DVD Review: Double Nickels

One of the great things about having no standards is that the cost of living is so much lower. Being a country music fan means that the majority of my CDs come from the '3 for $20' bins. And being a car movie fan means that i've been able to purchase quite a few movies in the 'Fast Cars & Fast Women' DVD series currently on sale at your local Go-Lo for $2ea. So far, the standouts have included "Concrete Cowboys" (Tom Selleck & Jerry Reed), Shaker Run (a pink Trans-Am in New Zealand) and the latest "Double Nickels"

Double Nickels is an important social commentary as it highlights the low wages recieved by the California Highway Patrol in the late 1970s. Our two hero patrolmen are forced to moonlight as repo men after hours. However, they learn that their boss is getting them to steal cars, not repo them. So, being cops, they get their own back.

Simultaneously the stupidest and coolest movie i've seen in ages. The acting sucks but the chases are cool, the whole movie is generally an excuse for lots and lots of chases. And somehow, it works. Every time the dialogue is getting a bit heavy, *bang* comes another chase, for no good reason (but hey, do we need one?). I didn't pay $2 of my hard-earned for a load of talking, dammit.

Interestingly, this film was financed by the doyen of the $2 pile, H B Halicki, who made the original "Gone In 60 Seconds" and "The Junkman". Given that it stars George Cole, in exactly the same role as he had in "Gone In 60 Seconds", one could almost consider this a sequel, or perhaps an 'equal'.

Watching this film last night has now cleared the way for my next DVD extravaganza, the double-header "Return To Gilligan's Island/The Wackiest Wagon-Train In The West". This cost a slightly higher $3, but as it's 2 films I decided to splash out.

Up The Workers, Jeeves.

It was with a heavy heart that I groped blindly for the bell and summoned Jeeves. He sashayed in, in that way of his.
“Morning, Jeeves.”
“Morning, Sir.”
With the formalities out of the way I could see that it was time to get down to business, to whit: the Wooster head (hammering therein).

“I say Jeeves, I rather think I’m in need of one of your restoratives.”
“Very good, sir,” he said, and sashayed out again.
I propped the old frame up on the pillows as best as I could, and tried to blink. Normally one finds it triflingly easy to blink, in fact I have often remarked to the chaps at the Drones how I seem to be able to do it without even thinking. This morning, however, it defeated me, sorry to say. Presently, however, Jeeves entered, magic elixir in hand.

Have you ever been struck by the number 10 bus from Basingstoke to Clapham whilst holding half a dozen eggs in one hand and a fruitbat in the other? Neither have I, but that’s about the only way one could possibly describe the effect of Jeeves’ tissue-restorer. In a trice, I was clear-headed and, happy to admit, blinking freely once more.

Refreshed, I turned my attention to the matters of the day.
“Tea, Jeeves,” I told the faithful retainer.
“Certainly sir.”
Once the herbal infusions had been gained, I realized that something was amiss.
“I say, Jeeves,” I said, as he was laying out my brown suit for the day’s perambulation, “was there a paper today?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
I was aghast.
“No paper?”
“No, sir.”
There was – and I believe this is the correct term – a pregnant pause.
 “A new age of social upheaval has begun, sir, in which heroes are made o’er the ramparts, and the cannon sounds the barking charnels of slaughter.”

“All sounds rather ghastly if you ask me. What do these ramparts have to do with my bally paper?”
I believe the revolution has rather led to an interruption in the media, for the time being.”
“Er, revolution, Jeeves?”
“Yes sir. The worker’s uprising, I believe the popular press has been calling it for some days now.”
“I see. Dashed inconvenient, what?”
“I believe, sir, with all due respect, that the working classes deem it more important that they have bread to eat than you have a paper to read.”

I eyed the man warily over the china rim of the teacup. “You’ve been reading Marx again, haven’t you?”
“Just as you say, sir.”
“I knew I should have gotten you that Spinosa for Christmas instead.”
“Indeed, sir.”
I sipped a moody cupful.
“I say, Jeeves,”
“Yes, sir?”
“This tea tastes very strongly of almonds.”
“Indeed, sir?”

The Vulgar Tounge by Sir Francis Grose: A Review.

Recently I found this gem of a book in my local Agnes & Robertsons. It is a dictionary, originally writted in the 1790s by Sir Francis Grose. It was written in response to Samuel Johnson's Dictionary, into which Mr Johnson refused to place any 'slang' or 'vulgar' terms. Sir Frasncis Grose, though a gentleman, felt that this error should be rectified, and so he collected every filthy term he could think of. In doing so he left us a legacy of etymology. Anyone interested in the natural evolution of language should read this book. T is fascinating hyow many of the terms we still use today, how many we don't, and how some have become misconstrued over time. For example, did you know that 'rascal' originally referred to a castrated man? Or that 'honeymoon', while retaining it's exact meaning, was about the most vulgar term for a post-wedding holiday that one could utter?

It's also nice to see that some hings never change, too. In 1790, if a man laid with a woman who had recently lain with another man, he was said to be enjoying a 'buttered bun'. Alternatively, a man's rectum was generally known as 'the windward passage'.

Blogging Can Be Fun

In my busy life as a frustrated author, I regularly think of story ideas which cannot be used in 'real life' for copyright/comon sense reasons. However, i'd like to write them anyway so i'm going to, and then post them here. Keep an eye out for the following upcoming titles (in no particular order):

This Tea Tastes Strongly Of Almonds, Jeeves.
Mail Of The Jedi*
Yeehaw! A Very Dukes Indianapolis 500.
Kubelwagons Ho!
Those Ragged Bloody Zeppelineers

The asture amongst you will note that the last two are from an earlier post of titles from the not-yet-written "Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim: The War Years". They're on their way at last.

*George Lucas please contact me and we'll work something out, i'm sure.

Diary Of A Phantom

For those who came in late...for many years, all we've known about the first Ghost Who Walks is the somewhat sanitised version of events told at the start of every comic. However, recent archaeological excavations in the remote Bangalla hinterlands (west of the Misty Mountains and a bit south of the Golden Beach of Keela-Wee) have unearthed a hitherto unpublished diary of the early days of Kit Walker, the first Phantom:

May 12, 1657. Bloody pirate attack last night. It's not like I hadn't warned them. "Why the hell do you want to go there?" I said, "It's only home to the frickin' Singh Brotherhood!!!" But ooooh, no. Dad reckoned he knew better. Tard. And now he's dead and i've been washed up on the beach in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere. Great.

May 13, 1657. Tried to find food. Got knocked out by a coconut. Group of kids up the beach laughing at me. Arseholes.

May 14, 1657. Turns out they were pygmies. Aparrently i'm the first white man they've ever seen. Tried to ask them about the possibility of getting a boat but they seem to be retarded. I met their leader, who wears a lampshade. This just gets better and better.

May 15, 1657. What the hell is it with these guys and skulls? This morning we took off down a track and I hoped they were taking me to the nearest trading post or whatever the fuck they have out here, but we rocked up at some cave that looks like a skull. Then they brought me to the beach, where they'd laid out a heap of the dicks that had been on the ship. I mimed a ship but they just started jabbering.

May 16, 1657. OK, so now i'm living inside a big skull. Great, just what i've always wanted. And i've got a heap of kid-sized helpers running around. I'd like to go hunting so that I could eat something other than frickin mangoes, but the pygmies would want to come and they're not going to be an asset. Mangoes shit me.

May 17, 1657. Jesus, they've collected more bodies on the beach. AND they've started to smell. I ended up burning them. The microtards weren't especially partial to the idea so I made out it was some Heap Big Whitefella Ritual. Chucked the bodies on the fire then held up one of the skulls and sang "The Hairs On Her Dicky-di-do". They'll never know the difference.

May 18th, 1657. I. Don't. Fucking. Believe. This. Shit. They brought me a costume to wear. A costume! It's skintight and purple, and it has a mask. This looks bad. Now i'm either a superhero or a gimp. Think fast.

May 19th, 1657. An explorer came past the skull cave, so I punched him in the face. Problem solved: superhero.

I'm Not Impressed.

I'm not impressed. It's been 48 hours since my email to Kym Richardson at his Parliament House address and still no answer. I was at least expecting to have recieved a loaf of bread and a ticket to the circus by now. Representation of the people indeed! Humph!

Adult Knock-knock Jokes

Knock knock!
Who's there?
I've come to clean ze pool.

Knock knock!
Who's there?
I've come to fix ze cable.

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Baa!

The Conscience Of The King

I don't wish to politicise t'internet, but our government sucks. Yesterday, I recieved a particularly odious letter from my Federal MP, Mr Kym Richardson, of the Liberal Party. So I thought i'd send him a response:

Dear Mr Richardson,

Yesterday I recieved your recent circular, on the front of which was a picture of two Australian servicemen from the Gallipoli campaign. I am writing to let you know that I find this in very poor taste. The military campaigns of our country were not fought for you to use for cheap political propoganda. Your seeming attempt to ally yourself with the ideals of courage, mateship and honour that the Gallipoli campaign represents for the majority of Australians simply serves to underline that you cannot do this any other way: that these ideals cannot be represented by any current Liberal party policy.

If, however, you are not seeking to ally yourself with these ideals, what other conclusion can be drawn? Your use of the Gallipoli campaign merely underlines that Australia has once again been embroiled in another unwinnable war in the Middle East by a foreign power. And again, as in July 1914, it is the Liberal Party who has allowed it to occur.

Yours,

D C White.

Randon Doobings

Captain Doobie rushed into the dining room, where Goodtime Slim was enjoying his Coco Pops and a quick read of next door's pinched paper.

"Eureka!" cried Captain Doobie, "I've done it! We'll make a million dollars!"
Goodtime Slim set down his spoon with a well-defined 'plop'. "How?"
"We get some beetles, put them in an aquarium, put little cardboard cutouts of guitars and a little drum kit in there with them, then film them for about 24 hours. They're bound to bugger about with the cardboard stuff sooner or later. Then, we cut and splice the film to the sound of 'Please Mr Postman', and bob's your uncle!"

Goodtime Slim sighed. "This is just going to be like Herman's Hermit Crabs all over again, isn't it?" he asked.
"No!"
"When you say 'no', I can only assume that you mean 'yes'."
".........yes."

Aircraft Recognition

Why is it important to recognise aircraft? Well, i'm glad you asked. There are many reasons. You may be in the path of one; be being attacked by one; or you may have been kidnapped, pumped full of sodium pentathol, forced to divulge national security assets, and awoken at the controls of what you can only assume is one. While these situations may differ enormously in importance, relevance and general probability, for each a correct response is crucial. Let me take you through a few common scenarios:

1. A small dot in the air, growing larger. No accompanying noise.
This may be an aircraft, but it may also be a rock fired by a sling or trebuchet. To differentiate between the two, ask yourself: am I in the Middle Ages? Problem solved.

2. It has wings.
While wings are certainly an integral part of an aircraft, they also occur naturally on birds. This can be confusing. The best way to sort it out is with weaponry. If it can be felled with a .22, it was a bird. If it requires a 75mm Oerlikon cannon, it was probably an aircraft.

3. It makes a screeching/droning noise.
Yes, it's probably an aircraft. Or an albatross with flatulence. In either case, best avoided.

4. It has big whirly thing coming out of it's hat.
This is Inspector Gadget. Use the Oerlikon.

A Very Special Friday the 13th Random Doobing.

Usually, Friday the 13^th was spent in the Doobie/Slim household in mutual low-key antagonism. This really was their own fault. Goodtime Slim’s utter cowardice caused the normally happy-go-lucky Captain Doobie to transform into the world’s largest sceptic. Hence, Goodtime Slim came to loathe Friday the 13^th whenever it came around. It would start with Goodtime Slim throwing a pinch of salt over his shoulder and would end with Captain Doobie threatening to smash the bathroom cabinet mirror with a hammer unless Goodtime Slim made dinner for the next two weeks.

This time, however, Goodtime Slim had vowed that Captain Doobie must pay. Last night, after Captain Doobie had fallen asleep during a carefully selected DVD of Hey Dad and a glass of Horlicks, Goodtime Slim had started work. Now, at 10am on Friday the 13^th, it was ready. Goodtime Slim settled himself behind the sofa where he could see Captain Doobie still happily snoring away in his lounge chair. Goodtime Slim readied his bullhorn, then yelled into it: “WAKE UP! FIRE! NUCULAR SPLOSION! LANDSLIDE! UNEXPECTED ABBA REUNION TOUR! DANGER! DANGER!”

The response was immediate. Captain Doobie, terrified beyond words that the Swedish singing sensations might be returning to the Southern Hemisphere at some point, leapt out of his chair. In doing so his head went straight through the mirror that Goodtime Slim had placed horizontally above him. He screamed, ducked and rolled to the left, straight under the ladder that Goodtime Slim had placed against the wall. After that, Goodtime Slim turned on the hose, causing Captain Doobie to instinctively grab the umbrella and open it inside, to cover himself from the ice-cold jet. The water startled the 6 black cats hiding under the other lounge chair and they rocketed past Captain Doobie to freedom out the open window. Sensing an opportunity, Captain Doobie dived out the window, head first into a cannon, which immediately fired him over the house and into a child’s wading pool full of hottish tar which Goodtime Slim had prepared earlier. As Captain Doobie stood up and tried to scrape off the clinging black mess, Goodtime Slim pulled the string which released the feathers from a bag above the wading pool, which floated down, settled on the tar and stuck fast. Job done, Goodtime Slim then walked into the house, shut the window, smiled, and locked the door.

Cooking With The King

Here are two actual recipies from the kitchen of The King himself, Elvis Presley.

Peanut Butter Toasted Sandwiches:

Spread peanut butter on bread. Slice banana, lay on top. Drizzle with honey. Spread other piece of bread with peanut butter, lay on top (peanut butter-side down). Cook in sandwich toaster until brown.

n.b. Sometimes when he was feeling particularly hungry Elvis would add bacon to this recipe. You might like to try this yourself!

Coca Cola Salad:

In a large bowl, combine a packet of blackcurrant jelly crystals, a packet of cream cheese, a tin of crushed pineapple , a packet of raisins, and 1.25L of Coca-Cola. Stir well, then refrigerate. Once jelly has set, enjoy! And remember that as this is a salad, it's low calorie! Hurrah!

The Literary Event Of The Century

Finally, my next novel, "The Further Adventures of Clancy Of The Overflow" has been completed! This novel, which garnered critical acclaim in it's initial draft, was the runner-up in the City of Salisbury 72-hour Novel Writing Contest 2006.

Since then it has been revised and poked around, until it is now novel-length (40000wds) with a lot more interesting stuff and a more fully cohesive plot.

Any interested agents or publishers who are persusing this website may like to contact me by leaving a comment, and we'll talk turkey.

Conversations I've Had.

I recently bought lunch at Nandos. On the counter was a serving tray with a glass cover, full of custard tarts. When I went to pay the Nando's Woman, I accidentally bumped it and had to steady it, with the following conversation:

Me: Whoops! Nearly got them.
Nando's Woman: Yes, you don't want to upset my tarts.
Me: Well they are quite large.
NW: And wobbly.
Me: Perhaps you shouldn't have them so prominently on display.
MW: *giggle*

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