since Sunday afternoon! My girl friend's threatening to leave me!" Indeed, there have been widespread reports of England fans being rendered impotent by the defeat to Germany, their members allegedly left as limp as their England flags." With death threats now being issued against specific England players - already effigies of Wayne Rooney have been burned in the North West, whilst a life size dummy of John Terry was found hanging from a lamppost in West London - the government is urging calm. "Everybody should just calm down, after all it's only a game," the Prime Minister yesterday told the Commons. "Really, it's only a few months until qualifying starts for the 2012 European Championships - England fans should just simmer down and start looking forward to that." Renewed outbreaks of rioting followed his statement.

Going Tribal

Well, any remaining interest I had in the World Cup has gone now. I was finding it difficult enough to muster any enthusiasm, even before England's truly dismal performances. Mind you, as my brother remarked as we watched yesterday's debacle against Germany, and the camera panned over the despairing England fans, pausing at the sight of a pair of them dressed in outlandish costumes, at least we hadn't spent thousands of pounds flying out to South Africa to watch it, only to end up looking a knob end on global television. Of course, I could try supporting another team. But it just wouldn't be the same. As much as I admire the Netherlands and marvel at their cool orange kit, I just can't work up any passion for them. The truth is that football is about tribalism, both at club and national levels. The difference is that, whilst you can choose which club you support, you have no choice in the country you follow. Your support is a form of obligation, derived from national identity. The other day there was an interesting article in The Guardian, by Terry Eagleton, I think, which argued that football had replaced religion as the opiate of the masses. His main thesis was that it gave the masses a sense of identity and belonging that, in the past had been provided by organised religion, political movements and trade unions. As the power of these institutions had been eroded by the resurgent capitalism of the late twentieth century, so football had been promoted as a (harmless) substitute, with the added advantage that, as well as being a means of controlling the masses, also exploits them financially.

Now, whilst I might not buy Eagleton's arguments in their entirety, there's no doubt in my mind that there is a concerted effort going on to undermine the remaining political cohesion of the left. I keep on reading, both on the web and in newspapers, that the old political tribalism needs to be abandoned in the face of a coalition government, with cross-party co-operation being the way ahead. The blinkered perspectives engendered by the old tribal ideologies, it is argued, are a barrier to progress in the modern political climate. Not surprisingly, a lot of this ill-considered bilge is being peddled by 'liberals', Not necessarily fully paid up Liberal Democrats, but certainly people who broadly supported Clegg and are now trying, simultaneously, to condone his cosying up to the Tories, (and their own culpability in allowing a Tory government to take power, through their actions), and align themselves with the left. It's not us who were wrong, they are trying to say, it's all the fault of you intransigent left-wing tribalists who wouldn't completely abandon your principles and form a coalition with us, regardless of ideological concerns. The reality is, that the greatest crime 'New Labour' ever committed was to distance itself so much from its core ideology and electoral base. We've all seen how the effective abandonment of large sections of the working class by their traditional political champions simply results in them turning to more extreme movements like the BNP to try and make their concerns felt. Diluting their core ideology simply resulted in an erosion of political cohesion within the party which, inevitably, led to their eventual defeat at the polls. People just didn't know what they stood for any more. Ideology seems to have become a dirty word in politics of late. But trust me, it is essential for the creation of effective and purposeful political movements and parties. Without it, you end up with opportunists like Nick Clegg. So, there you have it - don't listen to these 'liberals' and their nonsensical talk of an end to political tribalism. It's just another tired attempt to divide and rule the working classes by weakening our political resolve.

Wacko Jacko Whacked?

La Toya Jackson's claims that her brother Michael was murdered for financial reasons has been given credence by a top music industry insider. "There's no doubt that, like many artists, Jacko's worth more dead, than alive," opines former record company executive Barry Buttclinch. "It isn't just the back catalogue, there's always a big sales boost when an artist dies, but there's all the other merchandising - the memorial T-shirts, the books, the retrospective TV specials, the whole damn lot!" Buttclinch, whose now defunct label, Stiffed Sounds, put out material by such seminal pop acts as Men Without Trousers, The Cock Rings and Golden Shower, believes that pop performers are generally far more attractive to record companies when they are dead, than when they are alive. "Let's face it, most of them are complete assholes to work with," he says. "Always demanding this or that shit, too off their faces on drugs and booze to perform, wrecking hotel rooms - they're just impossible. But once they're dead, all that shit stops. Believe me, it's all so much simpler. Not to mention cheaper. With no pushers, pimps and other hangers-on to pay off, the profit margins increase beyond all belief!" Dying can also be highly beneficial, career-wise, for most artists. "Face it, most of the dumb bastards go on too long," Buttclinch muses. "There's the inevitable late career decline into mediocrity, alcoholism, child pornography and a sordid death in a dumpster. All of which completely destroys their reputation, puling down sales of the back catalogue for years. If they snuff it fairly close to their peak, their reputation stays intact for all time."

Buttclinch refuses to say whether he has ever had any of his own acts 'offed' for their own good, he strongly suspects that many other record executives have authorised such action against their artists. "Hell, just look at Hendrix, Jim Morrison and John Lennon," he declares. "They all had to go in order to protect their legacies. The first two were getting just too crazy, while Lennon was threatening to go off in a new musical direction - promising several new albums of career destroying mediocrity." However, not all pop stars have to be assassinated by their record companies or management, some apparently arrange their own deaths i order to prolong their success. "Look at Charlie Watts from the Rolling Stones - he's been officially dead since 1970 for tax purposes, on the advice of his accountant," says Herbert Boobfondler, an expert on celebrity death scams. "Apparently it has saved him millions! Of course some artists go even further than simply having themselves declared administratively dead, actually faking their own demise." Boobfondler, a private detective based in Crawley, Sussex, has investigated several such cases on behalf of top clients, and has reached some startling conclusions. "Trust me, my extensive enquiries have established, beyond any doubt, that Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Lennon and Elvis, most definitely didn't die under the circumstances claimed," he reveals. "They simply adopted new identities and continued to enjoy the financial rewards of their past work, without having to endure any of the disadvantages of celebrity - no stalkers, no need to keep the public and record companies sweet, no performing. Who can blame them?" According to the private eye, Hendrix and Lennon are still alive, although both now of pensionable age. Most startlingly, Boobfondler has claimed that the supposedly dead celebrities spend their time sailing the oceans aboard the Titanic. "Believe me, it's sinking was faked, for tax reasons, and it has spent the last century secretly sailing the world from a secret base in the Antarctic," he says. "It's become a secure paradise for the great and the good - it isn't just supposedly dead pop stars. It's passengers have included politicians like the Kennedy brothers, actors like River Phoenix and celebrities like Anna Nicole Smith. Only recently, top fashion designer Alexander McQueen joined the passenger list!"

Identity Crisis

"Look, it was an innocent mistake. When we gave him a new identity, it wasn't meant to be that of a peadophile," a Home Office spokesperson told a press conference, defending his department from criticism that it had failed to adequately monitor child murderer Jon Venables, following his release on licence. "Ordinarily we give such people really innocuous new identities - mild mannered bank clerks, illiterate street sweepers, simple-minded porn movie fluffers, that sort of thing. Unfortunately, in this case, something went horribly wrong." It has been revealed that Venables - jailed at age ten in 1993 for his part in the murder of a two year old child, and now charged with possession of child pornography - had, following his release on licence in 2001, been given the new identity of one Max Crubbler, an internet child porn obsessed data entry clerk. "So, you see, this latest business isn't really his fault at all," says the spokesperson. "When he downloaded that kiddie porn, he was just acting in character. If he hadn't, his cover could have been blown and his true identity revealed, putting him at risk from tabloid-inspired lynch mobs."

The Home Office maintains that the Venables debacle is an isolated incident in an otherwise highly successful scheme to provide controversial criminals released on licence, high level informers and defectors with new identities. "It's the first time we've had any problems," insists the spokesperson. "In the past we had a meat cleaver maniac who slaughtered seven people in a Turkish bath, who enjoyed a whole new life as a pastry chef. Right now, we've got an ex-IRA terrorist turned super grass who is very happy as a gay hair dresser. Neither of them ever re-offended." Nevertheless, questions remain, and the Home Office refuses to be drawn on the question of exactly why it apparently has off-the-shelf sex offender identities set up in the first place. "What's going on? Do they provide these identities to debauched politicians who want to indulge in illegal sex activities without being caught?" asks Daily Excess columnist Jake Ballsack. "Who knows what other identities they have available - mass murderers, Nazi war criminals, slavering sex fiends - to allow the great and the good to indulge their most depraved fantasies?"

Tales From My Local

One of the downsides of control of my old local pub being wrested from the 'lanlord from hell', who blighted it for several years, driving out the old regulars (myself included), is that, as well as former customers like me and my old drinking cronies returning, so has at least one of the old pub bores. You know the sort - an opinion on any subject being discussed, (regardless of whether they were part of the conversation or not), always expressed as unchallengeable fact, backed up with 'facts' which are actually received wisdom from the Daily Mail, and a tendency to shout down any dissenters. (A bit like reading my rantings on this blog - except you have the option to click away at any point). Now, usually I just try to ignore this type, or just endure their gibberish, drinking my pint and thinking of England (or anything) as they talk at me. Increasingly, if we're the only two in the bar, I take refuge behind a newspaper. However, last night I finally lost my rag and told the bore in question, (let's call him 'Ted', not his real name, but close enough), that he was talking bullshit. I'd forgotten how much his ilk hate people coming back at them and challenging their 'opinions'. He was quite taken aback. His response, naturally, was to go on the offensive and shout me down. At which point I re-iterated my point and ignored him - meaningful argument with the Ted's of this world is impossible. They only want to hear their own voices.

The issue which set me off was the forthcoming budget and cuts in the public sector. As a public sector employee I really do get sick to death of the bollocks I hear spouted on the subject by the ignorant. I know that, according to this government, we're the root of all evil, that the budget deficit is the result of our exorbitant wages and 'gold plated pensions', but the reality is that all of that is just shit. The vast majority of civil servants earn well under the national average wage, and to get those 'gold plated pensions', you have to work for the civil service for at least forty years. Oh, and those pensions are projected to account for less than 2% of GDP over the next twenty-odd years. Now, I'm not going to repeat the whole of my 'argument', such as it was, with Ted, but the flashpoint for me was when he came out with the crass statement that it would be better for the economy if all these civil servants were on the dole. Quite apart from the sheer offensiveness of wanting to destroy people's livelihoods, this was such a patently idiotic pronouncement, (a lot of the current deficit is the result of having to pay unemployment benefit to people made redundant in the recession, with no sign of he economy recovering sufficiently to create new jobs for them, creating yet more unemployed really wouldn't be better for the economy. Moreover, it would further contract the tax base and reduce the spending power of potential consumers of products produced by any recovery), that I had to say something. Mind you, I think what really upset him was the bit that came between the two 'bullshits'. I pointed out, rather forthrightly, that I had no sympathy for people in the private sector whose pensions had been mismanaged by their employers and now wanted to see our public sector pensions similarly destroyed. After all, I pointed out, they'd had the same opportunity as the rest of us to gain employment in the public sector - it wasn't our fault if they were too thick, idle or unskilled.

Like many pub bores, Ted is self-employed. The reason that self-employment is so prevalent in this demographic is that these people are, to put it bluntly, otherwise unemployable. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that they're stupid, lazy or unskilled, it's just that, in the long run, they aren't the sort of people anybody would want working for them. You can just imagine what they're like to try and manage - impossible. They're always right. They won't take criticism, they won't take advice, they are incapable of following instruction which conflicts with their preconceived ideas of what they should be doing. Most of all, thy are utterly resistant to change. After all, that would mean conceding that someone else might actually know more than them. For similar reasons, they are equally impossible to work for. Consequently, like Ted, they become self-employed one man bands. Of course, in their own minds, this makes them somehow superior to the rest of us dumb wage slaves who, unlike them, don't generate wealth and contribute to the economy, (as they see it). The fact that they rarely make any real contribution to society themselves is irrelevant - making money is all that matters. However, generally speaking, the only opportunity that have to express their disdain for us and assert their superiority is by trying to monopolise any conversation in the saloon bars of pubs. Unfortunately, the narrow view of life forced on them by their specialisation in serving some tiny niche market, generally means that their 'opinions' are based upon ignorance and reinforces their inability to appreciate anyone else's viewpoint. I suppose what I'm trying to say, in short, is shut the fuck up Ted and your ilk, as you are ruining the drinking experiences of the rest of us. Indeed, I'd go as far as to say that it is people like you who are putting pubs out of business, by discouraging drinkers like me, who just want a quiet pint and a chat with their mates!

The Longest Day

I was going to go down to Stonehenge this morning, to celebrate the Summer solstice with all those nutters dressed as druids. But, having seen Doctor Who on Saturday, I decided to give it a miss - I was afraid that I might get into a ruck with a Cyberman or something. Actually, that would have been a great headline, wouldn't it? 'Police helpless as Druids battle Cybermen in solstice mass brawl'. Even better would have been if the Daleks had broken it up. With people apparently increasingly ill-informed and willing to accept what they see on TV as real, I suppose we should all feel relieved that nobody tried digging up the site to uncover the 'Pandorica' and release the Doctor, so that he can stop the universe from collapsing. I'm not going to speculate on how things are going to pan out in next Saturday's series finale of Doctor Who, other than to say that as 'time can be written' has been a persistent theme of this series, I think we might just see time being rewritten by the Doctor. Oh, and that extra staircase in Amy's house and the unexplained rogue timeship from 'The Lodger', (which was accessed via a fake staircase in Craig's house), must surely figure in it all somewhere. That and the duck pond which perplexed the Doctor back in the first episode.

Anyway, getting back to the Summer Solstice, today is, of course, the longest day of the year. Meaning that it's all downhill from here! Winter beckons already! Slightly more optimistically, the fact that it is the longest day does at least mean that definitely must be Summer by now. Officially. Which means I really should get off my backside and do something to enjoy the season. The trouble with trying to get out and enjoy the fine weather is that every other bugger is doing the same thing. Trying to find somewhere to go where nobody else is likely to disrupt your peace and quiet is getting increasingly difficult. Toward the end of last Summer I came perilously close to smacking some snot-nosed little bastards of children round the ear when they were running around a local beauty spot, ruining everyone else's day. Needless to say, their parents just stood and looked on as they ran riot. Indeed, one was so concerned at his offspring's lack of manners, he spent the whole time engaged in conversation on his mobile. But enough of me being misanthropic! At least the school's haven't broke up for Summer yet, so it is still possible to at least avoid having to put up with other people's children for a couple of weeks yet!

The Bird is the Word

Whilst watching Sky News' appalling coverage of Derrick Bird's gun rampage in Cumbria, I found myself wondering what would be the most offensive piece of 'satire' I could possibly create based on these events. Even more offensive than Sky's scandalously sensationalist approach, full of wild speculation and naming of 'victims' before names had been officially released by the police, that is. Later that day, I got my answer when I heard 'Surfin' Bird' by the Trashmen played on the radio. I couldn't help but imagine Derrick Bird driving around Cumbria, gunning people down as that played on his tape deck. If you aren't familiar with the song, it's the 1960s surfing song which Peter Griffin becomes obsessed with in an episode of Family Guy. If you still don't recognise it, go and look it up on You Tube now. Right, are you back? Heard it? Good, I'll continue. The most offensive thing I could do, I decided, would be to produce an animated film of Bird on his rampage, with 'Surfin' Bird' as the soundtrack. It would start with him drawing up in his taxi, gesturing over a passer-by, before asking, "Have you heard about the bird?" If they answered in the negative, he'd pull out his shotgun and blast them in the face, then leap out of his taxi and perform Peter Griffin's dance from the Family Guy episode.

Obviously, I haven't done this, nor do I have any intention of doing it. However, it turns out that someone else has. Well, almost - they didn't use 'Surfin' Bird' as a theme. Nevertheless, one of those Far Eastern news outlets has created their own computer generated recreation of Bird's shooting spree, complete with gun shots and blood. Yes indeed, not satisfied with computer generated versions of Tiger Woods crashing his car, or Gordon Brown punching aides in the face, now we have an animated mass murderer. In a way, I'm quite disappointed that they didn't have this technology when Princess Diana died - imagine what they'd have made of that. Or the assassination of John F Kennedy - maybe they could have thrown some light on what went on over on that grassy knoll. Of course, if only the police weren't so bloody unreasonable and would release that CCTV footage of Bird's shootings that allegedly exists, then, the makers of this stuff would doubtless argue, they wouldn't need to recreate it digitally. Which is probably also Sky News' excuse for it's hours of speculation - if they'd just been allowed to film the shootings and the bodies of the victims, then they wouldn't have had to fill the air waves with hours of dross.

Doc Sleaze's Rant Round Up

I can't deny that I got quite excited when it was announced that, later in the bulletin, the local weather girl would be showing her vuvuzela, but as it turned out, she was just blowing the sports reporter's horn. So, how has the World Cup been for you, so far? I can't deny that, after all the hype and build up, I just can't work up any enthusiam for any of it. Not even the England matches. Besides, Capello clearly got it wrong against the USA. He should have tried to psych them out - change the shirt sponsor to BP and the mascot to an oil drenched pelican. Talking of BP, whilst I don't usually have any time for rapacious multi-national corporations, I'm almost beginning to feel sorry for BP over the Gulf of Mexico oil spill. They've been very successful, (in the UK press, at least), in portraying themselves as the victims in this. There's no doubt that the Obama administration's heavy handed handling of the situation has helped them. But, despite the fact that the 'B' in 'BP' stands for 'British', we shouldn't lose track of the fact that they are a multi national conglomerate that doesn't care about national boundaries or identities, just profits. Trust me, they don't give a toss about the likes of you and me, regardless of whether we're British, American, Chinese or Eskimo.

As you've probably gathered, I'm short of a post today, so I'm just rambling. Actually, what was planned as today's post has ended up as the latest editorial over at The Sleaze. So, I've decided to get a few things off of my chest, instead. The extent to which people are such horrible bastards never ceases to fascinate me. Reading the comments on a BBC politcal blog about the findings of the Saville Report into Bloody Sunday is a case in point. I was dismayed, (although not altogether surprised), to find them dominated by the usual bile-spouting morons. It really was depressing the number of cretins coming out with the tired old line of 'can we expect an enquiry into IRA attacks on the mainland now, eh?'. For fuck's sake, we don't need enquiries into things like the Aldershot barracks bombing. We know that they were perpetrated by terrorists targeting innocent victims. They've been investigated as criminal acts and, where possible, the perpetrators have been held to account. We expect terrorists to murder innocent victims. That's what they do. We don't, however, expect professional soldiers to gun down unarmed civilians on a peace march. Which is what happened on Bloody Sunday. The fact that it was covered up is why we needed an enquiry. But hell, in the present climate, where it is an act of treason to criticise 'our brave boys' in the Army, I suppose I shouldn't expect any other reaction. Perhaps most depressing were the morons who crassly questioned whether the enquiry was worth the money it cost. For Christ's sake, I didn't think you could set a value on justice. Ultimately, I'm left wondering just how these people can operate in the real world when they are apparently so full of poison? Like I said, people really are horrible bastards!

(This is a reconstruction of the post I originally wrote, but which Blogger succeeded in losing, despite claiming to be saving it automatically. Blogger really is a piece of useless shit).

Celebrity Messiah

"With Big Brother ending, we see this as the perfect replacement," says TV executive Kevin Frooker, introducing his latest format - Celebrity Messiah - to the press. "It's got everything - the reality TV aspect, celebrities humiliating themselves, interaction with the public, and religion!" The proposed TV series would see a group of celebrities charged with creating their own religion. Each week, the celebrity with the least followers would be kicked off the show. "They can try and persuade people any way they like, short of beating them up or paying them, obviously, to convert," enthuses Frooker. "Each week they'll be set a task - performing a miracle of some sort usually, like feeding five thousand homeless derelicts with only a tin of sardines, or healing cancer patients with the laying on of hands. Of course, we wouldn't expect them to perform real miracles, just convince people that they had. Some weeks we might skip the miracle, get them to do something humiliating like washing their disciples feet, or even better, wipe their arses. That'd be great!" According to Frooker, the participating celebrities will be free to devise any theology they choose to be the basis of their religions - barring those based on race hate, misogyny or child abuse. "We want them to be creative in their religions," he says. "The more bizarre the belief system involved, the better the entertainment! You'd be surprised the kind of weird shit people can be persuaded to believe in!"

Indeed, during the pilot shot for the proposed series, self-styled impressionist and comedian Bobby Davro succeeded in converting over two hundred people to his Church of Latter Day Naturists, which offered salvation through nudity. "Mind you, creating a religion is far more difficult than most people realise," warns Frooker. "For every L Ron Hubbard, there are a thousand David Shaylers - sad deluded self-publicists confusing cross-dressing with spiritual epiphany." He points to the fact that in the pilot one-time pop star Kerry Katona found it impossible to attract more than six followers to her cult devoted to the worship of he holy trinity of Father Smirnoff, Junior Cocaine and the divine Iceland giant prawn platter. "It left her an emotional wreck," says Frooker. "Although I can't help but feel that rather undermined her cause by continually consuming the entire trinity, leaving nothing for her acolytes." Similarly, after an initial surge of enthusiasm, top heavy model Jordan's breast-worshipping mother cult quickly lost popularity. "I think her disciples were a bit disappointed that it was a huge stone effigy of her knockers they had to jerk off over as their act of worship, rather than the real thing," the TV executive muses. He warns that the object of the show isn't for celebrities to actually create their own religions for real. "We don't a repeat of Jim Davidson's attempted Jihad," he says. "That led to an instant disqualification. Really, this isn't an exercise in egotism, just cheap entertainment."

Spanks a Lot!

OK, for the purposes of this post, you are just going to have to accept that I'm a sleazy perv. It's far simpler for you to do that, than for me to bother explaining the convoluted process by which I found myself viewing a Russian corporal punishment porn site the other day. It's also far more believable. Trust me, it really is - if I told you the real story, I guarantee that you simply wouldn't believe a word of it. So I'm not going to bother. Just assume that I'm filthy old pervert, instead. Anyway, getting back to the point, the other week I found myself viewing the aforementioned site, which featured a series of well dodgy looking spanking films and picture galleries. Now, I'd normally just pass on by when I come across this sort of thing, but there was just something about the sheer tackiness of this site which made me want to explore further. Besides, they were offering free samples of the movies, most of which seemed pretty poverty-stricken in terms of production values, judging by the stills on display. I just can't resist the lure of low grade smut.

One particular title caught my eye: Terrorists in Russia. I was intrigued, just how were terrorism and spanking linked? Was I to be treated to the spectacle of Chechen terrorists taking control of an exclusive girls' finishing school, and administering six of the best to a hostage's posterior on the hour, every hour, until their demands were met? Well, not quite. The whole thing seemed to be filmed in some grotty Moscow flat, and, as far as I can make out, as I don't speak Russian, involved Islamic terrorists bursting in and taking the two girls there hostage. The plot, such as it was, seemed to consist of the girls being bent over a sofa and caned, whilst the chief terrorist speaks to someone on the phone. I think the girls might be the daughters of Russian government officials or oligarchs, and the terrorists are trying to get some prisoners released. That said, is anyone watching this really going to be concerned with plot details? Now, I'm not saying that the production is cheap, but you can clearly see the elastic strap holding the chief terrorist's (obviously) fake beard on.

However, the thing which really struck me about this piece of smut was that the girls being caned had really rubbish arses. Now, I'm not going to brag about how I've seen so many women's arses that I know a great one when I see one. Because that would be untrue. But I do know what I like, and, believe me, seeing a flat-bottomed, skinny arsed girl getting caned is certainly not fun, let alone erotic. I mean, what is the point in peddling spanking videos if you can't at least get girls with good arses to appear in them? Speaking personally, I've always favoured the slightly broader, more ample female posterior. There is no doubt whatsoever, in my mind, that such a behind is far superior for spanking - it's not just the far more satisfying sound you get when slapping it, but there's also the rippling of the buttocks to be considered. The more shapely the bottom, the better the spanking. That's my opinion, anyway. But what would I know? After all, I'm not a sleazy perv who looks at this stuff on a regular basis - other than for the purposes of this post - am I?

Springwatch Dogging Special

"Welcome to the Springwatch dogging special. As you join us, we're positioned in our hide beside a B-road in Berkshire, withing sight of a busy lay-by known to be one of the area's most popular dogging spots. This is shaping up to be an extraordinary broadcast, isn't it Kate?"

"Yes Chris, we're hoping to see some real wild action here today. As everyone knows, this is the time of year that impromptu outdoor sex really blossoms. The fine weather and warm temperatures tempt the usually shy and furtive doggers out of their cars, into the open. Sometimes even in daylight."

"Sorry, I'll have to stop you there Kate, as I've just had word that a car has been spotted turning into the lane. Yes, I can see him now. He's slowing down. Is he going to sop? I think he's about to pull into the lay-by - no, he's driving on. He seems confused. Something's spooked him - perhaps he's spotted one of our camera crews. Wait, wait. He's coming back, yes, he's pulling in! Perhaps we'll see some action now."

"I don't know Chris, he seems to be on his own. Of course, we might witness some solo action if he's got some jazz mags with him. A bit disappointing if that's all we see, but better than nothing. Hang on, another car is coming - they're slowing down. Yes, they're pulling up in front of the first one, and I think - yes, it is, it's definitely a female!"

"Very promising Kate - let's hope she doesn't lose her nerve and bolt. I can see her looking round. She seems reassured by the discarded, rain damaged porn magazines strewn in the hedgerow and the used condoms hanging from the trees. She's definitely interested. Oh yes! She's flashing her brake lights in the universally recognised mating signals of doggers the world over!"

"Indeed Chris, and now the male is getting out of his car and approaching hers. I must say that he's a fine specimen, the best I've seen in a long time. Oh! She's getting out too! Now they're both climbing onto the back seat of her vehicle! Let's go over to Bill Oddie, who's concealed in the lay-by's litter bin, for a blow-by-blow commentary on what's developing."

"Oh yes, Kate! There's no messing about with this pair - they're straight down to it! In fact, it looks as if it might, quite literally, turn out to be blow-by-blow! Oh, what a magnificent pair! And I've never seen one whipped out so quick! Go on, get in there! Fwooar! That's right mate, give 'em a squeeze! Oooh! Bloody hell missus!"

Night Mayor in London

There are growing calls for Boris Johnson to be culled, following claims that the London Mayor had mauled two children whilst they slept. According to the children's mother, thirty-two year old Brenda Flange, the Mayor sneaked into her Balham home on Saturday night, whilst she and her partner watched television. "We'd left the patio doors open because it was so hot - that's how he must of got in," she says. "The stealthy bastard must have crawled behind the sofa, before creeping upstairs while we watched Britain's Got Talent." Flange was alerted to the attack when she heard the children, aged five and three, screaming in terror. "I rushed up the stairs, thinking they were having nightmares,or something," she told a local newspaper. "But when I reached their room I was shocked to find Boris Johnson standing there, bold as brass!" According to Flange, the London Mayor didn't attempt to flee, instead standing his ground. "He just stood there, staring at me and making some kind of unintelligible mumbling sound," she recalls. "Even when my partner ran into the room and lunged at him, Boris refused to move, he just waved his arms and blustered a bit more."

Several of the Flange's neighbours have told the press that, since his election as Mayor, Johnson has been becoming ever bolder in his forays into the borough. "Before he beat Ken Livingstone you'd never have seen him outside of Kensington or Knightsbridge, and certainly not this far South of the river," opined Jim Glerk. "But lately he's been seen around Balham in broad daylight, exhibiting no fear of the local working classes whatsoever." According to Glerk, Johnson seemed particularly active during the recent elections, often seen running with other local Conservatives. "I'll tell you, I was amazed at their audacity," admits Glerk. "They were going right up to people's front doors, sticking leaflets through the letter boxes. A couple of times, I even saw them knock!"

However, many experts have cast doubt upon Flange's allegations, pointing out that there has never been a recorded instance of Boris Johnson attacking a child. "Everybody knows that, despite its bluster, Johnson is essentially a gentle, inoffensive creature," says David Cameron, who claims to have known the Mayor since he was a cub. "He's far more likely to be found scavenging for votes, than savaging children." Indeed, Cameron believes that the whole incident was a misunderstanding, and that the Mayor had actually been trying to canvass the children for votes. "Obviously, he was confused - who wouldn't be with poll ratings like his - and forgot that they were too young to vote," he says. "Let's not forget that when examined by doctors, it was found that the children had suffered no physical injuries, they merely suffered a severe shock." Cameron even suspects that Johnson could be being made a scapegoat. "We have no proof beyond the Flange's word that he was ever in the house," he points out. "I mean, are they even fit parents? They admit to watching Britain's Got Talent, for God's sake? Isn't it possible the children were traumatised by being allowed to watch that, and these people are using Boris as a scapegoat to cover up their mistreatment?" Despite Cameron's protestations, calls for a cull grow unabated, with the local council confirming that a local Conservative councillor trapped in the garden of the Flange house had been gassed. "We know it's not quite the same thing as a Mayor," said a spokesperson. "But it's the principle that matters."

Apes a Go Go

Another rare classic from my personal DVD collection, Apes a Go Go:

A 1960's cult favourite involving a stash of weed, hippies, a VW beetle, and a gorilla that periodically turns invisible. No, really, it does exist and truly needs to be seen to be believed. Disney on acid is one view you could take as the two laid back heroes, played by Zane Govan and Nick Adams in full Hippy look, smoke weed, play guitar, and show a mistrust of authority that would have old uncle Walt spinning in his grave. The plot, such as it is, involves our heroes falling in with some anti-vivisectionists, and joining their plan to break into some government labs secretly growing top dope for the army. In the chaos of the raid they run off with a large quantity of weed and, unwittingly, an invisible gorilla that leads to many laughs until they discover what is going on.

The high-point of the film has to be the long chase around San Francisco, as they try to smoke the stash while pursued by the police and the FBI. The invisible gorilla is a trump card in evading the fuzz as the chase ends in a zoo. In one odd scene, an unfortunate fed gets trapped in the monkey house with a randy male gorilla that sexually molests him! Despite the charm that only truly bad films such as this exhibit, it remains a sad career low point for Nick Adams, here playing second fiddle to a man in an ape suit. A decided step-down even from his previous film, the Godzilla flick Invasion of the Astro Monster, where he'd played second fiddle to the man in the lizard suit.

The film's script was reputedly turned down by Roger Corman in 1967, with the words, "Get this crap out of my office!". However, with the growing popularity of monkey movies such as Planet of the Apes, and the success of Bonzo pictures on morning TV, meant that finance was available for this strange movie genre. For those fans of monkey movies, this will be a welcome release and one can only hope that others in this series will come out, including Apes on the Moon (1969), Ape Island (1970), Apes a Dancin'(1972), Apes on a Plate (1973), Apes Impeacin'!(1974), and the King Kong cash-in, Apes a Growin' (1976). Sadly, the King Kong remake sounded a death knell for the monkey movie, and the end of the Ape series. That said, Apes a Go Go was almost remade with Eddie Murphy as a follow up to The Nutty Professor, as Ape'z in the Hood. Oh, and see if you can spot the zip in the gorilla suit whilst watching this classic!

Her Majesty Displeasured?

I misunderstood another headline the other day. I spotted it on Ceefax, it was along the lines of 'Clinton makes Queen's Birthday gaffe'. Obviously, I immediately assumed that this had something to do with former US President Bill Clinton, perhaps referring to some new revelation about his administration. I had vision's of Bill leaping, naked, from a giant cake during Her Majesty's birthday celebrations, shouting "Let's see you crown this, Lizzie", in the mistaken belief that this was the sort of 'birthday surprise' deemed appropriate for a monarch. Maybe, I pondered, he used his fabled member to bestow a 'knighthood' on various female guests, inviting them to kiss his 'purple orb'.

As usual, of course, I turned out to be quite mistaken. When I actually read the story, it turned out to concern Bill's wife, current US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton sending a birthday greeting to the Queen a week early. Which isn't really much of a gaffe. In fact is isn't a gaffe at all. My mother's birthday card always arrives a couple of days before my birthday. I don't accuse her of making a gaffe. She merely has little faith in the Royal Mail's First Class postage, so posts it early. Now, if Clinton had sent the Queen one of those 'humourous', mildly offensive birthday cards, calling her an old fart, or something, then maybe that could be classed as a 'gaffe'. They really should make these headlines less ambiguous - it only results in me being deeply disappointed.

Limp and Lifeless

Doubtless, thousands of sad male bastards all over the UK are rejoicing at the news that Cheryl Cole has started divorce proceedings against her estranged husband, Ashley. Even as I type this, they're probably drafting e-mails to her, declaring their undying love and assuring that, unlike Ashley, they'd never cheat on her. Oh yes, right now every overweight, spotty faced, unemployed, semi-literate and maladjusted male fantasist in the country thinks that he's in with a chance. You see every time a famous attractive woman announces that she's split up with her other half - every bloke under the age of seventy with a pulse turns into a potential stalker. Suddenly, they sense the possibility that, instead of just masturbating over a photograph of such woman, they might actually be able to furtively masturbate in the same room as them. Of course, it's even better if the celebrity woman in question is a lesbian and has just split from their girl friend. Then every one of these sad bastards think that they can be the one to turn them and show them what they've been missing. Hell, they've all seen Sean Connery do it to Pussy Galore in Goldfinger.

Quite what any of these sadly deluded losers thinks they have that could possibly attract Cheryl Cole or any other rich and famous woman, (or any woman, at that), isn't really clear. No doubt some of them would claim that they were 'sex machines' or were fabulously well-endowed. However, the fact that they are single and stalking fantasy women would seem to cast doubt on such claims. Still, getting back to Cheryl Cole, she's also been in the news this week for another reason. Or rather, that TV advert for hair products she does has been in the news, after the Advertising Standards people decided that the fact her long, lustrous, shiny and healthy looking locks in said ad were, at least partially, hair extensions, didn't make it misleading. Actually, the best bit of the advert is where she describes the kind of hair you'd have if you didn't use the products she was endorsing: "Flat, limp and lifeless". I bet she's also thinking: "Aye, just like Ashley's cock, now he's not gettin' any from me". And just the way the manhood of all those sad bastards now thinking they're in with a chance are likely to remain for the foreseeable future.

The Best Laid Plans...

I had a whole slew of posts planned for this week. However, as ever I've been overtaken by events. I'm afraid that I had to waste a large part of yesterday evening trying to find out why traffic to The Sleaze had apparently halted at approximately 17:00, despite the web host's server status claiming nothing was wrong. The long and the short of it was that, despite the claims of the server status page, every page of the site seemed to be timing out, suggesting a very serious problem at the host's end. Intermittently, the odd visitor was able to get through, but the server logs (which I managed to access after over an hour of trying), showed that bot activity was much lower than normal. Again, this indicated a serious problem. Again, the host's site disagreed. Finally, just after midnight, the site seemed to become fully accessible. Nevertheless, traffic is continuing to decline, (particularly in the evenings, usually the site's busiest period), and I now suspect that this has less to do the with algorithm changes at Google (which, like everyone else, I'd been blaming), and more to do with my web host.

I mentioned a couple of months ago that my web host of several years standing had been taken over by a company I'd never heard of, and that I wasn't particularly impressed by what I'd seen. Looking back at my stats, the long decline of The Sleaze's traffic seems to coincide with the takeover. I can only assume that the new owners don't want small customers running non-profit sites like myself, and are doing their damnedest to get rid of us - by deliberately throttling our sites to death, if necessary. OK, I know that sounds paranoid, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating, so to speak. I'm currently in the process of setting up an account with another host, and I'll shortly be moving The Sleaze there and redirecting the DNS. If traffic improves, then I'll be reasonably sure that I'm right in my suspicions. If it doesn't, well, I was going to change host anyway - there are only a couple of months left to run on my current deal and I'm not prepared to pay the prices the new owners are quoting. Of course, the other thing which has been delayed by this nonsense with the web host are my plans to completely overhaul the site and rebuild it around a Content Management System (CMS). I had hoped to make some progress on this project this week. No doubt people will tell me that 'these things are sent to try us', but I could still do without them.

Send for the Hoff!

So, another Eurovision Song Contest humiliation for the UK. Last place. Still, at least we didn't get 'null point'. No doubt this will result in anther post-mortem in the media, with yet more allegations of 'political voting' by the East European entrants to benefit their 'friends' at the expense of the likes of the UK. Unfortunately, the fact that Germany won this year's contest rather undermines such claims. The fact of the matter is that we entered a God-awful song, performed by an utterly bland singer. He was always going to come last because of that, regardless of any other factors. The problem underlying our consistent failure in Eurovision in recent years is our schizophrenic attitude toward the event. On the one hand we want to treat it all as a bit of a camp joke, on the other, we apparently want to win it, and get upset when we do poorly. This is reflected in the kind of songs we end up selecting: either they are a complete joke, like Scooch, which the rest of Europe clearly sees as patronising, or they're attempts at 'seriousness', which ultimately fail because they are bland, or just inappropriate for Eurovision.

The ridiculous thing, of course, is that British pop generally travels well, yet we can't seem to offer up a song for Europe that Europe actually likes. Of course, it might help if we actually had as our entry an established act who we knew was popular across the continent. After all, in the past we've been represented by the likes of Sandie Shaw, Lulu and Cliff Richard (to name but a few). However, many current acts are simply not going to want to be involved, fearing that association with Eurovision could hit their credibility. Moreover, even if they were willing to participate, they might decide that the risk of failure was too great - being seen to come last in Eurovision would be a huge blow to the credibility of any professional group or artist. Clearly, what we need is an established pop act that is well known in Europe, but which is also sufficiently desperate to be willing to risk the association with Eurovision. The answer is obvious - David Hasselhoff. OK, I know he's not British, but that doesn't matter. You don't have to be a citizen of the country you are representing. He checks all the other boxes - he has a good track record of selling records in Europe, particularly Germany. And not just any records, but exactly the kind of cheesy Euro-pop which always seems to win Eurovision. Ultimately, he's desperate. Let's be honest, since Baywatch, people haven't exactly been going out of their way to employ him, have they? He seems to subsist these days on reality TV programmes broadcast on obscure digital channels. For him, Eurovision would be the big time. Furthermore, as far as Eurovision is concerned, he'd be a big name. So I think , as of now,we should be begging the Hoff to be our entry in next year's Eurovision song contest. I implore you - start e-mailing him now! Hassle the Hoff to represent us! He's our only hope!